Witness (Otter Creek Book 1)

by Rebecca Deel

  “No, thanks. I’m going to check on my girls.” She winked at her father. “Hey, Meg. Want to come with me?”

  Empty glass in hand, Megan walked into the kitchen, scowling. “Your bees hate me.”

  Serena laughed. “No, they don’t. Last time you went out there, you’d eaten a banana. Banana breath smells like a pheromone alerting the bees to danger.”

  “Forget it, sis.” Meg opened a can of Diet Coke. “Besides, I’m editing Mitch’s articles for the next edition of the Gazette.” She slammed the refrigerator door. “He must be battling a world-class case of writer’s block this week. His writing stinks.”

  Serena’s cell phone rang.

  “We still on for lunch?”

  Ethan’s voice triggered a smile. “What time?”

  “Thirty minutes?”

  “Great. I’m at my parents’ home.” She gave him directions, then slipped her cell phone into her purse.

  “Lunch date?” Meg’s eyes gleamed.

  Serena frowned. “Don’t harass Ethan, Meg.”

  “Who, me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  #

  Serena opened the shed door to a jumble of rakes, hoes and trowels. Her beekeeper clothes lay in a heap by the lawn mower.

  She frowned. She kept one set of clothes for herself and one for her father who found the beehives fascinating. Two days ago, she’d left both jumpsuits folded on the shelf.

  She folded her father’s suit, then tugged on her protective gear and headed for the hives. Ethan should arrive within fifteen minutes, enough time to check the hives for overcrowding. She didn’t want to lose part of her bee colonies to swarming.

  Serena crested the rise and stopped. One hive lid sat askew.

  #

  Ethan swung his SUV into the Cahill driveway and shut off his engine. He palmed a couple of business cards. He’d already left a couple of them under Harrington’s windshield wiper, once with the car parked at his house and once in front of the fire hall.

  He pressed the doorbell. Wonder how long before the reporter’s curiosity forced him to call?

  “Welcome to the Cahill castle, Chief.” Megan opened the door wider and motioned Ethan inside. “Serena should be back in a few minutes. Care for a Coke while you wait?”

  He followed her into the kitchen and accepted a cold can. “Thanks.”

  “Company, Meg?” A slender, gray-headed man stepped into the room.

  Ethan set the can on the counter and extended his hand. “Ethan Blackhawk, sir.”

  “Aaron Cahill.” He shook Ethan’s hand, waved him to a stool and sat across the counter from him. “I’m pleased to finally meet you, Chief Blackhawk. Folks in town compliment your work.”

  Megan gave a strangled cough, earning a raised eyebrow from her father.

  “I appreciate that, sir. Please, call me Ethan.” He glanced at the reporter, including her in the invitation as well.

  “Have you always been in law enforcement?”

  “No, sir. I was an Army Ranger.”

  Megan grabbed a pen and paper.

  Ethan’s lips curved. How soon would that information hit the Gazette?

  Aaron nodded. “My son, Josh, has been in the Rangers. What made you decide to leave the Army?”

  “Aunt Ruth. I wanted to be available for her, but I spent most of my time overseas.” He caught Meg’s wide-eyed stare. “If you print that, I’ll be in trouble with Ruth for months.”

  “How long have you been in law enforcement?” she asked.

  “About ten years.”

  Her face registered surprise. “Shouldn’t a police chief have more experience?”

  He shrugged. “The Las Vegas police department used my military background for equivalent experience. I worked in homicide and missing persons, as well as spending time as a beat cop. Crime is crime, no matter how small the town.”

  “What brought you to Otter Creek?” Aaron asked.

  “Ruth passed through here on a book tour a few years ago and fell in love with the people, the atmosphere. Last fall, she decided to move to a small town, similar to the one in her books. Otter Creek fit her need for trees, mountains, and changing seasons.”

  He sipped his Coke. “I was in the interviewing process with the Knoxville police department when the chief’s position here opened.”

  “I admire your commitment to your aunt. It says a lot about your character.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.” His commitment said more about his aunt than himself. He owed her. Though she denied it, he believed Ruth saved his life.

