Death By A HoneyBee

by Abigail Keam

  “I like the sound of that,” laughed Ruth. “I’ve always wanted to be rescued so I could swoon into some handsome man’s arms.”

  “What rubbish,” murmured Reverend Humble.

  Larry fixed his gaze at me. “What about Josiah? What is she?”

  Matt strode over to me and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Josiah is the sacrificial lamb. The innocent led to slaughter . . . that is until we catch the real murderer.”

  I shrugged off Matt’s hands. They felt hot and heavy. “You are quite right, Mr. Humble – rubbish indeed.”

  “Reverend,” he corrected me.

  “Whatever,” I replied, pouring myself a neat scotch.

  “What we are missing is a doctor, someone who can tell us the manner of the victim’s death,” interjected Larry.

  “Not necessary. Since CSI, the lay person can pretty well assess cause of death,” replied Matt.

  Larry scratched his ear. “I disagree, but this is your party.”

  “No, daaarlings, it is my party!”

  We all turned to stare at a diamond-laden June tottering into the room with the aid of a cane. I stifled a laugh when I saw she was wearing a tiara. A much younger woman with streaked blond hair stood beside June wearing a simple blue chiffon gown with only a simple gold chain adorning her tanned cleavage. She was prettier that her jacket photo portrayed her.

  “I see everyone has introduced themselves,” commented June. I went up to June and air-kissed her on the cheek whispering in her ear, “What are you up to, you old bag?”

  Lady Elsmere ignored me and introduced Meriah Caldwell to her guests. Meriah shook hands with everyone and pleasantly remarked on the weather. “I hear we are going to have a storm later tonight.”

  Matt choked on his drink and started coughing. Ruth patted him on the back. The rest of us grinned.

  Meriah looked around. “Did I say something funny?”

  “It was just before you came in that Matt was stating all that was missing was a dark and stormy night,” I answered.

  Meriah flashed some seriously whitened teeth. “I see. Yes, that is funny.”

  For several uncomfortable moments, people stared at their drinks.

  At last, June interrupted the silence. “I hope ya’ll goin’ to be more chatty at supper. We’re havin’ seven courses.”

  “I love that accent, Lady Elsmere. Where did you acquire it?” I teased.

  “Your claws are out earlier than usual, Josiah. I am from Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky, and proud of it. You won’t find me ashamed of my humble beginnings.” She nudged Matt. “I have wonderful pictures of me when I was young. I was quite the looker in my day.”

  “I would be pleased to see anything you wish to show me, Lady Elsmere,” Matt replied with a wicked smile.

  June guffawed and gave Matt a playful nudge. “Josiah, Matt is a treat. Nowadays, men don’t practice the art of flirting. They are such boors.”

  Brenda shot a look at Larry. “See, I was right. He is the adventurer.” Larry nodded in concurrence.

  Suddenly, an explosion of thunder shook the room and the lights flickered. We exchanged looks and broke into laughter. Charles, stone-faced, appeared at the door and announced, “Dinner is served, Madam.”

  June grasped Matt’s arm and proceeded out the door. The Humbles and the Binghams followed. I looked at Meriah and shrugged. “I guess I’m your escort,” I said placing her hand on my arm.

  “Delighted,” the mystery writer replied.

  Dinner was a sumptuous affair. June informed us that the menu had been borrowed from a dinner that Henry Clay had given at his home, Ashland, in honor of the French ambassador in 1849. The wine flowed, followed by champagne. I was a good little girl. I ate everything on my plate. I noticed that Meriah barely touched her food. Maybe that was the secret of how she kept so thin. She kept stealing glances at me from under her long dark eyelashes. It didn’t stop me from grazing on everything in sight.

  “Josiah, you seem to approve of my new cook,” June acknowledged.

  “June, I have rarely had a dinner so fine or companionship so . . . well . . . so companionable.” I looked around. “Is that even a word?” I giggled.

  “Someone has had a little too much to drink,” complained the Reverend.

  I wanted to retort – but kept my mouth shut – for once.

  “I’m feeling a little lightheaded myself,” stated Larry, coming to my rescue. “I’m like Josiah. I have eaten to the full of this most delectable food. I don’t think I have ever had a better meal, even in Paris – that’s France, not Kentucky. If I were in baser company, I would unbuckle my belt.”

  Brenda shushed him.

  Pleased, June stood. “We will have port and dessert in the parlor. Charles, show my guests the parlor, please.”

  “Yes, Madam.”

  The guests rose as one and waddled behind Charles as he escorted us to the parlor.

  Meriah brushed up against me. “Excuse me,” she said. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

  “If it is about Mr. Pidgeon’s death, I can’t help you.”

  “I know you think this is forward but I am looking for a hook for my next novel, and when June told me about what happened to you, I was fascinated. I know you have been through some exasperating trials since then, but I thought you might offer some insights.”

