It was locked tight, no matter how many times I tried the handle.
“You haven’t seen him at all since earlier yesterday?” I asked as I rejoined her on the driver’s side.
“No. I haven’t really asked around, so I don’t know if anyone saw him leave in another vehicle, but if he has trees inside the truck, shouldn’t they be aired out or something?”
“I have no idea.” I looked toward the Ridgeways’ setup. They’d completely unloaded their truck the day before, and I’d already noticed a number of buyers leaving the market with trees. Denny, Billie, and Ned were currently sitting in lawn chairs arranged in a triangle formation. They all wore a similar version of what they’d worn the day before, and instead of soft drinks, each held a steaming mug. “Maybe we should ask Denny.”
“Yeah, I hate to bother him but they aren’t terribly busy right at the moment.” She lifted a foot to step forward.
“Denny!” I said as I cupped my hand around my mouth. “You have a minute?” Then I signaled him toward us.
“I could have walked over there,” Allison said.
“This is more efficient,” I said. “You were just going to come right back. It’s okay for me to be a little uncouth. Anything to help.”
To my surprise, Allison nodded before she said, “Good point. Thank you.”
“That’s my girl,” I said quietly so Denny wouldn’t hear as he joined us.
“Allison, Becca! How are the two of you today?” he asked cheerfully. If he had problem with the Stuckey truck’s continued presence in the lot, he didn’t show it.
“Hi, Denny,” Allison said. “We’re great. You all as comfortable as possible over there?”
“Yes, ma’am, no complaints.”
I tried to erase the sudden suspicion in my glance. He didn’t sound phony at all, but he had to be at least somewhat upset that the Stuckey truck was still on the lot. Maybe Denny truly was as neighborly as he appeared to be, or maybe he was just being patient in the hope that the matter would be resolved before the day was over. Either way, I thought he was a little too cheery.
Allison smiled. “Denny, I’m sorry to bother you, but since you, Billie, and Ned have been out here pretty consistently for the last couple days, I wondered if you saw where Reggie Stuckey went. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
“I don’t think I did.” He rubbed the back of a finger over the side of his jaw, making his beard swing like a clock’s pendulum. “I’m pretty sure the truck’s in the same spot as when he parked it, and I don’t remember anyone coming by to pick him up.”
Allison squinted up at the cab. “Would he be inside?”
Repeating my investigative maneuver, Denny stepped up on the running board and peered inside the cab. “He’s not in there. There’s no secret hidden spot or anything.” He jumped down.
“What about the back?” Allison led the way down the side of the truck and toward the cargo load.
“He’d be pretty uncomfortable if he was in there with little to no ventilation. I doubt it,” Denny said.
“What about the trees? I didn’t look inside but if there are trees in there, are they being harmed by the lack of ventilation?”
“They could be, but if he gets them out today they’ll probably be fine.”
For a long few moments, the three of us stood behind the truck and looked up at the back doors.
“Should we just open it and get the trees out for him, or at least give them air—if that will help them?” I suggested.
Denny shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but didn’t say anything. He was hesitant and uncomfortable; he would want to be careful about overstepping his bounds.
“No one answered when I called his office this morning. We haven’t seen him since yesterday. It’s almost noon.” Allison looked at the time display on her phone. “I don’t think it’s necessarily time to be worried, but I can’t help it—I am worried. If it’s not locked, I’m going to open the back and just take a look.”
“Here, let me help,” Denny said resolutely. He stepped forward and moved the arm mechanism that kept the doors closed. It clicked with no resistance. “It’s not locked.”
He stepped backward as he pulled on the door. We were greeted by the scent of pine, but it was different than yesterday’s sense-stimulating earthiness. This time, it mixed with other, less wonderful smells, too. The temperature had been warm enough to make the closed-up inside of the truck stagnant and stuffy, which gave the air an automatic dusty thickness.
There was something else, too, something I didn’t readily recognize but I probably should have.
I scrunched my nose. “What is that?”
“I don’t know,” Allison and Denny said together.
As if to answer my question, a dark liquid trickled out of the truck and to the asphalt below. It probably didn’t make a noise, but I watched the trail of red drops, and in my mind they plopped loudly when they hit the ground.
“That . . . that looks like blood,” Allison said.
“Oh no,” I said.
Somehow and with no organization, suddenly the three of us were up and inside the truck. We each managed to grab a tree or two and throw them out the back. A mere few seconds later, we finally found Reggie Stuckey. He was on his back in the middle of his own tree truck, a thick stake through his chest.
Reggie Stuckey would not be selling trees from Bailey’s this year, or any year in the future, for that matter.
“Reg, oh, Reg,” Denny said from his knees. He avoided the puddle of blood as he felt Reggie’s neck for a pulse. He looked up at Allison and me. “He’s gone.”
“Becca,” Allison said as she looked at me.
I didn’t need any further prompting. I pulled out my phone and called Sam.
• • •
“It’s an outdoor tree stake,” I overheard Denny tell Sam.
I was back a bit from the two of them but I could hear their conversation. I was sure Sam knew I was eavesdropping, but he hadn’t signaled me to go away yet, so I hadn’t.
