The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2

by Susan Wiggs

  They sat together in silence. Mac made a few notes. In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see the shape of the narrative he would write about this man. “It’s been my job to learn your story,” Mac said. “But it’s been my privilege to get to know you. Thank you for bringing me into your world.”

  “I’ve enjoyed it as well, more than you know. Isabel has enjoyed it, too.” He gave Mac a measured look. “I can tell. She’s not an easy one to know. Like her grandmother, she holds her secrets close, but when she gives them up, she gives herself completely.”

  Had she done that? Mac wondered. Had she given herself completely? He thought not. And then he thought, not yet.

  “She’s very inspired by you,” Mac said. “We all are. And when this is published, it will be a gift to anyone who reads it.”

  “Thank you. I know you will do your job very well.” He offered a small smile, indicating the bookcase behind him. “I believe I’ve read all your books and some of the articles, as well. You started out in the area of true crime.”

  He nodded. “Right out of journalism school, I lucked into an assignment about an unsolved murder in a small town called Avalon in the Catskills, and the book got a lot of attention, because of what happened afterward.”

  “The crime was solved?”

  He nodded. “Turns out the victim wasn’t murdered after all. She died by accident. Finding out the truth didn’t change what happened, but the family seemed to appreciate knowing.”

  “And your next project is about a crime,” Magnus said.

  Mac nodded. “I promised Ari Nejim that I would work with him to expose what happened to his daughter, Yasmin.”

  “It’s going to put you in danger. You’ll have a target on your back,” Magnus pointed out. It wasn’t a question. Mac had leveled with him about the incident, the terrible loss and the guilt he felt over it.

  “Maybe. I worry more about Ari.”

  Magnus put his glasses back on and stood up with an air of finality. They walked out together into the brilliant sunshine. The boughs of the apple trees in their stately rows were heavy with fruit, and bees floated lazily through the lavender and milkweed. As the summer waned toward autumn, the light was deeper, the air heavy and rich with abundance.

  “You’ve led an amazing life,” Mac said, “and it’s fantastic, this world you’ve built, this community.”

  Magnus scanned the vast, rolling landscape. “I never wanted to write a book, nor did I want someone else to write it. Then I realized I have one story in me, and it’s a good story.”

  “Yes,” said Mac. “And you can always add to it. There’s a certain lady who made it her business to catch the bouquet at the wedding, remember?”

  “I would never forget that.” His eyes twinkled with a smile. “So the story is not over yet. Let it end when it ends.”

  * * *

  “I have a proposal for you,” Mac said, coming into the workshop where Isabel and Jamie were harvesting honey from racks that were capped and cured, bulging with ripe nectar.

  Isabel’s heart skipped a beat as she looked up from the big stainless steel centrifuge. “A proposal.”

  “Say yes,” Jamie advised her. “You know you want to.”

  “I haven’t heard the proposal yet,” Isabel pointed out. Nevertheless, she felt an utterly silly thrill of false hope.

  “A proposal’s a proposal,” Jamie stated.

  “Out,” said Mac, holding the door for the girl.

  “Hello. I’m in the middle of something here.” She gestured at the racks of sterilized jars, the scraping tools, the basins.

  “Later,” he said.

  “Okay, fine. I’m meeting someone in town, anyway. I’ve got a line on a singing gig at a restaurant.”

  “Really? Jamie, that’s great,” said Isabel.

  Jamie sent her a look, then hung up her apron and left the workroom.

  “What is it?” Isabel asked.

  He grabbed her and kissed her, long and slowly. “First of all, you look incredible in that apron.”

  “That apron just got you all sticky.”

  “Not a problem. I know where we can find an outdoor shower.”

  He was so much fun. She’d had no idea falling in love could be this much fun. Before Mac, she’d regarded it as an angst-filled process fraught with uncertainty and stress. He’d shown her a different way. He’d shown her the joy. “So what’s your proposal?”

  “Besides drizzling honey on you and licking it off?”

  “Mac.”

  “Okay, we can save that for later.” He took a printout from his pocket and handed it to her. “My itinerary.”

  Her heart sank. She’d known this day was coming. “You’re leaving.”

  “I have a weeklong meeting in Istanbul about my next project.”

  The Yasmin project, Isabel recalled. It still haunts me every day, he’d told her, speaking of his wife and the way he’d lost her. She didn’t know what to say, so she folded the itinerary and set it aside.

  “When I’m finished there, I want you to meet me in Italy,” he said. “Ravello. Week after next.”

  The idea whooshed past her with the speed of sound. The speed of impossibility. “Mac, it sounds tempting, but you know I can’t leave.”

  “Sure, you can. Take some time for yourself, Isabel. The wedding’s over, you did a great job. You’ve got a window of opportunity to get away.”

  “The cooking school opens in a month. I don’t have a minute to spare.” She wished he would propose a compromise—a weekend away in Mendocino or San Francisco. But Mac wasn’t the kind of guy to compromise.

  “Make time. Everything will be waiting for you when you get back.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You could.”

  “But I won’t.”

