A Hive of Homicides

by Meera Lester

  Abby inhaled a sharp breath and let it go. “But it seems so obvious to me that if a killer got the gun to kill Jake and kept it, he could have used it to shut Dori up about his role. And don’t you find it just too convenient that Emilio’s lost gun was right there near her body? Emilio goes on the hook for two murders, while the real killer goes free. Neat.”

  “Neat would be if the killer had left the victim’s purse at the scene and it bore the killer’s fingerprints, fiber, and blood,” Otto said, clasping his hands around the back of his head, as if thinking about what evidence they did have to work with.

  The three sat in silence until their food came. Abby reckoned she’d done everything she could at this point to paint an alternate picture of what might have happened. Otto and Kat would have to find the holes and plug them. And God forbid that she should be wrong about Emilio. Fiddling with her napkin, she decided to ask her friends why the police chief was in such a dour mood.

  “I asked him a question, and he acted as if he had a burr up his butt,” said Abby. “Is it just me or what?”

  “He’s not happy about something that happened early this morning,” said Kat, looking at Otto, as if for permission to go on.

  “I’m all ears,” said Abby.

  “Let’s just say he’s not happy today with Lieutenant Sinclair,” Kat said. She rolled her eyes and let Otto pick up the thread.

  “Well, we shouldn’t make too big of a deal out of it. It’s not like it hasn’t happened to cops in other city police departments.” Otto reached for his iced tea and took a swig.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Abby said, leaning forward. In a whisper, she said, “Tell me already.”

  Lowering her voice, Kat said, “He went for a run to clear his head. I told him not to park under the bridge along Las Flores Creek, where the running trail begins. The park rangers check that area only once each day. Lots of cars have been broken into down there.” She drew a pattern with her finger on her napkin, as if leaving it up to Abby to figure out what might have happened.

  “So someone broke into his car,” said Abby. “What was taken?”

  Kat yielded answering the question to Otto, but he was ogling the food the waitress had brought on a large tray to the next table. Kat leaned in and whispered to Abby, “His service revolver.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. She made a soft whistling sound. “Oh, boy.”

  Otto’s attention returned to their conversation. “At least the press hasn’t gotten wind of it.”

  “Yet,” said Kat, leaning back in her chair. “You’ll keep silent about this, won’t you, Abby?”

  “Of course.” Abby’s thoughts drifted back to the hospital parking lot and the guy wearing the slouchy beanie. She’d watched him peer into cars, but he hadn’t jimmied open any doors or smashed windows. He hadn’t committed a crime that she’d witnessed. But, boy, he was weird. And Abby wished she knew why he was at the hospital, on Paola’s floor, and whether or not he had any connection to the winery other than knowing Dori. On her incident poster, Abby had written him in as “Weirdo.”

  Desserts arrived. Kat plunged a fork into the rustic ginger-pear galette placed before her. The look on her face suggested it tasted as good as it looked. Her eyes swept over Otto’s pumpkin pie and onto Abby’s French apple tart with almonds and apple brandy. In a seemingly mellower mood than before their late lunch, Kat said, “Won’t it be lovely when we get the two murders solved, the downtown freeway exit closed so the holiday horse and buggy can travel up and down Main Street, and have all the decorations and holiday lights up in the downtown?”

  “The fire department doing that again this year?” asked Abby.

  “Uh-huh,” Kat said. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

  “Yeah, well, I’d like to find Sinclair’s weapon,” said Otto, pushing another forkful of pie into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he added, “Love to beat the crap out of whoever took it.”

  “How did the thief get it? Was the lieutenant’s car damaged?” asked Abby.

  Kat said, “Not really. I think the perp had some experience using unlocking tools.”

  Otto finished his pie and pushed back from the table. “Yeah, well, about that dream you have for the perfect winter holiday, Kat. Personally, I think it’s not a good idea to have a jingle-bells horse and buggy trotting up and down Main at the same time as cars full of folks gawking at holiday lights.”

  Kat and Abby locked eyes. Otto abruptly had shifted the conversation again..

  “If you ask me, it’s a recipe for disaster,” said Otto.

