Death By Drowning

by Abigail Keam

  I waved them over.

  “That was pretty interesting,” said Jake, “but better you than I. Bees give me the creeps.”

  “That’s because they are not indigenous to North America. Europeans brought them over. Your people have no history with them.”

  “Huh,” responded Jake. “Still, what you did was impressive and I’m looking forward to eating the honey.”

  “Speaking of eating, I’m hungry,” said Franklin.

  “Why don’t we go into town?” I said.

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” stated Franklin.

  “You decide, Franklin. You’re the fussiest eater of us all,” I said. “Make it a casual place. I don’t want to change my clothes.”

  We looked up to the sound of a vehicle making its way across the field. It was Shaneika, waving.

  “We were just thinking of getting something to eat. Wanna come?” I asked.

  “Where’re you going?” she asked, climbing out of her SUV.

  “Franklin’s going to decide,” said Matt.

  “How about eating at a restaurant on the river? It’s such a pretty afternoon,” said Shaneika.

  “That’s the ticket. Let’s all go, right now,” said Franklin, snapping his fingers. “I get to ride shotgun.”

  We piled into Shaneika’s SUV with Franklin riding in front, making Shaneika crazy with his driving advice while we headed to the river to eat fried catfish, baked potato loaded with butter and sweet iced tea. And I was going to do my best to eat them with my new teeth. Life was good to live again.

  *

  The next morning I checked on the beehives. It was the first day I was allowed to venture forth alone. Of course, like any new mother giving her child independence for the first time, there were conditions from Jake. I had to take the golf cart. I had to take the walkie-talkie. I had to check in every 15 minutes with the walkie-talkie. I could only stay out for an hour and a half. I could not leave the property. I could not talk to strangers. The list was endless but let me go, he did.

  I first went to the main beeyard and from the golf cart observed the entrance of each beehive. I was looking for good flying patterns of the workers, guards at the entrances and a lack of flies. Flies, hanging around an entrance, were a sign of trouble.

  Driving close to the back of a hive, I placed a bottle of honey with a note saying: Dear Mr. Goren, Next time you see me, please say hello. Running off scares me. Being a man of God, you understand my circumstances are strained this year. Once I am better, you can return to being a hermit. But for now, have compassion and be a neighbor. Don’t creep me out. It will make me run into a tree trying to get away. This honey is a welcome-to-the- neighborhood gift. Mrs. Reynolds. PS: Thank you for the walking stick. I am using it right now.”

  I placed both the honey and note in a transparent waterproof bag and left them on the hive top held down by a rock. Seeing that things were cool in the bee world, I went to check on the nucs.

  There was activity around the bluebird boxes that Shaneika had put up on the fence posts. Bright blue bullets of color flashed out of the boxes before winging off. It turned out that Miss Shaneika Mary Todd was an avid bird watcher and secret animal lover. It was only humans that she couldn’t abide. Perhaps she turned sour on the human race after she became a lawyer. I would have to needle that information out of her.

  “No!” I cried. The golf cart jerked to a halt. The nuc, with the 30,000 bees, was smashed and laying on its side. All the frames were shattered and thrown to the ground. They were covered with dead bees. Those who survived flew haplessly above the broken nuc. Having more nucs in the back of the cart, I remained calm getting out of the cart. It wouldn’t help the situation if I panicked and fell while getting out. I prepared a new nuc and spread out a white sheet on top of the broken frames, placing the new one on top of it. I pinned a queen pheromone tube inside the nuc. The worker bees needed a smell to latch onto. I picked up the remains of the nuc with my new walking stick. Inside, a clump of survivors had hung on. I shook them into the new nuc box and then closed the top, opening the bottom entrance. All I could do now was wait until the evening, hoping all the surviving bees would enter the new nuc box.

  Straight away, I drove to the horse pasture with the other nuc box. It too was smashed. Tears began to escape from my eyes. As my coping skills were on the same level as a toddler now, it didn’t take much for frustration to build and the waterworks turn on. I called Jake on the walkie-talkie and, between the sobbing, told him that someone had hurt my bees.

