A Beeline to Murder (26 page)

The ride home seemed shorter than usual. Abby explained how the killer had been caught through GPS tracking of the cell phone belonging to Eva Lennahan, the wife of Jean-Louis’s lover, Jake. And how Etienne had started the tragic spiraling of events leading to murder with his malicious lies. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “The cops have your brother’s Saint Honoré medallion, but they have to keep it for evidence. You will get it back after the trial.”

Philippe nodded. “I cannot thank you enough, Abby, for all you’ve done.” For the remainder of the ride home, he seemed deeply absorbed in thought, and Abby did not intrude.

Sugar met them at the driveway gate. “Down. Get down,” Abby said, kneeling to stroke the dog’s head and nose. Sugar licked her face, giving her multiple doggy kisses. “I know you’re glad to see me. I’m glad to see you, too . . . and
so
glad to be home.” Sugar ran from Abby to jump up on Philippe, pawing at his waist.

“No, no,” Abby commanded, but Philippe seemed not to mind Sugar’s excitement at being reunited. As they walked to the back of the house, Abby said, “She won’t let me out of her sight, Philippe. Will you play with her while I make us some mint tea? We can relax for a bit, and then I’ll make dinner. Okay with you?”

“Ah, oui. That sounds good, Abby.”

Abby smiled and walked inside the kitchen. It felt just like the old days, when Clay was around and the two of them moved in an easy rhythm of work and winding down. She kicked off her shoes but just as quickly picked them up for fear that Sugar would chew on them the moment she spotted them. Abby walked down the hallway and tossed the shoes in the bedroom closet, then closed the door securely. Back in the kitchen, she gave Sugar a rawhide bone to take outside.

After dropping ice cubes into two tall glasses, Abby turned on a burner, added water to a saucepan, and put it on to simmer. She strolled back outside and headed in the direction of the mint patch, where she plucked a handful of fresh green leaves. Back in the kitchen she paused to sniff the sweet scent of the summer mint before dousing it with cold water and then tossing it into the saucepan. After the mint had simmered long enough for the water to extract the flavor from it, Abby poured the tea over the ice cubes in the glasses, then sweetened each with honey. She cut up some honey cake into bite-size pieces and put everything on a tray, which she carried out to the patio.

As soon as Abby appeared with the tea and cake, Sugar trotted over, tail wagging. After handing a glass to Philippe, Abby sank into the old rocking chair. Philippe adjusted the cushion of the other chair, took a piece of the honey cake, and sat down beside her.

He put a bit of cake in his mouth. “Mmm,” he said. He reached for Abby’s hand.

She rocked slowly, secretly feeling delight at the warmth of Philippe’s hand around hers. He didn’t speak. Like her, he seemed to be soaking up the peacefulness of the early evening. She gazed at the eucalyptus trees next to the old house on the back acre. Branches swayed as the blue-green leaves rustled in the wind, which had begun to kick up, as it usually did around sunset. If the wind continued its summer pattern, the breezes would blow for a while. The mourning doves had descended from the olive tree to feed from the giant pottery saucer of birdseed that Abby kept filled near the back fence. A lone scrub jay screeched as it chased a flock of smaller birds from the firethorn bush sprawling between the two properties.

As the muscles in her body began to lose tension, Abby felt contentment take hold of her spirit. The rhythms of nature comforted her. All was right again on the farmette. More than right . . . Philippe was here to share the wild beauty of this place.

They sat in silence, the rocker quietly clicking on the stone surface of the patio. The sounds of the ice cubes groaning and plopping as they melted and moved to the bottom of the empty glasses reminded Abby that every day should end in such sublime sweetness. Torn between wanting to preserve the moment and knowing she should be getting up to make dinner, Abby looked over at Philippe. He was resting his head on the back of the chair, eyes closed. Abby heard a faint buzzing to the left of the patio, off near the bee apiary. The sound stirred Sugar off her haunches and into a state of alertness.

Philippe opened his eyes. He sat upright and turned toward the sound. After a moment, he pointed toward the wooden fence that partially cordoned off the apiary from the rest of the farmette. “There.”

Abby followed the line of his finger. She spotted a tiny swarm, no larger than a child’s fist, coalescing beneath the birdhouse she’d hung on the fence. “Well, bees, thank you for waiting,” Abby said, rising from the chair.

“What can I do to help?” Philippe asked, standing. A grin crinkled his face as he stood at the ready. “I shall be your knight in shining—”

“You’re not afraid of being stung again?”

