by Hannah Reed
The implications suddenly became crystal clear, even to someone as dense as I had been recently.
Manny had been killed right in his own beeyard because somebody wanted his bees, and his journal. His home had been searched before he was murdered, and he’d seen the writing on the wall, maybe he’d even been physically threatened. So he hid the journal where he knew I’d find it eventually. Just in case the worst happened. And it did.
The killer had almost everything he or she wanted—strong colonies, special queens, maximum production of honey and royal jelly. Everything planned out precisely to steal what Manny had devoted his life’s work to. Except that as far as the killer knew, the journal was still officially missing. Manny’s research notes would keep the colonies’ genetics sound. The killer needed them to ensure future success with the hives. Manny’s killer must be frantic by now, wanting that journal enough to start taking more risks. That’s why my market had been robbed in broad daylight; whoever it was had been searching for the journal.
Had the same person also come back and left the earring? But why do that? What did Faye have to do with any of this? Was it possible there were two killers?
It was time to admit the truth of the situation: I was in real danger.
Would anybody believe my story? Probably not.
The honey house had an abandoned feel to it when I inserted my key into the padlock and opened it up. I stood in the doorway looking inside, but not really seeing it.
Grace Chapman wasn’t the murderer. Grace was a bitter, hurting woman, and I hadn’t made her transition from wife to widow any easier. She’d had to deal with innuendos and lies at the same time she had to learn to live without her husband.
Gerald Smith had suspect written all over that fake, generic name. And Kenny Langley had something to do with this, too, trying to buy Manny’s home. But why had he withdrawn his offer?
There was only one way to find out what was going on.
I’d have to ask Kenny.
Kenny’s Bees had been in the Langley family for multiple generations, and every one of the eldest male heirs was named Kenny. This particular Kenny was the fourth son to take over the business, and according to rumor, he was grooming his own son Kenny to take over for him. Their honey farm, in rural Washington County, was located on twenty acres of rolling fields. An ideal location to raise bees.
I pulled into a gravel driveway and parked next to a white corrugated building with a sign hanging from a metal awning that read “Honey for Sale.” An “Open” sign hung on the inside of the door. As with some other small businesses in the area, Kenny hadn’t bothered posting the hours he was open. Some people just didn’t want the additional commitment of getting to work at a specific time. That always amazed me. I couldn’t imagine opening The Wild Clover whenever I felt like showing up. What bad business sense was that?
Yet Kenny had a thriving honey business.
Ben waited in the truck again. He gave me a disappointed stare. I could tell he wasn’t happy with my decision to leave him behind again by the way his pointed ears sagged ever so slightly.
Kenny was a tall, large man in his late fifties, with soft, flabby features. In my opinion, he needed a daily run or he’d go the same way the other Kennys in the family went—out quick with major heart attacks, dropping right on the spot, and never getting the chance to find out what life might be like in their sixties.
Too much bacon grease will do that to a person.
Now was a good time to reaffirm where the lines had been drawn with Kenny and our honey distribution. It was a good excuse to start a conversation and lead it where I wanted it to go.
“Well, if it isn’t the girl,” Kenny said in greeting from a stool behind a counter, instantly rubbing me the wrong way and setting us on a rocky path right from the start.
“That’s Ms. Fischer to you,” I said.”
“Sorry to hear about what’s-his-name.”
“His name was Manny.”
“I guess your honey business is down the toilet. What a shame.” Kenny didn’t look sad, not one bit.
“I’m taking over Queen Bee Honey,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. I still had my sights on the honey house and the possibility of raising enough colonies to continue producing our premium products.
Kenny laughed like he thought I was unbelievably funny. “Anything I can do to help,” he said, “just ask.”
“I do have a favor I need from you. I’d very much appreciate it if you would continue to honor the agreement you had with Manny about sales territories.”
“Why? He’s not around anymore.”
“It’s still a viable business, and you shook hands on it. I was there, remember?”
“Sure I do. But a girl like you can’t run an operation like that. You’re spread thin as it is with that hobby grocery store you run. I could help you out. In fact, why don’t you come work for me? I could be the key to your future.”
“I’m doing fine. And you haven’t answered me about upholding the agreement.”
Kenny shifted on the stool. “We can work something out.”
“Ray can’t sell your honey in Waukesha County. I already told him that.”
Kenny glanced down at some papers on the counter like he had better things to do and was dismissing me.
“I’m looking for a guy named Gerald Smith,” I said, watching him closely. “Do you know him?”
“Never heard that name.” But his head came up, and I saw something in Kenny’s eyes before he answered. Or did I?
“He took all the bees and hives from Manny’s yard,” I said. “Then he disappeared.”
“Then you are out of business.” Kenny tried not to look pleased. Or did he? I’d never be much of a detective if I couldn’t learn to read people better than this.
“We had a great production year,” I said. “All our honey is bottled and ready for sale, and once I get the rest of our bees back, it’ll be business as usual.”
“You never overwintered by yourself before. They’ll all be dead before spring.”
