by Sarah Hualde
Once the dizzying panic subsided, allowing Flora to take a full breath, she began the careful ascent. Another round of knocking shattered the quiet morning. This time it came from the kitchen slider. “Hurry!” Ivy encouraged Flora her teeth still clamped on her phone and passed her on the stairs. “Into Lydia’s room.”
Flora obeyed. Ivy settled Scout onto Lydia's bed and returned to the door slamming it. She bolted it and dragged a bedside table to barricade it. "What else?" She asked Flora. The startled woman pointed to another end table. Ivy dragged it beside the other one. "Get in the bathroom. It has another two doors." She handed Flora the sleeping baby.
From downstairs the sound of fragmenting glass rattled the upstairs bedroom. Flora stifled a scream. Behind the locked bathroom door Flora huddled with Scout. Ivy sat on the toilet and forced her trembling fingers to dial Ethan Everett.
No answer. Ivy left a panicked message and dialed Gus, his deputy and followed the same procedure. After trying to alert police, she called Lydia. The phone rang through to voicemail. She tried again, and on the third ring, the sound of Lydia's ringtone ricocheted from the upstairs hallway.
*****
Kat tried all the Everett phone lines, save the house phone. She knew it was a landline and didn’t believe her call justified waking up a six-month-old baby. She called Flora, but her phone went unanswered. Kat couldn’t sit still. Her news had her ready to burst. She decided to drive over to Lydia's and hoped Lydia would open the door.
*****
Flora shuddered, her spine aching with the weight of her baby and the heaviness of her predicament. Her phone was downstairs in her purse. Ivy rapid dialed with no success, and now Lydia was out in the hall with the intruder. She wanted to scream but daren't give up their hiding spot.
“What’s happening?” She asked the teenager beside her.
Ivy’s phone rang. Lydia was calling. Flora saw the screen light up with her name.
“Thank you, Jesus.” She whispered.
“Lydia, get out of the house, I think…” There was a snarky laugh, subtle and soft from the other line.
“C’mon Ivy, tell me what you think. Where is your Ms. Lydia, the do-gooder sheriff’s wife?”
“I don’t know, Maven. But she’s onto you.”
Another laugh echoed. “No doubt my cousin has been talking. Though nothing she says will be any help. I’m just here for her phone. I know Lydia has it.”
Ivy's shoulders relaxed. Maven hadn't found Lydia. Lydia must have found a safe spot to hide. If Maven was raging at her for the phone, Lydia was safe.
Ivy’s eyes watered, tearing without her permission. Flora reached a hand out to touch Ivy. She wanted to comfort the young lady and needed comforting herself. She settled her hand on Ivy’s knee. It shuddered out of control. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid!” Maven’s screaming ricocheted from the hallway, not just over the receiver. “I know you know. I’ve got Lydia’s phone.”
Flora gasped and squeezed Ivy’s knee. Her long nails dug through Ivy’s sweatpants.
“Your friend Kat has been texting Lydia all night. It seems she’s found things I’d prefer remained hidden.”
“That’s too bad, Maven. We have you on video, the day you attacked your cousin.”
“No, you don’t. You have a video of Averie tripping out and running after a hallucination.”
"If she has Lydia's phone, she has the video," Flora commented.
Maven's laugh roared into a raging wail, and the sound of wood colliding with wood racked from the bedroom door. Flora screamed without a sound. Her lips parted, and her face grew red and anguished. Ivy patted her hand and continued talking to Maven in her sternest, steadiest voice.
“That’s not all we have. Lydia found the sound pack.” Ivy couldn’t think of any other option. She prayed God would forgive this little lie and would protect the three ladies hiding in the tiny bathroom.
The animalistic screaming and cursing grew louder. The battering of the door increased. A light shone through the small window in the shower stall. Brakes screeched to a stop, and a door slammed. Flora and Ivy hoped it was help. They also dreaded it was Lydia coming home unprotected and unaware.
The pummeling ceased and abrupt footsteps hurried down the stairs. The phone beeped. The call disconnected. Again, Flora screamed without noise. Her fingernails wedged into Ivy's skin.
“I think she’s leaving.” Hesitant relief fluttered in Ivy’s voice.