  “All I know is that I found a dead guy in one of my beehives and since then, my life has been a living hell. Look, you’re the mystery writer – if you wanted to kill someone how would you have done it?”

  The two of us walked into the parlor. Everyone stopped talking to listen to our conversation.

  “Well, the bee stings alone could have killed anyone.”

  I interrupted, “Mr. Pidgeon died of a heart attack.”

  “Perhaps from the fear of bees.”

  Matt stood by the window cradling a glass of port in his hands. “Mr. Pidgeon was an experienced beekeeper and a charmer to boot. Bees never stung him.”

  Meriah sat down. “That’s the mysterious part. Why would bees sting a charmer? Because someone made them sting him, which brought on the heart attack. It could still be murder after all.”

  I accepted a plate with chocolate bourbon cake. “Those are my thoughts exactly.”

  Reverend Humble thought for a moment. “It still could have been something more simple. The grass was wet with dew. He could have stumbled and fallen into the hive. Your bees, not knowing him, stung him from fright and caused him to have a heart attack.”

  “But what was he doing there in the first place?” asked Brenda.

  “That is the sixty-four thousand dollar question, my dear,” replied Larry.

  “What do you think, Special Agent Bingham?” asked Meriah. “Was it foul play or just an accident?”

  “I’m retired now. Just plain old Larry will do.” Larry looked at me. “Don’t have enough evidence to decide, but I know our girl here didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Why is that?” asked Meriah.

  “Josiah is just too damned obvious.”

  “Besides,” Reverend Humbled observed, “the butler always does it.”

  “You would be surprised at how often the employee is the killer of his employer,” stated Meriah. “I have done lots of research on that subject.”

  “And I think in two of your books, the personal assistant is the murderer,” chimed in Brenda.

  Meriah bowed her head. “Thank you for reading my books.”

  “Do you hear that, Charles?” asked Lady Elsmere. “You might do me in yet.”

  For the first time that evening, Charles grinned.

  While the others were discussing Richard’s death, I sidled up to Larry. “What did you give Tellie at Richard’s funeral?”

  “I gave her a check from the Beekeepers Association.”

  “You told me that you left that check in her mailbox,” I accused.

  Larry broke into a smile. “This is why I know you di
dn’t have anything to do with Richard’s death. You asked all the right questions.”

  “You are not going to tell me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s none of your business,” he said quietly.

  I thought for a moment. “You said that Goetz and O’nan came to see you.”

  Larry nodded.

  “I bet they shared confidences with you that they would not share with anyone else as you are retired FBI. You know, buddy-buddy stuff. I bet they told you that they suspected adrenaline poisoning had been used on Richard,” I said, looking closely at Larry.

  His face remained that of a poker champ but his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t dime on you,” he said evenly under his breath while scanning the room around the room.

  “No, you didn’t, but you dimed on them. You figured out what had happened from what they told you, and you warned Tellie. You came to the memorial service and handed her a note to leave town.”

  Larry smiled at his wife, Brenda, who glanced at him while talking to Matt. She was flushed and seemingly happy with his attention. “You’re one for the cuckoo’s nest.”

  I smiled at Brenda too. Matt was apparently ratcheting up the charm dial. “I don’t think so. She knew too much about how to disappear. Even someone as smart as Tellie would need help with that.” I paused. “Was Richard an FBI informant?”

  Larry leaned down his face and kissed me on the cheek. “This conversation is at an end. Read something other than mysteries. It’s affecting your mind.”

  “Kiss my big, white fanny, Larry.”

  He laughed. “If I wasn’t in mothballs, I’d take you up on that.” He walked over to his wife, who was rubbing Matt’s arm much too often.

  Now seated in the parlor around the fireplace, the others carried on a lively conversation about murder for almost an hour. I sat in a sulk next to Larry, who steered our conversation every which way except to the topic I wanted to talk about. After seeing Matt slip June his business card, I rose and announced our departure.

  Meriah extended her hand towards mine. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope someday soon you will give me a tour of the famous Butterfly House.”

  “You’re staying?”

  “Yes, if June will put me up. I want to write my next book about murder in Kentucky. I shall have to be here to do extensive research,” she said, looking playfully at me.

  “Oh, boy,” I murmured. “Matt, take me home.”

  Matt gave June a peck on the cheek and made our excuses. I was tipsy, I admit, but that didn’t keep my mind from wondering what Larry had given Tellie at the funeral.

  26

  I wanted the death of Richard Pidgeon behind me and forgotten. I surely did not want a famous mystery writer poking around. This weighed heavily on my mind as Matt let me off at the front door while he parked the van. If I hadn’t been half drunk I might have noticed that the front door wasn’t locked. If I hadn’t been immersed in Meriah Caldwell’s remarks, I would have picked up sooner that something was amiss. In the distance, I heard Baby howling from somewhere in the house. That alone should have caused me to wait for Matt, but I didn’t. I walked right into the living room, where Franklin was seated with his hands nicely folded in his lap with his lips tightly pursed.

