4 The Killing Bee (2 page)

Sam Meckel's body was lying there. His arms were splayed awkwardly, his eyes stared at nothing, and he had blood on his forehead.

"Mr. Meckel?" I s
aid, somewhat idiotically. Obviously he wasn't about to answer.

I bent down to feel his pulse. Now I'm no doctor,
but so far as I could tell, there wasn't any. Behind me Elena screamed.

"What happened?" Barry asked. I guess he was talking to Laura, but she didn't answer.

"Call 911," I said. Barry grabbed Meckel's phone and did just that. I could hear him talking frantically to the emergency operator as Susie gasped, "Is Meckel alright?"

"Actually, he's dead," I said. Then I straightened back up and eyed Laura. She was swaying, like she was about to fall. I put out my hand to steady her and found myself holding the arm that was holding the trophy.

I recognized that trophy. It featured a large, shiny honeybee, standing tall with its wings spread open wide and a big joyful smile on its honeybee face. Laura's son Adam won this trophy for acing the second-grade spelling bee. He beat out Latree when, for some inexplicable reason, Latree spelled "impossible" with three s's.

The last time I was at Laura and Adam's house, this happy honeybee was proudly displayed on their mantelpiece. So what was it doing here, in Meckel's office?

And what was that unsightly red smear on the tip of the bee's left wing?

Oh, shit.
It was blood.

Sam Meckel's blood.

Our friend Laura had just committed murder with her son's spelling bee trophy.

2

Finally Laura spoke up. "I
... I didn't kill him," she stammered. "I came in here and he... he was…"

Laura Braithwaite was a tough broad with a deep throaty laugh and a ribald streak a mile wide. She and my wife and their friend Judy Demarest, the editor of our local newspaper, had a standing date every Thursday night to go bowling and trade dirty jokes. Laura's favorite joke, according to my wife, was:

How many Freudians does it take to change a light bulb?

Two. One to screw in the bulb and the other to hold the penis
—I mean, the ladder.

But with Meckel lying there dead, all of Laura's humor and toughnes
s deserted her. She began hyperventilating. I put my arm around her. "Laura, sit down."

Then I turned around to everyone else in the room. Ordinarily I'm not the leader type; on the contrary, I'm more a sensitive
artiste
kind of guy. Been that way all my life. But two years ago I'd amazed everyone—including myself—by solving a murder that the police screwed up on. That gave me a reputation, and since then I had been called in on a couple of other murders. So, like Laura, I acted out of character now: I took charge. "You all better leave," I told Susie, Elena, and Barry. "You don't wanna mess with the evidence."

The three of t
hem didn't need any more encouragement to get the heck out of there. They murmured a few lame words to Laura—"Hang in there," "It’ll be okay," and other useless stuff—and headed off.

"But stick around the school so the cops can talk to you," I called after them.

"We'll go check on the kids," Susie called back. They left, and I turned back to Laura. Her face was pasty, like she was about to pass out. Maybe I should find cold water to throw on her or something.

Or maybe the most merciful plan would be to just let her pass out. This was the last moment of peace she was likely to get for a long time
—

And now that m
oment was gone. Police cars suddenly came racing our way, sirens blasting. Laura jumped to attention, sitting bolt upright. We both looked out the window as two cops burst out of their car and dashed into the building.

Oh phooey, I knew these guys. The cop in the lead was a lantern-jawed know-it-all in his early forties named Lieutenant Foxwell. The other one . . . well, I never actually learned his name, we weren't formally introduced. But I remembered his acne-scarred face sneering at me late one night after he spit at my own face. It happened a year and a half ago, in the deep dark recesses of the Saratoga Springs Police Station.

"Listen, Laura, don't tell the cops
anything,"
I said urgently. "Like they say on TV, it can be used against you. And you'll need a lawyer. I recommend Malcolm Dove. He's the best."

"I didn't do it," Laura said. "I
swear."

I wanted to believe her, but I'd been fooled before. So all I said was, "You want me to call Malcolm for you?"

Laura blinked, fighting back tears. Then she said, "Jacob? Could you . . . take care of Adam?"

