5 Merry Market Murder Read online

  I pulled my head back and thrust my hands forward toward its body. Somehow, I didn’t get my hands on any part of it, but it managed to take a nice bite out of my arm.

  “Ow!” I said as pulled my injured arm back and let the goose pass by.

  “Why’d you let it go?” the woman asked as I let her pass by, too.

  I didn’t answer.

  Finally, probably having had enough of the whole situation, Hobbit stuck her nose in the open space at the top of the passenger window of the truck and barked. One quick but loud exclamation.

  And the goose slid to a web-footed stop. It turned and looked at the other creature on the premises. Hobbit and the goose had a stare-down as the woman walked calmly up to the goose and pulled something from its bill. I wondered if it was some skin from my arm.

  The woman walked back to me and held up a gold-chained necklace. “Took it from the kitchen counter. It’ll be lucky if I don’t finally cook it for dinner. Can I help you? You here for a tree?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, why then?”

  “It’s a long story. Maybe I could get this cleaned up?” The bite was bleeding enough that I didn’t care if I was imposing.

  “Sure, come on up to the house. You’ll probably want to leave the dog in the truck. God bless him, though. I would’ve been chasing that wretched thing all day if he or she hadn’t intervened.”

  “She. Am I at the Stuckey Christmas Tree Farm?” I was fairly sure I’d found the right spot, but the wayward goose made me wonder.

  “Yes, you are. I’m afraid Mr. Stuckey has met with a tragic end recently, but I think there’s someone here who can sell you a tree.”

  “Well, I don’t really want a tree . . . it’s still a long story. Are you family member?”

  “Heavens, no; I’m a housekeeper, recently hired at that. Reggie was the only family member, really, but he has a couple workers to help him with the trees.”

  My list of questions was only growing.

  “Any chance you’d have a minute to talk after I get this taken care of?” I said.

  She squinted at me a long moment before she finally said, “I might, but you’ll have to tell me more about who you are.”

  “Gladly.”

  “Deal. This way then.”

  Eight

  Gellie (pronounced just like the stuff I made in my kitchen) took me inside the house through the front door. The tan-and-brown-toned entryway wasn’t big but it didn’t feel cramped, either. Even with a bleeding arm, it was difficult not to admire the staircase against the left wall. Its shiny wood steps and carved banister were steep and led directly to a small, railed walkway above. From my vantage point below, it seemed that one could choose to go either right or left and find places that begged to be discovered.

  “Was this house redone, remodeled?” I asked as Gellie led me down a hallway next to the stairs. We passed a couple of large rooms on our right but I didn’t take the time to look into them. Ahead was something that garnered most of my attention—a huge aluminum table that I suspected to be the center island for a kitchen. But if the size of the end of the table I saw was any indication, the kitchen was enormous, probably bigger than the one in my converted barn.

  “Yes, from top to bottom. Apparently, Mr. Stuckey, God rest that poor man’s soul, only recently finished renovating. Barely any furniture is even in place.”

  “It’s stunning.”

  “Yes. This way, this way.”

  Gellie stopped at a doorway that was located around a curve in the hallway, a curve that hid the tempting kitchen. I hesitated to follow her into the small bathroom that might have once been called a powder room, but she yanked me inside.

  I wouldn’t need stitches, but Gellie insisted on a good, soapy scrub, followed by some antibacterial cream and a Band-Aid or two to hold everything together tightly. She was rough but quick and efficient, and I felt like she’d killed any bacteria within a three-mile radius of the small bathroom.

  “Come along, come into the kitchen. I hear that damn . . . excuse me, that goose, outside in the back. I’ll have to let him in in a little bit.”

  “The goose comes into the house?” I asked as I enthusiastically followed her into a space that must have had its blueprint written from kitchen heaven.

  “Yes, Batman—that’s the goose’s name—was Reggie’s pet. I can’t leave anything small and shiny anywhere. He loves to steal those sorts of things and take them to who knows where. I’m sure he has a stash worth a fortune somewhere.”

  “Wow!”

  “I know, it’s a weird thing, having a goose.”

  “Actually I was wow-ing about the kitchen.”

  I’d been correct—the space was huge, probably double the size of my barn, though they were the same square shape. A large, white porcelain two-tub sink took up the middle of the far wall and above it were three wide windows, which looked out onto a crop of green pine trees. The scene was a perfect model for snow globes. If only we could shake it just a little and fulfill the picture’s potential.

  I thought I’d heard about a new concrete countertop trend, and was impressed to see the thick, sturdy, gray substance all around. The cabinetry was white and simple with one raised inner border, and all the knobs were shiny chrome, which matched the center island.

  There were two large appliances against the wall to our left. One was probably a refrigerator and the other a freezer. They were both light blue and enormous. I’d never seen the color on appliances before, and the doors were rounded at the edges, making them look like a pumped-up version of something from the 1960s.

  “Are those custom made?” I said as I pointed to the light-blue doors.

  “I believe so, but I can’t remember what Mr. Stuckey told me.”

  “This must have been one successful tree farm,” I muttered, though I hadn’t truly meant to say the words aloud.

  Gellie laughed. “No, not successful, not really. Mr. Stuckey just had money.”

