Beeline to Trouble (5 page)

Five

Max called my cell phone to tell me they were run
ning late, but that was after I’d already left the store for home. So I had extra time to go a few rounds with Lori Spandle, our local real estate agent and my archenemy. She was standing in the driveway of the house next to mine. Not Patti’s driveway, but the one on the other side, where my ex-husband Clay used to live after we separated.

Technically, Clay still owns it, since by the time he gave up on the concept of “us” and left town, the housing bubble had burst. His house has lingered on the market ever since.

“What are you up to?” I asked Lori, hoping she had a decent buyer on the line.

Lori has a face like a pumpkin (round and orangish), and a personality like an invasive weed, i.e. obnoxious. She’s been known to play around on her husband, our town chairman, a fact I learned when she slept with mine. We’ve been butting heads since grade school, and she’s less than thrilled that I know about her cheating ways. You would think she’d treat me with more respect considering what I know. I tell you, this town is barely big enough for both of us.

“Since I can’t sell this place because of you and those damn bees,” she said. “I’m going to have to rent it out.”

“Again?”

Last time she’d done that there had been hell to pay. But that’s a whole other story.

“This time I checked references,” she said, snooty as ever.

Lori seemed way too pleased with herself. She was plotting something against me, that was for sure.

A casual observer, who doesn’t know all the residents of this town as well as I do, might think I have an extreme case of people paranoia. But I know exactly what everybody in Moraine is capable of, and running the store has given me even more insight—some of it downright scary. One thing I’ve realized is this: Every single one of us has razor-sharp retractable claws. We go about our lives with them mostly sheathed. But it’s only a matter of time before something happens to set one of us off, and we’re ready to scratch somebody else’s eyes out.

If Lori was grinning at me, she had just filed her nails into deadly daggers.

Before I could find out what she was up to, a car pulled up. I watched a tire scrape against the curb, bounce up onto it for a moment, then bang back down.

Grams.

My sweet grandmother was behind the wheel of her Cadillac Fleetwood. Even though she’s becoming a minor menace to society, Grams still has a valid driver’s license and isn’t giving it up no matter what anybody says.

Besides, everybody in Moraine recognizes her car and gets out of her way when we see her coming.

“For cripes’ sake,” my mother said, getting out of the backseat. “See, Tom,” she addressed her significant other, who was opening the passenger seat door with Grams’s dog Dinky in his arms, “I told you. She shouldn’t be allowed to drive anymore.”

Oh, geez, Mom could be chairwoman of a new organization, Daughters Against Aging Relatives. Next she’d be passing a petition around town. Not that anyone would sign it. The residents of Moraine love my grandmother.

I’ve told Mom a zillion times to stop riding with Grams if she can’t handle it, but my mother thinks she’s somehow protecting Grams by being next to her. I have visions of Grams driving right for a big oak tree to get Mom to shut up, but that won’t really happen. Grams is an angel when it comes to tolerating her lippy daughter.

“Hi, sweetie,” Grams called to me, coming around the front of her car, looking as fresh as the mock orange blossom tucked in her gray bun.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” I said, a little confused by their appearance. Usually, I’d be at the store at this time of day, not home. “What’s going on?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Lori said to me with a lot of snap in her tone.

“Still as peppy as ever, I see,” Grams said to her. “But that’s my granddaughter you’re speaking to in that condescending tone of voice.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Lori said.

Nobody messes with my grandmother. Not if they know what’s good for them.

“Let’s get a family picture,” Grams said. “Helen and Tom, get right behind Story, and Tom, let Story hold Dinky. That’s right. Helen, get in there.”

Mom gave a big, loud, impatient sigh, but she did what she was told.

Dinky sure was happy to see me. I’d been her foster mom for a while, before I pawned her off on Grams. Dinky has her share of issues—peeing on people’s feet and chewing up undergarments—but she’s in obedience training with Hunter, so we’ll see. If anybody can train her, it’ll be Hunter.

“Well?” Lori said impatiently as soon as Grams was through with the photo shoot.

