“Do you know where in the hive field her body was found?” Anna said, following Clovis up the steps.
“Approximately.” Clovis slid her key into the lock, pulled the doors wide, and motioned for Anna and Liz to enter. “By the way,” she said as she shut the door, “we’ll probably have a visitor before we’re done here.”
“Who?” Liz asked.
“Alex Root.” Clovis punctuated his last name, saying it as though it were a synonym for something found at the lowest levels of a sewer pipe. She’d given up any pretense of tolerance for the Gang of Four, even in the presence of the woman who ran ElkNews.com. “They’re in and out all the time,” she said, marching down the entryway.
“That’s not surprising, is it?” Anna asked, scurrying to catch up with her.
“No, of course not.” Clovis swung right and then abruptly to her left. “But I don’t have to like it.”
At the end of a short hall was a narrow white door, the only painted wood Anna had seen in the house. White paint was spattered on its hinges, and some of the paint bled onto the pane of wavy, pitted glass set in its upper half. Clovis unlocked the door, warning Anna and Liz about the rickety step just outside.
“Ten and a half acres,” Clovis said, spreading her arms.
“The hives are at the back?” Liz asked, pointing with her pen. She’d fished her notebook from her jacket pocket and was already taking notes.
“By the clover fields and well hidden by trees and hedges,” Clovis said, once again on the move. She cut a brisk path for the hives, across a lawn strewn with autumn leaves and down a neat flagstone walkway that led to the rear of the property.
“How many hives?” Anna said.
“If you count the ones with multiple stories as single hives, forty.” Clovis halted. “Look at that,” she said, twisting back to Anna. “That’s a pumpkin, isn’t it?”
“A smashed one,” Anna said. She left the walkway and made for the pumpkin—two of them, she now saw, no insides anywhere around. They’d been carved into jack-o’-lanterns, dumped, and broken into large pieces. “Can anyone get onto the property?” she asked Clovis.
“It’s not that hard. If you were of a mind to, you could make it through the hedges quite easily. And the gate in front is open during the day,” she said with a backward glance.
“Do you have an alarm system?” Liz asked.
“That’s on our list of must-haves, but no,” Clovis said, swinging back. “We’ve never had a problem with theft, and someone’s usually here in the daytime.” Her hand went to her mouth. “What if Russell’s murderer left the pumpkins? They’re evidence.”
“No,” Anna said, speaking with more conviction than she felt. “The police would have found them.” She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and headed back to the flagstones.
“Don’t touch them until the police have been here,” Anna heard Liz say.
The police would have found them, Anna reasoned. She knew Detective Schaeffer to be thorough. But that didn’t mean Russell’s murderer hadn’t returned to leave another message. “But why leave a message no one understands?” she said aloud. Or maybe one of the group members—maybe more than one—did understand the message. That would explain Clovis’s fear and the seemingly groundless animosity among them all.
Back on the flagstones, she set out for the hives ahead of Clovis and Liz. The path passed through a small but thickly wooded patch before it broke once again into an open field. Alex and Maddy didn’t dislike each other, she thought. They were merry peas in a pod. And they were planning something for Halloween. Esther’s words echoed in her mind. The black arts. And just because only Alex and Maddy had danced—Anna cringed at the memory—didn’t mean the others in the Gang of Four weren’t involved in that something.
“Heads up,” Liz said, giving Anna’s shoulder a pat. “More pumpkins.”
Anna stopped dead in her tracks. Lost in thought, she’d been watching her shoes scuff along the flagstones. Thirty feet ahead were more pumpkins, ten or so, Anna guessed, spread across the walkway and to the left and right of it, smashed like the others. The police hadn’t missed these. These were new.
“Why would someone do this?” Clovis said. She was transfixed by the sight, anger and fear in equal measure playing over her face.
“Obviously this isn’t just a Halloween prank,” Anna said.
When Liz slipped the camera strap off her neck and began snapping photos, Clovis stirred. “I’m calling the police. You two wait here.” She did an about-face and hurried up the flagstones for the house.
Anna continued toward the hives, weaving her way around the pumpkins, being careful not to step on potential evidence.
“Anna?” Liz called after her.
Anna waved her arm, inviting Liz to follow. “The police will be here soon, and I don’t think they’ll let us back here to see the hives.”
They were ordinary box-shaped hives, four rows of them. Some of the older-looking hives, with peeling white or pale blue paint, were taller and looked like small chests of drawers. All of them were elevated, perched atop cinder blocks to keep moisture from the wood.
As Anna scanned the ground for more pumpkins, a flash of yellow caught her eye. Edging closer, she saw it was a foot-long piece of discarded crime tape.
“It could have been carried by the wind,” she said as Liz came alongside her.
“Over there,” Liz said. Twenty feet to Anna’s right, a longer piece of tape peeked from under a white hive, its free end moving in the chill wind, flapping along the ground.
Up close, Anna could see that the other end of the tape had been tied around a cinder block under the hive. There was nothing on the ground, no blood in the grass or a depression where the body had lain, but it had rained since the murder and that sort of evidence wouldn’t have lasted. She examined the hive. There, several inches from its top, was a rusty red smudge. She bent down for a closer look. Blood. About an inch in diameter, protected from the rain by the lip of the hive cover. But was it blood? The smudge was too perfect, too circular, and some of it should have been washed by the rain.
