The Beekeeper's Secret

by Sally Fernandez

  “Just one more question—is this a crime scene?” Max pointed to the yellow tape.

  “Y’all city folk always pokin’ your nose in where it dudden belong. Now, I sed git!” The disturbing creature shooed her away with the motion of his hand, then turned and lumbered back toward the building.

  “Charming. Looks like it’s time for plan ‘B.’” Back inside the car, Max typed ‘curry county sheriff’ into the GPS. “Perfect, only eighteen minutes away.” Her foot hit the gas pedal.

  The Curry County Courthouse on Main Street took little effort to find, including the nearest parking space in front of the main entrance. Upon entering the red brick building, Max easily located suite number four with the words “Sheriff’s Office” stenciled on the glass door. When she entered, she saw three of the towns finest seated before her, all gawking at the newcomer in town.

  “Ma’am, can I help you?” asked the deputy seated at the nearest desk.

  It was obvious the other ears in the room were piqued.

  “May I speak with the sheriff?”

  “Ma’am, what brung you to our lovely town?”

  “The sheriff, please.”

  “Of course, but I’ll need to tell him who—and why—you wanna’ speak with him,” he said in a long irritating drawl.

  Max, frustrated at his attempt to string her along, decided to pull out all verbal guns and throw around enough clout to settle him down. “My name is not Ma’am, it’s Max Ford. I’m a private investigator from Washington, DC, and I’d like to speak with the sheriff about the Clovis Hill Apiary.”

  “Not sure he can help you much. The Feds took that over when they swooped in and locked it up.”

  “The sheriff, please.” Max stood her ground. She recognized her attire made her stand out from the local crowd. There was no time to go to the hotel to change. Time was of the essence. And little did she realize, the sheriff had listened to the entire inquisition from inside his office, but chose to let his deputies have their fun.

  After several chuckles, he finally poked his head out and asked, “May, I help you? I’m Sheriff Wesley Waller.”

  Max was thrown for a loop. The sheriff was surprisingly attractive. His six-foot slim frame, with gray hair topping a youngish face, was nothing like the yahoos she had seen in town since her arrival.

  The deputy caught the look on her face and interjected. “This little lady’s a PI all-the-way from our nation’s capital. She’d be wantin’ to talk with you bout Clovis Hill.” That time his southern drawl was laced with curiosity.

  “Thank you, Mike. But I bet she could have said that all by herself.” The sheriff waved Max into his office as the others in the room razzed the bemused deputy.

  “Please excuse ’em,” he apologized. Then, brandishing a charming smile, he pulled up a chair next to his desk and offered her a seat. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m working on a case that led me to the Clovis Hill Apiary. Can you please tell me why it was closed?”

  “Nope, not a clue.” He shook his head in honest dismay. “It was the strangest thing. In less than twenty-four hours of Miss Ellie findin’ poor Ollie dead, the Feds circled in and shut down the whole place.”

  “I’m sorry, but who are these people?”

  “The Princes. Oliver Prince was the owner of the apiary. His poor wife was the one who found ’im dead in a swarm of bees.”

  “The beekeeper died from bee stings?” Max could hardly believe her ears.

  “Some coincidence, ain’t it.”

  “What actually happened?”

  “Accordin’ to Miss Ellie, she was waitin’ for old Ollie to arrive for supper. You see she runs the office from their home at the apiary. The converted garage was the warehouse and laboratory. Out back was the bee hives. I reckon they had over fifty hives. That’s a million bees, give or take a few buzzers. And their honey was as pure and sweet as y’all ever find in these parts...”

  “Please, Sheriff, what happened?” Max’s impatience became obvious.

  “Oh, sorry, I do get carried away. Anyway, Ollie was endin’ a tour he was givin’ to a group of students. Miss Ellie saw the students leavin’, so she expected him to arrive at the table on time. She waited on him bout another fifteen minutes, then she went to fetch him. Right inside the door to the lab, lay poor Ollie covered with bees. Miss Ellie called for an ambulance, but it was too late.”