“I think I’m in transition.” Sweat cascaded down Flora’s face and her hair stuck to her forehead in wild waves. Ivy scooped up Scout.
“What can I do?”
“Help me into the shower.” Ivy did, as best as possible. Flora made it to the tiny glass stall right in time to vomit over the drain.
*****
Lydia sat with Berna in the living room. Doctor Barnes helped Olive part with her dead pet before driving back to town. Olive wept on the porch swing.
“I don’t know what I did?” Berna struggled to sip her chamomile tea. It reminded her too much of Maven’s poison tincture. She drank out of a paper cup, leaving the original teacup resting askew on the coffee table. The spilled tea created white damage on the antique wood. Berna wanted only one thing more than to restore her beautiful table. She wanted to catch the woman who had tried to kill her.
“You said you made her breakfast and lunch.”
“Yes, I even brought her lunch up to her room.”
“Did you go inside her room?”
“Yes, but only for a minute.” Berna gasped, “I dumped her trash.”
*****
The stillness was more frightening than comforting. At least, when Maven was trying to force her way through to Lydia’s room, Ivy and Flora knew what was happening. Since the arrival of headlights, three minutes ticked by with no creaking from the rest of the house.
Flora stopped vomiting and stood in her tank top in the shower. She wished she could have the water running down her back.
Ivy made a bed for Scout, who slept unaware, in the bathtub using a decorative towel. The baby snuggled up with a rolled terry cloth robe and sucked her thumb.
A voice called from the living room. Ivy and Flora froze until Flora’s next contraction. “Hold my hand.” Ivy gladly obeyed.
“Hello?” The voice was frantic but familiar. It came closer and closer to the master bedroom.
Outside, car tires ripped through the Everett front lawn and squawked down the street. Ivy's phone rang from atop the toilet lid. It vibrated itself onto the floor and bounced closer to the bathtub. Ivy waited for Flora's grasp to loosen before retrieving it.
“Kat?” She managed before sobbing.
"Ivy! Ivy! Where are you? Where's Lydia? What's going on?" Kat's voice was a salve.
Ivy squeezed herself around a panting Flora and stood on point to look out the shower window. Only Kat’s van graced the street and driveway. Maven's car was gone.
The sound of Kat shoving the master bedroom door bounced through the hallway and the cell phone. “Let me in.”
“Lord, thank you!” Flora offered up tearful prayers and turned on the shower. “Call Kevin,” She huffed before clawing for Ivy’s hand once more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lydia hated digging through garbage. Garbage covered in cat puke was the most disgusting combination she could imagine. In her compassionate and micromanaging way, Berna bought different colored trash bags for her guest rooms than she did for the public areas. This meant Lydia could bypass the bathroom and kitchen bags and head straight for the lavender scented violet ones.
The job would have been much simpler if Berna hadn’t just completed one of her busiest weekends of the year. Nine bags from three floors and her honeymoon cabin lined up on the hardwood. Lydia rewashed the dead cat’s bile from her arms and threw away the gloves Berna lent her.
“I’m sorry.” She mouthed at Berna’s mania mangled face. Berna shook it
off.
"What would I want poison cat gut gloves for?" Lydia blanched. She'd put the mess from her mind, but the smell and the suggestion were stronger than her imagination. "I'll get you a cold bottle of water." Berna hopped from her barstool and hurried to the refrigerator.
“Any guesses, which bag might be from her room?” Berna grimaced. She slid a green bottle over to Lydia. She reserved the sparkling citrus flavored water for welcome baskets. However, Lydia more than deserved the effervescent delight.
“I’m guessing that one.” Berna pointed to the third bag from the right. “There’s no evidence of a couple.” Lydia refused to envision what that meant. She nodded and headed to the selected bag without questioning Berna.
The innkeeper handed Lydia a fresh set of elbow high gloves. The sheriff’s wife squeezed her salt swollen fingers into them with gratitude. “Here we go.” She said, cutting open the knotted top of the bag.
The lavender did nothing to mask the aroma of rotting food and toiletry items. Lydia forced herself not to gag. Berna waved a cloth napkin in front of her nose and then tidied up her already spotless kitchen. Napkins, a twinkie remnant, wadded up the scratch paper and toenail clippings sat at the top the trash.