  “Don’t move,” Jake ordered. “I’ll be right there.” And he was.

  After making sure I was all right, Jake sat patiently with me in the golf cart while I blew my nose.

  “Could an animal have done this?”

  “I guess a raccoon could have, but I have used these boxes for four years now. This is the first time anything like this has happened.”

  “What about a bear?”

  “No bears in this part of Kentucky unless a stray just wandered through.”

  “Hmmmm,” murmured Jake. He jumped out of the cart and with my walking stick lifted the destroyed box pulling it toward him. A surviving bee stung him. “Hell,” he uttered. “I hate bees. They’re always stinging someone.”

  “No, they aren’t,” I said, defending them. “There are millions of bees on this farm and only one little girl bee has stung you in fear. Grow some, Jake.”

  He shook out dead bees from the crumpled box and turned it over. “Boss Lady, I wish you hadn’t fired Cody.”

  “I can’t foolishly spend my daughter’s money. We’re okay with just you.”

  “No, we’re not. There are tire tracks on this box. Someone did this on purpose.” He turned the box over and showed me the black marks.

  My skin crawled with fear.

  “It’s time we return to the house. I need to make some phone calls. Sorry, but your day pass has just been revoked.”

  Before we returned to the house, I made Jake check on all the animals. My life had been turned upside down, yet again. The Butterfly was put on lockdown and I was forbidden to leave the house, even to sit on the patio.

  Creating more tension, the barn cat had given birth to a litter of kittens in my closet after pulling down an expensive cashmere sweater to make a bed for them. For a second, I thought of pulling her tail, but Jake poked his head in the closet and grinned. “Looks like an expensive sweater she’s got there.” We both watched her knead the sweater until she got it just right for herself and then lay down on her side. She began to lick the still wet kittens.

  I began explaining to Jake why I needed to leave my bedroom patio door open so she could go outside and catch dinner.

  Jake shook his head no. “She’s now an indoor cat. I will get a nice comfy box for her and her babies. I will get cat food and litter, but she stays inside or we put her and the kittens in the barn. No more doors being open. These nucs are a wakeup call. Security is going to be tighter.” Jake walked towards his room.

  “I don’t want the smell of cat urine stinking up my closet,” I whined. As I watched her clean her babies, my hard heart relented; after all, while I was fond of my cashmere sweater, it was just a sweater. I mean, how selfish can a human be to deny a new feline mother a soft bed. “Hell’s bells. She came here for a reason. She feels safe. I can’t kick her out now.” I followed Jake into the hallway.

  “All doors stay locked from now on. That’s final,” Jake stated before going into his room.

  I returned to mine only to find a confrontation in the closet. Hearing the mews of the kittens, Baby had meander in and hovered his massive head over the sightless kittens. “Oh Baby,” I pleaded, “please don’t hurt . . . or eat them,” fearful that if I moved, a fight would start and Baby’s massive paws would accidentally hurt the tiny kittens.

  The mother was bunched in corner hissing, ready to throw herself on Baby when he lowered his huge nose. I also was ready to throw myself on him if he tried to hurt the kitt
ens. True to his good nature though, he sniffed and then licked them with his drooling tongue. Satisfied, he lumbered past me and circled three times before lowering himself in his bed. I sighed with relief. “We will leave you alone,” I said to the mother cat. “You’ve had a tough day and so have I.” Quietly, I closed one entrance to the closet, knowing she could get out through the bathroom door. At least, it gave her some privacy to be alone with her new family.

  Dinner was a quiet affair. Neither Jake nor I spoke much. As Jake was cleaning up, I broke the silence. “How much does my daughter owe you?”

  “Contract has been paid in full until October of this year.”

  “I guess the money is in an off-shore account?”

  Jake grinned. “Something like that.”

  “And then?”