  “Did you speak with the...”

  “Yeees, we spoke with the students, confirmin’ Ollie was alive and well when they left.”

  “Reading my mind?”

  “In our business it helps.”

  “You wouldn’t possibly have the coroner’s report?”

  “Sure thing.” The sheriff looked toward the door and called out the order. “Hey, Mike, go fetch me the Prince file.” Then he returned his attention to Max, trying to size her up, wondering what she was really looking for.

  Max sensed she was being examined under a microscope. Thank heavens, she thought when the deputy burst into the office.

  “Here you go, Sheriff,” he said, and then managed a wink in Max’s direction before he departed.

  What’s with that guy?

  “Here it is. Ollie was stung forty times. The tox report show two-hundred milligrams of apitoxin in his bloodstream, I guess that means bee venom.”

  “It does, and it’s enough to cause anaphylactic shock. He most likely suffocated.” Max’s mental calculator moved into gear. Forty stings would only inject a total of four milligrams. Both Jeff and Ollie died from the same exact dose. “It doesn’t add up. He would have had to die literally of a thousand stings—more or less, given his weight.” Oh, my God, Sam was right.

  “Forty opposite a thousand is a whole lot different. Are you suggestin’...”

  Max cut him off that time. “Yes!”

  “What’s your interest in this case, anyhow?

  “A friend died in Brazil from an injection of two-hundred milligrams of apitoxin.”

  “The same amount as old Ollie?” the sheriff asked in disbelief.

  “That friend also visited the apiary a few weeks before his death. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”

  “So, what’s those Feds got to do with this?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Dang, we got ourselves a gen-u-ine murder mystery goin’ on here.”

  “I’d like to speak with Mrs. Prince. Do you know how I can contact her?”

  “Sure, Miss Ellie’s stayin’ with her sister just down the road a piece. I mentioned the apiary was their home, but once those Feds showed up they kicked her out, only allowin’ her to collect a few of her things. Heartless, I say.” The sheriff reached for a piece of paper and jotted down the address for Ellie Prince. “Here you go. And you find out anything, I’d appreciate it if you’d pass it along.”

  “I will, Sheriff. You’ve been most helpful.” Max stood up to leave.

  “Ma’am, please let me escort you pass all those sniffin’ hounds.” The charming smile returned.

  “Thank you.” Max appreciated his southern hospitality, despite the protracted means it took to get to the next piece of the puzzle.

  Chapter 16

  Good On ’Em

  The GPS squawked a series of straightforward directions in a town that seemed laid out in a straightforward grid. It only took twenty minutes, heading away from Clovis back to Texico, before Max spotted a meager pueblo-style home off the main highway. She turned left onto the dirt road and drove slowly toward the house. All seemed quiet. She rapped on the door a few times and prayed Mrs. Prince would be home. While she stood waiting, she took the opportunity to surveil the rundown property.

  In Max’s usual curious style, she had read up on this quaint town on her flight over. Everything looked as expected: flat and desolate. With a popula
tion of a tad over eleven hundred, Texico lay on New Mexico’s border, sharing its boundary with Farwell, Texas. The entire town was only point-eight square miles, resting on the high plains.

  “May I help you?” asked the elderly woman.

  “Mrs. Prince?”

  “Oh no, you be wantin’ Miss Ellie. Can I tell her who come to call?”

  “My name is Max Ford, and I’m working on a case that may be connected to Mr. Prince’s death. The Sheriff gave me this address.”

  “Sheriff Wesley! Why didn’t you say that in the first place? C’mon in, I’ll git Miss Ellie.”

  Max remained standing in the living room overrun with Native furnishings, until a slightly younger woman, bearing family traits, entered the room.

  “You wanna talk about Ollie?” asked Miss Ellie in a soft, gentle manner.

  “Mrs. Prince, my condolences for the loss of your husband.”