Shouldn’t that woman be moving off by now, not hanging around us? And that comment she’d made, about it not being any of my business. What was that all about?

“What’s going on?” I asked again while Grams took another picture, this time of Lori scowling.

“I’m looking at the house,” Tom said, glancing sharply at my mom.

“To buy?” I asked.

“To rent. My place isn’t very big.”

That was certainly an understatement. Tom owned the antique store in town and lived in a tiny apartment in back of it. Small, yes, but fine for only one person . . . it wasn’t half bad, unless . . .

I shot a look at my mother. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“These two lovebirds,” Grams announced, taking Dinky out of my arms, “are shacking up!”

At first I panicked, thinking she was talking about Hunter and me. Then I noticed that she was beaming at the
other
two lovebirds.

Okay, I didn’t see that coming. My mom? And her boyfriend? Get out!

“But . . . but . . . ,” I stammered. “You hardly know each other.” I was barely used to the idea of my mother dating for the first time since my dad’s death. Now she was moving in with the guy? And next door to me? This was too much, too fast.

“Sweetie pie,” Grams said to me. “Don’t be a prude.”

I’m sure my mouth was wide open in total surprise. I took a good look back at my house, the one I’d grown up in with my mother and my father. How could Mom even think about living next door to it with another man?

“There must be other houses for rent,” I said to Mom.

Lori butted in, “There aren’t. This is the only one.”

That was such a lie! I could see it in her evil little eyes.

“It’s only for a little while,” Mom said to me. “Until we find something more permanent, when we decide to make the next step.”

“You have to sign the lease for a year,” Lori told her.

“Six months is the most we’ll consider,” Tom said.

“Fine!” came the reply.

I turned to Grams. “Then you’ll be alone, all alone.” To Mom, “You can’t abandon Grams.”

Grams said, “I like living alone. Besides, Helen and I knew it was a temporary solution after your father died. We never thought it would last as long as it did. Your mother needs to spread her wings.”

Like Mom was a teenager going out in the world for the first time!

“She should start slowly, with a place of her own first,” I said, talking over Mom’s head.

Tom, smart man that he was, kept out of it. He didn’t say a word. Tom Stocke isn’t a handsome man, not by a long shot, but he’s a kind, considerate, easygoing guy, just what my mom needs to offset her sometimes anxious personality.

“You’re living with Hunter,” Mom pointed out. “Talk about calling the kettle black.”

“She is?” Grams brightened even more, if that’s possible. “That Hunter is a sex bomb.”

“Mother!” my mom said to Grams. Tom was trying to hide his amusement but I saw it twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Who told you we were living together?” I asked Mom. It sure hadn’t taken long for news to travel out to the farm.

“Just about everybody, including that busybody neighbor of yours.”

Patti has the biggest mouth.

“Are you ready yet?” Lori said to anybody who would listen. “I have a commercial showing in Stone Bank in an hour. Let’s get started.” Then she turned away and gave me an over-the-shoulder smirk.

With that, they left me standing between the two houses, alone, with my mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Not only did I have to absorb the disturbing fact that my mother was going to live with a man who was clearly not my father, worse
,
she was going to do it next door to me?

This day was beyond sucky.

It was an absolute killer.

Six

“Fascinating,” Gil Green, the only male on Max’s
three-person flavorist team, said.

Gil had an excess of flab, blobbing up and over his belt and swelling all the way up to his jowls. But he made up for his fat with skinny, toothpick legs, making him look like a pregnant stork.

Max’s employees were an odd-duck group, although not a single one of them had a pocket ruler as I’d expected.

Aside from his mismatched body, Gil had perfectly white, straight teeth that must have cost him a small fortune. And he had unsuccessfully tried to cover up his wedding ring tan with bottled bronze, which had turned it the color of rust. I didn’t even want to think about what that move implied.

He also was a master gardener, he informed me when he feasted his eyes on all the flowers I’d planted for my honeybees. To show off his education, he insisted on naming every single one of them in Latin
and
French. Think “pompous ass.”