  “It depends on many factors. One being if O’nan is found alive and caught. Another being that you’re well enough to live on your own.”

  “Is that possible . . . my living an independent life again?”

  “With certain parameters, I think it is very possible. You’re very far down the road to recovery,” he said, putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

  I paused for a moment. I wanted to articulate my thoughts correctly, which I couldn’t always do now. “Jake, I can’t live like this.”

  Jake looked at me with alarm. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I can’t hide. I can’t live a shallow, hidden life. If O’nan is alive and out there, then we must meet him head-on. A plan. Something. But I can’t live behind locked doors with the drapes pulled.”

  “There’s no point in being stupid either. You’re in no shape to meet up with O’nan. A five-year-old girl could take you down. Don’t throw your life away because you don’t like restrictions.”

  “The French philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville, witnessing the removal of the Choctaws in 1831 from Mississippi, asked one Indian why he was leaving his home and he answered, ‘To be free.’ I know how that man felt. I can’t live my life in the shadows. I’m always afraid. I will be paralyzed with fear if I do nothing but hide.”

  “If I lift the restrictions, then will you will let me teach you how to properly defend yourself? No more gimmicky electronic gates. No more watchdogs.”

  “I admit the watchdog idea did not turn out as I had hoped.”

  “That dog does nothing but sleeps and eats.”

  “Don’t forget poops.”

  “And farts.”

  “But he was shot three times trying to help me. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Yeah, ’cause I wouldn’t take three bullets for you.”

  “Not in the contract?”

  “Nope,” he said, giving me a lopsided grin. “Just heal and defend when humanly possible. I decide what is humanly possible.”

  “You’d take a bullet for me.”

  “Why is that, Boss Lady?”

  “Because you like me, you really do!” I kidded.

  *

  The next day I went to the bank and cashed in my last remaining money cushion – my $16,000 CD. Then I bought a shotgun.

  16

  The following Saturday was my first day back at the Farmers’ Market since last October. I had honey left over from the past summer, which I took out of my walk-in freezer and put in warming tanks. Then I put the bottles on the dashboard of any vehicle I could find to let the warm sun do the rest. Armed with my cashbox, table and chair, I was ready to face the crowds. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

  Seeing my regular assigned spot empty, Jake pulled the car in easily. Matt had paid my Market fees for the season and had saved my spot. Jake placed my table under the tree along with my chair. While he pulled out the boxes of honey, I put on a clean tablecloth and my sign. Bags hung from my chair, my special apron was on and my fanny was sitting comfortably. I was ready for business.

  Jake went over the rules with me again. Did I have my panic button necklace on? Was there a taser in the cash box? Was there one in my pocket? Did I have my asthma spray? Was there a friend who would accompany me to the bathroom? If someone unfriendly approached me, I was to act like I was having a heart attack. So on and so on.

  “I am going to take a walk around,” said Jake. “I’ll be back in a few moments. You might not see me, but don’t worry.”

  “Just blend in, Jake. Try not to scare the customers,” I teased, counting the change in my cash box.

  “If anyone asks, what shall I tell them?”

  “Say you’re my nephew from Oklahoma on my father’s side come to help at the farm.”

  “Okey dokey,” Jake said, before he scrambled into the crowd.

  It took me a moment to get my bearings. Everything seemed the same, but wasn’t. Farmers were looking at me out of the corners of their eyes, wondering what to do.

  Miriam, the peach lady, broke the ice first. She stood with her arms akimbo and her apron pockets stuffed full of ripe peaches. “Well, look who’s decided to show up,” she teased. “Look, honey. I brought you the first white peaches of the season. Aren’t they precious!” She took them out of her pockets to show me. My mouth watered. Noticing my cane hanging off the chair arm, she peered into my face. “Irene said you looked good. I don’t know how after that terrible fall, but the Lord had mercy on you, Josiah.” She squeezed my arm. “Take these here peaches. They’ll help build up your strength. Let them ripen some more in the window. Gotta go – customers.”