  Aaron checked the time. “I’m surprised Serena’s not back.”

  “She loses track of time when she’s with the bees.” Meg capped her pen.

  Ethan’s eye twitched. “Bees?” He fought a shudder. He’d faced scorpions, snakes, spiders and piranha during his tours of duty. No problem. But the thought of flying insects with stingers made him break out in a sweat.

  “Serena’s a beekeeper.” Meg grinned. “You ought to walk out to her hives and watch.”

  He rubbed his clammy hands on the sides of his pants. “Is it far?”

  “Straight out the back door and through the hedge.” She leaned close and sniffed. “Good, no cologne. Wouldn’t want the girls to think you’re a flower.”

  Aaron chuckled. “Why don’t you take him to the hives, sweetheart?”

  “Not without a hazmat suit.”

  #

  Serena’s movements resembled underwater shots of syncopated swimmers. Slow elegance, poetry in motion. Her white jumpsuit, gloves and netted hat contrasted with the green hillside, multicolored wildflowers, and variegated tree leaves.

  Ethan propped his shoulder against the trunk of an oak tree and watched. Serena lifted the lid from one of four hives. He winced as she reached into the box and pulled up a knot of buzzing insects on some type of wooden frame. Her gloves didn’t look substantial enough for protection. Meg’s hazmat suit idea appealed to him even more.

  She replaced the frame and pulled out another. What was she looking for? The buzzing noise from the bees grew in volume. He stiffened. The bees sounded irritated. He calculated the distance between himself and Serena. Five or six long strides would put him by her side. A few more bees flew around the hive. How many stings could he expect if they attacked her?

  Ethan pushed away from the tree. Man, he hated bees, but he wouldn’t leave her out there to face the stinging horde alone. Next trip to a clothing store, he would add long-sleeved shirts to his wardrobe.

  Still unhurried, Serena slid the frame into place, repositioned the hive cover and turned. “Want to see?”

  He shuddered. “No, thanks.”

  She removed her hat and gloves, smiling. “You don’t like bees?”

  “I’m not fond of their stingers.” Ethan fell into step beside her. “Why don’t you work with them at night? Shouldn’t they be asleep?”

  Serena laughed. “The hive’s busy twenty-four hours a day. At night, the bees build comb, cap cells with wax, feed the babies, care for the queen, and evaporate water from the honey. Since they get their bearings from the sun and can’t forage at night, they do housework.”

  Housework. Right. “Where would you like to go for lunch?”

  #

  “Weren’t you supposed to work this morning?” Ethan pushed his empty coffee cup across the red formica table at Delaney’s Deli. The fifties-style diner bustled with activity as the wait staff delivered hamburgers, French fries or onion rings and malts.

  “Mrs. Burke cancelled her Home Runs contract.” Serena tried to sound matter-of-fact, but failed. She finished her Diet Coke and laid a napkin over a half-eaten cheeseburger. The scent of grilled onions so appetizing earlier now turned her stomach.

  “Did she say why?”

  “She’s afraid her home’s next on the thief’s hit list. According to her, all my customers are in danger.”

  “I’m sorry, Serena. We’re making progress, but it’s slow and the state lab’s back
ed up.” His dark gaze held hers. “How long can you hold out?”

  At her current cancellation rate, a couple of weeks at most. “Don’t worry about me.”

  He reached across the table for her hand. “Can’t help the concern. What touches you matters to me.”

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  Serena’s hand formed a fist underneath Ethan’s. She looked up at the speaker and gasped. “Grace, what happened to you?”

  #

  The caterer glared at them from red, swollen eyes. Her puffy lip formed a lopsided curl. “Why don’t you admit to our blind police chief what you did to me?”

  Ethan’s hand tightened over Serena’s. “What’s going on, Grace?” His voice remained neutral despite the adrenaline surging through his body.

  She slid an empty mason jar with holes jabbed in the lid across the table. “Evidence, Chief Blackhawk. You do know what that is, don’t you?”