  “Seriously? Jesus, Isabel, you frustrate the hell out of me.”

  She felt apologetic, but she refused to apologize. “Let’s say I agree to go. Then what?”

  “Then we have a fantastic time. We ride around on a scooter, we go to the market and the gardens, we drink local wine and make love....”

  Every word he spoke was a small seduction. She held up her hand. “You know what I’m asking. Then what?”

  “Then...we’ll see,” he said simply.

  Now Isabel was the one feeling frustrated. What she really wanted him to say was that love would be enough. That if you start with love, the rest will sort itself out. But it wouldn’t, would it? Real life didn’t work that way.

  She knew her heart was in her eyes when she looked up at him. “Saying goodbye to you is going to be hard enough. Running off to Italy is only going to make it harder.”

  “I get it,” Mac said. “Finally, I think I get you. Watching you creating your dream is beautiful, Isabel.”

  She heard the “but,” although he didn’t say it.

  And then he did. “I can’t ask you to leave all this,” said Mac. “And I can’t stay.”

  She stared at the floor. “I know.” She wanted to keep him close, but she simply couldn’t see a way to do that without getting hurt, or without hurting him. She wondered if it was possible to give just a little of herself to someone instead of flinging herself into an impossible love. The scent of honey was ripe and sweet in the air.

  He waited. Didn’t touch her. She could almost hear him thinking.

  “What is it?” she asked softly.

  “There’s one other thing...”

  She felt a leap of hope. “Yes?”

  “Before I go, we should talk about your father’s accident. Your grandfather showed me the police report.”

  Her heart sank. She hadn’t been expecting the conversation to lead to this. But that was Mac; he never did the expected thing. “You never stop
working,” she observed.

  “I had some questions.”

  Of course he did.

  “Were you aware that no one checked the dental records?”

  “No. Why would that matter?”

  “There’s no proof that the accident victim was Erik Johansen.”

  “There’s no question that it was Erik. Who else could it have been? It was him—his car, his wreck.”

  “But maybe... It was sloppy police work. It should be looked into.”

  “No,” she said decisively. “Stop it, Mac. There’s no point in stirring things up and upsetting Grandfather. I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing.”

  He took a step back, holding his hands palms out. “If it were me, I’d want to know.”

  “It’s my grandfather. My family. We don’t need to relive that pain,” she said. “My father died before I was born. Dredging up a tragedy is never going to change that.” Isabel saw clearly what was between them. Mac was on a mission to explore and examine everything, no matter how uncomfortable it made people. She believed in protecting herself and those she loved.

  “I think you should go,” she whispered past the ache in her throat.

  Mac nodded. “I’m going to miss you, more than you know,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I’ve never felt regret about leaving a place, but I do now. I’ll probably regret leaving you all my life.”

  Then don’t, she wanted to say, echoing his own words. But she understood all too well that geography was not the issue. She covered his hand with hers and then removed it from her cheek.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Isabel took Charlie for a walk down to the main road to check the mail. As she and the dog walked past the sun-gold meadow, she could see the hives up on the slope in the distance, and it made her think of that first day Mac had arrived in the banana-yellow Jeep, almost instantly turning her world upside down.

  His absence felt like a big gaping hole in her life. Now that he was gone, her bed felt like a vast wasteland. Even in sleep she would turn toward the empty space he used to fill with his warm presence. Half awake, she would breathe in, seeking his scent. Then the stark reality of his absence would slap her awake.

  Give it time, she told herself. It’ll get better.

  Instead, it got worse. Nothing had a point anymore. Because what she’d had with Mac—that was the point of everything.

  At last she understood the passions that had driven Magnus and Annelise, and even her doomed parents, Erik and Francesca. The heart wants what it wants, she realized. And sometimes you had to give it all without holding back...because it could be gone in the blink of an eye. She knew she had to learn to be okay with losing Mac, but she couldn’t help wishing he had let her take care of him, and that she had let him in. She would have to fill the emptiness with the busy times ahead—launching the cooking school, getting Annelise settled at Bella Vista, helping Jamie with her appointments and counseling meetings. Isabel wouldn’t have a moment to spare for regrets. Or so she hoped.

  She pulled the day’s delivery from the big rural mailbox. A thick, official-looking envelope dropped to the ground, and she stooped to pick it up. The return address read U.S. Department of State.

  “My passport,” she said to Charlie. He tilted his head quizzically one way, then the other. She opened the parcel, took out the small blue booklet and ran her thumb over the embossed seal. Then she opened it to the information page. She wasn’t smiling in the photo, but her eyes were bright with excitement. She had been excited that day, swept into adventure with Mac O’Neill.

  It hadn’t been real, though. In theory, it had all seemed so exciting and romantic. In actuality, it was simply one more impossibility that could never fit into the life she’d created for herself.

  She put the passport back in the envelope, then leaned against the mailbox and shut her eyes, her chest aching with regrets. There was no sensation worse than heartbreak. And there really wasn’t any remedy, either. Only time. She had no choice but to endure the hurt and move on.

