Honeybee Mystery

by Gertrude Chandler Warner

  “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

  The 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 w
as 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?”

  Clay said, “To tell you the truth, I honestly couldn’t say. I don’t really know all that much about him.”

  The Aldens couldn’t help noticing that Clay gave Dottie a very sheepish look. Dottie looked annoyed.

  “He didn’t have any references,” she told the children.

  “What are ‘references’?” Benny asked.

  Jessie explained, “References are people who can say what a good job you do. If you’re trying to get a job, the people who might hire you will want some information about what kind of a person you are, so they talk to your references.”

  “Oh, I get it,” said Benny.

  Clay said, “He seemed nice enough to me, and he sure knew his way around a farm. He might not be very talkative, but he’s a great worker. Strong as a bull. From watching him that first day, I could tell he’d done farm work before.”

  “Where does he live?” Henry asked.

  “I believe he rents a room in town.” He looked at Dottie again. “It’s over the butcher shop, isn’t it?”

  Dottie shrugged. “I think so. It’s hard to tell much about him. Like Clay said, he doesn’t talk a lot. He keeps to himself. Only talks if you talk to him first. That makes me kind of nervous.”

  “Well, we’re going down to the meadow to look for more clues,” Henry said. “And we’ll try to figure out what he was doing down there. If it looks like any of the flowers have been sprayed with anything, we’ll let you know right away.”

  Dottie seemed happy with this. “And are you going to talk to him?” she asked her husband.

  Clay shook his head. “No.”

  Dottie folded her arms. “And why not?”

  “Because if he is the guilty one, I don’t want him thinking we’re suspicious of him. We’ve got to catch him red-handed. If he thinks we’re on to him, he could disappear like that.” Clay snapped his fingers.

  Henry nodded. “He’s right, Mrs. Sherman. For now we’ve got to act like we don’t suspect a thing.”

  “But in the meantime, we’ll keep a close eye on him,” Jessie said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Spying Eyes

  The Aldens spent the next few hours searching for more clues, but they had no luck.

  They went into the wildflowers first, hoping to figure out what Georgie Cooper had been doing back there, but they found nothing. Georgie watched them from a distance, looking worried.

  Toward the end of the afternoon, as Jessie and Henry were walking back to the Shermans’ house, a car pulled up to the roadside stand. It was very large and expensive-looking. The man who got out was small and roundish, and he wore a tan suit. That was about all Henry and Jessie could see from where they were. The man went up to the stand, just as Grandfather had, and read the sign posted on the front. When he was finished, he started walking down the gravel driveway toward the house.

  As Henry and Jessie went up to meet him, some of his other features became clear — he was older, with a full face and steel-rimmed glasses. He had removed his suit jacket and hung it over his arm. In his left hand was a folded handkerchief, which he was using to pat his neck and forehead.

  When he reached the Aldens, he smiled and said, “Hello, there. I’m Bob Carlson.” He sounded out of breath.

  “Hi,” Henry said, smiling back. “I’m Henry Alden, and this is my sister Jessie.”

  Mr. Carlson nodded. “Pleased to meet you both. Do you youngsters work on this farm?” He seemed very friendly, with his warm smile and easy voice.

  “No, we’re just visiting,” Henry told him. In spite of the man’s friendliness, Henry thought it best to remain careful about what to say. There was no reason to tell a total stranger that he and his family were working on a mystery.

  “Oh, I see. Well, would you happen to know what’s going on with the honey? Why is it unavailable this year?”

  “Do you come for it often?” Jessie asked.

  He shook his head. “No, only about every six months. I have relatives not far from here, and each time I pass through, I stop by and get a jar or two.”

  “Just like our grandfather,” Jessie said.

  “Is that right? I’m not surprised. This honey is very good.”

  Henry said, “From what we’ve heard, the Shermans are having trouble with their bees.”

  The visitor looked puzzled. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  “I’m not sure. They just stopped making honey a few weeks ago. That’s what we were told.”

  The man put his hands on his hips and looked toward the beekeeping area. “That’s a shame, it really is. They’ve got the best honey in the world, too. Such a shame.”

  Jessie nodded. “It sure is.”

  Mr. Carlson let out a long sigh. “Oh, well, maybe next time.” He removed his hat and ran his arm across his brow. “Thanks anyway. It was nice meeting you.”

  “You too,” Henry told him.

  Just before Mr. Carlson turned away, he looked up at the sun and said, “Boy, it sure is hot today, isn’t it?” He patted his neck with the handkerchief, then unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling his sleeves up. As he did so, Henry and Jessie saw that his arms were covered with a nasty red rash.

  They looked at each other but said nothing.

  Henry and Jessie rounded up Violet and Benny and went back into the house to tell the Shermans about Mr. Carlson. Mr. Sherman sighed and said he felt bad to lose customers like that. “By this time next year,” he said, “most of those customers will be buying their honey somewhere else.”

  The Aldens didn’t have too much cheer to add to the conversation. They reported rinding no more clues during their hot, daylong search. They s
tood by their bicycles in back of the house as the sun settled into the horizon behind them.

  “We’re sorry we didn’t find more clues today,” Jessie said, restlessly twisting the grips of her handlebars.

  “Yeah, we looked everywhere,” Benny assured them.

  Dottie, standing with Clay on the back porch, smiled and nodded. “We know you did, and we’re very grateful.”

  “Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” Violet suggested.

  “Maybe,” Clay said, trying to smile but finding it hard.

  “Catching George Cooper sneaking around in the meadow was very good,” Dottie said, trying to remain upbeat. “He just might be the one.”

  “I guess,” Jessie said. “Then again, maybe he won’t be.”

  “Well, let’s go,” Henry said. “It’s going to be dark soon, and Grandfather will want to know what —”

  “Hey, look!” Benny said sharply, pointing toward the wildflowers.

  A man was standing there, crouched low and obviously spying. And it wasn’t Georgie, either. In fact, it wasn’t anyone they recognized.

  When he realized he’d been noticed, he froze, his eyes wide.

  “Hey!” Henry shouted, and the man took off running.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Dottie said.

  “C’mon!” Henry commanded, breaking into a sprint.

  The man fell forward and disappeared for a moment. The flowers above him were waving around crazily. Then he popped back up and kept going.

  “Does he look familiar to you?” Jessie asked as she caught up to her brother.

  “I didn’t get a good look at him,” Henry said breathlessly.

  The Aldens reached the beekeeping area just as the man reached the end of the field and crossed into the pine forest. The children had to weave around the little hive towers as if they were running an obstacle course.

  “What are we going to do if we catch up to him?” Jessie asked.

  “Nothing,” Henry told her. “I just want to get close enough to get a better look at him.”

  The Aldens entered the flower meadow and struggled through.

  “He’s getting away!” Violet cried.

  “He won’t get away,” Henry said. He wasn’t sure if this was true, but he didn’t want his brother and sisters getting discouraged. “We’ll catch up as soon as we get to the forest.”