5 Merry Market Murder (19 page)

“Hi,” I said to Sam. He was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved red T-shirt with a Santa iron-on over his chest. I bit the insides of my cheeks to contain a laugh. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so casual, or in something so “cute” even when he was trying to be casual. “You’re not working?”

“Oh, I’m working. This”—he pointed to the Santa—“was Vivienne’s idea. She asked if some of us would look a little less cop-like for the event.”

“And you agreed?”

“I drew the short stir stick.”

“You look adorable.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re Officer Brion,” Wanda said. This time, she extended her hand to him.

“I am. Nice to see you, Wanda.”

“You, too. You know,” she said with a high lilt, “those Ridgeway people aren’t to be trusted.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They donated the trees,” Sam said after shooting me a quick glance.

“Yes, that’s very kind, but that woman, the one that was just here talking to me and Becca, she’s up to no good.”

“How? Why?”

“I can’t remember. I just can’t remember.”

“Something happened before?” Sam asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Many years ago.”

“Sometime in the eighties?” I couldn’t resist.

“Yes, actually, I think that’s correct.”

“Can you remember what it was?” I said, now suddenly truly interested.

Wanda shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think I can. Maybe it will come to me later.”

Sam took a business card out of his back pocket. “If you remember, would you give me a call?”

“Of course.” Wanda took the card and then turned her attention back to the tree. “I’m okay now, Becca. Thanks for your help, but you should go play with your boyfriend.”

“Uh, okay, well, the tree looks spectacular,” I said.

“I know.”

“Any chance that’s an act?” I said when we were out of her earshot.

“Partially. I think she plays everyone; she likes to. That itself, though, is a form of mental instability, but we make sure she’s okay. I’ve talked to doctors, and she’s perfectly capable of caring for herself. Don’t worry; if she needs help, we’ll make sure she gets it.”

I stopped walking and looked up at Sam. “I had no idea you were that in tune with all of this.”

He laughed. “This is my home. I’m a police officer, and even though I more closely resemble a child going to sing in a holiday show this evening, I do take my job seriously.”

“I know, but . . . well, good job, that’s all.”

“Thank you.”

I’d lost track of my parents and still hadn’t seen Allison or anyone else from the market, but I wanted to tell Sam about my newest ornament, so I directed him to one of the snack stations. We placed our order, dropped some money into the jar, and then sat on the curb away from the crowd, where he could keep watch for problems and I could tell him about the ornament without anyone hearing.

“You’re sure it wasn’t Ian?” Sam asked.

“I’m sure. I think he heard the concern in my voice. He knew that if it was some sort of joke or something for fun, it was time for the fun to end.”

“Any chance I could dust it for fingerprints?”

“Oh, geez, Sam, that never occurred to me. I’m sure I ruined any chance for that. See, you haven’t taught me all the professional ins and outs yet.”

“Right. Well, it most likely wouldn’t do much good anyway. It was outside. Any prints we found might not lead us anywhere or mean much of anything anyway.” He took a sip of hot chocolate, leaving a dot of whipped cream on his nose. I wiped it with my thumb.

“Do you still think it might be a Secret Santa?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. I think it’s exactly what you think it is, some sort of trail of clues, though I’m hesitant to say they lead to a killer. It’s probably something much more harmless. I hope it is, and I hope they tie together at some point, but right now it feels like a bunch of unconnected pieces of information.”

“What about the Realtor? How’d that go?”

“Reggie’s farm has been available to purchase for a long time, which is why Ian looked at it, I guess. But it wasn’t ‘officially’ put up for sale until Reggie died. The Realtor received instructions to put it on the market the day after Reggie’s demise. This and some other information that Vivienne dug up led me right back to Evelyn Rasmussen. Evelyn was Reggie’s beneficiary as well as the executor of his will.”

“Beneficiary? She’s getting money?”

“Yep. Twenty thousand dollars.”

“Well, that’s a good sum of money, but hardly enough to kill for, I would think, and hardly enough to say Reggie was well off.”

“Reggie was worth three million dollars.”

I choked on my hot chocolate. “What?”

“Yes, we’ve heard it was old family money. According to Reggie’s attorney, Reggie wanted to leave everything to Evelyn but she insisted on only the twenty thousand. The rest of the money will go to animal charities.”

“I’m stunned.”

“There’s more. You know your affair angle?”

“Yes.”