  Serena tilted her head and peered at the label. “Why are you carrying around one of my jars?”

  Home Runs, Inc. His gaze locked with Serena’s.

  “I use these jars for my honey. A lot of people have them. When the honey’s gone, most people wash the jars out and ask me to refill them. I give customers a price break if I don’t have to supply a new jar.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand why there are holes in the lid, though.”

  “You put them there. Too bad your scheme didn’t work.” Grace dug into her purse and tossed an epinephrine pen on the table in front of Serena. “I carry one of these with me wherever I go.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “You tried to kill me.” Grace’s shrill voice stilled all conversation in the deli.

  Ethan slid out of the booth. “Outside. Now.” He tossed money for the meal on the table, picked up the jar with a napkin and ushered the two women to his SUV. He swiveled to face Grace. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I went into Wilson’s to buy groceries.”

  “What time?”

  “Around 10:00. After putting the food in the trunk, I opened my door and bees flew out.” She glared at Serena. “They weren’t happy cooped up in a hot car and a couple of them stung me. I’m allergic to bees.”

  “Did you leave a window rolled down?”

  Grace crossed her arms. “I never do that.”

  “Car locked?”

  She stiffened. “Nobody locks cars in Otter Creek. Aren’t you going to take fingerprints from the jar? Get evidence of attempted murder?”

  “Not much use in that since you handled the evidence. Why are you accusing Serena?”

  “Ever hear of killing the competition?”

  “We’re not competitors, Grace,” Serena said.

  “Might want to ask some of your AWOL families who’s cooking for them now.”

  Serena froze. “Why are you cooking for my families? You cater special events.”

  A triumphant smirk crossed Grace’s face. “You can’t hold onto your man or your clients. I’m expanding.” She turned to Ethan. “That’s motive for murder, isn’t it?”

  Ethan unlocked his car and dropped the jar on the driver’s seat of his SUV. “I can’t arrest Serena based on supposition. Did someone see her put the bees in your car?”

  “It’s your job the find the proof.” Grace’s fists rested on her hips. “I’m telling you she tried to kill me. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’ll check into it. Do you need to see a doctor, Grace?”

  “I just left the emergency room. I’ve got to go. I have meals to cook.” She shook her finger in Serena’s face. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” Head held high, Grace stomped to her car and, gunning the engine, drove from the parking lot.

  Ethan gaze dropped to Serena. Echoes of worry and disappointment showed on her face. Was her situation more serious than she admitted? “You didn’t know about her cooking for your customers?”

  A wry smile curved her lips. “That’s one I didn’t see coming. I should’ve figured it out after Ella mentioned making other arrangements for meals. Since I don’t solicit catering events, I assumed Grace would have the same courtesy not to target my families. Naïve of me. And if she wants Mitch, she’s welcome to him.”

  “What about the banquet? Would she see it as stealing a sale?”

  “The dinner’s in Knoxville and I’m not catering. I’m planning the room set-up, table decorations, program activities, and menu, but I’m not cooking anything. How can that be a stolen sale?”

  He helped her into his SUV, moved the jar to the floorboard, then slid into the driver’s seat. “Can you tell whose jar this is?”

  “There are a hundred jars like that one scattered around Otter Creek. Unless someone calls in a stolen jar, I can’t tell you where it came from.”

  Another dead end. Might as well make it two for two. “What about the bees? If Grace didn’t get rid of the dead bees already, would you be able to identify them as yours?”

  Serena’s brittle laughter made his gut wrench. “They’re not cows. You can’t brand them. There are also two more beekeepers in the area. We all have the same kind of bees. I wouldn’t know if a few of them disappeared.” She paused.

  Ethan braked for a red light and glanced at her. She looked puzzled. “What is it?”

  “Maybe nothing. I found my beekeeping gear on the shed floor. I’m positive I left it on a shelf. I hate the thought of bugs hiding out in my jumpsuit and gloves.”

  He grinned. “Seems funny for a beekeeper to be worried about bugs. Could someone have knocked it off by accident?”

  “Them.”

  “Them?”