His smile evaporated as he thought for a moment. “Do you have an extra bee suit?”

Smiling at his exuberance, Abby shook her head.

Seemingly dismayed, Philippe stared at her.

“The swarm is tiny, Philippe, and it’s so late in the day that they might just go back inside the hive,” Abby explained. “But, in case they’re indecisive, I’ve already placed a super close by with frames of wax and honey for when they are ready to make a move.”

Philippe drew a half step closer and put his arms around her. When Abby tilted her face upward, his gray-green eyes locked on hers. “Then, will you stay here with me?” he whispered huskily. “I am not indecisive like your bees. I am ready to make the moves.”

Abby sucked in a breath and let it escape in an effort to calm the sudden erratic beating of her heart. “What about dinner?” she teased. “Have you no appetite?”

“Au contraire. My hunger, it increases . . . for you.” Philippe flashed a sexy grin, slipped his hand under her blouse, and trailed his fingers along her waistline at her back. “Ma chérie, let us do what the bees do.”

The warmth of his touch against her flesh kindled sensuous feelings within Abby, feelings she no longer wanted to resist. Pricks of electricity arced through her body. “And, pray tell, what is that? Taking flight?”

“Non. Making something sweet,” he whispered, “of our time together.”

“In that case . . . ,” Abby mumbled as Philippe’s lips pressed hungrily against hers.
We won’t need bee suits.

 

 

 

1 cup honey (preferably dark and thick), plus 1
tablespoon for brushing the cake
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground cardamom
2 teaspoons baking soda
½ cup softened unsalted butter
1 cup dark brown sugar
4 large egg yolks
½ cup natural Greek yogurt
½ cup cottage cheese (small curd)
1 tablespoon fresh orange zest
2½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
10 dates, pitted and diced
1 cup walnuts, finely chopped
½ cup seedless raisins
12 cup slivered almonds, for garnish (optional)

 

Acknowledgments

My deepest gratitude goes to Aaron Pomeroy for his insights into law enforcement. I also want to thank his wife, Heather, as well as their daughters Madison and Savannah, for their feedback, suggestions, and hilarious stories, which continually inform and enrich my own storytelling.

Thanks also to Ken and Lynne Davis for sharing with me their knowledge about guns and police work.

A special thank-you to my friend, fellow globe-trotter, and dog lover, Katerina Lorenzatos Makris, whose knowledge about our four-legged friends and dog rescue work worldwide boggles the mind. Thank you for your enthusiasm, energy, and invaluable feedback.

I owe a deep debt of gratitude to Botros (Peter) Kemel and Wajiha (Jill) Nasrallah for teaching me about keeping bees and harvesting honey, and for fostering in me a love of beekeeping, which has resulted in the establishment of my own hives.

I want to thank Anne Marie Behan for her years (and stories about) working as a paramedic, and Abbie Serrano for her service in law enforcement and for inspiring my sleuth, who bears her name, albeit with a different spelling.

For her unwavering support of the Henny Penny Farmette and the vacant midcentury house she owns, which inspired threads of rising tension in this narrative, I extend a warm thank-you to Jeanne Lederer.

To my husband, Carlos J. Carvajal, and my son Joshua, I give my heartfelt thanks for your love, patience, and support throughout the writing of this book.

And finally, a hug and a kiss to my agent, Paula Munier, who tells me the truth, but always lovingly . . . and to my editor Michaela Hamilton, who saw promise in an untested novelist and took a chance.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Meera Lester is an internationally published author of nearly two dozen nonfiction books, some translated into other languages. She lives on a farmette near Northern California’s wine country, east of the San Francisco Bay, where she grows heirloom vegetables, maintains an orchard of fruit and nut trees, keeps chickens and bees, and deals with the daily drama of life on a farmette fixer-upper. When she isn’t helping her architect/designer husband renovate their 1947 farmhouse, Meera indulges her lifelong passion for cooking and baking, especially foods with an international flair. She blogs about her farmette life at
www.hennypennyfarmette.com
and her writing life at
www.meeralester.com
. A Beeline to Murder is her debut novel in the Henny Penny Farmette series. Readers are welcome to contact her at [email protected] or via her Henny Penny Farmette Web site.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

 

Copyright © 2015 by Meera Lester

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

 

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015937827

ISBN-13: 978-1-61773-909-5
ISBN-10: 1-61773-909-X

First Kensington Hardcover Edition: October 2015

ISBN: 978-1-6177-3909-5

First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2015