"Of course," I said
immediately. God, what an unlucky kid. Adam's dad had exited the planet two years earlier, courtesy of a heroin overdose. He was a momentum trader, and I guess the momentum went the wrong way. Needless to say, Adam was crushed. And now this . . .

I would have tried to say something reassuring to Laura, but just then Lieutenant Foxwell and Acne Scars came crashing into the room.

As soon as I made it onto their radar, they stopped in their tracks. Acne Scars curled his bottom lip like he was dying to spit at me again. Foxwell glowered in angry surprise. "You!" he exclaimed.

"Me," I agreed solemnly. "And him." I pointed at the body behind the desk.

Foxwell and Acne Scars went over and took a look. Sure enough, Sam Meckel was still dead. If there was a heaven, he was probably at the Pearly Gates already, trying to cover his butt with St. Peter.

Acne Scars straightened up and turned to Laura. His nostrils flared slightly, like a dog hot on the scent. "Who are you?"

"Laura . . . Braithwaite," she said, quavering.

"She found the body," I explained.

Foxwell raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really."

Outside more
sirens blared, and various ambulances and cop cars pulled up. "Laura, remember what I said," I began—

But Foxwell shut me down. "Why don't you go in one of the classrooms, Mr. Burns. We'll talk to you later."

I stood up. "Don't say a word, Laura. Except 'I want a lawyer.'"

"Why, what does she have to be afraid of?" Acne
Scars asked, his beady eyes sparkling with a mean gleam.

I couldn't think of anything clever to say. So I took one last look at Laura's terrified face, gave her a little smile that was meant to be supportive but probably looked ghastly, and left. Acne Scars shut the door behind me.

I started up the hall. Three EMTs and four cops raced past me on their way to the principal's office. Nice to see such a quick response. Too bad Sam Meckel wasn't alive to appreciate it.

I headed for the library to check up on Adam and my sons. Sure enough, they were still there, along with the other kids and their parents. Everybody was shell-shocked, moving in slow motion. Adam eyed me fearfully. It looked like somebody had told the kids what happened. I wasn't so sure that had been a good idea, but I guess they'd have found out soon enough anyway, what with all the screaming sirens. Latree broke out of his daze and ran up to me. "Daddy, is Mr. Meckel really dead?"

"Looks like it," I said, and took him into my arms.

Charizard's face filled with horrified awe. "Did somebody kill him?" It was good to see that, despite their recent, too-frequent exposure to murder, my kids hadn't turned
blasé about it.

"The police are taking care of everything," I said. I had zilch desire to go into detail about Adam's spelling bee trophy
—especially with him standing right there.

But Adam was already one step ahead of me. "Did my mom kill him?" he asked fearfully.

I opened and closed my mouth like a gasping fish, not sure what to say. From the other side of the library, the other grown-ups and kids were watching. Then I heard a noise behind me and turned. I found myself face-to-face with a cop I knew named Bowles, a young guy with a military crewcut and shrewd eyes. He stood in the doorway drinking in every word like it was some kind of fancy imported beer.

"Of course your mom didn't kill him," I said, for the cop's benefit as much as for Adam's.

"But she said she was gonna go in Mr. Meckel's office and read him the riot act. She was super mad at him," Adam said.

Good grief, kid, shut up
. He was so upset he was totally oblivious to the cop. "Adam, let’s not talk about it right now," I said nervously.

"Where is she?"

"With the police. Don't worry. Your mom wants you to stay with us until things get sorted out. Why don't you go play Civilization on the computer?"

"I wanna go see my mom," he said, whimpering.

"Soon, honey. I promise," I lied.

Charizard cut in. "I wanna see Mr. Meckel's body."

"No. Why don't you play Civilization."

"Why can't we see it
—"

"I said play Civilization.
Now."

They stared at me, thrown by the sharpness in my voice. Then they looked over at the cop. Something finally clicked, and without further argument they headed over to play Civilization. I doubt they got very high scores that day, though.