  “I have two sets of clothes. One for me, one for my father. It’s possible someone knocked them off the shelf. Maybe the same person messed with my beehive.”

  Her beehive? “What do you mean?”

  “When I arrived at the hives earlier today, one lid sat crooked.” She frowned. “Do you think someone stole a few of my bees and put them in Grace’s car?”

  #

  “Can you lift fingerprints from a beehive?”

  Rod blinked and sank lower in his chair. “Do I need to?”

  “I hope not.” Ethan rubbed his jaw, chill bumps racing over his arms. “Let me explain.” He told the detective about the clothes, beehive and Grace’s accusation against Serena, and waited for Rod to weigh his choices.

  “Don’t beekeepers wear protective gloves?”

  “Serena does.”

  “I’d guess most of them wear protection on their hands.” Rod’s throat muscles flexed. “I’ll print the hive if you want me to, but I think it’s a waste of time.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Talk to the other beekeepers. Find out if they’ve noticed anything odd with their hives. Run the prints on the jar. See if we come up with a match other than Serena and Grace.”

  #

  “I don’t understand. Why would Grace poach?” Madison dropped her knitting into the basket by her feet.

  Serena sipped her Coke, grateful for the afternoon lull at The Bare Ewe. In another hour, customers would begin stopping by on their way home from work.

  Megan stretched and circled the coffee bar to refill her mug. “Survival. The competition doesn’t always play fair, sis.”

  Serena grimaced. Play fair? Her competition played with a smoking gun. So much for being the only personal chef in town. “Grace has her own customers plus half of mine.”

  “And Mitch,” Meg said.

  Madison raised her eyebrows. “She’s after Mitch?”

  “She can have him, too.” Serena drained her Coke and capped the empty bottle. “He’s a creep.”

  “Told you he’s a Neanderthal.” Meg seated herself across from Serena.

  “I know, I know. I didn’t listen to your dire warnings. Next time, I promise to pay more attention to your stunning revelations.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Madison stared at Serena.

  “He doesn’t like the word �
��no’.”

  Meg’s eyes narrowed. “Personal experience?”

  Serena shrugged, her cheeks flaming.

  “He hurt you?”

  “A few bruises.”

  “Does Mom know?” Meg waved aside the question and answered it herself. “Of course not. If she did, he’d be road kill.”

  A smile tugged at Serena’s mouth. If Meg found out Mitch blackmailed Serena into their last date, she’d paint the road with him herself.

  “Can you fire him?” Madison asked. “Couldn’t you find someone else to write for the Gazette?”

  “After what Serena told us, he won’t be on the paper’s staff much longer. My main problem is none of the locals can write.”

  “But you’re a phenomenal editor. Can’t you fix their articles?”

  Meg laughed. “Fix their articles? In this case, it’s more like a major rewrite. I might as well pay myself extra and write under pseudonyms. If I didn’t need sleep, I’d have no problem putting each edition together.” She turned to Serena. “Give me a few more weeks, sis. I promise to assign Mitch stories that don’t involve you and give a warning when I think you might cross paths.”

  “What about Home Runs?” Madison cradled an empty coffee mug between her hands. “Is there something we can do to help?”

  Serena massaged her temples, a headache brewing. “I don’t know if I should wait it out or declare war and run some kind of special to attract new clients.”

  “Wait,” Madison said.

  Meg shook her head. “No way. Let’s grab a rifle and go hunting. Every day you wait, Grace gains another foothold with your customers. I say we print coupons for half-price services for the first month and include a free sample meal for each new applicant.”

  Serena grinned. She’d come up with a similar plan on the way to the store. Must be the triplet mind-reading thing again.

  “Can you afford that, Serena?” Madison asked.

  “Half the fee is better than no fee. How much will the ad cost, Meg?”

  “It’s on the house.” She grinned. “We need a pen and paper, Maddie. The Cahills are stepping up to bat.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ethan dropped the papers into his completed pile and palmed another report form. One thing his former commander failed to warn him about: paperwork. The higher he rose in rank, the more red tape and supporting paperwork mushroomed.