  I saw her whisper to several of her customers who then made a beeline for my table and bought honey. I didn’t care if they were mercy purchases. I needed the money. But bless Miriam, who was pushing customers my way.

  After the initial breakthrough, there was a slow but steady stream of customers as word of my return weaved itself around the market. Some people stared. Some asked me for details. I pointed to my hearing aid and said I couldn’t hear them. Some kept their eyes averted. Some, like the Market Manager, just came right out and told it like it was. “Well, I’ve seen you look worse. Now let’s make a list. You’ve got a cane and hearing aid that I can see. Your teeth look different . . . but in a good different sort of way. You don’t happen to have a peg leg under that skirt like Captain Ahab, do you?”

  “Funny, Ted.”

  “I have my moments. Did you get the books I sent you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you read them?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t like Kafka or biographies on Kafka.”

  “He’s the greatest writer that ever lived.”

  “He was an insurance agent who wrote about people turning into big bugs.”

  “If you’re not going to enlighten your mind, I want the books back.”

  “I brought them.”

  Ted grinned.

  “You’re a pain in the tuckus sometimes,” I accused, returning his smile.

  “I knew you hated Kafka.”

  “I got the joke. It was that I had to lug them back to Kentucky from Key West that irritated me.”

  “Didn’t you laugh just a bit when you opened the box?”

  “I admit I did chuckle a time or two when I opened a box filled with fourteen books written by Kafka or about Kafka. You have a weird sense of humor.”

  “You have no idea,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I waved to the car. “They’re in there.”

  “I’ll come back and get them later. Right now, I need your booth fee.”

  Keeping my assigned spot was like buying a condo. There were yearly and daily fees. I pulled thirty from the cashbox and gave it to him. “Hey Ted.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Silver Creek Vineyard a member of this market?”

  “Last time I looked,” he said, writing a receipt. Someone called Ted’s name. He turned and waved.

  “What’s the story on them?” I asked.

  “Sarah Dunne is Irene’s sister.”

  “Tell me something I don
’t know. What about Jamie?”

  “My personal feeling?” He lowered his voice. “Jamie came every Saturday with an older employee to help set up. He was not allowed to work the booth due to his age, so he worked for Irene until the Market was over and then helped pack up. Very hard-working boy, but seemed very nervous. Always watching the other wineries, checking up on them to make sure they were following the rules.”

  “Was Sarah having financial problems?”

  “I heard that she had bank problems.”

  “What kind of bank problems?”

  “Loan problems.”

  “Anything else.”

  “That’s all I’ve heard. You’re not sticking your nose in Jamie’s death, are you? Look what happened to you trying to find out what happen to Richard Pidgeon.”

  “Just curious,” I replied.

  “It was curiosity that got you that limp. Leave it alone.”

  It seems like people were telling me that close to a year ago. If I had listened to them . . . well, the past can’t be changed. I huffed, “No, it was a crazy cop trying to pin a murder rap on me that got me this limp. Go away now or I’ll call your wife and tell her that you are being a jerk to me today.”

  “She thinks I’m wonderful and you won’t be able to shake her on that. I’ve got her trained to ignore your complaints.”

  “That’s something I need to fix with her. Is she still a rabid liberal?”

  “Crazy as a loon about freedom of speech and personal rights.” Ted shrugged. “What can I do? Someone taught her to read the Constitution.” Someone called Ted’s name again. He swiveled and waved to them. “Come over after the Market and we’ll feed you,” he said. “Nothing fancy, but wifey made a chocolate cake this morning and told me to extend an invitation if I saw you.”

  My face brightened. “I would love to if I’m not too tired. Can I bring someone?”

  “Who?”

  “My nephew from Oklahoma.”

  Ted gave a funny look. “If that’s what you want to call him, fine, but I know that you don’t have a nephew from Oklahoma. Bring him along. It will give my wife someone new to torment.” He then moved on to the next booth.