Buzz Off

by Hannah Reed

  Carrie Ann looked off, but not before her eyes gave her away.

  “You do know something.” I shook her arm to get her to look back at me while putting on my best pleading expression. “You have to tell me. We’re bound by blood.”

  I don’t know where that came from. It just popped out. However, my Mom-like comment, laying on the guilty family responsibilities thing, worked.

  “You won’t like it,” my cousin said. “You’ll wish you hadn’t asked.”

  “Try me.”

  “Please don’t make me be the one to tell you,” she whined. “I hate this.”

  Right when I was considering intimidation tactics and torture techniques, Carrie Ann caved. “It’s about the affair you were having with Manny Chapman,” she said.

  My mouth dropped open. Of all the different ideas that had gone through my head, that wasn’t one of them.

  “That’s exactly how I must have looked when I first heard the rumor,” Carrie Ann said. “You were a little wild in school . . . okay, a lot wild, but I thought you had settled down. Imagine my surprise to find out something like this. At least you kept your personal business quiet, not like that slinky husband of yours who sat at Stu’s bar with one woman after another bragging about his sex drive. Sorry. That just slipped out. And I don’t blame you one bit for spending intimate time with Manny. I’m the last one to cast stones, let me tell you. I have my own secrets.”

  Carrie Ann would have kept up with the nervous chatter if I hadn’t raised my right hand and held it out like a stop sign.

  “That,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “So you’re denying it? Good idea. We can pass that around and maybe it will stop all the talk. Or else it might fuel the fire. What should we do?”

  “No wonder Grace and her sister-in-law treated me so cold,” I said to myself, but out loud. “They heard what was going around and believed it.”

  “Should we confront the issue head on or hope it dies out? Or we could spread something new to distract them.”

  “Who started such a nasty lie?” I wanted to know.

  “P. P. Patti,” she said. “But don’t tell her I told. And you better get some ice on your neck. It’s swelling up like a balloon.”

  Twenty-five

  When I was in high school, I wasn’t the nicest person on the planet. Looking back, I realize that now and I’m not proud of everything I did. I was popular enough to be nominated for prom queen, but I didn’t have enough real compassion for those less fortunate on the popularity scale. And I suppose I deserved to suffer for past actions, for every time I hurt someone else. What goes around, comes around, as the saying goes. And I should feel some of the same pain I’d dished out.

  But why on earth would Patti Dwyre have said such a thing? Had she found out that I referred to her as Pity-Party Patti? Was this retaliation? I certainly wasn’t the only one who called her that. She’d earned it all on her own. I couldn’t even remember who’d started it.

  Had it been me?

  What if my mother and Grams had heard about this so-called affair? While I had given up on a meaningful relationship with my mother, deep down I didn’t want her to think worse of me than she already did.

  So I asked Holly if she knew about the latest gossip while we freshened up the vegetable bins. “There’s a rumor flying around,” I said, restacking vine-ripened tomatoes so they looked their very plumpest, “that I had an, ah, er . . . intimate relationship with Manny Chapman.”

  “I heard that,” Holly said, not looking up from the garlic bulbs.

  “From P. P. Patti?”

  “From Mom. That’s one of the reasons she wanted me to stick around here. Grams agreed.”

  “Oh, gawd. Mom knows?”

  “Yup.”

  “So you’re here to comfort me in my grief at the loss of my lover?”

  Holly started cleaning up husks and silk lying around the corn bin from customers shucking their own corncobs. Something about peeling the husks away and exposing all those juicy yellow kernels appealed to our shoppers. Corn on the cob was one of our top sellers this time of year.

  “Mom wants me to protect you from yourself, and Grams wants me to protect you from Grace.”

  “Grace wouldn’t even have a right to be mad. She was sneaking around with Clay.”

  I told my sister about confronting Clay and how weakly he’d defended himself and Grace against my claim.

  Holly shook her head. “Is it something in Moraine’s drinking water that’s making everybody so horny?”

  “This is turning into a soap opera. You have to believe me. I was not having an affair with Manny,” I said.

  “Right,” said my sister.

  If your own family doesn’t believe you, who will?

  “Grace, open up,” I called, peering through the screen door. I could see a pot boiling on the stove, steam rising from it. “I know you’re in there.”

  I tried the door. It was unlocked. I opened it and called again. “I’m coming in.”

  “Stay right where you are on the porch,” Grace said from someplace in the back. “I’ll be right there.”

  Grace left me outside for a while before she appeared. She looked tired. It was only the first day after Manny’s funeral. Life in Moraine had become complicated for both of us.

  “I need to talk to you, Grace. About several things.”

  She didn’t invite me in, just leaned against the porch and folded her arms. I started with the easy stuff first, since I’m a confrontational wimp.

  “I tried to look up Gerald Smith so I could talk to him about the bees. He isn’t a member of the beekeepers association and I can’t find him in the phone book. Do you have his number?”

  “No,” Grace said, her lips in a thin line.