I walked over to where the other grown-ups stood huddled together. I wanted to ask them all kinds of Columbo-type questions, starting with: "Did you see anybody else wandering around the hall this morning?" and "When was the last time you saw Laura?" But Bowles still loomed in the doorway watching us. It kind of inhibited conversation—especially since I was scared somebody might say something that would incriminate Laura.

So we sat arou
nd uncomfortably for twenty minutes. It got so bad, Barry and I had to relieve our tension by talking about the Mets. What would guys ever do without sports?

I was almost gl
ad when Foxwell and Acne Scars—who, I now learned, was more commonly known as Balducci—came and led me away to an empty classroom. Actually,
all
the classrooms were empty. School had been canceled for the day. The school superintendent showed up and turned all the buses away, sending the kids off to the middle school auditorium to be picked up by their parents. All of the teachers were sent away too.

The cops sat me down at one of the kids' desks and began questioning me. I instantly flashed back to fourth grade, when Mrs. Specter interrogated me mercilessly one morning after somebody hit her in the back of the head with a spitball. I didn't do it
, I might add—or at least, that’s my story and I'm sticking to it.

Foxwell started right in. "What exactly did you see when you opened the principal's door?"

I grimaced, remembering. "Laura was just standing there. By Mr. Meckel's desk. Looking totally out of it."

"Where was the trophy?"

I didn't want to answer. But these guys were almost as frightening as Mrs. Specter—no mean feat. She had a way of tapping her palm with a ruler that would strike terror into the heart of the most cold-blooded serial killer.

"Laura was holding it," I said.

"Holding it?" said Balducci.

Almost against my will, I nodded.

"Like she'd just finished using it on Meckel," Balducci went on.

"I never said that."

"What did she say?" Foxwell asked.

"That she didn't kill him."

If I was hoping that would bring them up short, I was sadly mistaken. Foxwell barreled ahead without pausing. "What about the trophy?"

"What about it?"

"Why'd she bring it with her from home?"

Damn, how did Foxwell find out that little tidbit? Laura must not have followed my advice. She'd spilled stuff to the cops.

"I don't know anything about that," I said.

Foxwell drilled holes in me with his eyes. "Laura was pretty angry at Meckel, wasn't she?"

"We all were, not just Laura."

"Why?"

"Well, because our kids aren't being challenged at school. We were trying to get Mr. Meckel to change that."

"And he wasn't changing fast enough for Laura?" Balducci said.

I put up my hands to stop them. "Look, Laura is my wife's best friend."

Foxwell nodded knowingly. "So you're going to protect her."

"Even though you think she killed Meckel," Balducci finished the thought.

I didn't say anything. Unfortunately, my silence said it all.

After the cops finally let me go, I headed back to the library. Susie, Elena, and Barry had already been questioned by other cops, and they and their children were gone. But Adam and my kids were s
till in evidence, along with Laura and two beefy cops who were "escorting" her.

Adam was hugging his mother and wailing, "But Mom, why can't I go with you?"

"It's okay, sweetheart," said Laura. "I just have to go . . . help the police for a while. You're gonna have a play date with Latree and Charizard. Good-bye, honey."

She hugged him even tighter. Then one of the cops said impatiently, "Ms. Braithwaite."

She forced herself to break away from Adam, then caught my eye. "Take good care of him, Jacob."

"I will."

She gave Adam a brave thumbs-up and a wave and took off. No doubt she fell apart as soon as she was out of his sight.

I turned to Adam and my sons, who stood there with eyes wide. "Okay,
guys," I said, trying and failing to make my voice cheerful, "grab your backpacks and let’s go."

"Where are they taking my mom?" Adam asked.

"I guess the police station."

"You mean jail, right?"

"Adam, everything's gonna be fine."

"How do you know?"

Once again I was at a loss for words.

"Maybe your mom just killed Mr.
Meckel by accident," Charizard suggested.

"Yeah, that's not really murder, right, Dad?" Latree asked.

"They'll probably make Adam's mom pay some money, like maybe five and nine-tenths dollars," Charizard put in hopefully. "And then go to jail for, like, half a week."

"Sounds good to me," I said.

Now if we could just get a judge to go for it.