  The sound of a car on the road brought her back to the moment. Charlie took up his guard dog stance next to her and gave a woof of warning. She looked over to see a red car stopped at the roadside, not far from Things Remembered. Calvin Sharpe’s car.

  Charlie’s throat rumbled with a growl. Isabel dropped the stack of mail into the weeds. The car window rolled down, and Calvin offered a grin and a wave. She was about to send Charlie on the attack when the passenger side door opened and Jamie got out.

  “Thanks,” she called to Calvin. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  Keeping the cocky grin on his face, Calvin offered a wave in Isabel’s direction.

  Charlie wagged and leaped as he greeted Jamie.

  “What were you doing with Calvin Sharpe?” Isabel asked.

  “That job in town I mentioned before,” said Jamie. “I’m going to be singing at his new restaurant a couple of nights per week.”

  Isabel’s heart turned to stone. She could too easily picture Calvin preying on Jamie, taking advantage of her youth and talent. “Take Charlie up to the house,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.” With icy deliberation, she approached his car.

  “Hey, there,” he said, offering his Chiclet smile. “That’s quite a girl. She can really sing.”

  “Just so you know, she won’t be singing for you.”

  “That’s none of your business. Back off, Isabel.”

  She remembered his icy, barely restrained rage all too well. But this time, it didn’t scare her. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ll explain to Jamie. She’ll understand.”

  He killed the engine and got out of the car. “She’s a grown girl. She can make her own choices.” He narrowed his eyes, flicking his gaze over her. “Leo tells me you got some big-name writer to do a feature article on you.”

  Now Isabel realized exactly what this was about. He didn’t need Jamie to sing at his restaurant. He simply wanted to get back at Isabel for stealing his limelight. “So what if I did? It’s none of your business.” She threw his words back at him.

  “The hell you say. CalSharpe’s is the biggest thing to happen to this town. It’s not going to take a backseat to your amateur cooking class.”

  She offered a tight smile. God, that ego. “Actually, it is.”

  “I guess you fucked him to get your way,” Calvin said. “Just like you did me.”

  Isabel stopped breathing for a moment, as if she’d been punched in the stomach. But she refused to move, to flee and hide as she’d done in the past. She finally realized what was behind Calvin’s bullying.

  It was hard to believe that there had ever been a time when she had gazed into that face, seeking approval and love. When she had craved the sensation of those hands touching her, when she would have done anything for him.

  Have you ever told anyone the truth about that guy? Even yourself? Mac’s words echoed through her mind once more, and at last, she knew what she had to do.

  For once in her life, her spine felt like a column of steel. “I’ve got news for you, Cal. You don’t need the magazine cover, because you’re going to be leaving the area. Your restaurant’s never going to open.”

  “Spare me the dramatics, Isabel.”

  “Not this time,” she said. Adrenalin surged through her.

  “You can’t force me to do anything, you crazy bitch.”

  “I have the webcam footage.”

  He scowled, and then the scowl turned into a snarl of contempt. “From ten years ago. Big deal. It’s going to be the word of a failed cooking student against me. You don’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

  “Then let’s see if your reputation can handle it. Bigger names than you have been brought down by less. You can join Paula Deen and the Duck Dynasty guy in obscurity.”


  Something wild flashed in his eyes. Fear. Yes, he was afraid. Of her.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, all bluster. Then he got back into his car, made a U-turn in the road and sped away with a roar of acceleration.

  Isabel didn’t bother to watch him go. She walked over to the mailbox where she’d dropped her things, then bent down and picked up the passport.

  * * *

  Leo, the editor of MenuSonoma Magazine, greeted Isabel when she arrived at his office in Santa Rosa. “Check it out,” he said, motioning her over to his computer screen. “I can show you the layout of the article and photos for the cover story. It’s a major coup,” he said, all smiles. “Best article we’ve ever had. I can’t believe you got Cormac O’Neill to do it.”

  “It looks good,” she said, feeling a wave of emotion as she studied the gorgeous, lush photos of the cooking school. And of her. She looked good, better than she’d hoped. She looked like a woman filled with enthusiasm. One particular shot of her in the grape arbor grabbed her attention. She was gazing directly at the camera, her expression utterly transparent. She looked like a woman in love.

  Mac had been good to her. Good for her. Good for the whole family, when it came to that. But she’d let him go. She’d let him go because she could not see a way to get him to stay.

  “I’m excited for you, Isabel,” Leo said. “I’m excited for Archangel. The town has Bella Vista, and the new Calvin Sharpe place... It’s all good.”

  She had no comment on that.

  “So I was thinking we could do something with the two of you together—the new cooking school, the new restaurant. Calvin said the two of you go way back, and he’s game.”

  “I’m sure he is.” A cold determination formed in her core. “That’s actually why I’m here, Leo. I have something for you.” She gave him a copy of the data card. Her hand shook, but her spirit didn’t waver. “Everything you need to know about Calvin Sharpe is right here. I’m sending a copy to his network producer, too. You can do what you want with it.”