The Keeper of Bees ARC

by Gregory Ashe

  “See?” Evie said. “Stuck.”

  “Yes,” Hazard said, “you made that pretty clear. Where’s that horse stripper pole your dad bought you?”

  “Stwipper powe?”

  “Do not tell him I said that. Where’s the, uh, filly dance class stuff that he got you?”

  “Oh,” Evie said. Her little legs churned as she ran for the stairs. Then she stopped, looked straight at the ceiling, and said, “Stwipper powe.”

  Hazard groaned, picked up the RV with its embedded horse carnage, and followed her up to her room. Evie managed to find the stripper pole in the debris of her toybox. Somers had insisted it was supposed to be a ballet barre, but Hazard had pointed out that it was a single pole, bright silver, and that it had come with a tiny plastic boom box that would provide the imaginary bump-and-grind accompaniment. After delivering the pole to Hazard, she immediately lost interest in Gloriana’s fate and began digging through the dress-up box.

  “Come here,” Hazard said. “I want to show you how to do this.”

  In answer, she whipped around, a plastic helmet canting over one eye, a plastic sword in one hand. “I a knight.”

  “A very brave knight,” Hazard said.

  What followed after that was something garbled about rescuing a princess.

  “Princesses don’t always need to be rescued,” Hazard said, thinking of those heavy steps. “That’s an outdated sexist fantasy. Sometimes princes need help too.”

  Evie considered this for a moment and then delivered a vicious chop that parted Gloriana’s head from her body. Then she climbed onto the bed, still swinging the sword, and said, “Jump!”

  “Hold on, I want to show you how to get Gloriana—well, her head, anyway—out of here.”

  “Jump!”

  So Hazard sat on the edge of the bed, raising himself and then dropping down hard enough to shake the frame. For some reason, Evie found this hilarious, and she bounced and swung the sword and squealed with laughter.

  “See, a lever is a simple machine,” Hazard said, inserting the pole and bracing it against the top of the Fashionista Fillies RV’s windshield. “This is the fulcrum. A lever works by reducing the amount of force needed by spreading it out over a longer distance.” He applied pressure; the steering wheel tilted, and Gloriana’s head popped free. Hazard reattached it to her body, and then he passed Gloriana up to Evie, who was still jumping and squealing, the sword whipping through the air. Hazard realized he was dangerously close to meeting the same fate as Gloriana, so he set the RV down, ready to clear out of the chopping zone. When he looked up, though, Somers was coming across the room, dressed in a pair of mesh shorts and his undershirt and one sock that he’d somehow forgotten to take off.

  “Watch out,” he said as the tip of the sword zipped past his nose. Then he grabbed Evie, wrapping her in a bear hug, and said, “I got you. Now you’re my prisoner. Who’s going to rescue you?”

  “Princess no need rescue,” Evie said, landing a vicious whack with the blade against Somers’s shin.

  Somers let her go and fell back onto the bed, pretending to have his leg cut off, and Evie shrieked with laughter—and, Hazard thought, a note of victory that was surprisingly ominous, something to be remembered for her teenage years—and then sprinted out of the room.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Hazard said, standing, “I just need to get Evie something.”

  But Somers hooked a belt loop and pulled him back onto the bed. Hazard landed at an angle and rocked backward, and instead of fighting the momentum, he let himself fall onto his back. Somers’s hand moved up to play with his hair. Hazard reached over, not ready to look at him yet, and found Somers’s leg, the bare skin of Somers’s thigh warm under his hand.

  “You’re a really good dad,” Somers said, his fingers combing through Hazard’s long, dark tangles, the simple motion surprisingly pleasant. “I mean, I knew you’d be good, because you’re one of the gentlest, kindest people I know. But you’re really good. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re so perfect at it.”

  A horn blared down the street.

  After clearing his throat, Hazard said, “Perfect is an absolute value; something’s either perfect or it isn’t. There aren’t degrees.”

  Somers laughed. “Duly noted. You are perfect at it. Absolutely.”