Nova Campbell, I noted gleefully, didn’t look as good cleaned up as she had in the jogging suit. This morning she’d had a fresh rosy complexion. Now she looked a little green around her sharklike gills.

Max, Gil, Nova, and I were out in the apiary or, as I informally call it, the beeyard. Holly was hugging the side of the house to stay clear of the honeybees, and Camilla had headed in the other direction as soon as they’d pulled up without even glancing this way. Max said she needed to get some fresh air.

She was going to need an oxygen tank when I got done with her.

As I showed them around, I reveled in the fact that Camilla still didn’t know who she was dealing with. I couldn’t wait to see her face when she connected this tour guide with the concerned citizen she’d treated so poorly. I definitely had the home advantage.

Mom and entourage had finished up before the flavorists arrived. My mother had refused to discuss the subject of the house with me even though I’d tried. Tom maintained a poker face. Grams was busy taking photographs of just about everything when I attempted to quiz her. But she said she didn’t want to get between us, implying that Mom had warned her off. Lori had a stupid smirk on her face, but that was her standard expression.

I had to find a moment soon to tell my sister what just had happened with Mom and Tom, how they planned to move in together right next door. But first the tour.

One of the aspects about beekeeping that fascinates people the most is when I work in my beeyard without protective gear, which I often do if I’m not harvesting honey. My bees know me. They’re used to me puttering around near their hives, even opening them up and peeking in to see what progress they’ve made. Beekeeping gear is cumbersome, too hot in the summer for comfort, and unnecessary unless I’m going in to steal their nectar (which I still needed to do since Holly had interrupted me early this morning).

Even those thick beekeeper’s gloves are more of a burden than they’re worth to prevent an occasional sting. My thumb gets nailed occasionally, but that’s usually only if I’m careless and stick it on top of a bee while she’s trying to go about her business.

The trick is to move slowly and stay alert.

Here are a few fun facts I shared with my audience after locating the queen inside one of the hives and pointing her out to them:

• Worker honeybees live only about four weeks, but the queen can live three or four years.
  
• During her once-in-her-lifetime lovemaking flight, she might mate with as many as fifteen or more drones.
  
• This tiny boss lady will then store all the sperm in a special body sac, because for her, once is enough.
  
• Worker bees feed her while she lays between five hundred and fifteen hundred eggs daily.
  
• She gets to choose the sex of each bee.
  
• If she fertilizes the egg, it’s a girl. (She wants lots of girls because they wait on her hand and foot.)
  
• If she doesn’t fertilize the egg, it’s a boy. (And really, how many of those does she need, since they do nothing but lounge until that one and only mating flight?)
  

“That would be the life for me,” Gil said, really enjoying the role of the drones. “All those females working, satisfying my every need.”

“Well, at the end of the season,” I added for his benefit, “the drones are kicked out to starve or freeze to death.”

“Forget that,” Gil said, changing his mind fast.

Just then, Camilla rounded the side of the house. Her bug eyes slid over the group in front of her and landed on me.

I grinned.

She didn’t crack a smile, that’s for sure. But I was really pleased to see her mouth pop open in surprise, just like mine had done when Mom and entourage informed me of Mom’s future living arrangements.

Max tried to introduce us, but I stopped him. “We’ve met,” I said, smug as a bug in a rug—or is it
snug
?

“This woman is your sister-in-law?” Camilla said to Max, forgetting her manners—if she even had any—with a bit of finger pointing. “She accosted me earlier.”

Okay, that was rather extreme. “She was picking endangered native flowers,” I shot back. “And you and I still need to have a little talk,” I added, glaring at her.

“You’re a menace,” the flower stealer said. “I have witnesses this time, so hands off.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued but didn’t last long because Holly interrupted with a shrill scream. “One’s on my arm!” she yelled.

Her husband rushed over to save her, accomplished the heroic feat, and rejoined us.

“Holly,” Nova called out after assuming a possessive position next to Max, “you’re missing out on all the fun.” Then to Max, “Is she
always
like this?”