Anna straightened. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Liz. How is this going to help?”
“You’ve always told me that the smallest clue can lead to a breakthrough.”
“But this isn’t genealogical research. It’s macabre.”
Liz snapped a photo of the hive then slung her camera over her shoulder. “I hope Clovis is all right,” she said, looking back at the house.
“That woman’s got a gun in her purse. She can take care of herself.”
Liz burst out laughing. “That sweet-looking senior citizen? Who would’ve thought?”
“Goes to show you never know.” Anna gestured with her head at the ground in front of the hive. “Look at those pumpkin seeds.”
“Probably from when the police removed the pumpkin. No need to pick up every last one.”
“I guess not.” Anna’s eyes rose to the trees and fields beyond the hives. All around her it smelled of rain-drenched wood and bark. Leaves—orange, red, yellow—dangled like fruit from the trees, and small birds searched the hedges, foraging in the sun’s waning light. “I wonder if Sadler’s neighbors objected to these hives,” she said.
“The nearest houses weren’t built until the 1980s,” Liz replied. “I wondered myself, so I looked it up,” she added in response to Anna’s inquisitive look. “This was still a working honey farm when the neighbors moved in.”
It was time to gather, sort, and make sense of what she’d discovered, Anna thought. And find out why any of it would be important to Russell Thurman. She could now research Zoey’s family history and, with some degree of certainty, Paul’s. But was Paul really Raymond Toller? Nose to grindstone tonight—she was determined to find out. “Can Dan spare you this evening, about seven, eight o’clock? I’d like to dive in to some serious research.”
“You bet. I want to hear what you’ve found out so far.”
“I will. There’s time yet.”
“That’s Zoey,” Liz whispered.
“I was rather hoping you’d nominate Frances before Halloween,” Alex said.
Zoey whooped. “Halloween! Alex it’s always Halloween with you.”
Anna elbowed Liz. “Let’s meet them,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I don’t want to be caught back here like we’re spying on them.”
“But we are spying, aren’t we?” Playing her part, Liz started for the house, talking loudly about cups of coffee and needing to buy Halloween candy for trick-or-treaters.
“What a ham,” Anna said under her breath.
They passed through the thickly wooded area and into the open again, instantly spotting Alex and Zoey on the flagstones. They walked side by side—a little too amiably, Anna thought, considering that Zoey thought Alex was a freak.
“Ladies!” Alex shouted.
Zoey said nothing, but for just an instant, her steps faltered when she saw Anna. She recovered promptly, pasting an overly broad smile on her face. “Hey, you two. Nice to see you. What’s happening?”
“Taking a look at the scene of the crime,” Liz said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “For ElkNews.com.”
“I haven’t seen it myself,” Alex said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Poor man.”
“We did see some smashed pumpkins, though,” Zoey said.
“There are a lot more ahead,” Anna said. “Just past the trees.”
“Well, isn’t that curious,” Alex said, delight flashing across his face.
“Clovis is calling the police,” Anna said.
A hungry grin settled onto Alex’s face. “The police? For pumpkins?”
“I think it’s more than pumpkins, don’t you?” Anna said. “Especially after Russell Thurman’s murder.”
“Very possibly,” Alex said. He bounced on his heels, unable to contain his glee.
Zoey took a step away from him, rearing backward and eyeing him with disgust. “I think that means it’s not funny.”
“But I am seldom happier than when I’m contemplating a pumpkin conundrum,” he said cheerily.
Startled by his tone, Zoey stared at him a moment before she replied. “What is it with you?”
“So very much,” he replied as though he willingly carried the burdens of the world on his shoulders. “A multitude.”
“You’re a freaky trip, Alex,” Zoey said.
Alex raised a hand to his chest. “You hurt my feelings.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Watch it, dear one.”
“Watch what? Too late to un-nominate me,” Zoey said.
Alex smiled.
“You can’t un-nominate me,” she repeated, her voice louder this time. “And believe me, I’ve got plenty on you.”
Knowing it unnerved Zoey, Alex continued to smile.
Anna wondered if the hostility between the two, which a few crass words from Alex had revealed, was real. After all, two minutes earlier the two had been laughing and chatting as they headed for the hives. “Alex . . .” she began slowly.
He turned his smile to Anna.
“I was thinking about something Paul Gilmartin said on Saturday about the hives.”
She had his full attention.
“He said the groundskeeper was putting insulation panels in them.”
“That’s correct.”
“Which means there are bees in the hives, right now.”
“All cozy for winter.”
“So the Morgan-Sadler House will be a working honey farm again?”
“I expect the first honey in the spring. What little was made over the summer we left for the bees to consume over the winter.”
“Who’s the beekeeper?”
Alex laughed.
“I don’t understand why that’s funny,” Anna said.