Sam and I had been through some scary—and downright horrifying—moments, but we’d been friends at the time, not a couple. My previous “as-friends” bold behavior included asking him questions about cases that were none of my business. Even then he’d answered more than he should have, but I now wondered just how much I would be able to get out of him. Would our pillow talk turn to things murderous and criminal, or would he become more protective of his information, and more protective of me knowing things?
Time would tell.
“Is it a standard stake? Something all Christmas tree vendors sell?” Sam asked.
“Well, we all sell something like it, though I’m not sure what kind exactly was used on Reggie,” Denny said. “Most natural-tree vendors would definitely sell something like it, though.”
He was saddened by his competitor’s demise; that much was obvious. The two of them hadn’t displayed congenial friendship the day before, but Denny had been completely shaken by Reggie’s murder. We all had, but there was something tender about his reaction that made me curious about their history. I’d mentioned my observation to Sam when he arrived.
“Becca,” a voice said from behind me.
“Officer Norton, hello,” I said. “Considering the circumstances, it feels strange to thank you for the cookies, but thank you. They are—well, mostly were—delicious.”
“You’re welcome. You have a minute? I’d like to ask you some questions.”
I glanced toward Sam and Denny and then looked at Officer Norton. “About the . . . about Reggie?” I said.
“Yes.”
“I thought Sam would be questioning everyone.”
“Well, considering that the two of you are a couple, it wouldn’t be prudent to have him talk to you. He sent me over.”
“Good poi
nt.”
I had warily liked Vivienne Norton when I first met her. I found her intimidating in ways that I didn’t usually find women intimidating. She wasn’t the only female officer on the small Monson police force, but she was the only one I’d ever had dealings with. Her muscular build was something she must have had to work hard to maintain, but I wasn’t aware of a gym in Monson or the surrounding areas. She probably had to be diligent about maintaining her bleached hair and thick makeup, too. She was such a boatload of contradictions that for a long time I wasn’t exactly sure how to behave around her. I’d realized, though, that she and I were much more alike than we were different. She worked the job of her dreams, she worked hard, she wanted to be the best she could be at her career, and she chose to the look the way she did, just like I chose my wardrobe of overalls and mostly forgotten makeup.
I’d been surprised by her continued enthusiasm about my and Sam’s relationship, and I liked her even more for it. Although she was thrilled that Sam and I were a couple, I had no doubt that Officer Vivienne Norton would throw me to the ground and cuff me if she ever thought I was guilty of a crime.
“Come on,” she said as she looked toward Sam and then back at me again. “Let’s go somewhere away from everyone else.”
I followed her to the edge of the Bailey’s lot, the side farthest away from the entrance and a good twenty feet back from the Ridgeway setup. Because of their big truck, Officer Norton could conduct her interview in private. We were hidden from everyone except those driving by on our side of the adjacent two-lane highway. Given close inspection, it might have looked like something unusual was going on in the parking lot, but it was typical for it to be full, so passersby didn’t even give the market a second glance.
“You found Mr. Stuckey’s body?” she asked me.
“Yes. Allison and Denny Ridgeway were there, too.” I sounded way too defensive already. I’d found a few dead bodies in my time, and Officer Norton had an accusatory tone to her voice, emphasizing that she remembered my involvement, peripheral though it might have been. I cleared my throat.
“Tell me the events that led up to you opening the back of his truck. Why did you—the three of you—decide it was something that needed to be done?”
“We couldn’t find Reggie,” I said. “And we were worried about him and about the trees.”
I explained that we’d checked the cab, that Allison had said that she hadn’t received an answer when she’d called Reggie’s office that morning, and that the Ridgeways hadn’t seen him.
“So, Mr. Ridgeway said that the three members of his group hadn’t seen Mr. Stuckey? He was specific about all three of them?” she said.
I thought back. “I think he said ‘we,’ but I don’t know if that was meant to be specific to the three of them. I don’t know if he really knew if the others had or hadn’t seen Reggie.”
“What dealings did you have with Reggie Stuckey?”
“None. I’d never seen him or met him before yesterday. I’ve probably heard of his farm, but I can’t remember when. I’ve often heard about the Ridgeway Farm.”
“Those Ridegway trees are amazing,” she said as she jotted in her small, black notebook. There was a rising tone to her voice, as if she wanted me to add something.
I didn’t know what exactly to say, so I just went with, “Uh-huh, that’s what I’ve heard for years, and the ones they brought to sell at the market look perfect.”
She looked up from the notebook. “You’ve never had a Ridgeway tree?”
“I’ve never had a real Christmas tree. Mom was allergic.”
“That’s a shame.” She tsk’ed and shook her head.
Now I felt like defending my mom. But she was good with finger painting, never cared if we made a mess—or something along those lines. I cleared my throat again.
“So, what do you know about the contract between the deceased victim Reggie Stuckey and Bailey’s Farmers’ Market?”
