“Interesting.” It was, but I wasn’t sure it meant much of anything.
“I thought so, too, particularly if her last visit was the day Reggie was killed. Anyway, I stopped by the police station but Sam wasn’t there and I don’t really know any of the other officers. Your house is on my way to Carl’s, so I stopped. I hope it’s okay that I was walking around.”
“Of course,” I said. Mamma didn’t need to know she might have prompted me to finally improve my currently nonexistent security system.
“Good. I gotta go, but it’s the last thing that Evie told me that probably kept me from telling the other officers. Sam . . . well, Sam’s a friend, and I knew he wouldn’t think it was weird, but even though Evie wouldn’t tell me who the affair was with, she did tell me what the woman looked like.”
“And?”
“Me. She looked like me—according to Evie, pretty, blonde, with a big bosom—and I’m quoting that last part. I’d just say ‘boobs.’”
The world wasn’t full of women who looked like Mamma Maria, at least not naturally. The doll ornament had made me hyperaware of pretty, blonde women. I knew Mamma hadn’t had an affair with Reggie; she was far too young. Mamma’s conversation with Evie made me realize I’d been on the right track, though—the doll had been meant to portray Reggie’s illicit girlfriend. At that point, I thought that Patricia Archer or Stephanie Frugit must be the other woman. In my mind, I thought I could narrow it down further. Stephanie Frugit might live a lonely, isolated life, but I didn’t think she’d sought out an old love. She didn’t strike me as a person who ever went backward. If anyone, at the moment, Patricia was the most suspicious.
As for Evie not being at the Smithfield Market the day Reggie was killed, that might be important news. Sam needed to know about that, and he needed to know that she had plans to be at the parade that evening.
“I’ll tell Sam,” I said.
As Mamma walked to her car, she added, “Look for her tonight. Have Sam look for her. I can’t imagine that she’s attending the Christmas tree parade in Monson without a mission in mind. Maybe she’s going to confront the other woman—or something worse.”
Could she really be a threat? Anything was possible.
“I’ll call Sam right away,” I assured her.
Hobbit and I watched as Mamma steered the sedan up and out of the driveway.
“Did you hide inside first or did you just greet her without regard for your own safety?” I said to Hobbit.
The tail wag told me she’d done the second one. I sighed.
“Come on. Let’s call Sam.”
• • •
Sam still hadn’t tracked down Brenton. I told him the latest addition to the case and my thoughts about Stephanie and Patricia, but he was still hesitant to base suspicions on looks.
He was also interested in Evie’s actions, both this evening and the day of Reggie’s murder.
We made arrangements to meet at the parade. I was glad we’d spent yesterday evening enjoying our time together, because it sounded like Sam might be pulled a few different directions this evening. Duty called.
Hobbit would be a fine date anyway.
After some baking time and a short, restless nap, I loaded more cookies into the truck. I helped Hobbit into the passenger side and we headed for downtown. I’d switched into jeans and a thicker sweater because of the increasing chill in the air. The quickly darkening sky showed no sign of stars or moon. The chill was a good fit for the upcoming holiday and the air smelled perfectly clean and crisp.
Somehow the clouds formed a sort of pocket, and the lights from the decorations—those on the trees and those everywhere else—bounced off the bottom of the dark ceiling above and made it seem like downtown Monson and the parade were parts of our own little private, well-lit party. UFOs wouldn’t spot us under the cloud cover this night. I liked the pocket, but I also suddenly hoped for a little snow. No matter the paper tablecloths, a dust of white would be a perfect touch.
With no sign of Sam yet, Hobbit and I traveled slowly down one side of the parade and up the other. The crowd was huge, but only a little bigger than normal. The Saturday-night group was traditionally bigger than Friday’s, and last night’s had been healthily large. The thirty-minute trip from Smithfield was usually too far for a big influx, but I suspected the neighboring town’s contingent was larger this year than in previous years. Finding a place to park had been unusually difficult and the number of unfamiliar faces meant the parade’s reach was only growing.
I enjoyed looking at the trees again and consuming a multitude of treats, but I was anxious, too. I hoped I’d find or hear from Sam soon. I hoped he’d found Brenton and someone who looked like Mamma Maria who claimed to have had an affair with Reggie. I hoped Evie wasn’t spiking someone to death.
“Miss Becca,” a voice behind me said.
“Evie, hi! What a surprise,” I said when I turned. Speak of the devil. And, there were no spikes in sight.
She was different. It was as though she’d cleaned up, brushed her hair. I wasn’t much for frou-frou, but Evie carried herself a little differently, as though she’d been infused with a boost of confidence; or maybe it was self-respect.
“I haven’t been to this neck of woods in a long time. It’s good to get out a bit,” she said.
If that was true, she hadn’t come to Monson the day Reggie was killed like Mamma had perhaps thought. I hoped it was true.
I didn’t truly understand why Evie had come to the parade, but I thought her appearance must have something to do with the fact that there was no chance she’d be running into her ex-husband. I hoped that wasn’t because of something she’d done. For some reason, I’d taken a quick liking to her.