  “Why is Baby in the pantry?” I asked, pretty pissed off. It was then I noticed my cache of hidden tasers piled in the middle of the living room floor along with their batteries. It was only then that I turned to run when something cold and hard poked in my back.

  “Too late now,” said a flat, but familiar voice.

  I suddenly became quite sober. “What’s this all about, O’nan?”

  “We’re going to have a little party – you, me and this funny boy here. Are you alone?”

  “Yes. Left Matt off at the cabana. I am supposed to send Franklin to him,” I lied.

  “Good, now I want you to sit next to your boyfriend there. Nice and easy. We are going to have a little chat.”

  On wobbly legs, I walked over to the couch and sat next to Franklin, who was slightly trembling – or was that me. Once seated, I ventured a look at O’nan. He was dressed in a dirty T-shirt and jeans with the knees worn out. On his feet were flip-flops. His eyes were bloodshot, and his handsome face looked dirty from beard stubble. It didn’t look sexy on him. O’nan held a black Glock nine mm and carelessly scratched his face with its barrel. I knew what kind of gun it was as my daughter carried one just like it. O’nan looked edgy.

  “What do you want?”

  “An accounting of sorts. We are going to discuss how many times you’ve screwed with me.”

  “Let Franklin go,” I demanded. “If he doesn’t go show up, Matt will come looking for him.”

  O’nan sneered. “Good, let him come.” O’nan brandished his gun. “I’ve got something for that queer too.”

  Upon hearing my voice, Baby increased his howling and

  scratched frantically on the pantry door.

  “Can’t you shut that dog up?” complained O’nan.

  I stood. “Let me put Baby outside. Then you can’t hear him.”

  O’nan grinned. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Opening the door so you could sic that monster on me.”

  “No, you got it wrong,” I pleaded. “Let me put Baby out so we can talk. Baby, shut up!” I yelled.

  O’nan waved me back. “I’m gonna take care of this. Now you both just sit still cause I can see you from the kitchen.” O’nan moved towards the pantry.

  Franklin grabbed my hands looking at me wide-eyed. “What’s he going to do? Where is Matt?”

  Before I could answer, O’nan yelled at the pantry door. “Hey, shut up in there. Shut up, you stupid mutt!” O’nan kicked the pantry door, causing Baby to throw himself against it, trying desperately to get out.

  “O’nan, your beef is with me,” I yelled over the dog’s antics. “Let Franklin take him out.”

  “Sit down. I’ll take care of this O’nan style.” He raised his gun.

  Franklin and I shouted pleas for O’nan to stop but he fired three bullets through the pantry door. I screamed. When I stopped screaming, I realized that Franklin was crying and hugging a pillow to his stomach. He had vomited on the floor.

  O’nan walked back into the living room with a cocky grin in his face.

  “Why?” I asked. “That dog was locked up. He couldn’t cause you any harm.”

  Sitting on the arm of the couch, O’nan swung a leg over my lap. “Well, you see. It’s like this. You took something from me. Now I’m taking something from you. Makes us kind of even.”

  I wiped tears away. “What do you want?” I whispered.

  “You know,” O’nan said, “after that lady lawyer of yours filed a complaint against me, I was reviewed by Internal Affairs. Yes, indeed, I was. And you know what? I got demoted. I won’t lose my pension. I won’t lose any pay but I won’t ever make primary detective again – not once something like that goes into a file.” He pointed to himself. “My file.” He pressed his foot into the meat of my leg. “I figure you owe me something - like a pound of flesh. You know, to make things even between us.”

  I winced from the pain but didn’t respond. My mind was working frantically but I couldn’t resolve this. How was I going to get out of this one? Had I sinned by letting Tellie go and this was my punishment? Or was this just random cosmic crap? He had Franklin and me cornered . . . but good.

  “Hey, faggot!” yelled O’nan reaching across with his leg and poking Franklin with his big toe.

  Franklin continued hugging his pillow and wouldn’t look at O’nan.

  O’nan laughed. “That’s okay. I know you’re scared. I would be too. Hey, Josiah, why do you hang out with nancy boys instead of real men? You got all those rich society friends, but you hang out with two queers and a really nasty black medusa. Oh, I am sorry – African American. Yeah, can’t offend anyone, can we?”

  I lo
oked remorsefully at my pile of tasers. I should have done a better job of hiding them. “Maybe because they don’t hold me at gunpoint in my own house and shoot my dog,” I answered remorsefully.

  Looking thoughtful for a moment, O’nan shook his head. “Naw, that’s not it.”

  “You’re high on something. You are not thinking straight,” I said trying to reason with O’nan. “You are going to regret this. Why don’t you go into my bedroom and get some sleep? When you wake up in the morning, we can talk about this some more.”