“That’s not hers,” Berna suggested. “Could you ever see that girl eating a twinkie? Besides those toenails are mannish. Try the one beside it.”
Lydia pushed on. This bag hosted tissues, and lipstick blotted notepad paper and a torn purple letter. ‘This is it!” Lydia refrained from hooting, as to not arouse the hotel guests
With the cleanest of her gloved hands, Lydia removed the letter bits and spread them on the countertop. "That's Hive stationery." Berna stood opposite Lydia and helped puzzle together the fragments.
*****
Kat hollered from the hallway and through her mobile. "Kevin's on his way. Maven peeled off as soon as I entered the house. She must have been watching for me to come inside. I've called Gus and Ethan, but there's been no response.”
Flora forced breath through pursed lips. She tightened her grip on Ivy’s hand. Ivy yelled back at Kat, “Get Dr. Lawrence here! I’m not equipped for this!”
“Come open the door!” Kat demanded as she nudged the bedroom door, again.
In her eyes, Flora offered encouragement to her young friend. She also demanded Ivy stay by her side. “I can’t.” Ivy replied, “Hang up with me and make the calls. I’m not leaving her for a second.”
Ivy’s memory flashed to her own birth story. Images of being alone in a church attic, without heat, without help, and almost without hope. Her only partner was the God who carried her through to that moment.
When she thought she would die from the pain, He whispered to her heart through an old hymn her Mema used to sing. What a Friend We Have in Jesus echoed through the memories. She'd almost forgotten God's comforting embrace that moment.
Ivy shoved all the pain away, as soon as she and Scout discovered safety. By doing so, she misplaced the blessings. God sang her through childbirth using the memory of her Grandmother.
Flora squatted in the Everett shower. One hand braced itself on the tile and the other held onto Ivy. Ivy, renewed in her refreshed perspective kneeled beside Flora.
“When this one is over, I’m unlocking this door.” Flora’s eyes widened. “Only this one, I’m not leaving the room.”
Scout coo-ed in the bathtub beside the shower. It was the most solid sleep the baby experienced since her gums turned against her.
*****
Reading the reconstructed note opened Lydia’s eyes. Shane Mon wasn’t just a hero he was Averie’s husband. He’d been searching for her since the crash. Berna wept over the note and the fate of its scribe.
Lydia, refueled by her outrage at Maven’s depravity tore through the rest of the bag. Berna looked on through her water-logged eyes and halted Lydia with a sudden yelp.
"What?" Lydia spun to face Berna in startled irritation. Sleeplessness plagued Lydia's kindness.
“You almost stuck yourself.”
Lydia looked down to see two discarded allergy injectors. One secure, lidded, and safe. The other rested needle up and poking through the broken orange cap.
"Who would blast through two of those pens in a single weekend? Those boogers are expensive!" Berna placed a protective arm between Lydia and the trash as if Lydia would begin her scavenging again. Lydia backed away from the piles. She took off the second pair of gloves and scrubbed her hands and arms. After two washings she applied hand sanitizer and tossed her hair back in a tight pony.
"Listen, Berna," Berna did. "Keep calling Ethan. He will not answer his cell if he's still at the hospital. So, call there first. Keep calling. Call Gus. Call Ashton Police. Call everyone. And don’t clean up that mess.” Berna sulked when Lydia pointed to her now ruined coffee table.
“But it’s nearly 4. My guests will come down for breakfast around 6:30.”
"Then pray Ethan gets here, quickly. He needs to see that. I'm not sure what he'll do with it. He needs to know Maven tried to poison you. Lock the doors. Don't let her back in. Understand?"
Berna was already at her landline dialing. Her cell set on speaker rang through to the Honey Pot sheriff's office. Gus's voice answered the line. Berna sighed with relief while Lydia crouched down and retied her shoelaces.
"Hey Gus, it's Berna, you need to get over to the Hive,” Gus responded with confusion and a story about another call that had just come in from Lydia's house. "But Lydia's here." Berna watched her friend charge out the front door and jog toward the lavender field. "Well, she was."
