Honeybee Mystery (4 page)

“What's that you're doing?” Jessie asked.

“A few little tests,” Renee said. “Maybe I can determine what that yellow stuff is.”

She held the first bottle over the sample and squeezed out a single drop of clear fluid. Then she put the slide back into the microscope.

“Anything?” Clay asked.

“Mmm … no, not really. No reaction at all.” She looked up and smiled.

She did the same thing using the next bottle, which had a pink fluid. “Hmmm, that's interesting,” she mumbled to herself.

“What? What's interesting?” Jessie asked.

“Hang on. One more test.…”

The liquid in the last bottle was a sky-blue color.
Very pretty
, Violet thought, wondering what it was.

Renee's smile faded when she looked into the microscope this time. The others noticed this and fell silent.

“Oh, my goodness. These flowers have been sprayed with Menadrin!”

Jessie's face crumpled with confusion. “Menadrin? What's that?”

“It's an experimental chemical created a few years ago. It was supposed to make farm crops grow more quickly and produce larger fruits and vegetables, but government tests showed that it was unsafe, so they wouldn't allow it to be sold anywhere.”

“Would it have any effect on bees?” Henry asked.

“Bees? I'm not sure.”

“How about on the way they make honey?”

Renee thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I think it would. Honey would go from being like glue to —”

“Being more like water?” Jessie suggested.

“Yes, something like that.”

Grandfather snapped his fingers. “Now we're getting somewhere!”

“We sure are,” Clay said, although he didn't appear quite as enthusiastic.

Renee looked back into the microscope. “I'll run some more tests just to be sure, but I'm positive this is Menadrin. And I have to admit I'm very surprised. I haven't heard anything about this stuff in years. I thought it was long gone.”

“I guess the bees got it into their system by landing on these flowers,” Henry suggested.

Renee nodded. “That makes sense. It must have mixed with the nectar they were collecting. Because it has this strange odor, it probably attracts bees. They probably love it. And the worst part is, the effect can be passed along.”

“What do you mean?” Benny asked.

“I mean if one bee is infected by it and returns to the hive, all the bees will become infected.”

“There's another part to this we haven't thought about,” Henry said gravely.

All eyes turned to him. “What's that, Henry?” Grandfather asked.

“How the Menadrin got on the flowers in the first place.” Henry paused to look at everyone, hoping they would see what he was driving at. “It had to have been put there by someone on purpose.”

Violet's hands went to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

Henry nodded. “Oh, yes.”

“One thing I know for sure about Menadrin,” Renee said, “is that it was made in very small quantities, and it's almost impossible to find now. So, yes, the only way it could have gotten onto these flowers is if someone put it there on purpose.”

“Just like that?” asked Clay.

Renee nodded. “Just like that.”

Clay ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, boy,” he said, and sighed again.

CHAPTER 4

A Giant Suspect

T
he mood in the Aldens' station wagon was quiet on the way back to the farm. Grandfather turned on the radio but kept it low.

“Mr. Sherman, it seems pretty certain that someone sprayed a section of your wildflowers with Menadrin,” Henry said.

“Yes, it does.”

“Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

“No, can't say I do. Seems like a mighty mean thing for a person to do.”

“No kidding,” Violet said. “Those poor bees.”

“And poor us,” Clay said. “We're going to lose a lot of money this year.”

Henry stroked his chin. “
Why
would someone do it?”

“Because they're mean,” Clay said firmly, as if that explained everything.

“With any crime, there has to be a reason,” Henry explained.

“Most of the time,” Jessie continued, “someone has something to gain by what they're doing.”

“Exactly,” Henry said, nodding to his sister. “So who would have the most to gain by your bees producing no honey this year?”

Clay put his hands out. “I don't know.”

“If you lost your contract with Mr. Price,” Henry went on, hoping to lead the Shermans in the right direction, “who would get it?”

Clay looked at Dottie, but she didn't seem to have any answers, either.

“I have no idea. The only other person around here who keeps bees for honey is — hey, wait just a minute!”

Clay's eyes widened in surprise first, then they narrowed and darkened. “Jack Hennessey,” he said flatly. “That's who would benefit. Of course!” He looked at Dottie again. “Why didn't we think of him before?”

“Jack Hennessey?” Grandfather asked, looking at the Shermans in the rearview mirror. “Who's that?”

“Clay —” Dottie started saying, but he didn't seem to hear.

“Jack Hennessey is a dirty, no-good scoundrel. He's got the farm next to ours. If you walk through that pine forest you saw at the end of the flower field, eventually you'll come to a road that leads to the back of
his
farm.”

“Clay —” Dottie tried again.

“Jack Hennessey and I used to be partners in the farming business. We had our two farms, a nice colony of bees, everything. And we made good money, too. And then …” Clay's voice trailed off. Everyone waited for the rest, but it didn't come.

“And then …?” Grandfather prompted. “And then what, Clay?”

Clay Sherman seemed restless now, nervous. “And then … well, we weren't partners anymore, and let's just leave it at that.”

“Does he know about your honey contract with Mr. Price?” Jessie asked.

“Oh, you bet he does,” Clay replied quickly. “He knows what it's worth, and you can believe he wants it. Yes, sir, he sure would benefit very much from my bees producing no honey this year. That … that …”

“Clay,” Dottie said again, “we don't need to go into all the details about how you feel about Jack Hennessey. That was a long time ago, and to be fair, you have to admit that you're still not sure about everything that happened.”

Clay folded his arms and said, “Well … maybe that's true, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't do something like this to me.”

“He does seem like a possible suspect, Mrs. Sherman,” Henry said.

“We can't ignore the possibility,” Jessie added. “We have to check it out.”

“I guess so,” Mrs. Sherman agreed reluctantly.

“Tell you what,” Grandfather said cheerfully. “I'll lend you my grandchildren for a few days, and they can take a real stab at this mystery. How about that?”

“Sounds good,” Dottie agreed. “Clay?”

“Sure. I have no problems with it.”

“Fine. I have to take care of some business matters of my own tomorrow, but maybe they can ride over to the farm on their bicycles first thing in the morning to see what they can find out. How does that sound?”

“Great,” Clay said. “It's been a long time since we had youngsters on the farm. Our own kids have all grown up and moved away.”

“If you come early enough, I'll make you a real farmer's breakfast,” Dottie told the Alden children. “Fresh eggs, fresh milk, the works.”

“Ooo, now
that
I like!” Benny said.

“I figured you would,” Violet cut in. “His stomach usually thinks before his head does,” she told the Shermans, who managed to work up a little laughter in spite of themselves.

The children rode their bikes to the Shermans' farm early the next day, and Dottie, as promised, had a beautiful country breakfast waiting for them. There were piles of fried eggs, crisp bacon, steaming pancakes, plump biscuits, a tall pitcher of juice, and a bowl of delicious homemade maple syrup. She had it laid out on the big table in the kitchen over a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. All the Aldens thanked Dottie for her kindness.

Jessie finished first and decided to take a walk around the farm to see some of the animals and see if she could find any clues. Maybe farm animals weren't as unusual as the ones you'd see in a zoo, but at least you could pet them and get to know them over time. Jessie thought they'd become like members of the family after a while.

She visited the barn first and found two beautiful horses standing quietly in their roomy stalls. One was a shiny reddish-brown color, the other sleek black from head to toe. She petted their long noses and the black one licked her fingers.

Out behind the barn was the cow pasture. Clay had already done the milking for the day, and the wooden stool leaned against one of the posts. A steel bucket hung on a wood peg above it. Most of the cows were lying on the ground, with their legs tucked underneath, dozing peacefully in the morning sun.
No mystery here
, thought Jessie.

Jessie's next stop was a fenced-in area full of chickens and geese. The geese stayed in their own little group by a tiny pond in back, while the chickens clucked and strutted near the henhouse, pecking at the ground for food. Jessie went right up to the wire fence to watch them, and even the ones by her feet carried on with their business.
If something strange is going on at Sherman Farm
, Jessie thought,
it certainly isn't bothering the chickens
.

She was about to head back to the house when a movement in the cornfield caught her eye. When she looked again, she saw nothing. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Then she saw movement again, and a moment later a large figure appeared. It was a man with dark hair wearing overalls and a straw hat that was way too small for his head. He was much bigger than Clay or Grandfather, or pretty much any other adult she'd ever seen.

But it wasn't his height that she found unusual — it was the way he was acting. He was looking all around, as if he were being hunted. He seemed very worried about being seen. And, Jessie noticed, he was heading in the direction of the bees.

When he reached the bee colony, he took something out of his pocket. But he was too far away for Jessie to tell what it was.

Now he seemed more nervous than ever. He stopped and looked around one last time. Then …

He's going into the wildflowers
, she thought in astonishment.
I
can't believe it
.

She waited until he was completely out of sight, then hurried back to the house to tell the others.

The Shermans and the Aldens watched out the kitchen windows as the large man returned from the field of wildflowers. He was still acting suspiciously, looking all around to make sure no one saw him. He went into the barn and returned with a silver pail. He took it to the chickens and began throwing feed to them.

Clay leaned back and stroked his chin. “Hmmm …”

“Who is he?” Violet asked.

“His name is George Cooper, but he prefers to be called Georgie. He's our hired hand. He came to us about a month ago. Answered an ad I put in the local paper for a laborer.”

Henry looked interest. “A
month
ago?”

“Right around the time your bees stopped producing honey,” Jessie said.

“Exactly,” Henry said.

Clay and Dottie both nodded. “I've thought about that,” Clay said, “but if Georgie was the one doing it, why would he still be here? Why would he hang around? When someone robs a bank, they don't sit out on the curb waiting for the police to show up.”

“Maybe he's not done,” Jessie suggested. The idea had a creepy feeling to it. “Maybe he's got other things planned, too.”

“Would he have anything to gain, Mr. Sherman?” Violet asked. “Would he benefit by you losing the honey contract?”