  “My physics lesson on the principles of a simple machine seems like proof to the contrary. I don’t even think she noticed when I pointed out the fulcrum.”

  Laughing again, Somers just kept sifting the long, dark hair.

  From Noah and Rebeca’s house next door came the sound of a door slamming shut, and then the hub of kids’ voices. One of the boys, Roman, was screaming something about pizza bagels. Angry screaming.

  “God,” Somers said, still scratching lightly at Hazard’s scalp as he combed his hair. He tugged, and Hazard complied by squirming a few inches to the side so that his head rested on Somers’s chest. The slow movement of his fingers never stopped. “When you’re that age, everything seems important. Even pizza bagels.”

  “He’s a middle child,” Hazard said. “That’s a hard spot to be in.”

  “What would you know? You were an only child.”

  “So were you.”

  “I know. I loved it.”

  Hazard snorted.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Somers asked.

  “Of course you loved it.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I don’t know how I would have handled having a sibling. I think I would have preferred not being the focus of my dad’s attention.”

  This time, Somers’s hand stopped. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I would have liked that too.” He took a breath, his chest rising and carrying Hazard’s head up, Hazard suddenly aware of the rapid thrum of Somers’s heartbeat. “Do you think you want more kids?”

  “You asked me that before, and I already answered you.”

  “I know, but I thought, I don’t know, maybe you felt differently now.”

  “I think I would like more,” Hazard said. “Financially, though—”

  Somers’s hand covered his mouth.

  After a moment, Hazard peeled the fingers away. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know. I love Evie so much, but this world is so messed up. Today, I mean. I knew Susan. We knew her. And someone did something unspeakable to her. I can’t stop thinking about that. We knew her. We had drinks with her. We laughed with her.” Somers’s voice thickened, and Hazard could hear him moving, wiping his face. “It’s not even the first time someone close to me has been hurt, but it’s just so awful that I can’t . . . I can’t seem to get around it.”

  Flopping onto his belly, Hazard rested his chin on Somers’s chest. Those remarkable eyes, tropically blue, met his gaze and then flicked away.

  “You had a bad day,” Hazard said.

  “Definitely a long day.”

  “But this, the way you’re talking, that’s not you.”

  Somers wiped his face again. “Yeah, well, it sure as hell feels like it.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to do this job anymore, Ree. I hate how it makes us fight. I hate how . . . how it gets inside my head. I hate that I can’t do it with you. You were the best part of it, and I need you, and I hate this so much.”

  From down the hall came Evie’s admonition: “Don’t say hate!”

  Hazard smiled in spite of himself; a small grin tugged at Somers’s mouth.

  “Can I say something?” Hazard said.

  “As if I could stop you,” Somers said, pushing on Hazard’s face, pretending to shove him away.

  Hazard bit his fingers; Somers yelped, and as he pulled back his hand, injured outrage on his face, and rubbed his fingers, Hazard said, “Obviously I will support you in whatever you want. More kids? Great. No more kids? I’ll be happy with you and Evie. You want to be police? I’ll pack you a lunch until you get that sweet, sweet pension. You want
to quit and be a groundskeeper at Wahredua High? Well, fuck, first you need to learn how to edge our sidewalks properly.”

  The grin was back, although Somers was still massaging his fingers and occasionally remembering to look angry.

  “You’re exhausted,” Hazard said. “You’ve been up since one this morning. You haven’t eaten today, have you?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. We might have grabbed something.”

  “You didn’t, John. I know you didn’t.” Hazard’s hand slid up Somers’s chest, covering Somers’s heart, feeling the rapid thump-thump of his heart through the cotton undershirt. “What you’re feeling, that’s real. But you also need food. And sleep.” Hazard’s hand slid up Somers’s thigh, forcing the shorts higher, his thumb skating across the scattering of fine blond hairs. “And maybe a good fuck. And when you’re through the worst of this, then we can talk.”

  “About me being a groundskeeper.”

  “Once you learn how to run a fucking string trimmer without putting bald patches in the lawn.”

  Somers was biting the corner of his mouth. His eyes were bright and wet. “That was one time.”

  “Once a week is more like it,” Hazard grunted, “because you think if you do it badly enough, I’ll just take over and do it myself.” He hesitated and said, “John, I know I made it worse. Your day, I mean.”

  “What? No. Not at all. You’re the only part of my day that makes me feel like I should even consider getting out of bed tomorrow.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have been at Susan’s apartment. I shouldn’t have forced the issue when you told me you needed to contain the scene. And I know I made things more stressful for you, which is the last thing you need.”

  “I could have handled it better,” Somers said. “This is hard for you. This case means a lot to you, and Riggle’s cut you out of it. I’m worried—” He cut off, his head tilting back, his eyes drifting toward the corner.

  Hazard tapped on Somers’s chin until his head came down. “Worried?”

  “We can talk about it another time?”

  “No, we’re not good about that. Now, please.”

  “Ok,” Somers said. “I’m worried about a lot of things. I’m worried this is too personal for you. I’m worried you won’t be able to let go and step back. I’m worried that . . . that maybe what you want isn’t the same thing I want. And I’m worried, really worried, about what this is doing to you. I tapped on the window today, and you almost had a panic attack. You could barely stand in the elevator when we were going up to Mitchell’s.”

  Hazard had been practicing a lot. He drew a breath and forced his voice to be level. “I’m strong enough to do this, John.”

  “It’s not about strength, sweetheart. You wouldn’t complain about a guy with a broken arm not being strong enough.”

  “So,” Hazard said, his voice slipping. “I’m broken.”

  “Don’t do that. You know that’s not what I mean. You just told me that I wasn’t thinking clearly, I needed food, sleep. It’s the same thing. You need to take care of yourself. I’m just saying I’m worried that if you force this, it’s going to be bad for you. And I don’t want that.” Somers’s eyes came down, and Hazard was surprised to see a challenge there. Somers’s voice was stiff as he added, “Maybe it’s for the best that Riggle took you off this case.”

  There were a lot of ways to answer that. Hazard settled on the only one that wouldn’t lead to a fight. He crawled up the bed, forcing up the shorts until they were bunched at Somers’s waist, and straddled Somers’s thighs. Then, bending down, he kissed Somers lightly. Just a brush of his lips. And then another. And then another.

  When he pulled back slightly, Somers licked his lips and said, “No, sir. Don’t even think about it. You are not going to get out of having this conversation—ah.” The last noise was a combination of a gasp and a groan.

  Hazard’s hand, which he had worked up under the shorts, moved slowly but surely.

  “I didn’t say just food and sleep.”

  “Um.” Somers’s eyes were hooded. His head rocked back and bumped against the wall. It seemed to startle him out of the daze. “Huh? What?”

  Slow and sure. Tight and then loose.

  “I said you needed three things. I didn’t say just food and sleep.”

  “Oh. Uh. Right. Yeah. Three things.” Somers seemed to be trying to think.

  “Come on,” Hazard said, giving a long, last pull before working his hand free of the shorts. He slapped Somers’s bare thigh, the red print rising almost immediately. “Our room.”

  “But Evie—”

  “This is just the pre-dinner entertainment,” Hazard said, grabbing the undershirt and dragging him up off the bed. “The real show is after she goes to bed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JULY 3

  WEDNESDAY

  7:42 AM

  HAZARD WAS COOOKING EGGS when Somers staggered into the kitchen. The blond man’s tie was askew, his shirt misbuttoned, and one leg of his trousers was caught in his sock. He had wadded his suit jacket into a ball for some unknown reason, and he stood in the kitchen, expression glazed, like a man who had survived a bombing and stumbled out of the wreckage.

  “Well,” Hazard said as he slid two of the eggs onto a plate, “this is very flattering for a guy’s ego.”

  Somers’s gaze narrowed. “This is your fault.”

  “I know,” Hazard said, shrugging as he added bacon to the plate. “I’m too good. I’m a public menace.”

  “Do not be cute. Do not be funny. Do not, for the love of God, get a big head and start swaggering and strutting.”

  “That’s kind of your area.” Hazard set the plate on the table. Then he took the wadded-up jacket and guided Somers to a seat. While Somers picked up a fork, Hazard straightened the tie and redid the buttons.

  “I’m not four years old,” Somers grumbled, poking the egg to break the yolk.

  “Uh huh,” Hazard said, bending to free the trapped cuff of the trouser.

  “Oh God,” Somers muttered as he took the first bite. “I need help.”

  Hazard jogged upstairs and quickly ran the iron over the jacket. By the time he got downstairs, Somers was rinsing his plate in the sink.

  “I’ll get that,” Hazard said.

  Somers waved him off and loaded it in the dishwasher. “Thank you,” he said, slipping into the jacket when Hazard held it out for him. “God, I set four alarms. Four.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I cannot believe this.”

  “You were exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Although not so exhausted that you didn’t want thirds last night when I—”

  “Daddy,” Evie squealed, rushing into the kitchen and wrapping herself around his legs.

  “Monster,” Somers muttered to Hazard.

  Hazard pecked him on the cheek and turned him toward the garage. Wrangling Evie, he swept her up and over his shoulder, and her shrieks dissolved into laughter. “I would have woken you up if you were going to be late.”

  “I wanted to get in early—”

  “You needed sleep.”

  “I have a million things—”

  “You needed sleep.” Hazard pretended to squeeze Evie until she screamed in delight, and then the squeezing turned into tickling. “Especially,” Hazard added in a stage whisper, “after thirds.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Don’t say hate!” Evie screamed.

  “Say goodbye to daddy,” Hazard instructed.

  “Bye,” Evie shouted, waving both hands as Hazard flew her in for a kiss.

  “Goodbye,” Somers said, laughing as he accepted a kiss first from Evie and then from Hazard.

  “Eat lunch,” Hazard said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m serious. Something with protein. Not the shi—not the junk in the lunchroom.”

  “Yeah,” Somers said, grinning as he went out to the garage.
r />   And then Hazard flew Evie around the house, two loops, while she kicked and laughed. He was feeling better, much better. What could have been another epic fight with Somers the day before had turned into something else—a chance for both of them to support each other. And then, of course, after putting Evie to bed they had made it to round three, which didn’t hurt.

  After breakfast, Hazard took Evie to preschool. Then he went to his office. The July day was overcast, already threatening rain, and the clouds moved fast; the shadows racing down the street made the world look like an old film that had been sped up. Hazard passed the Magic Dragon Bakery—ignoring the wave from the owner, a septuagenarian pothead who was perpetually trying to lull him into a false sense of security with sweets—and took the stairs to the second-floor landing. He unlocked the door to his office, and then he went through the process of getting ready for the day: turning on the lights, starting the coffee, doing a quick once over of the waiting area to make sure everything was presentable. Warm, humid air leaked through the cracked front window; with the thunderstorm moving in, it was as thick as wool.

  Coffee in hand, files in the other, Hazard settled at his desk. He flipped through everything on the Keeper—now painfully outdated, everything months old, since he didn’t have access to the reports and information from yesterday’s attacks—and found his good mood evaporating. He couldn’t solve a crime when he didn’t have access to any information. He couldn’t stop the Keeper when he was cut off from the investigation.

  A horn blatted on Market Street, and Hazard stiffened in his seat, his heart accelerating. He shoved the paperwork to the side. What he was doing, combing through these pages again, was pointless. He grabbed a blank sheet of paper, grabbed a pen, and then he sat still.

  At the top, he wrote: MURDER OF SUSAN MORRISON.

  Below, he bulleted all the information he could remember. He started with what he believed had stayed the same: the Keeper had killed the victim with a gunshot to the face; he had incorporated the element of bees; and he had posed the body in a way that was supposed to suggest an element of the Orpheus and Eurydice story. Then, to the side, Hazard listed the new elements of the Keeper’s ritual, which included posing the body outdoors, staging it with lights, and using the murder as a distraction.