  Kat reapplied her lipstick and then looked squarely at him. “You really don’t have a romantic streak in your body, do you? I’ll bet your wife wouldn’t mind a buggy ride under the stars in a horse-drawn carriage. Try to picture the two of you sitting real close. With a glass of hot mulled wine and a blanket to warm you, things could heat up real fast.” Kat looked at Abby and winked.

  Otto grinned. “And can you picture what will happen if traffic spooks the old nag? I’m talking about the horse here.”

  “Of course you are,” Abby said, muffling a chuckle behind her napkin.

  “Oh, please,” said Kat. “I’m sure the buggy driver knows the drill.”

  Otto grinned and fiddled with his duty belt, pushing it lower over the belly he’d just filled.

  Abby put down her fork, brushed the crumbs from beside her plate into her napkin, and laid the napkin on the table. She relaxed, listening to the easy banter between Kat and Otto. Her two friends and former fellow officers at times could be adversarial, but they had a genuine affection and were fiercely loyal to each other.

  “There’s going to be a big celebration in the park for the holiday tree lighting next weekend,” said Kat. “Why don’t you invite that handsome rancher who lives up the hill from your farmette? We could meet next to the tree in the downtown park.”

  “And then what?” Abby asked.

  “Hang out,” Kat said.

  “Somehow I don’t see Lucas Crawford just hanging out,” said Abby.

  “For once, Abby, I wish you’d lighten up. You don’t have to fall in love with the guy. Or force a relationship. Just have a little fun. Or have you forgotten how?”

  Otto arched his brows.

  Kat wouldn’t let it go. “Ask him when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Assuming it will,” Abby said. The idea did rather tantalize her.

  Rustic Ginger-Pear Galette

  Parchment paper, for lining a baking sheet or tart pan

  All-purpose flour, for flouring a cutting board

  Pastry dough, enough for 1 large pie crust (made from scratch or store-bought)

  ¼ cup granulated sugar, plus cup for sprinkling on the

  pie crust

  1 tablespoon cornstarch

  1 pinch kosher salt

  4 large ripe pears

  ¼ cup finely chopped candied ginger

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter

  1 large egg

  4 tablespoons apricot jam

  Directions:

  Preheat the oven to 400. Line a baking sheet or tart pan with parchment paper.

  Sprinkle flour over a cutting board and then roll the pastry dough into a 14-inch round. Place the round on the lined baking sheet or tart pan and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

  Combine the ¼ cup sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a medium bowl. Cut the pears in half. Use a melon baller to remove the pithy centers and then slice each half into ¼- to ½-inch-thick slices to lay them out in a fan shape. Coat the pears with the cornstarch mixture and place them on a large plate.

  Remove the pie crust from the refrigerator. Position the pear slices on the pie crust, starting from the center of the dough and working outward, leaving a minimum of four inches of dough to fold back over the fruit. Sprinkle the candied ginger over the pears. Place dots of the butter all around the galette. Press the dough around the edges over the fruit to hold it in place.

  Be
at the egg with a whisk in a small bowl. Use a pastry brush to apply the egg wash to the edges of the dough. Sprinkle the egg-covered dough with the remaining cup sugar. Bake for 1 hour, or until the crust is golden brown. Remove the galette from the oven to a wire rack.

  Spoon the apricot jam into a small saucepan and heat thoroughly. Brush the warm jam over the pears and serve the galette.

  Serves 4–6

  Chapter 16

  Citrus trees need protection from frost, so cover

  them with sheets of burlap or blankets on frosty

  nights.

  —Henny Penny Farmette Almanac

  Driving home after her late lunch with Kat and Otto, Abby listened to the four o’clock press conference on the Jeep’s radio. Chief Bob Allen and the mayor presented the facts about Jake’s and Dori’s murders and reminded the community to remain vigilant until law enforcement caught the killer or killers. A reporter raised a question about witnesses that echoed Abby’s concern for her and Paola’s safety.