  “Do you have any kind of contact information at all?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him when he picked up the bees? What does he look like? Did you see his truck?”

  “No. Don’t know. No.”

  Jeez. She was making this hard for me.

  “Come on, Grace. You must know something.”

  “The bees are gone. That’s all I care about.”

  “So this guy came after dark, loaded them up, and drove off? And you didn’t see a thing?”

  “That’s right. Are we done?”

  “Does Stanley have them?”

  “Stanley Peck? Why would you think that?”

  I sighed, disappointed. This was going worse than I expected.

  “I heard about the robbery. Did they catch whoever did it?”

  “No. The camera was old anyway. And they didn’t get much money.”

  I wanted to ask her about the dead yellow jackets in the honey house and the pieces of nest and the bee blower out of place like someone had borrowed it and didn’t put it away properly, but even if she’d known anything about those things, she obviously wasn’t in a chatty mood.

  “Will you consider selling the honey house to me?” I asked instead. “I’d like to keep raising bees, keep the honey business going.”

  “No,” she said, and all hope of salvaging some of what was left of Manny and my honey-producing business faded.

  Maybe I should have started with the hard stuff first. By now my palms were sweating. “The things they are saying about Manny and me? They aren’t true. We were friends and that was the extent of it. I’m sorry you had to hear such awful lies.”

  I couldn’t help thinking that Grace owed me something, too. An apology back would be nice, since she’d been with Clay and that fact was real, not just made-up gossip like the story about me. My ex had even confirmed it in his pathetic way.

  “I didn’t hear any lies,” she said.

  We did one of those stare-downs that I usually reserve for the police chief.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” I said.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I said what I came to say.” I
backed off the porch, forgetting about my sore feet until I felt the pain, but didn’t take my eyes off of her because the hairs on the back of my arms were standing up and I was getting a weird impulse to get the hell out of there. I’ve always been slow to think the worst of people, mainly because I want to believe that people are basically good. But recent events should have turned on my caution lights.

  If Grace had killer instincts, what would stop her from attacking me? I had arrived without a protection plan in mind. “My sister knows I came out to talk to you,” I stammered. “Carrie Ann knows, too. That I’m here. I better get back to The Wild Clover.”

  Grace didn’t move. She watched me walk back to my truck, scoot in, and leave for what I assumed would be the last time.

  On the way back, I was more convinced than ever that Grace had killed Manny. She had the means and opportunity—she could’ve turned on the bee blower, released the yellow jackets she had trapped in their nest, then run to the house and locked the door, leaving Manny to die an agonizing, venomous death. Why? Because she thought she would spend the rest of her life with that snake Clay, that’s why. And when she saw him with Faye she went buzz-erk with rage and killed the girlfriend. Getting rid of me, the ex-wife, and thus a potential threat to her future would have been easy if her plan to frame me had worked out. Unfortunately for her, things went wrong, and Johnny Jay had arrested Clay instead.

  How did she feel now?

  And all along I thought Grace was a meek and mild woman with a simple case of low self-esteem.

  I’d underestimated her.

  Twenty-six

  Ray Goodwin’s delivery truck arrived at the market right behind Trent and Brent Craig, who reported for work at three o’clock on the dot. For the time being, I put aside my visions of death and intrigue.

  Holly headed for her red Jag while I stood out in back, surveying the unloading. “Hunter called for you,” she said. “Twice. He said it was important. My man Max is home tonight, then he’s leaving again tomorrow on another business trip. We’re going out to dinner.” She giggled like a new bride. “Then we might try some of that water that’s making the rest of this town so sex-minded.”

  “Very funny,” I replied before turning my attention to Ray, who looked neater than usual. He wore clean jeans and had shaved nice and close, a rarity for him. “New woman in your life?” I asked him.

  He gave me a Mona Lisa smile. “Maybe. Why? What gave me away?”

  “I can just tell, is all.” I changed the subject. “I’m still searching for Manny’s bees,” I told him. “Have you seen anything different? Someone with a bunch of new bees? Or a beekeeper with more hives than usual?”

  “You’re still on that kick? Besides, from what I hear, nobody wants you raising honeybees in town. Isn’t that why you got rid of yours?”

  “Right, yes, but—”

  “How about me and you go out together Friday night?”

  That stopped me in my tracks. Actually it was more like full impact with a moving train. Ray, apparently, thought I was his new woman. Oh, no. One of the worst things about being single was deflecting unwanted attention without destroying any fragile male egos, and I didn’t want to be the one to reduce Ray’s.

  Usually, I had some kind of warning. This one took me totally by surprise.

  “Uh, I’m busy Friday, but thanks for asking.” Ray opened his mouth to say something, and I rushed in before he could speak. “The whole weekend I’m busy.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll check back with you next week.”

  “Okay,” I said. I’d worry about it then. “Thanks for asking.” That was dumb, thanking him, which he would certainly take as encouragement, but I was flustered. “By the way,” I said, “could you stop at Grace’s sometime this week, go into the honey house, and get whatever honey you need to fill orders?”