  “I see.”

  “Have a seat. You like tea? Or I can make coffee. You like muffins?”

  “Tea sounds great and I love muffins.”

  “Oh, good. I just made some cranberry–white chocolate muffins this morning. Habit, and Joel and Patricia are still out there with the trees—they’re the ones who were helping Reggie. I’m still in shock about . . . everything, but I didn’t know what else to do but come to work today. I suppose someone will come out of the woodwork and claim all this, but until then it feels wrong to leave the house, and of course Batman, unattended.”

  I scooted up to a stool next to the island.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “That’s the thing; it’s not such a bad loss. I mean . . . I didn’t know him well. I’m sorry about what happened and heartbroken just because it was a terrible way to go and it was undeserved, but I didn’t have strong feelings for the man except that I thought he’d be a good boss. Am I callous? I don’t mean to be.”

  “Not at all.”

  Gellie placed a matching china plate, cup, and saucer in front of me. The china’s pattern was distinctly grandmotherly, delicate and beautiful. I suddenly decided that all tea should be drunk from such a cup and all muffins should be eaten from such a plate. The china’s blue-and-yellow small floral pattern made everything taste better, I was sure.

  Tea was poured and two enormous muffins were deposited on my plate. I knew I’d eat both of them, and I hoped I could keep my longing glances toward the serving plate in check when I was finished. Two will be enough. Maybe.

  “So. You don’t want a tree. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  I swallowed the heavenly first bite. “I’m Becca Robins and I work at the farmers’ market where Reggie was killed.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s . . . so why are you here?”

&nb
sp; “I didn’t know him. At all. I was curious about him. I’d never heard of him or his farm, and I just needed to see it for myself.”

  Gellie cocked her head and squinted. “Or you’re the killer coming to hide or plant evidence or some such nonsense.”

  I took another bite. “I suppose that’s a possibility, but you don’t seem scared. You’d be more scared if you thought that was true.”

  Gellie looked at me even harder. “Nah, I don’t need to be scared. I’ve got Batman.”

  I didn’t want to because it would only break the banter, but I couldn’t help it; I laughed. So did Gellie.

  “You’re just a curious person, I imagine,” she said a moment later.

  “That is true.”

  “All right then, ask me whatever you want to ask me. I don’t know much, but I know a little about Mr. Stuckey.”

  “You said he had money. How?” I asked.

  “Family money, but not from farming. This was just his hobby. He came from somewhere in Georgia originally. His family was in textiles, or some such thing, and I heard talk of politics.”

  “Politics? How?”

  “Don’t know the particulars, but it wasn’t big politics—not governor, senator, or anything like that. Something smaller, but I’m not sure. He talked about it once and mentioned a different last name. I can’t remember what the heck it was but it didn’t sound familiar. I was only half listening. I’m not much into all that silliness, anyway. If I remember it, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. So, what about Reggie, though? No wife? Girlfriend? Ex-wife?”

  “Not that I know of. I’ve got one of those exes myself. I talked to Reggie about him one day, but he didn’t join in or offer anything about his own status. Just looked sad and stayed silent. I didn’t know if he was sad because he’d never had one, or he’d had a bad one, or he still had someone somewhere that was making him miserable. I didn’t ask.”

  “I’ve got two ex-husbands,” I said. “It does seem like he would tell you if he had one or two or more. Sharing ex stories can be both therapeutic and bonding.”

  “Two? You’ve been busy for such a young lady.”

  I laughed again. “Not so young, but yes, I’ve made some unfortunate choices. I think I’m finally on track, though.”

  “Getting married for a third time?”

  “Maybe.” I paused and my eyes opened wide. A shot of adrenaline rattled my entire system. Was I really thinking about the idea of marriage? For a third time? Who does that? I took an extra-big bite of the second muffin to hide my panic and to keep my mouth from either groaning or saying words I’d later regret.

  Gellie laughed again. “You’re a funny little lady,” she said. “I could see everything that just ran through your mind. You probably shouldn’t play poker for much more of anything than popcorn. You’ve got no poker face.”

  She poured more tea into the pretty teacup, and I smiled around the bite of muffin.

  “Do you know much about the people who work for Reggie? Who did you say—Patricia and Joel?” I asked after I swallowed authoritatively and then cleared my throat.

  “A married couple. I’m not even sure if Reggie paid them legally. Maybe just with cash. I think I heard that they helped him out years ago and he was glad to have them back this year. I can’t remember how long ago the original time was, but I’d be happy to introduce you to them.”

  “Did the police ask you about them?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t tell them more than I told you. I think they all met.”

  “What about competition?”

  “Reggie’s? He didn’t have any.”

  “Sure he did. The Ridgeway Farm, for example.”

  “No, what I’m saying is that Reggie didn’t care enough to compete. He wasn’t in this for the money, Becca. It was his fun. He sold some trees, but he did this for fun.” She stood and turned toward the tray of muffins. “I’ll tell you something you’re going to find pretty interesting, though.” She paused speaking to reload the serving plate. She was very formal about the steps it took for a muffin to get from point A to my plate. I’d probably limit myself to just one more.