  On the evening news, the local media dug into Dori’s past. The product of a broken home, the rebellious teenager had initially found work in food service but had forged gang ties and had more than a few brushes with law enforcement. Shady characters from Dori’s past painted her as a masterful manipulator. But Abby reckoned that Dori had smarts and cooking talent, too. Abby could almost hear Father Joseph emphasizing during a homily that no person was all good or bad.

  On her incident poster, Abby studied the lines she’d drawn from Jake to all the people who had had a relationship with him. His name was in a circle to indicate he was deceased. Now Abby drew a circle around Dori Langston’s name. Returning the cap to the felt-tip pen, she studied the lines that connected everyone. Several people had motives. Others had the means. But the column labeled “opportunity” remained problematic. Abby wondered if it would do any good to drive to the hospital emergency room and interview that student nurse Lina Sutton. Perhaps she would remember some small detail she hadn’t shared with the police. She uncapped her pen and jotted the intention on the poster.

  Edna Mae called at sunset with gossip, as if it were a breaking news story. Paola was going to be discharged over the weekend, and her parents were leaving for Argentina in the morning—at least that was what an old friend at the hospital had told her. Was it true or not? Abby told her yes and explained that Luna had told her as much in a late afternoon phone call.

  “I wish I could chat more with you, Edna Mae,” said Abby, “but I’ve got to cover my citrus trees with blankets. It’s supposed to freeze tonight. And I’ve got to do it before dark. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Oh, sure, Abby,” said Edna Mae. “And let’s talk about how the quilt is going the next time we chat.”

  “Of course,” Abby said. “Next time.” She didn’t want to explain to anyone, least of all Edna Mae, why she was working on an incident poster instead of finishing that darn quilt.

  She also didn’t want to get into her concerns about Paola returning to the home she’d shared with Jake. The part-time housekeeper had agreed to work three days a week to help out. Also, Eva and Luna would be taking turns checking on their sister. The family had arranged with a local medical staffing company to have a per diem nurse at night, when the family members returned to their own homes. Abby promised to help Paola get settled and to drop by often to check on things.

  On the following Monday, Abby made good on her promise. She helped Eva and Luna move Paola home. Paola was improving incredibly fast, considering what she’d been through. Abby felt her concerns assuaged when she observed Paola in the kitchen of her house, spreading some of Abby’s wild plum jam onto pieces of toast she’d made after deciding she was hungry. It was a delight to watch. Luna and her toddler stayed with Paola the first night. Eva and her husband and child stayed the second night. Then the nurse took over night duty.

  On the third day after Paola’s discharge, Abby stood at the chain-link fence at the rear of her farmette, in pitch-black darkness. She watched circles of bright Maglites bobbing around. Henry and his buddies were guiding the RV onto the concrete slab behind the oleander bushes, out of the sight line of Abby’s farmhouse. When her cell phone rang, Abby pulled the phone out of her jacket pocket and answered, “Mackenzie here.”

  “Thanks be to God, Abby. I have reached you.” Paola’s voice quavered. “Please help me.”

  “What’s wrong? Have you hurt your head?” Abby knew that Paola’s doctors would not reattach the small piece of bone taken from Paola’s skull for another six weeks. She pivoted and sprinted back to her kitchen.

  “No, my head is fine,” said Paola. “It’s the phone. It keeps ringing.”

  “Probably just a wrong number,” said Abby.

  “Not my phone. Jake’s.”

  Abby’s brow furrowed. “Wait . . . the cops took his phone.”

  “No. Jake had another. In his coat. Can you come now?”

  A chill ran down Abby’s spine. She stepped through the slider, then pulled it closed with her free hand. “Of course I’ll come now. What does the caller say when you answer?”

  “Nothing. Just breathes.”

  “And how many times has he or she called?”

  “Three.”

  Abby could hear a faint melody. “What’s that?”

  “Jake’s cell. Ringing again.”

  “Don’t answer it.” A knot formed in Abby’s stomach. She frowned. Who didn’t know that Jake was dead? Was someone making a silly prank call, or was this something more nefarious?

  Paola cried out in a high pitch, “Ayeee. Abby, the patio light. It has turned on.”