“Holly,” I hollered, “you better get over here right now!”

“In a minute,” she answered. As if.

My sister really needed to get with the program and defend her turf. I, in turn, would do my sisterly duty by keeping a watchful eye. Max, however, didn’t seem to notice that Nova was making a play for him. Men can be so dense.

“If you’re not interested, then why don’t you run along home?” Nova called to Holly. “That staff of yours could use some watching over. They need someone who actually knows how to train them properly.”

Well, wasn’t that nasty!

“Nova!” Max said, a warning in his tone.

“I didn’t mean that,” Nova said to Holly, who was scowling, then to Max with a steamy smile, “I really didn’t.”

Then she went back to her preoccupation with hovering over Max, who was standing right beside me, fearless in the face of thousands of miniature insects. A few honeybees landed on Nova, too, but she didn’t seem to mind, or else she was trying to impress Max. Or possibly she figured her stinger was more lethal than theirs.

Sting her good
, I silently put out into the honeybee universe, hoping my little friends would get the message. Sadly, they didn’t.

My backyard isn’t very wide but it’s long—perfect for plenty of hives—and it leads right down to the Oconomowoc River, where my kayak rests on the bank when I’m not out exploring river life. My favorite way to spend an evening is paddling along, taking in the calls of the wild and breathing fresh, fragrant air.

“What’s that little place used for?” Max asked, pointing at my honey house, the small building where I process honey for packaging under the Queen Bee Honey label.

“Let me show you,” I said, heading that way.

“I’m going down to the store,” Holly called to us. “Meet me there later.” And with that, before I had a chance to drag her into the group, she vanished around the side of the house.

My sister is denser than her husband when it comes to handling dangerous women. But lucky for Holly, it turned out that Nova had other things on her mind at the moment.

“I’m not feeling well,” Nova said to Max as I opened the honey house door and caught a whiff of that wonderful nectar. “I think I’ll wait out here.”

She
did
look flushed. I pointed out a bench down at the riverfront, and Nova walked toward it.

“Are you going to be okay?” Max called after her.

“I just need a minute,” she said without turning. “A little nauseated, that’s all.”

The atmosphere became a few degrees lighter with her gone. Camilla and I weren’t speaking directly to each other, though our eyes suggested continuing hostility, but even with that added stress, I was relieved that Nova wasn’t inside with us. Everyone seemed to breathe easier (or was that just me?) while I showed them the equipment I used and let them sample some of my products, which included my latest experiment with adding rose petals to honey. A successful experiment I might add. It’s delicious on scones.

We must have been in the honey house less than fifteen minutes, but when we came out, Nova wasn’t in sight.

“Maybe she’s waiting in the car,” Gil suggested, heading for the driveway. “I’ll go check.”

Max gave me an appreciative smile. “Thank you for taking the time to show my associates your truly amazing apiary.”

“The pleasure is mine,” I told him and realized I meant it, even with Nova stalking Max and my issues with Camilla. I really loved showing off my work to people who appreciated it.

“Nova isn’t in the car,” Gil said, coming back.

“My kayak’s still on shore, so she can’t be out on the water,” I said, walking toward the river, thinking she might have strolled farther up- or downstream on the bank.

As it turned out, I was sort of correct.

Nova wasn’t on the water.

She was in it.

Arms spread, like she was doing a front float, facedown in the shallow water.

As I rushed toward her, I thought I saw a flash of movement on Patti Dwyre’s part of the river frontage.

But when I looked again, nothing was there.

Except Nova was still in float position.

Max and Gil waded in right behind and overtook me. Camilla and I moved out of their way so that they could pull her out while I called 9-1-1 on my cell phone.

CPR turned out to be useless, even though the two men kept at it long after we all knew they couldn’t save her. One hundred pumps per minute, more slowly as they realized the hopelessness of the situation. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t responding to their efforts.

I couldn’t help feeling guilty, because I’d gotten my careless wish.

Nova Campbell was gone for good.