  “Thank you, my dear. And call me Miss Ellie, everyone else in these here parts do. Now, please join me and tell me what you know about Ollie’s passin’.” Miss Ellie sat down, and Max joined her on the sofa.

  “Only what the sheriff told me, but it may somehow be related to the death of a dear friend.”

  “Oh, my.” Miss Ellie seemed confused.

  “This must be extremely painful, but would you mind telling me exactly what happened that evening?”

  “Well, dear, I wuz waitin’ for Ollie to wrap up his work and come to supper. That wuz the day he gave a tour to a group of young’uns wantin’ to be apiarists. You know dear, those wantin’ to breed bees. If I do recall, it wuz about five-thirty when I saw the students leavin’. Oh, my, there wuz that man...”

  “A man?”

  “Yes, he arrived right before the young’uns left. He dudden have an appointment, but he wuz wantin’ to speak with Ollie. He said it won’t take but just a minute. I called Ollie and told him, but he sed the man should wait in our little reception room until he finished the tour.”

  Max noticed an odd look wash over Miss Ellie’s face.

  “Strangest thing. When those young’uns were leavin’, I went to tell the man, but he’d already left.”

  “Left to go where.”

  “Well, I reckoned to go see Ollie. So, I wuz just waitin’ on him for supper. I feel so foolish now. I shudda gone out there mah self.”

  “Can you describe the man?” Max thought it best to get all she could before asking the last highly-intrusive question.

  “I think he wuz a little taller than you. His hair wuz darker too, more sandy-brown. Caint remember the color of his eyes. Maybe cause I caint take my eyes off that nasty scar on his left cheek.”

  “A scar. Was it jagged? Was it straight?”

  “Oh, it wuz straight, just like this.” She used her index finger to draw an imaginary line straight from the edge of her outer eye to the edge of her lip. “Nasty thing.”

  “Miss Ellie, I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you please tell me what happened when you found your husband?” Max could see tears welling up in her eyes, but the answer could be of vital importance.

  “It wuz a God-awful sight. Those bees swarmin’ all over him. I went to fetch the smoker as fast I could to calm ’em down. But it wuz too late, they already stung poor Ollie to death.”

  “How could that have happened? Mr. Prince must have known how to handle the bees.”

  “Ollie’s not the careless sort. But it looked like he had been workin’ in the lab with one of those frames from the hives. I have no idea why he whudda or what he’d been doin’ with it, but all it takes is for one sting to release them pheromones. Any bees buzzin’ around go on the attack. You know, it’s their natural instinct to want to protect the hive, even though it’s rare for a honey bee to sting you. But that must’ve been what happen’d.” She sniffled and then asked in a weakened tone, “Is that what happen’d to your friend?”

  “Something like that. I’m surprised the sheriff never mentioned the man that came to see Ollie.”

  “Oh my, perhaps I plumb forgot. That wuz a horrible time and I wuz frettin’ for help.”

  Max noticed a sheepish expression on Miss Ellie’s cherubic face. “Is there something else you forgot to mention to the sheriff?”

  “Well, I dudden know what Ollie wuz messin’ with, but he told me that if anythin’ happen’d to him that I shud wash his drive. And I ought not to tell no one.”

  “You mean scrub the hard drive on his computer?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s it. I don’t know much bout that stuff, but he show’d me how to do it.”

  “So, all the documents, data, his appointment schedules—everything he was working on—has been erased?”

  “Everythin’ but his appointment schedule; I got that right here. I told you I don’t know much bout that computer stuff, so I write everything down. You think I done right? Because those mean ol’ government men kicked me outta my own home. That just ain’t fittin’. Good on ’em, I say.”

  “How did the Feds become aware that your husband had died?”

  “No idea. A few hours later, when I returned from the morgue, they were there and had everythin’ locked up. I had to plead with them to let me fetch a few of mah personal things. Imagine that—I had to plead.”

  Max did not push; it was another dot with nothing to connect to for the moment. “Would it be possible for me to borrow the appointment calendar? I promise to return it to you.”