“I’ll manage.”
“We’re heading for Florida with ours. Leaving in a week or two. You want, I can take what you have left along.”
I’ll just bet he would! “Thanks, but no thanks. I have another question.”
“You’re full of them, aren’t you?”
I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought he was full of. Instead, I said, “You offered to buy Manny’s land. I’d like to know why.”
“None of your business. And Lori Spandle has one big mouth.”
“She wasn’t the one who told me.” Why was I trying to make Lori’s life easier when I owed her a dropkick to the back of her legs? “I also know that you withdrew the offer.”
“Changed my mind.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Again, that’s none of your business. Why don’t you run along now? And flip that open sign around on your way out.”
Forty-one
I wasn’t finished with Kenny Langley, not by a long shot. He had a large beeyard worth further investigation.
By the time I found a place to hide my truck, stumbled through all the brush, and tramped in the low areas where water had accumulated in hidden little patches, my feet were soaked and poked by thistles, and I had branch scratches all over my face and arms.
I made a mental note to carry sturdy boots and a jean jacket in my truck from now on. Flip flops and a short-sleeved top just didn’t cut it for fieldwork. Ben trotted ahead, then circled back to check on my progress. I couldn’t leave the poor guy in the truck this time without feeling like I was abusing Hunter’s four-legged partner. The fresh air would do him good, and he seemed to be a great listener whenever I asked him to pay attention.
I’d misjudged the distance from the truck’s hiding spot to the back of Kenny’s beeyard by what seemed like miles, although I’m sure it wasn’t more than one. The twists and turns and highs and lows and dodges around thick brush h
ad made the hike take longer than I expected. But eventually I poked my head out of the brush line and gazed upon a field of beehives, for as far as my eyes could see. Beehives. Rows and rows.
Kenny had been increasing his apiary over the years, and I’m pretty sure he had downplayed its size when he met with Manny. But all I cared about was whether or not he had bees that didn’t belong to him.
But what clues could I go on to determine whose bees were whose? That could be a problem. Manny’s and my honeybees were strong, but that didn’t mean they looked any different than any others. If I was another bee, I would be able to smell the difference between each member of a hive, but I wasn’t. The best I could do was look for hive boxes that matched ours, and hope they hadn’t been painted over already. Kenny’s hives were all varying shades of white, ranging from bright to gray, depending on their ages. I’d painted all of Manny’s hives and the two I’d hidden at Grams’s an unmistakable bright yellow.
I’d been mentally going over the conversation I’d just had with Kenny as I traipsed through the bushes. My brain was telling me that something he’d said was important. If I could just remember what it was . . . Every time the scene rolled in my head, I stopped when he referred to me as “the girl.” Then I’d get annoyed and lose focus.
I told Ben to sit. He did. “Stay,” I said, before turning to the beeyard and crouching behind one of the hives at the end of a row. Bees flew over my head, a few checking me out before going off in search of nectar. They were too busy to bother with me as I ran in a crouch from hive to hive, always with an eye on the back of the white corrugated building where Kenny and I had had our little chat.
Running in a crouch is never easy. It’s not a position one normally trains for. After the third row, I was feeling it in my legs and had to take a break. Ben stayed where I’d left him, obeying my request much better than most people would have.
I continued on. When I didn’t find any yellow hive boxes, I headed for the side of the building where I could see extra supplies stacked up. Pails, hive sections, spare honeycombs.
Nothing yellow.
If Kenny had painted the hives, it would be hopeless. I thought about reinspecting the brightest white ones again, if my legs would ever manage a crouched position again.
Then I sat down hard with my back against the building. I’d just remembered what Kenny had said about him being the key to my future. That was it! It wasn’t his comment that was significant, but it brought back another conversation I’d had recently with Ray.
When I’d asked him if he’d picked up the honey from Manny’s honey house, he’d said he had. Nothing bothersome there. But then he went on to say that Grace hadn’t been home and he’d taken what he needed anyway.
The honey house was always locked. Always, always. It had been locked up tight the few times I’d been back since Manny died.
So how did Ray get in? There was no way Ray had a key.
Was it possible I’d left it open?
No, I was absolutely sure I’d locked up every time. It was locked today. And Grace wouldn’t have left it open. She never set foot in the place.
Ray had been out at Kenny’s the day Manny died. And Ray had found Manny’s body, or so he’d said. What if Kenny and Ray were in it together? Ray could have been the one who killed Manny, then stole Manny’s key. What if Ray had been stung, not at the orchard like he said, but while he was transporting Manny’s bees from Grace’s house? The timeline sure fit.
Something about this whole thing smelled like rotten garbage.
Because of the way my luck was going these days, as in no luck at all, I heard a vehicle pull up in front of the building. I flattened against the metal wall, trying to imagine I was back in the only yoga class I’d ever attended, pretending I was between two panes of glass like the teacher taught me. I couldn’t see the car from my position, so I hoped I was safe from the driver’s view as well. I really didn’t want to explain why I was sneaking around behind Kenny’s Bees.
