Buzz Off (33 page)

“I heard you better not raise your voice around those attack dogs,” Carrie Ann called over, raising her voice. “They hate that.”

“What would he do if I yelled or screamed?” Milly wanted to know.

Carrie Ann shook her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. Aren’t you worried he’ll hurt business, sitting at the doorway like that?”

By now a couple of kids were petting him. Ben maintained an attitude of tolerant indifference. “He’s used to crowded situations,” I said.

Another group of tourists came through, buying the caramel apples we got from Country Delight Farm.

Brent Craig showed up, saying his twin brother, Trent, would be along in a few hours.

I kept waiting for a slowdown so I could start reading Manny’s journal, which I’d hidden in a box of honey jars in the back room. Unfortunately, I had no spare time, but that was a good thing as far as taking in cash was concerned.

A few locals showed up and gossiped. I listened in.

“When are they going to have that dead girl’s funeral?” one of them said. “I haven’t seen anything about it in the newspaper.”

“They must be holding the body. It’s a murder, after all,” someone else commented.

“Has Story’s rotten ex-husband been arraigned yet?”

“Shhh. She’ll hear you.”

“She knows he’s rotten. And a murderer besides!”

“If you ask me, she’s in on it. The police chief found that dead girl’s earring in the back room of this very store. Right over there.”

“That’s not exactly how I heard it. Story found it and called the police chief.”

“I’m sure it’s the other way around. And what about the robbery?”

“She might have a partner who decided to go solo.”

“You watch too much television.”

“Shhh. Here she comes. Hi, Story. My, these tomatoes sure are nice and ripe.”

 

 

Lori Spandle came in. She bought bratwursts and buns for grilling and six ears of corn, pulling down the husks on at least four times that many before making her final choices.

“Any progress on the Chapman deal?” I asked, convinced that Lori was just blowing smoke to make herself look important.

“It’s progressing,” Lori said, vaguely. “My new associate and I are working on it.”

“What new associate?” Carrie Ann asked.

“My new real estate partner, my sister, DeeDee. And the name of the interested party is confidential, as Story well knows from all her efforts to pry it out of me.”

“DeeDee’s your new partner?” Carrie Ann snorted. “What kind of partner? Your partner in crime?”

“That hit on the head must have scrambled your brains, or you wouldn’t be talking that way, Carrie Ann Retzlaff.”

I stepped in. “Let’s be nice.”

Lori glared my way. “I heard what you did to my sister, accusing her of stealing from your store, and I think it’s just terrible.”

Stanley Peck came in at that moment and overheard the last part of the conversation. “Are you talking about how Holly caught DeeDee red-handed with stolen goods and how Story wouldn’t let Johnny Jay book DeeDee for shoplifting?” he said. “Shame on you, Story. Next time, you let that girl have it with both barrels.”

Lori stomped off down aisle six.

“Speaking of barrels,” I said to Stanley. “You aren’t carrying a weapon, are you?”

“Why?”

“Never mind.”

“You’re thinking I might be mad about how my chickens showed up way down the road from either my house or yours?”

“Sorry about that.”

“And about how you must know my big secret, the same one I’ve been keeping to myself for very personal reasons?”

“Sorry about that, too.”

“You know, I felt guilty that I was having so much fun. I felt terrible about it for a long time because of Carol being dead and me carrying on like some kind of love-sick puppy. I didn’t want anybody to know. Still don’t.”

“I won’t tell a single soul.”

“If you do, I’ll have to shoot you,” Stanley said straight-faced. Then he laughed. “Just kidding. But you are the snoopiest woman I’ve ever known. You must get that from your mother.”

“Please don’t tell me I’m just like her,” I begged.

“You aren’t. Not a bit. Except for the nosy part.”

“Do you mind answering one more question?”

Stanley sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Did you borrow Manny’s bee blower?”

“No, why, is it missing?”

“Not really.”

“Story, you sure are acting strange these days.”

“I know.” I sighed.

With that, Stanley bought a newspaper and a pound of Wisconsin coffee and walked off down Main Street, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world, which he probably didn’t.

“He’s in a good mood,” Carrie Ann said. “That’s what happens when you’re getting lucky.”

“What makes you think that about Stanley?”

“I can always tell,” Carrie Ann said, proud of her gift.

Ray Goodwin came by without his delivery truck, which was a first. I really hoped he wasn’t about to try another tactic to get me to go out with him.

“My day off,” he said when I asked about the truck. “And not a thing to do tonight.”

Oh, jeez.
“I’m sure something will come up. Otherwise, hang at Stu’s like the rest of us.”

One place I was sure to avoid with Hunter tonight was Stu’s. The last thing I wanted was to hurt Ray’s feelings by showing up with another man.

“Did you get the honey from Manny’s honey house?” I asked Ray, changing the subject fast.

“Sure did.”

“Grace didn’t give you any trouble?”

“She wasn’t home when I stopped by and loaded up. I’ll call her today and let her know, so she doesn’t think somebody stole it. Not that she goes out there anyway. She’d never notice.”

Just then I saw DeeDee Becker walk past the market. I came up with an idea right on the spot, ran out, and called her name, waving her back.

“What?” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun, which had finally decided to appear through the clouds.

“I’d like to cut a deal with you.”

She looked exactly like her sister when she gave me her doubtful look. Except Lori didn’t have pierced nostrils and eyebrows. “What for what? Exactly,” she said in a demanding voice. Again, just like her sister.

“I’ll lift your ban on the store,” I offered. “All you have to do is tell me if someone really is interested in the Chapman place and if it’s true, who that person is.”

I noticed Ben, watching me intensely from inside the door, his ears pointed straight at the ceiling.

“Getting to go back into your establishment isn’t such a big deal,” DeeDee said. “I’m shopping at other places now. Cheaper ones.”

Great. Just great. I didn’t have anything else to bargain with. “Could you tell me for free?” It was worth a try. The worst she could say would be no.

“No,” DeeDee said, shaking her head for emphasis. “I’d be taking a chance on getting fired. That’s worth something.”

“Lori isn’t going to fire you.”

My fountain of information turned to walk away, acting like she didn’t care one way or another if I didn’t get what I wanted. Without an offer on the table, I’d lose my chance.

“Wait,” I called, “I’ll throw in a twenty percent discount on everything in the store for one month.”

My offer to allow a known thief entry to my store, and even throwing in a discount on top of it, might seem overly desperate to a casual observer. But knowing DeeDee, she wouldn’t use the discount anyway, since she usually paid zero dollars for what she wanted. Holly would have her in another hold on the floor in less than a week. And this time, I’d let Johnny Jay do it his way and book her.

Ray came out of the store, gave a little wave, and drove off in a black Chevy with a crumpled back bumper and an obvious problem with the car’s muffler.

“So what do you say?” I asked DeeDee.

She thought it over.

“Make it twenty-five percent and two months and we have a deal,” the little shoplifter had the nerve to say.

“Done.”

“You want to know who’s putting in the offer?”

“So it’s true?”

DeeDee nodded. “And you won’t tell anybody who your source is, since it’s what some might say is unprofessional?”

I nodded again.

Then she told me. Part of me almost expected DeeDee to say it was Gerald Smith, the phantom who took Manny’s bees.

She didn’t say Gerald Smith.

But I knew the name that slid off her studded tongue.

“Kenny Langley,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of that on your own. You know him? Right? The owner of Kenny’s Bees?”

“No way! You mean to tell me,” I said, “that the same Kenny who tried to hustle in on my territory wants to buy Manny’s property?”

“It was him all right. But he withdrew the offer about an hour ago. I’m actually looking for Lori to tell her the bad news. She isn’t going to like it one bit.”

“She was just in a little while ago.” The rush of additional information was too much for my overtaxed brain. But I was talking to her back end as DeeDee strolled into The Wild Clover with her big suitcase purse.

Ben rode shotgun next to me in the truck. Business at The Wild Clover had finally slowed down enough around mid-afternoon for me to take a long break. Carrie Ann said she wanted to stay on, that she needed the money, and the twins were there, too. So everything was covered.

By now there wasn’t the slightest doubt in my mind that Manny had been murdered. He’d been worried enough about something that he hid his journal under one of my beehives. It was a safe bet that one or more of the pages inside it played a significant role in his concern for its safety, and probably in his death.

I made a few assumptions:

Why? Was Kenny killing off the competition so he could take over more territory? That seemed extreme.

Who’d ever heard of such a thing in bee circles? If anything, we usually supported each other. Although Kenny had a streak of competition that had put some distance between us, a little too much testosterone to play nice with a “girl,” as he called me.

I’ve been called worse.

I drove past Grams’s house, noting that her car was gone from the driveway. Then I turned into the cornfield and bumped along the side of it, parking close to my beehives. Bees flew through the air, coming and going, having forgotten their quarrel with me yesterday. I found their buzz comforting.

While Ben sniffed along the tree line, leaving his dog scent on pretty much everything that didn’t move, I stayed in the truck with the windows open and began to page through Manny’s journal, starting from the back and working toward the front.

I skimmed the journal quickly, paging over my own entries, trying to make sense of Manny’s notes. He had practiced selective breeding for years, hoping to extend honey production for greater yields, and he’d seen significant progress as seasons and time went by. He’d also been working on developing strong queens and healthy drones that were resistant to mites without the need for chemical controls.

The science aspect was way over my head. As a first-year beekeeper, I was more concerned about the basics, like providing food sources for my honeybees and making sure they had enough room inside the hives to keep filling honeycombs.

“If they run out of space to store their harvests,” Manny had said, “they’ll leave to find a bigger, better home. Keep an eye on them at all times.”

I had been happy to leave the question of which queens and drones to mix together for more experienced beekeepers to ponder.

I turned to several pages that laid out all the numbers for our most recent honey harvest, which was up by 20 percent over last year. Every year Manny’s percentages had climbed. He’d also included notes about the queens and royal jelly statistics. Bees needed royal jelly to survive. All I knew about royal jelly at this point in my beekeeping experience could be summed up in a few short bullet points: