Plan Bee

by Hannah Reed

So there I stood, knee-deep in garden dirt, holding that shovel, and who should I see round the corner but Eugene Petrie!

  He certainly wasn’t dead—far from it—but we were seconds away from that non-breathing state ourselves. Because Eugene had a shotgun clutched across his chest in an I-mean-business sort of way, and he was coming fast. “Freeze!” he yelled at us, planting his feet and aiming the gun.

  I froze like an ice statue. Over on the edge of the garden, so did Patti.

  “Hands up in the air where I can see them.”

  “It’s me, Eugene—Story Fischer.”

  “My eyesight is just fine.” He still had the shotgun on his shoulder, taking aim. “I said hands up in the air.” We obliged.

  A woman called out from the house next door. Once I pried my eyes away from Eugene, I saw it was his daughter-

  in-law, Alicia, heading our way. “What happened?” she asked him.

  Eugene eyed us. “I don’t know yet, but I’m about to find out what they’re up to.” I remembered that Eugene had been in the marines when he said, “A little waterboarding ought to open them up like clams.”

  Waterboarding! I knew what that was. Torture, that’s what. Forcing a person (in this case, me) to inhale water and making them feel like they’re drowning. Not my idea of a good time. Plus, I was pretty sure waterboarding was totally illegal.

  I glanced at Patti, hoping she had an idea, one that would get us out of this mess. But all she did was stare back at me, her eyes wide. Next time we dig for dead bodies, we really need to have a backup plan in place in case we get caught. If there is a next time.

  “We heard you were sick,” I said to Eugene, “so we stopped by to check on you. Patti noticed you were starting a new row, a second crop of something, so we decided to help you out by getting it ready for your next planting. Weren’t we Patti?”

  Patti nodded and gulped. “I have press protection,” she squeaked, holding up her homemade press pass like that was going to help. If anything, playing the reporter card might have the opposite effect.

  “It doesn’t sound like much of a crime to me,” Alicia said. “Almost neighborly.”

  Eugene didn’t look so sure, but swung the gun clear of us. “Get out of here,” he said. “Next time, I’ll fill you with buckshot.”

  And that’s how we got out of that one.

  Eleven

  “Don’t ever ask me to help you again,” I warned Patti on the return trip. “I understand you wanting to ingratiate yourself with The Distorter…”

  “Reporter,” Patti corrected me.

  “…but leave me out of your next harebrained scheme.”

  “You did a nice job with backup,” Patti offered, sounding contrite.

  “As far as I’m concerned, from this moment forward, I never saw a body in the cemetery. I made up the whole thing to get attention, just like Lori Spandle said. I’m done.”

  Once I made that declaration, I felt an enormous weight lift from my shoulders, one I hadn’t even been aware of until now. Nobody had believed me anyway. Except Patti, and because of her I’d been threatened with a weapon and waterboarding. I needed some semblance of normalcy—the festival, the store, time with my man—not all this intrigue.

  I pulled into my parking spot behind The Wild Clover. The streets were bumper to bumper with cars searching for parking spaces as close as possible. People were staking out parade-viewing spots with lawn chairs and coolers.

  Patti went off nosing for news, and I joined my staff at the booth, where the sound of sales ringing up had my spirit doing Zumba. I snagged a honey stick and sucked on it as I people-watched, stepping in to help whenever I was needed.

  Carrie Ann’s ex and her two kids came by, and they picked out honey sticks before settling near the curb.

  Milly wandered over and showed me a scarf she’d purchased.

  “It’s lovely,” I said, thinking I’d like one, too. Scarves are fun accessories. “Where did you get it?”

  “Right next to you, at Aggie’s booth.”

  What? From the junk lady? “Really?” I said.

  “Her daughter-in-law makes them,” Milly said, sliding into a lawn chair she’d used to mark her territory first thing this morning.

  Holly showed up just then and admired the scarf. “Cool,” she said. “I love the crystal beads woven into the fringe.”

  “Me, too,” Milly said. “Especially these emerald beads. Emerald is one of my favorite colors.”

  People started milling around, still buying, although that would taper off once the parade came by.

  As in the past, the parade participants lined up south of town close to the police station. The bands, vehicles, floats, and the rest would march up Main Street past all the businesses, then cross the bridge over the Oconomowoc River and disband where Creamery Road and Rustic Road forked. Right before the parade began, the police contingency would shut down Main on both ends, and cars trying to pass through would have to wait or find an alternate route.

  Lori Spandle and her sister walked past. DeeDee was decked out in a purple pantsuit, a yellow sash announcing her Honey Queen title, and a sparkling crown. DeeDee usually went more for the grunge look. Today she was faking respectable really well.

  Lori stopped in front of Holly, Milly, and me. “Doesn’t DeeDee look great?” she said.

  “She actually looks halfway decent for a change. Who dressed her?” Holly asked, putting some snotty in her tone.

  “It certainly wasn’t one of you two.” Lori glared, but before she could come up with a retort, Holly continued.

  “You know, that guy Ford who’s staying in the house next to Story is pretty hot. Thanks to you renting to him, Lori, my sister has a new blossoming relationship.”

  I swung my head her way, astonished by that comment.

  “Very funny,” Lori said with narrowing eyes. “Story’s with Hunter.”

  “Not since last night,” Holly said, suggesting something pretty intimate had transpired.

  I opened my mouth to correct her big-time, but stopped when she gave me a slight warning head-shake.

  “We’ll see about that,” Lori said, hustling DeeDee away.

  As we watched them go, I finally realized what my sister had been up to and laughed. Lori has had a one-sided competition going on in regards to my men ever since high school. She always wanted them and would do anything she could to steal them away from me. She’d made a play for Hunter when she found out we were seeing each other, but he’d put her down hard, knowing what she was like and what it took to get a message through to her. I felt a momentary sympathy pang for Grant and all he’d put up with from his wife.

  If he even knew, that is. Our town chair wasn’t the sharpest knife.

  Holly giggled. “She’ll be after Ford before the parade starts,” she said. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “From what I’ve seen of him, he won’t run fast or far,” I agreed.

  A few minutes later, I was munching on a roasted cob of corn when I heard something explode, making loud machine-gun-like popping sounds, rat-a-tat-tatting. Immediately after that, the band started up.

  Stanley beamed proudly and said, “That was Noel’s contribution.”

  “The opening kabooms?”

  Stanley nodded. “Your mother decided to put my grandson’s special talents to good use.”

  “That kid better major in chemistry.”

  The parade came into view with Grand Marshal Grams leading it from her seat of honor in a red Mustang convertible. She gave me her special parade wave as she passed. She had “elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, touch your pearls, and blow a kiss” down pat. In between, she snapped pictures of the crowd.

  Next came every single fire engine in the entire community. Halfway through the line of engines, I turned to Holly and said, “I’m going home. Dinky’s in my office. Will you give her a little walk after the parade?”

  “Sure, but don’t you want to see the rest of the parade?”

  “I ju
st wanted to see Grams. But I can’t bear the thought of DeeDee Becker representing the local honey industry, even if it’s only for one day. She must be due along soon and I just can’t stand to watch.”

  “I hear you,” my sister said. “I should have brought some overripe tomatoes.”

  With that imagery in my mind, I slid through between two fire engines and turned down my block.

  Just in time to see Lori Spandle sneaking up the driveway where Ford’s truck was still parked.

  Unbelievable! She sure didn’t waste any time!

  I decided to sneak right along behind her. With luck, I’d get a damaging picture on my cell phone for future blackmail. I did have a moment where I felt totally juvenile. But I rarely got the best of Lori, mainly because I had better things to do with my life. She’s the one who spent all her time and limited brainpower trying to ruin me.

  But knowing the enemy was important.

  So sneaking after Lori was a given.

  I scooted behind Ford’s truck and peeked over the hood. I saw Lori knock, and when Ford didn’t answer, she tried to open the door.

  Locked.

  Maybe Ford was at the festival, taking in the parade. Lori dug around in her purse and came up with a set of keys. Of course she’d have keys. Lori was a real estate agent and this was one of her listings. But still, should she let herself in while the house was rented out? I thought not.

  She wiggled a key into the lock and popped the door open. What was she going to do—wait for him in her panties?

  I slithered over to a window and hugged the wall, peering in. I saw Lori walk past. I plastered myself against the side of the house, facing my yard. Patti’s house was quiet, not a bit of motion in the upstairs window, not a single gleam from her telescope lens. Good. The last thing I needed was Patti butting in. Or videotaping me.

  Before I could decide what to do next, I heard Lori scream from inside the house, even over all the noise from the parade down the block. The bands and vehicles and clapping and shouting didn’t mask it. Every hair on my body went on high alert.

  Seconds later, Lori blew past me, slamming out of the house and hurrying down the street with one hand clutching her chest and the other one over her mouth like she had a terrible case of acid reflux.

  She hadn’t seen me.

  Now what?

  What could she possibly have discovered to cause that kind of reaction?

  And more important, did I have the courage to go inside and find out?

  I forced myself through the door Lori had left unlocked and wide open.

  The kitchen didn’t hold any secrets except for evidence of Ford’s occupancy—empty beer cans and beef jerky wrappers, a camping table and chair. Same with the bedroom—a sleeping bag and the stink of B.O. and unwashed clothes.

  But when I got to the front of the house, I discovered what had Lori running scared.

  Ford’s body was stuffed into the fireplace like an enormous log.

  Twelve

  This wasn’t my first dead body. I’ve been to my share of funerals just like everybody else. And I’ve even seen death right after it happened, before the funeral home’s mortician had a chance to put things back in place. The older I get, the more I’m confronted with death and dying. But it never gets easier.

  This wasn’t even the first time I’d seen this particular dead body, since I was pretty sure that I’d just found my missing corpse from the cemetery.