  Ray stared at me like I had two heads. “You mean, go into the sacred honey house by myself?” he asked.

  I smiled at that, remembering Manny’s main rule. Most of the time he was easygoing, but this particular one was a requirement. Or else. And that was that no one was allowed in the honey house unless one of us was along. It was Manny Chapman’s territory, and while he was alive I had respected his wishes.

  Competition among honey producers was friendly, but as Manny said, not that friendly. “Grace isn’t speaking to me at the moment,” I said, explaining why I was breaking the rule this time. “She might take a shot at me if I do it.”

  “Isn’t the honey house always locked up tight?”

  “She’ll let you in. Just make sure you let her know that she’s getting all the proceeds from the sales.”

  “Aren’t you splitting sales from the business?”

  “Not anymore.” I went into the store through the back door.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have gone for a long, soothing kayak trip on the Oconomowoc River tonight after work, but these weren’t common times. Besides, I had no floatable transportation.

  After careful consideration, I rejected the idea of sharing my recent thoughts with Johnny Jay until I had more to go on. Instead, I called the police department to find out when I’d get my kayak back. I’d already decided to trade it in. I’d never be able to use it again without seeing Faye’s dead, staring eyes or some other unpleasant images.

  No one at the cop shop could give me an answer. They said they’d call when it was released.

  Ray’s date offer was on my mind. Not in the let’s-give-it-a-try way, because Ray has never been on my list of potentials and never would be. His sitting in my backyard had been almost too much personal closeness for me.

  But there were a few things I really missed as a single, unattached woman with no current prospects. They were:

  • Knowing I had plans for a Friday night, even if it was something simple like a burger at Stu’s.

  • Not having to think about how everybody else seemed to be coupled up. I’d never noticed how many lovers held hands until I was alone and didn’t have a hand to hold.

  • Having a warm body to cuddle with while watching movies on a rainy day.

  • Mainly the human contact—a hug, light fingers running up and down my arm, a foot massage, naked contact with someone special.

  That last bullet point was part of my ongoing romance fantasy. The special someone part, not just the naked part.

  I thought about what Holly said as she left the store, that Hunter had called twice looking for me. I considered returning his call but I still suffered from total embarrassment and didn’t have anything to say to him. I was done apologizing to other people for the day.

  I called Holly instead.

  “I’m sort of in the middle of things,” she said, quietly.

  “It’s only four o’clock.”

  “Love is timeless.”

  “One quick question, then. Why did Hunter and I break up in high school?”

  “Isn’t that something you should already know?”

  “I can’t remember. Everything about the man screams

  ‘perfect,’ but if that’s true, why did we split up? I’m drawing a complete blank.”

  “You dumped him.”

  “I did?”

  “You said he was too small-townish, that you wanted to see the world, and you were leaving the bumpkins behind.”

  “I said that?”

  “Yup. You broke his heart.”

  Jeez!

  “Did you return his phone call?” Holly asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “He said it was important. Don’t forget.”

  After we hung up, I thought about my youthful need to get away from Moraine. Not that I ended up traveling the entire world. Far from it. I only made it to Milwaukee, forty miles down the superhighway, but compared to my hometown of Moraine, Milwaukee was the world.

  What would have happened to my life if I hadn’t left Moraine? If I hadn’t met Clay in Milwaukee and married him? If Hunter and I had stayed together?


  Analyzing the past is a dangerous, slippery slope leading into quicksand, so after I closed the store and went home, I stopped in the garden, pulled a bunch of fresh red beets, and spent the evening in the kitchen, creating my special version of beet soup, which would go into this month’s newsletter. I added ginger this time for a walk on the wild side.

  Twenty-seven

  By early the next morning, I couldn’t ignore a growing feeling of unease about Moraine’s two recent deaths. The little voice in my head was getting louder, tapping on the inside of my cranium like it was trying to get my attention. It didn’t help matters that I’d dreamed about Manny and Faye right before I woke up.

  In my bizarre dream, Manny and Faye were walking down Main Street together. And I mean really together, like sharing the same body. They rotated in and out of the dream sequence, first Manny’s face and body, then Faye’s. They kept on walking, not uttering a single word, and somehow I knew they had come for me.

  That’s all I remember after waking up with tears on my face.

  The same voice insisted that Manny and Faye’s deaths were linked. Too many coincidences were stacking up. They had both died within the same few days, in the same town, both under unusual circumstances.

  And that same little voice in my head told me that Clay was innocent. Not innocent of most things, as I know all too intimately. In fact they could charge him with any other crime and I’d go right along with it and hope my vote was the one that brought him down. But when it came to murdering Faye, I’d have to vote not guilty.

  That left Grace. Meek and mild Grace. Her husband was dead and Clay’s girlfriend was gone, too. How convenient and sinister. There were so many connections a fuse was going to blow.