“It’s good to see you. I’d love to grab you a hot chocolate or something.” And let Sam know you’re here, I thought.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. I don’t want to hold you up, either. I’m here to look around, hopefully get into the holiday spirit some. Hello there,” she said to Hobbit as she leaned over to scratch behind my dog’s ears. Hobbit liked making new friends who knew how to scratch behind her ears.
“I wanted to talk to you again soon anyway. I was talking to my parents about our visit and they not only remember you, they worked on your campaign.”
Evie straightened up and her eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Yes, their names are Jason and Polly Robins.”
Evie smiled. “This world just gets smaller all the time. I’ll be; you’re their daughter?”
“One of them. My sister, Allison, is the Bailey’s manager.”
Evie laughed. “I’ll be,” she repeated. “Any chance your parents are here?”
“I’d say there’s a huge chance. We’ll find them.”
We walked together, very tall Evie and short me, with Hobbit in between us. I thought about asking her for details about the woman who looked like Mamma Maria, but I didn’t want her to regret that she’d confided in Mamma, so I kept that to myself. For now.
It wasn’t until I’d reunited Evie with my parents that something very obvious became a solid and probably important thought.
Evie—Evelyn to Polly and Jason—was hugging Mom and telling her that she actually looked better now than she did in the eighties, that she’d made a good hippie but the grown-up clothes and hair suited her much better. Sam had also probably contributed to the idea that pinged in my head when he was reticent to base suspicions on looks.
I agreed with Evie that Mom looked great, and so did Dad, but they also looked different. It would have been impossible not to look older, no matter how well you took care of yourself.
And Mamma Maria’s twin from the 1980s just might not look like the Mamma of today.
I stepped away from Mom, Dad, and Evie and gathered my thoughts as I looked out to the crowd. Unless I had snapshots from the past, how woul
d I know who might have looked like Mamma and the ornament?
Or perhaps the woman had aged extraordinarily well and had just changed her hair color. That took me back to Stephanie. Had she been blonde instead of strawberry-blonde back then? I didn’t know.
Sometimes chance plays a big role in what feels like a futile search, but it is a rare gift and one that should never be ignored.
As I was drowning in my own disconnected ideas, I happened to glance across the street and see two people I’d recently met: Joel and Patricia Archer. They’d been cagey, uncomfortable, and distant. And what had Gellie said about them? That they used to work for Reggie and that they offered to help out again this year with the trees. They were currently inspecting a patriotic tree, all red, white, and blue. They were deep in conversation with each other. I looked at Evie and considered her quick transformation into someone who might want to step back into society. I hated to interrupt, but not enough.
“Excuse me, Evie,” I said as I put one hand on her shoulder and pointed with the other one. “Do you know them?”
She squinted across the street, even lifted her glasses once, replaced them, and squinted some more. “I don’t think so.”
“They’re Joel and Patricia Archer. They used to work for Reggie, but I’m not sure when.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember them, Becca, but it has been a long time.”
I looked at Evie, then at Mom and Dad, who had both raised their eyebrows slightly. They knew I was searching for something.
“Okay, good to know. Sorry to interrupt.”
I left them to their conversation again, turning back to watch across the street. My thoughts were still jumbled, but they came to quick order a second later.
Patricia Archer peered furtively in every direction. The crowd was so busy enjoying the parade that she thought no one was paying any attention to her, but there we were, Hobbit and I, watching her every move.
Once convinced she could get away with it, she reached to the tree and plucked off a small three-by-five flag ornament. I didn’t know for sure, but I thought it was painted wood. She dropped it into her bag and then turned to Joel, who’d been blocking her from one side as well as pretending not notice what his wife was doing.
My mouth fell open. I was torn between yelling and telling my mom on her. A part of me wanted to run across the street and confront her; another part just wished I hadn’t seen the theft.
I didn’t excuse my quick departure. I just stepped away from my parents and Evie and into the street. The large crowd and my short stature made it difficult to both see and move quickly.
A bunch of “excuse me’s” later, Hobbit and I reached the other side of the street and the red, white, and blue tree. Joel and Patricia had moved on, but I didn’t know in which direction.
I pulled out my phone and was relieved that Sam answered on the first ring.
“I just saw someone steal an ornament,” I said.
“Who?”
I told him the details and he instructed me to meet him at the police station.
Hobbit and I hurried.
• • •
“There have been a lot of thefts,” Sam said. “There always are, apparently. Considering the ornaments you’ve been given, we’ve been asking more questions of those who’ve decorated trees. A bunch of ornaments go missing every year. It’s a hazard of having the parade out in the open and amid a crowd. Gus said there are so many fingerprints on the goldfish that we’d never be able to figure out who gave it to you.”
“What about the cameras? Anything?”
“I’m afraid not. None of them were pointed toward the goldfish tree.”
He handed me a cup of what I knew was the worst coffee ever brewed, and sat in the chair behind his desk. We were the only ones in the station.
“That’s not very helpful in trying to find whoever’s been leaving me the ornaments.” I took a sip; I was right, it was terrible. I tried to control the reactive face contortion that always came with police station coffee, but I was sure I wasn’t successful. Sam either didn’t notice or had seen the reaction so often that he ignored it.