  “Well, it don’t do me no good now. If it’ll help you find out what happen’d to your friend, I suppose so. You wait right here now.”

  While Max waited, she remembered something else. It might be a long shot, she thought, but what the hell?

  “Here you go, dear.”

  “Miss Ellie, do you ever recall a man, around six feet, two inches tall with blond hair and blue eyes? He might even be Scandinavian.”

  Clearly, the wheels were turning. “That sounds like that Sorenson fella. He wuz from the Food and Drug Administration. At first, I thought he wuz nosin’ around checkin’ on the quality of our honey. But he been showin’ up quite a bit here. I think Ollie took a shine to him.”

  With Max’s antennae fully extended, she described Jeff. Miss Ellie also confirmed what she suspected. Jeff had met with the beekeeper.

  “Is there anyone else that stands out. Someone who visited frequently?”

  “Well, it’s usually rather quiet around here. But this last year, there’s been a lot people poppin’ in. Not locals, they’re more refined folk like yourself.”

  “Miss Ellie, I don’t want to take any more of your time. And once again, my condolences.”

  “My pleasure, dear. I hope I’ve been helpful.”

  Max assured the lovely lady that she had been more than cooperative, even though Max didn’t exactly understand how it all added up, except for one conclusion—Jeff and the beekeeper were killed by the same person.

  Chapter 17

  Sam Comes to Clovis

  Max was dog-tired. But armed with encouraging evidence and no time to spare, she punched in the directions on the GPS and headed to her hotel. Once back on the familiar streets of Clovis, she spotted the neon sign up ahead for the Super 8 Motel. Just past that were the golden arches. Exhaustion, mixed with starvation, steered the car first to the drive-in window to retrieve a southwestern grilled chicken salad and a large coffee—an appeasement for all the previous Big Macs. Once checked into the motel, she had one more thing to do before settling in for the night—place a call.

  “Hey, Max. What’s happening?” Sam’s voice betrayed his attempt to hide his eagerness.

  “I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  “Get where?” He asked, even though his instincts told him he was not going to like the answer.

  “Clovis—and you will never believe this; the owner of the apiary was ki
lled by a swarm of bee stings.”

  “What?!”

  “Listen to this. The tox report showed the identical level of apitoxin found in Jeff’s bloodstream—and once they discovered the beekeeper’s body—they shut down the whole place—lock, stock, and beehive.”

  “Why would the local authorities close the apiary?”

  “Guess again?”

  “The ever-loving Feds?!”

  “You got it! That’s why I need you to burrow your way in and find out why. Bring a fake ID and a large briefcase. You can never tell what you’ll uncover.”

  “Whoa, hold your horses! What have you gotten yourself into this time? And excuse me; you’re just as capable of breaking in as I am. What’s the old adage? ‘If you don’t use your spy skills, you’ll lose your spy skills.’”

  “Ha-ha, but I can’t. They’ve got this old, crotchety rent-a-cop who won’t budge. C’mon, Sam, I need you on this one.”

  Sam was spinning alternatives in his head, but none morphed into likely possibilities.

  “Sam! This is what you signed up for partner.”

  After a slight hesitation he caved. “Okay, princess, you win. I’ll see you tomorrow. Where’re you staying?”

  “The Super 8.”

  “Wonderful,” he moaned. “Get me a room.”

  “Ah Sam, when the lights are out, they all look the same.”

  “I’ll grab the same flight you took. Pick me up?”

  “Sure, I’ll see you at three. And thanks, you’re a life saver.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that! Gotta go. Arrangements to make.”

  Now with that settled, Max took a serious stab at both her McDonald’s salad and the beekeeper’s appointment calendar.

  Chapter 18

  The Apiary Caper

  The scheduled flight arrived on time, so Max waited at the curb. When she saw Sam exit the modest building that sufficed as a terminal, she flashed her headlights to gain his attention. Catching the glimmer, he headed toward the car, carrying an oversized briefcase. Seconds after he settled into the passenger’s seat, Max fired off the first question.