“I do believe Reggie is the one who had the affair,” Sam said.

“Oh! With who?”

“That I don’t know, but I sensed that Reggie wanted to leave all that money to his ex-wife because he felt guilty.”

“And the attorney confirmed this?”

“No, not confirmed, just hinted.”

“Oh, I wish I’d been there to see you work.”

“Hey, I invited you.”

“I know.”

“Hey, do you suppose we could just enjoy the rest of the evening? I mean, I’ll have to be on the alert, but it’s the Christmas parade, it’s our first year together. I’d like to look at trees, maybe bid on a couple—though I still want our own tree.”

“You mean we should just try to be a couple, no murder investigation involved?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

The trees were amazing. My favorite had been threaded with a toy train track, a small train engine somehow quietly chugging its way around the winding track. We placed a bid on it, but there wasn’t much chance we’d win; everyone was bidding on the train tree. I overdosed on cookies and Sam overdosed on hot chocolate.

My mother managed a brief hello but she had enough to do to keep her on the move. Allison, her husband, Tom, and her son, Mathis, walked with us for as long as Mathis allowed, but the parents had to cater to Mathis’s desire to move more quickly than our relaxing pace.

The evening was perfect, and we managed to keep far away from the subject of murder and investigation. Until it was time to go home.

Though he would be over later that night, Sam walked me to my truck. I was glad he did, because I would have had to find him again quickly once I saw what was inside, sitting in the same spot I’d found the egg.

On the passenger seat was a new ornament to add to my collection.

It was the metallic goldfish. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the same one that had been on Wanda’s tree, but the mystery of who put it there was just that: a mystery.

At least this time I thought about potential fingerprints.

Saturday morning started way too early and with way too much excitement. But that was mostly because the evening before had ended far too late.

Sam and I hurried the ornament to Gus, our local crime scene guy who was set up to handle technologically easy crime scene things like fingerprints, and then I went home to Hobbit. Sam spent most of the rest of the night working. Though Monson was still small and the outside world didn’t intrude too much, a couple of the downtown businesses had done exactly what I’d been thinking of doing—they’d installed security cameras. Between attempting to obtain any of the footage they might have captured that included the goldfish tree, questioning parade participants and attendees, and, as he put it, “some general investigation,” Sam again went to his own home to grab a couple hours’ sleep instead of joining Hobbit and me at my farm. I was tired enough to sleep better than the night before, but I was still dragging when the phone sounded.

Since the parade was already set up and ready to welcome the world again that evening, I planned to work at Bailey’s during the day. It was typical, though, that this Saturday’s market business would be similar to yesterday’s pace—slow. I’d decided to bake a few dozen more cookies for the parade before going to Bailey’s, so I planned on getting up early, but I was awakened even earlier I’d expected.

“Sis?” I said as I answered my cell. “You okay?”

“Fine; I thought I’d let you know what I found, though. I think it’s important. I already called Sam.”

“Okay.”

“The main office faxed me a copy of Brenton’s original market application, and I think it explains some of why he reacted the way he did toward the Ridgeways.”

“I’m ready.”

“It’s literally what his ex-wife was trying to tell you. Brenton changed his identity. Well, his last name, though he didn’t do it secretly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Brenton used to be Brenton Ridgeway.”

“That’s crazy. How do you know?”

“He wrote a note on his original application. In case we did background checks, he wanted to give us full disclosure.”

Even if Brenton was a Ridgeway, and I thought it might take a few hours and a couple pots of coffee for me to accept such news, I still couldn’t fathom what that might mean when it came to Reggie’s murder. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. I now hoped that one had absolutely nothing to do with the other, and that my intuition about the importance of the connection had been plain wrong.

“How are they related? I mean, how is he a Ridgeway?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I suspect he’s a sibling.”

“What did Sam say?”

“That he was going to talk to Brenton and see what the reason is for all the secrecy.”

“Does he think Brenton’s lie somehow makes him the killer?”

“Don’t know. You’ll have to call him. I bet he’ll tell you more than he told me.”

“Thank you.”

I’d somehow made it into my kitchen. I looked around. I was surprised—shocked, even—at the news. Brenton being a Ridgeway and not Brenton Jones wasn’t something I could hear and automatically accept.

For a long moment I thought about calling Sam. The cookie ingredients were ready to be used, but I was certain that if I attempted to follow through with my plan to bake, I’d only end up with a disaster. More than I wanted to call Sam, I wanted to talk to Brenton in person. I had to.