“Nothing specific. I know that both Denny and Reggie thought they had the exclusive right to sell trees at Bailey’s this year, but I don’t know the contract details,” I said, quickly and easily. Even I was impressed by my smooth lie. I would tell Sam later about my meeting with Allison and our inspection of the two tree vendor contracts. When I told him, he would tell me that I should have told Officer Norton and he’d pretend he was irritated that I hadn’t. But I didn’t care. Evidently, she already knew something about the contract was bothersome and I didn’t think that she was intimating that Allison was involved with Reggie Stuckey’s murder, but she was curious about people who were a part of the market, curious about something my sister had been involved in creating. I’d give the full information to Sam and he’d know the right way to deal with it. I didn’t want to risk saying anything that might—even a little bit of might—make Allison look in any way involved.
“Did you hear the argument yesterday in the parking lot?”
“Yes, but it was more a slight confrontation than an argument.”
“Can you tell me exactly what you remember?”
“Sure.” I told her what had been said between the parties involved. It hadn’t been a particularly angry meeting; more tense than angry, but it could have become more heated if Allison hadn’t been able to stall everyone for a day or two.
“What do you think would have happened if Reggie Stuckey had been found to be lying about his selling-at-Bailey’s status?” Officer Norton asked.
“I guess Allison would have asked him to leave.”
“Why would someone go to such lengths to lie about being a vendor? It seems so elaborate and wasteful. His truck was packed with trees, and they might not be sellable at this point,” Officer Norton said, but she wasn’t really asking me a question. She was pondering aloud.
Nonetheless, I said, “I don’t know.”
Since I was facing the entrance to the market, I saw when Brenton turned his truck in to the lot. I also noticed the expression on his face. I was almost certain it bore the same crankiness from the day before, but this time it only lasted a brief instant. Then the disdain transformed into something that caused his face to become as pale white as I’d ever seen. He slowed the truck slightly and looked furtively around the lot.
Officer Norton noticed me noticing Brenton, so she turned and watched what I was watching. He was a good fifty feet away and he wore the ever-present Yankees cap, but there was no mistaking his changing expressions.
“What’s his name?” Officer Norton asked as she raised her notebook, but didn’t take her eyes off Brenton.
“Brenton Jones. He makes homemade dog biscuits.”
“Hmm. I’ve heard of him. I think I need to have a chat with him. You won’t be leaving town or anything anytime soon?”
I laughed, but then cleared my throat again when I saw she wasn’t joking. “No, ma’am.”
“Good.”
I watched her advance toward Brenton, and I followed right behind. Brenton’s behavior had garnered my full attention, and if he wasn’t going to tell Allison what was bugging him, maybe I could just overhear the problem. However, there was no real place to hide. Though we were in the parking lot, it didn’t seem wise to dart around the parked vehicles. Besides, attempting to hide while the police were investigating a murder would not only irritate the police, but Allison, too. I moved toward Officer Norton and Brenton, but tried to look casual.
Brenton’s truck had been moving slowly, and with a lift of her hand, Officer Norton stopped him completely. She moved the notebook back into writing position as the two of them spoke through his open driver’s-side window.
I stopped beside an old blue Volkswagen Bug. Thinking that my faded overalls would blend in with the equally faded paint job, I crossed my arms and stood very still. If all was going according to plan, I was hiding in plain sight.
And I didn’t hear a thing. I couldn’
t read their lips, either. I would have to move closer, and then I would be caught and dismissed by Officer Norton. Nonetheless, I decided I needed to take the risk.
As I moved one foot forward, though, Brenton put an end to any secrecy. He threw the truck into park and then cannoned himself out of it.
“Denny Ridgeway is the killer,” he yelled to Officer Norton as he pointed at the still-living tree vendor.
If it had been any other person, or perhaps at any place other than the Bailey’s parking lot in Monson, South Carolina, Officer Vivienne Norton would likely have pulled out her gun and done whatever it took to subdue Brenton and his sudden raging anger.
Instead, she kept her stance firm and her gun in its holster.
“Back off,” she said, loudly enough that I heard it from my spot beside the car.
“I’m telling you, Denny Ridgeway’s the killer. Reggie Stuckey was killed by Denny Ridgeway!” Brenton said, as he stomped his foot way too far in Officer Norton’s space. He hadn’t backed off.
“That’s enough,” Officer Norton said. I hadn’t noticed when the notebook had disappeared, but I saw her hand had finally moved to the still-holstered gun.
“No, no, it’s not enough! He’s the killer. Arrest him!”
I’d seen Sam shoot people before. In fact, he’d once aimed a gun my direction, though it had been hard to hold that against him since I’d been cradling a bloody ax. But I’d never seen him use the force that he worked hard to build in his body. He was in amazing shape—he worked out almost every morning in his own basement gym. And though I knew it must have had something to do with being the best police officer ever, I’d never seen the need for such effort—until now.
Somehow, Sam came from wherever he’d been and moved behind Brenton. With movements that were so fluid and quick it was difficult to understand exactly what I was seeing, he had Brenton up against his own truck and then the man’s wrists cuffed behind his back. If Brenton tried to resist, I didn’t see it. Sam had manhandled him as though Brenton had no strength whatsoever. Sam wasn’t gentle but he wasn’t rough either, just confidently forceful.
5 Merry Market Murder Page 4