*****
Kat, with Dr. Lawrence’s help, shoved through the barricade. There was a faint shuffling sound, through the bathroom doors. Ivy’s soft cry joined the buzz of the bathroom fan. Despite her tough stance and her explosion into the room, Kat accompanied Ivy’s weeping. She was too late.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lydia hit the field running. The sun raced her to the bee yard. Her shadow grew longer as it rose above the roof of the Hive. She continued her pace. Sweat replaced the morning dew sticking to her shirt.
“Oh Lord, let Ethan hurry.” She said as she opened the yard fence. “Where did she hide it?”
Berna had four hives propped on stands. The colonies were active producers of honey and kept in tourist attraction shape. Visitors liked to watch their inhabitants hunt and flurry.
Discarded signage, from the cancelled apiary demonstration, leaned against the bee fence. A clean, white beekeeper suit lay draped upon a tree branch. Lydia snagged the suit and shoved her legs into the pants. Her fingers flew along the jumpsuit buttons, fastening them. She secured the hood and hurried to work.
Low to the ground, Lydia patted at the earth. She rummaged through wood chips and moss. A few precisely placed plants decorated the yard. She searched them, too. The bees preferred to hit up the lavender and the distant wildflower fields for pollen. They ignored her.
Lydia's nails filled with dirt as she clawed at the sod of the apiary. She hadn't a clue what she was searching for but was sure she'd know when she found it.
Her mind reeled with freeze frames of the last couple of days. Maven was strung out when the Everetts drove her to the hospital. Epinephrine did that to people. Lydia wondered if Maven used both doses the morning she attacked Averie or if she’d come back searching and needed another shot.
Bees circled the hives and danced in the early sun. Some went to harvest their crop. Others inspected Lydia. Nervous, with at least twenty bees resting on her face mask, Lydia paused her hunting and retrieved the bee smoker. The kindling was packed down, but she didn't see a lighter nearby. The bees returned to their work.
Lydia followed their example. She trusted the suit to keep her safe. Under the third hive, secured in the nook of a cinder block Lydia found a small black transmitter. It was boxy and bulky, like a set of clippers from a hair salon. Lydia wondered how it recorded the sound. Two thick silver antennae stuck out the top and a skinny strand o
f earbuds cascaded from the back. This was it. She had found the microphone pack. Lydia hoped it held concrete evidence as to who assaulted Averie.
In her excitement, Lydia left the apiary still garbed in the white uniform. The few bees that clung to her mask drifted off as she ambled back to the inn. Her tired body ached. Though her adrenaline was up, she grew sleepier with each heavy step.
To her left where the lavender parted for the 5k, another shadow joined her journey. When Maven approached, waving Berna’s cattle prod Lydia’s senses were slow to acknowledge the threat. “You’re gonna want to stop and hand me what you found.”
Lydia turned around sluggish to process and slow to corral her body to comply. The beekeeper hood gave her owl vision. She needed to turn her entire head around to see every angle.
Maven's first punch took Lydia by total surprise. She sprawled onto the ground, white knuckling the recorder pack. Her breath sputtered making it difficult for her to catch a full inhale.
“Give me that recorder!”
“What makes you think I have it?” Lydia inched her way backward, away from Maven.
Her attacker spun the prod in front of her. “Don’t be stupid. I saw you take it.”
Spotting the prod was uncharged, and hoping Maven wasn't aware of that fact, Lydia slid her feet underneath her rear end. She took a slow deep breath as Maven continued trying to goad her into a brawl. Dear Lord, help all those squat jumps come in handy. She launched toward the lavender and away from Maven.
Lydia knew help was on the way. She only had to distract and detain her pursuer long enough to get the pack to Ethan. Given time she could evade her and escape. Lydia estimated Maven was fifteen years her junior. She would not tire as quickly as the middle-aged mother. Lydia forced herself to continue.
Maven watched Lydia run, surprised at the woman’s tenacity. Maven had no intention of chasing Lydia. Berna’s lavender only grew waist deep. Other than the crop of purple plants the field was flat. There was no place for Lydia to hide. She determined to wait until the older woman wore herself out, before following her.