There was a chance, though, that Sam wouldn’t want me visiting Brenton. There was a chance Sam was already on his way and we’d run into each other, which would be awkward, at the very least.

When Sam and I had gone from a friendship to a romantic relationship, I’d tried to make a silent deal with myself that I wouldn’t take advantage of his law enforcement position to satisfy my own curiosity. Before we’d crossed over into romantic territory, I hadn’t minded asking him questions that I had no real right to ask. I’d even scaled the ledge of the building that housed the police department just to see if I could find out who he or his fellow officers were questioning.

But now I thought I should work to conduct myself with more decorum, be less nosy, more mind-my-own-business.

But I really, really wanted to talk to Brenton. In person.

Another plan took shape. I wasn’t going to risk the chance of running into Sam at Brenton’s house, but I knew where the secret turnoff to Stephanie Frugit’s orchard was located and I’d already made her acquaintance.

• • • 

“She’s not here,” the man said. He took off his cowboy hat and swiped back his short, black hair as he looked out at the expanse of the apple orchard. “Well, she’s out there somewhere.”

“Out in the orchard?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elias was probably about my age. He worked at the orchard but I wasn’t sure if he held a management position or was just one of the farmhands. He didn’t converse easily. He was short and wide, but in a muscular way that gave the impression that he could pull an apple tree out of the ground with one big tug. His tanned face made me think he sometimes forgot the cowboy hat.

“Point me in the right direction. I’ll head out and talk to her.”

“No, that’s not wise. It’s a big orchard.”

“I don’t think I’ll get lost.” I peered around him and out to the lines of trees. They were without leaves, but there were so many that just their bare limbs created dense rows. “I can find my way back.”

“No, Ms. Frugit would be angry if I let you go.”

I put my hands on my hips and looked at Elias. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for her.”

“It might be a while. She’s inspecting the trees. It’s what she does.”

“I understand. I can wait.”

“Suit yourself.” Elias turned to leave me alone to stand by the entrance of the orchard. He must not have been worried that I would, indeed, make my way into the trees and search for Stephanie. He was probably right. I didn’t think I’d get lost but I was sure I could spend a lot of time searching and still not find her. We could easily cross rows and miss each other completely, maybe more than once.

But Elias turned back to face me again. “How about I give you a lift?”

“You want to drive me into the orchard?”

“Yes, but not in my truck. I have a four-wheeler. It’ll be quicker that way.”

I appreciated the accommodating attitude switch.

“Great! Thanks!”

If I hadn’t had a mission in mind, I might have enjoyed the ride on the back of the four-wheeler as Elias steered us though rows of apple trees. I’d walked through a number of orchards in my day. I’d picked fruit, both from low-hanging branches and from top rungs of ladders, but there was something magically different about Frugit Orchard. I’d never quite experienced anything like the alternating shades of light and shadow, the cool breeze that had somehow found its way into the trees. There was something special about the light and the shadow, as if it was touched by something unreal, something from a fairy-tale forest where castles were located. There were no apples on the trees, but I was certain I could smell their sweetness anyway.

Elias drove us up a ridge and then down a hill, and then turned the four-wheeler to the left. He stopped, flipped on a brake, and rose to stand on the footrests as he looked around.

“See her?” I asked, raising my voice over the noise of the engine.

“Maybe.” Elias sat down again and I wrapped my arms around his waist as he turned the accelerator handle.

After another few minutes up the path, we turned right and suddenly came upon Stephanie Frugit.

Stephanie lived up to her reputation even when she was alone and inspecting her orchard. She sat on a beautiful sable horse, and wore chaps, a Western blouse, and a feminine cowboy hat. Out from under the hat, her long hair shone in the sunshine and framed her shoulders perfectly as the breeze blew it just enough to make the highlights glimmer.

After Elias turned the key on the vehicle, she said, “That was a noisy arrival.”

“Sorry, Ms. Frugit, but she wasn’t going to leave.”

“I understand, Elias. I knew she’d be back again soon anyway,” Stephanie said.

“How did you know?” I said.

“Because I sensed you would figure out some of what I couldn’t tell you. You’d want to talk to me, and I wanted to talk to you again, too. So, tell me, did you figure it out?”

I looked at Elias.

“It’s okay; Elias has worked for me for years. He knows many of my secrets.”