“Not at all.” Sam sighed. “Vivienne’s tracking down Joel and Patricia. She’ll get the flag back and she’ll scare them enough that they’ll admit if they’ve been your Secret Santa. She’s good at that.”
“What do you suppose Patricia used to look like? I mean, she has the long, blonde hair, but when she was younger, maybe she looked like Mamma,” I said.
“Maybe, but I think her act of theft makes her more suspicious than her hair.”
“You think I’m being silly?”
“No, Becca, I don’t think you’re being anything but you. I may not understand the way everything in your mind works, and I assure you, sometimes you make me want to laugh like I’ve never laughed before, but only in good ways. And then sometimes you put it all together despite not one iota of proper police procedure. It’s probably one of the things that made me . . .” He stopped.
I froze as I waited, but he took too long, and I’ve always had such a problem with patience.
“I’m crazy about you, Sam Brion,” I said, bitter coffee aftertaste and all.
Sam smiled and the phone on his desk rang. He put his hand on the handset but didn’t lift it right away. “It’s about time you realized that. And, just in case you haven’t figured it out, I feel the same way about you. I’m head over heels for you, Becca Robins. I have been since the first moment I questioned you regarding the gruesome murder of Matt Simonsen. We’ll graduate to the L word soon, I’m sure of it.” He picked up the handset. “Sam Brion.”
I was sure I’d care about who killed Reggie Stuckey again soon, just not for a few minutes.
Twenty-three
Such romantic moments would be typically followed up by more romantic moments, but it wasn’t meant to be that night.
I lost count of the leads Sam mentioned that he had to chase down, and then I lost track of him. I wasn’t able to find my parents again. I wasn’t able to find anyone. Hobbit and I wandered a little, helped some of the highest bidders load their trees, and then we went home.
I woke early the next morning, excited about the idea of Sam and I cutting down our own tree but concerned he wouldn’t be able to take the time away.
I got ready quickly and pulled out my phone just as I was hurrying to the kitchen to start the coffee and let Hobbit out.
“Hey, Becs,” Sam said as he answered. “I wanted to call, but then it got late and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, just police stuff. Don’t know much more of anything yet. Still looking for Joel and Patricia, and Brenton. It can take time.”
“I know your work should come first, but do you think you’ll able to go up to Ridgeway Farm?”
“Yes, but I’m in Smithfield now. Should we just meet there?”
“Sure,” I said, more pleased that he’d be able to go than disappointed we wouldn’t be going together. “What’s in Smithfield?”
“Evelyn Rasmussen. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her last night. I’m going to in about twenty minutes. I don’t expect it to take long. If you leave there in about a half hour, we should both make it up to Ridgeway at about the same time.”
“I can do that. Oh, Sam!” I’d made it to the kitchen and had finally taken the time to look out a window. “It’s snowing.”
Sam laughed. “A little.”
“That’s perfect; a perfect day for going to chop down our own tree.”
“I agree. The roads aren’t bad, but drive carefully and I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Good luck with Evie.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s snowing, girl!” I said to Hobbit.
I threw on a jacket and we ventured outside to th
e chilly air and the lightly falling snow. A dusting of white covered everything, but it wouldn’t last long and it didn’t seem like it would get heavy.
The morning was perfect; Hobbit agreed. Our morning run made both my lungs and toes cold, but the chill was welcome.
Ridgeway Farm was in a hilly pocket of South Carolina. It would probably have been fine to take Hobbit along, but I’d forgotten to ask Denny, Billie, or Ned about their rules regarding pets, and I didn’t want her to have to sit in the truck and look out longingly to trees she’d never be able to explore if they didn’t welcome dogs on the property. Reluctantly, I left her home again, but since it was cooler she chose a spot by the couch inside. If and when it warmed up, she’d use the doggy door and go back outside.
I had another heart-to-heart with her regarding the importance of being aware and being careful. I thought she might be getting tired of the lecture.
She looked at me with one high eyebrow as if to tell me it was time for me to get over being concerned about leaving her alone. We’d had one scary incident but no others.
“Okay, girl, I’ll work on it,” I said before I left, making sure the door was securely locked behind me. I might stop lecturing, but I doubted I’d be able to stop double-checking the door.
As I drove, I sang Christmas carols aloud because I couldn’t find any on my AM-only radio.
Though the concern about Reggie’s killer had returned, it was close to impossible not to be content and downright happy about so many things. My life hadn’t ever been tragic or sad, but I’d made my share of mistakes and had my share of lonely holidays. Both my divorces had become final during the month of November. I’d had two particularly strange Christmases where I didn’t want to be around anyone but myself and, after the second split, Hobbit. And I’d been the one to prompt the separations. Divorce was usually awful, even if it was necessary.
But this year was different and wonderful.
“And, I’m not going to jinx it by dwelling on it. I’m just going to enjoy it as long as possible,” I said in between “Jingle Bells” verses.
5 Merry Market Murder Page 21