“Oh, I’ve done it again,” Alex said, smacking his palm to his head. “I’m sorry, I get carried away. Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying—I’m excited by your interest. The world would crumble without bees, are you aware of that?” Alex became animated, his hands active, his tone breathless with what he assumed was a shared and very rare interest. “And honey, that elixir, is the only food known to man with an eternal shelf life. Archaeologists have found honey in Egyptian tombs—thousands of years old and as edible as the day those Egyptian bees regurgitated it.”
“Ugh,” Liz said.
“That’s what honey is,” Zoey said. “Regurgitated nectar.” Taking the opportunity presented by her break for commentary, she changed subjects. “Do you two have any plans for Halloween? I’m having a party at my apartment if you’re interested.”
So Zoey wasn’t a phantom wandering the streets. She had an apartment. “Do you live in Elk Park?” Anna asked.
“A few miles outside.”
No doubt under the name Emma Hollister. Anna wondered if Alex knew that.
“So it’s only twenty minutes from downtown,” Zoey added. “And you’re welcome to stay the night, leave the next morning.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?” Alex said with a wounded air.
“You’re partying with the Gilmartins and Maddy’s students,” Zoey said. “You’ve told me a dozen times.”
“That’s right. What am I thinking?” He clucked his tongue. “I must bid you adieu, ladies. Work calls.” He edged past Anna, brushing her jacket with his and giving her a knowing look as he passed. They were bee companions now, in spite of Anna having caught him in the I-want-candy dance.
“Alex,” Anna called out.
He wheeled back.
“You didn’t say who the beekeeper is.”
“That hasn’t been decided yet. It will be. Cheerio.” He gave a limp, waist-high wave of his hand and disappeared into the trees.
“He’s such a freak,” Zoey said.
Liz put a finger to her lips.
“I don’t care if he hears me,” Zoey said.
“I thought you were friends,” Anna said.
“What gave you that idea?”
“Just now, before we met, you and Alex were all smiles.”
“You don’t think . . . just because . . .” Zoey sputtered. “I mean, I have to. My cover. He’s Paul Gilmartin’s friend. I would never . . .” She was clawing for words, attempting to defend herself. “I can’t believe you’d think that,” she finally said.
“I don’t know what to think,” Anna said. She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw Alex’s blue jacket receding into the distance. “You tell me you don’t like Alex,” she said, looking back to Zoey, “but then you two are buddy-buddy out here.”
“That may be an exaggeration, Anna,” Liz said.
Undeterred, Anna continued. “You tell me you don’t like Paul, Maddy, and Alex, but you vote with them to take Esther Vance’s house. Then you tell Esther you’ll buy it so she won’t be kicked out, but what you and the others have done—and let’s get right down to the nub of it—is arrange to steal her house and make a tidy profit while you’re at it.”
Zoey gaped. “What are you doing behind my back? You told me all you wanted was my real family tree. You think you have me all figured out?”
“I think I’m repeating what you’ve clearly done. Tell me where I’m wrong.”
“Clovis and the police at twelve o’clock,” Liz said.
Zoey’s head whipped around. She caught a glimpse of Clovis leading two officers down the flagstones before turning back and zeroing in on Anna. “I offered to buy Esther’s house because if I didn’t, Paul and Maddy were going to. Or Alex. He’d love to get his hands on it. I heard them talking about it after the meeting on Saturday, so I talked to Esther on Sunday.” Her retort succinctly communicated, she put her hands on her hips and del
ivered the final blow. “Or would you rather the Gilmartins own it? Imagine what might happen to Esther then.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” Anna said.
“Now you do.”
“But Zoey,” Anna said with an exasperated sigh, “why did you vote to take Esther’s house? You could have blocked the IHD.”
Zoey’s countenance softened and she let her arms dangle at her sides. “Is Clovis near?”
“Fifteen seconds,” Anna said.
“Alex threatened to tell the others my real name.”
“He knows?” Liz said.
Zoey spoke quickly, forcefully. “Somehow he found out the day before we voted on Esther’s house. So I caved, yeah, but I’m trying to make it right. Esther can live in that house, mortgage free, for the rest of her life.”
Clovis was pointing, steering the two officers toward the hives. “Past the trees,” she said as she came up behind Zoey. “These two, Anna and Liz, were with me when we found the other pumpkins. And Zoey”—she held out a twig-like finger—“wasn’t here.”
“Thought I’d come,” Zoey said. “Alex is back by the hives.”
“We’ll take it from here,” one of the officers said, making it clear the four were to stay put.
As the officers headed for the trees, Zoey called after them. “Don’t let Alex start talking about bees—you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“It took them a while to get here, but they sent two police officers, not one,” Clovis said. She smiled thinly, pleased with the response but aware that it proved the seriousness of the matter. This was more than the typical Halloween vandalism.
Anna surveyed the house’s expansive yard. The long shadows of a late October afternoon had grown, sweeping over it, laying cold, dark patches where minutes ago there had been warm sun. “Clovis, are Alex and the Gilmartins also funding restoration of the land and hives?”
“Half of it, yes,” Clovis said. “Restoration includes upkeep on the land and returning the honey farm to working order.”
“The Gilmartins I understand. They’re pulling in a fortune from that wind farm. But how is Alex able to afford that? He teaches a seminar on astral projection—how much could that pay?”
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