“Brenton used to be a Ridgeway.”

Stephanie smiled and then dismounted the horse. “That’s right. Very good. How did you figure it out? Old public records? Maybe our divorce papers? Did my uncle tell you?”

“No, I didn’t even think about looking at your divorce papers, and your uncle might be one of the best liars I’ve ever known; I got nothing from Barry. Were you a Ridgeway, too?”

“Only by marriage, and only briefly.”

“I found out from his original Bailey’s application. He noted the recent name change.”

Stephanie laughed. “Of course. The answer was right there all the time. Isn’t that usually the way it is?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t my experience that answers were usually that close at hand, but maybe life’s questions had been easier for her than me.

“Here, Elias, take Applewood. Becca and I will walk a little. We’ll come back here, so we won’t go far, and we won’t be gone long.”

Stephanie led the way to the next row and we began walking slowly under the arch of branches.

“When Brenton and I were married, he was a Ridgeway. Our divorce records mention his last name. That’s why I wondered about the public records,” she repeated.

I still didn’t know for sure if Brenton was a sibling to the three other Ridgeways I’d met, but I thought I’d act as if that’s what I’d discovered, and start with a more general question. “What happened, Stephanie—why did he change his name and leave his family?”

“They did something that he thought was the reason for their father’s death, something that caused great stress to the family. He blamed them, Denny, Ned, and Billie equally.”

Definitely siblings. “You aren’t going to tell me what it was, are you?”

“I can’t, but not because of any loyalty to Brenton. My only promise to him was that I wouldn’t be forthcoming to anyone about his identity. It was legal, you know, the way he changed his name. He wasn’t hiding from anyone. Brenton never would hide. It wasn’t his style. But he hoped that time and distance between him and the Ridgeway name would grow until no one knew or remembered.”

“It must have been ugly.”

“Yes, very. You told me Brenton behaved strangely around the Ridgeways. I’m not surprised. He will never be able to forgive them. Never. They’ve all been able to keep their distance from each other. I imagine Brenton seeing the Ridgeways at Bailey’s was akin to people he despised moving into his house. He would have felt angry, hurt, and betrayed.”

“That’s how he acted.”

“Well, the Ridgeways knew where he worked; they shouldn’t have ever come to the market. I talked to my uncle and he told me that your sister would never have allowed the Ridgeways to sell their trees there if she’d known what had happened.”

I stopped walking.

“Tell me what happened and I’ll tell you how Allison would have reacted,” I said.

Stephanie just looked at me with raised eyebrows and then looked away.

“I can’t find anything juicy on the Internet, which means it was a story that was kept very quiet. I didn’t see anything about the Ridgeway patriarch, I don’t know who he was or how he died. I keep I thinking that someone had an affair,” I said. “Is there anything to that idea?”

“Yes, someone had an affair,” she said easily, as if she was glad I’d asked.

It was a start. “Who?” I said.

“See, that’s the part I can’t tell you. It would be wrong and gossipy.”

“And the affair somehow killed their father?”

“Sort of.”

I sighed. “That’s pretty frustrating to hear.”

“I know, but . . . well, I can tell you this much. I shouldn’t tell you, but I will. The affair was in the news. Nothing’s a secret anymore, Becca. Search the Internet a little deeper, you’ll find it. You have to understand that times were different. Yes, reporters wanted a scoop, a great story, but they were also a little kinder back then. The affair was reported, but when certain parties asked them to stop reporting, they listened to those certain parties’ requests.”

“It seems like the press loved Evelyn Rasmussen Stuckey. Everyone
still
loves the Ridgeways.”

“You’ll find it.”

“Will this lead to a killer?”

“I don’t know, but you know that Brenton didn’t kill anyone, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. I hope he didn’t, but I have no way of knowing much of anything, especially since people like you are being so secretive.”

“Well, Brenton didn’t kill anyone. Trust me.”

I sighed again. “I suppose that if I sent the police out here to talk to you, you still wouldn’t answer these questions.”

Stephanie thought for a long time before she answered. “That’s the thing, Becca: the police won’t come out here to ask those questions, because there’s no reason to. The fact that I was once married to Brenton is something from a long time ago. How could our marriage possibly be relevant to a murder that just occurred? The police wouldn’t waste their time. You’re just a civilian. No one’s heard a word about what you and I have discussed today. It’s your word against mine. It doesn’t matter anyway.”