  “Okay.”

  “That name—Ridgeway—he said that name a couple times, said it as though he was just talking to himself.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Gellie shrugged. “You’re saying there’s a Ridgeway Christmas tree farm. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Really? It’s famous.”

  “Not to this old lady. Nevertheless, I heard Reggie mutter the name a couple times. We weren’t having a conversation; it was just him muttering. I don’t think he knew I heard him, but I don’t know for sure. If I happened to hear him and I haven’t been here but for a couple weeks, imagine how often he must have said it.”

  I tried to imagine Reggie Stuckey walking around and muttering “Ridgeway.” I couldn’t picture anything but a befuddled and flighty man, which didn’t fit with the person I’d met briefly in the Bailey’s parking lot.

  “Do you know the context? Was he angry, confused, laughing?”

  Gellie thought a moment. “Matter-of-fact. He was simply matter-of-fact. It was like I heard blah, blah, blah, and Ridgeway.”

  “He must have felt comfortable around you.”

  “Everyone’s comfortable around me, especially when I bake them muffins and serve them tea. I tend to blend into the woodwork, too.” She lifted the serving plate toward me.

  “Yes, thanks, I’d love another one. You ever do any office stuff for him, maybe fax papers or anything?”

  Gellie laughed. “No, dear, I wouldn’t know which way was up on a fax machine. Give me a coffeemaker or a blender and I can rule the world, but I’m not interested in becoming acquainted with a fax, a computer, an e-mail whachamhooie, or any of it.”

  I didn’t learn much more from Gellie, except that she was from Smithfield and had a grown daughter who’d given her two of the most beautiful grandchildren in the world. She’d been a housekeeper and a cook all her life and she loved what she did even if geese were sometimes involved. Joel and Patricia Archer were nowhere to be found by the time we’d finished off the muffins and tea.

  Hobbit and I were a little late, but we hurried to Bailey’s. As I drove out of the small valley with the spectacular house that had an even more spectacular kitchen, a cook named Gellie, and a goose named Batman, I wondered if I’d imagined it all. I glanced in my rearview mirror and thought if I blinked and looked again, it might all be gone.

  “Let’s not find out,” I said to Hobbit.

  She agreed.

  Nine

  On the way to the market, I called Sam to tell him the details from my meeting with Gellie. I left out the goose bite. I’d had my sleeves pushed up when Batman bit me. I now had them rolled down, so I hoped the injury would go unnoticed, and I wasn’t going to replay it over the phone.

  Sam was genuinely pleased to have the new information, and said he’d tell me later if he found out more. In turn, I was genuinely pleased that he’d share with me.

  This was working just fine.

  The market was, not surprisingly, busy, and my late arrival put me in an immediate rush and made me unable to properly set up my stall. I started off behind and remained so until around noon, when things slowed a little and I could finally properly display what was left of my inventory, though it seemed a lame effort. Hobbit was patient in the back of the stall but I knew she’d rather be on her pillow on the porch. I wouldn’t be able to leave for a couple more hours so I hurried to Brenton’s stall, bought a couple of his homemade biscuits, and supplied Hobbit with treats and a big bowl of water. Brenton had been just as busy as the rest of us, so I didn’t have an opportunity to ask him any questions. He seemed closer to the normal Brenton but still subdued.

  When I’d left my stall for Bre
nton’s, I’d asked Linda to keep an eye on Hobbit, which was an easy duty. Hobbit was comfortable and unbothered by my brief absence. But for the millionth time since she’d been the main part of my family, I wished she could talk in words and not just with facial expressions, because she was probably the only one to see whoever left the surprise on the back corner of my side table.

  “Linda, did you by chance see who left this for me?” I held the item up as I leaned around the pole.

  “No. What it is?”

  “I think it’s a Christmas tree ornament.”

  Specifically, it was an onion—a big, white, and almost perfectly round onion. But it was decorated with more care than had been taken on the eggshell. Instead of red and green markers, the artist had used ribbon. A green band of ribbon circled the top of the onion and a red one circled the bottom. Wire had been inserted through the bottom and came up through the top to form a hook. The onion was dense and heavy but the thick wire over a good, solid tree limb would hold it in place. That was, if I was so inclined to put an onion on my tree.

  “Well, it’s . . . kind of interesting,” Linda said.

  “Interesting is a good word.”

  “What’s the circle in the middle?”

  Glued to the middle spot in between the two colorful bands was a round piece of thick paper that held a familiar design, though I couldn’t place it at first.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I think . . .” I held the onion closer. “I think maybe it’s the South Carolina state seal or stamp, whatever they’re called.” I turned it and held the onion so Linda could inspect it more closely.

  “I think you’re right,” she said.

  The business lull was still in place, so Linda pulled out her fancy phone and did an Internet search.

  She glanced at the phone’s screen and then held it up next to the onion.

  “Yep, that’s it. It has Latin words. Hang on, I’m curious enough to know what it says.” She moved her finger over the screen with a couple of expert swipes. “Huh, well there’s more here than I expected to find; a full explanation. I’ve never paid a bit of attention, but it’s kind of interesting. Here, read.” She handed me the phone. The screen read: