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
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
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