  Abby’s thoughts raced back to several months ago, when Jake had installed motion-detector lights on the outside patio wall. His house and others on their street bordered green space with bushes and trees and abundant wildlife. The green space separated the backyards from a creek bed that swelled with water during the rainy season. On the far side of the stream, uphill, was another tract of houses.

  “Where are you? Can he see you?”

  “In the kitchen.” She gasped. “El diablo!” Paola began to cry. “He’s there. I can’t see him now, but I feel his eyes on me.”

  “Flip the light switch.” Abby tried to sound calm. “Listen to me, Paola. Get out of the kitchen.” She could hear Paola sniffling. “Is the housekeeper there?”

  “No. She just left.”

  “What about your sisters? The nurse? Is anyone in the house with you?”

  “Sí. The nurse is on her cell to the doctor about my medication. Eva left before Luna. Ten minutes ago.”

  “The doors and windows are locked, right?”

  “Yes, I think.”

  “Good. You and the nurse need to get into a bathroom. Lock the door. Keep the lights off. I’ll call the cops on my way. Leaving now.”

  “Hurry, please, Abby.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “Sí. Gracias. ” Paola’s call clicked off.

  From her bedroom dresser, Abby snatched her purse and car keys. Her sudden movements triggered Sugar’s frenzied barking. Not wanting to waste a minute but needing to soothe her dog, Abby called out gently, “Come on. You’re going with me.” On the way out of the kitchen, she grabbed Sugar’s leash from the top of the fridge.

  Navigating from the driveway onto Farm Hill Road, Abby hit the contact for police dispatch. When it rang, she tapped the cell phone speaker icon.

  “What’s your emergency?” asked the dispatcher who picked up.

  “Abigail Mackenzie here. I’m calling in a ten-seventy. The location is at three-nine-nine Thornhill Way. The home owner was recently discharged from the hospital and is in the house with her nurse. They are alone. There’s a prowler at the rear of the residence.”

  “Copy that. A squad car is in the vicinity.”

  “I’m on my way and will meet your officers there.”

  “Roger that.”

  Speeding to the end of Farm Hill Road and th
en turning off on a shortcut known to the locals, Abby hit the contact for Paola and listened for the ring. It seemed entirely possible that Paola’s prowler might be of the four-legged variety. But after all that had happened, checking it out seemed prudent.

  Paola’s shaky voice answered. “Abby?”

  “The police are coming now,” Abby said.

  She could hear Paola exhale relief.

  “Could you see the prowler? Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”

  “Not possible,” said Paola.

  Abby heard the faint wail of a siren through the phone. “Okay, you’re going to have to meet the responding officer in another minute or so. I am almost there, too. Make sure it’s a cop before you open the door. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Abby could hear the siren wail louder and then abruptly shut off. Paola had ended the call. Abby pressed down on the gas pedal. With Sugar in the passenger seat, she focused on taking every shortcut she could remember, until at last she pulled up and parked behind the cruiser with its light bar still flashing.

  Abby decided to keep Sugar in the vehicle. She walked swiftly toward Paola’s front door. A blinding flashlight beam struck her in the eyes.

  “Stop right there.”

  Abby stopped mid-step at the surprise and her heart thumped in response. “I’m Abigail Mackenzie, the one who made the call to dispatch,” said Abby. “The home owner inside has asked me to provide assistance.”

  “Show me your ID.”

  Abby reached into her purse and pulled out her driver’s license.

  The cop examined it and then handed it back. “Ex-cop, right? Go on in. My partner’s inside with her and her nurse.”

  Abby hurried to the door. She tried not to register surprise at seeing Officer Bernie de la Cruz when the door opened. So the chief had him picking up calls now that Kat and Otto were working the murders. Abby met his gaze, noticed the twinkle of recognition in his eyes. Women in the LFPD knew well Bernie’s reputation as an incorrigible skirt chaser. His favorite line exposed the truth of how he viewed any romantic relationship—I’m here for a good time, not a long time. His personal life aside, he was a good cop who worked the evidence room, logging items in and releasing them when cases had been adjudicated.