A car door opened and slammed shut, and I heard the door to the building open and close.
I felt something cold and damp on my leg and let out a squeal, which I managed to stifle before it had time to reverberate.
Ben had arrived without announcing his presence and stuck his nose against my leg. So much for perfect obedience.
“Go away,” I whispered. “Get back where you were supposed to wait. Now.”
The dog didn’t listen to a word of it. He sat down next to me.
Jeez. I’d have to get out of here quick or one of us might be spotted. Before I left, though, I really wanted a quick peek at whoever was visiting Kenny after hours.
Just curious.
I’d come this far. Why not?
With that decided, I promptly tripped over Ben and fell to my knees. He scooted out of the way. I rose, ignoring the skinned knee that would go with my other scratches and scrapes. I sidled up to one of the side windows, wondering why these kinds of buildings always had such tiny windows.
With one eye peering through the window and the rest of me hidden from view, I squinted until I made out Kenny’s backside, which as I said before, was pretty large. It seemed to loom even bigger in the shadow of the room. He stood with his hands on his hips, and his cigar-shaped fingers resting on his back like he had an ache or two he wanted to massage out.
Then I heard his voice rise and even without being able to hear the words, I could tell he was angry and yelling at somebody. I still couldn’t see the other person, hidden from view outside of the room.
Then I heard the blast go off inside.
Forty-two
My knees almost gave out when I saw big Kenny topple backward. He’d stopped shouting when the shot went off. Based on his next moves, or un-moves, there wasn’t any question in my mind that he’d been on the receiving end of the bullet.
I hunkered down with my arms around Ben.
“We have to get out of here,” I told him, starting to crab-crawl toward the beeyard, which stood between me and the safety of my truck. Ben loped ahead, apparently thinking we were on a picnic or some other lazy-day outing. He reached the tree line and waited for me.
By the time I turned around to make sure we hadn’t been spotted, I heard the car drive noisily away. That took a huge weight off my shoulders, even though I never saw a thing that would help identify the driver.
My knees were still wobbly.
I had to make a choice: either save myself from any further involvement, or go back and help Kenny, my nasty competition.
I’m a Wisconsin woman. We have principles. I couldn’t live with myself for the rest of my life if Kenny died and I hadn’t even tried to save him.
“Come,” I called to Ben, who had a puzzled expression when I started back the way we’d come, but he galloped up and paced me as I ran for the front door.
“Stay, Ben.” I knew enough not to let a dog inside the building to possibly mess up a crime scene. I even used a piece of my top to open the door in case the shooter had left fingerprints.
Kenny’s eyes were closed, which made me think he was still alive, but I couldn’t find a pulse.
I’d barely crouched beside him before I heard another vehicle stop outside. I rose and saw Ray get out of his car and come toward the door.
And it all came together for me.
A speck late to help, though.
Ray’s muffler had been loud at the market. And the car that drove off a few minutes ago had been louder than normal. That’s why I could hear it from across the field.
I ran to the door and threw the lock in time, but he’d seen me.
“Story, open up,” Ray said, pressing his face against the door’s windowpane. “I saw your truck down the road on my way here. Did you break down?”
I felt sick to my stomach. Ray had shot Kenny, driven away, then saw my truck. He assumed, rightly, that I’d been in the vicinity and might have seen what he did.
So he came back.
Wonder
ful. And where was Ben? He’d been right outside a minute ago. I backed away from the door.
“I’m calling the police,” I said. “Kenny’s hurt.”
“Open up.” Ray jiggled the doorknob. Then he shot through the door lock.
I forgot all about my knees, all my aches and pains, and ran through the building to a back door, hoping it wasn’t locked.
It wasn’t.
I burst out into the open and ran for the beeyard. Ben came from my right, passed me up, and kept going.
Ray fired shots from behind me, but I kept running, because I knew that it was better to take my chances on the outside than stay inside. His odds of hitting me weren’t great.
As long as he didn’t catch me.
Ben had stopped up ahead at the same spot as before, alert and ready, but for what?
“Ben,” I screamed when I saw Ray take off after me. “Attack!”
Ben perked up, totally ready, but he didn’t move.
“Ben, help!”
Nothing. For all he knew, this was one of many simulations, a pretend assault to test his ability to follow orders precisely. What had Hunter told me? That Ben wouldn’t attack without the proper command, and even then, only if it came from him. Damn!
Just then, my flip-flopped right foot hit a dip in the earth and twisted. Down I went between two hives, giving Ray enough time to catch up.
“Where is it?” he wanted to know. I knew exactly what he meant: the journal.
“Someplace where you’ll never find it,” I said.
I stayed on the ground. Ray trained the gun on me. “I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me.”
“You’re going to kill me anyway.”
Ray grinned. It wasn’t pretty. “It should have been you with your face in the water instead of that other woman. I screwed up once, but I won’t this time.”
I remembered standing at the window with my customers that day and the comments they had made about how much Faye looked like me.