  But this was the first time I’d been around a body that was obviously, unquestionably the victim of foul play. People don’t crawl into fireplaces to die from natural causes. Even if it wasn’t for that, Ford’s contorted face, which was turned my way—wouldn’t you know it—wasn’t pretty. Not that it had been good-looking to begin with, but now it was positively gruesome.

  I was seriously flipped out, but refused to handle the situation by running away like Lori had. I moved back a few steps, stopping at the doorway where I concentrated on avoiding looking directly at what was left of Ford while considering my next move. I’d have to alert the authorities. That is, if Lori hadn’t done so already. The festival applecart—the one my mother demanded that I watch—was seriously tipped over, contents rolling all over the place and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  In the distance, I heard the marching band strike up “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” which was going to become my mother’s theme song as soon as she found out. There really wouldn’t be a mountain high enough to keep her from getting to me.

  The parade meant Moraine’s cops would be providing security close by. A good thing, considering the circumstances. Better yet, Johnny Jay would be decked out in his finest, pompously driving the chief’s special vehicle in the parade. That meant I might be able to circumvent him, at least initially.

  First I tried calling Hunter. We’d planned to meet at Stu’s Bar and Grill in a little while, but that wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t answer.

  Next I tried to punch in the emergency number. Nine. One. One. Three little numbers. Why was it so hard? Partly because my hands were shaking, but mainly because I suddenly realized that the killer might still be close by. He could be in a closet or around a corner, getting impatient to escape, me standing between him and freedom.

  Probably not, I said to myself edging out the door. Ford didn’t look like he’d gone to home sweet home in the last little while. But, really, what did I know? I decided to boogie out of there at that point, joining the Lori Spandle scaredy-cat club.

  Finally my numb fingers hit the right three digits. “We have an emergency,” I said into the phone as I hurried toward Main Street, concentrating on keeping my voice calm and collect. We sounded good. I wasn’t alone with this situation.

  The dispatcher said, “Your name, please.”

  “Story Fischer,” I said too late to take it back. “I mean, Patti Dwyre.”

  “Sorry, Story, but we’ve been warned about you.”

  “I re-found the dead body. You know, the one I lost last night. I mean, I didn’t lose it, it… uh, never mind. Has anybody called in a dead body in the last few minutes? Because I wasn’t the only witness.”

  “You’re the only caller.”

  Darn Lori! All she cared about was herself and her stupid image, which in my opinion wasn’t in very good shape to begin with, so why should she bother? I was talking fast now, telling the dispatcher location details. I finished with, “And this time when you come, you can use your lights and sirens.”

  Maybe if I said that, they wouldn’t use them. You never knew with our local law enforcement. I still didn’t want to destroy the last few hours of the Harmony Festival if I could help it, but we had a genuine emergency on our hands and maybe even a killer in the crowd. “Yes, lights and sirens would be good.”

  “Okay, then,” the dispatcher said, and I swear I heard a patronizing tone. “I’ll pass this information on to the chief just as soon as the parade is over.”

  “What?”

  But the dispatcher had disconnected.

  Dang. Didn’t anyone believe me?

  I burst onto Main Street to see the tail end of the parade heading north past Stu’s and over the bridge. People were already folding up their chairs and moving away from the curb, packing up their cars, oblivious to a dead man stuffed in a fireplace a short block away.

  Then I had another frightening thought. My reputation couldn’t afford another missing body. I was absolutely sure that I’d tripped over Ford the night before. Someone had hauled him to the house and stuffed him in the fireplace. What if that same person moved him again before I got back? Before anyone from the police department could confirm my story?

  In a state of total confusion, I did a 180 and ran back to the house.

  Ford was still there, same place, same position, wearing the same Hawaiian shirt as last time I’d seen him. My stomach did a flip. I talked it out of doing anything more than that.

  For the first time ever, I thought: Why did it have t
o be me? Why couldn’t this have happened to somebody else? Why couldn’t someone else report a major crime for a change?

  I muttered bad thoughts about Lori, who should have been in the hot seat, not me.

  By some miracle, my head cleared momentarily, and I remembered my sister. She was fused to her cell phone like a robot to its control panel. She’d answer for sure. I called Holly.

  “Get over to Clay’s house as quick as you can,” I said, so glad to hear her voice on the other end. “And bring backup. Stanley! Bring Stanley. I found the body. It’s Ford. And he’s dead. Oh, and have Stanley call the police. And just in case Noel’s with him, tell Stanley not to bring him along.”

  What seemed like ten years later, Holly and Stanley arrived. We met in the driveway next to Ford’s truck.

  “Stanley,” I said, “will you go in and take a look at the body in case it disappears again? I want a reliable witness just to be on the safe side.”

  “I can do that,” he said.

  “It’s not pretty.”

  “I’ve seen it all,” Stanley assured me, walking toward the door.

  “He’s in the fireplace.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Stanley said, skidding to a stop. “Never mind. I can tell you aren’t. Be right back.”

  And he disappeared inside.

  Holly, who has been known to wrestle a shoplifter to the ground and use some amazing pinning techniques and brute force against said perpetrator, leaned heavily on Ford’s truck and said, “I feel faint.”

  I ignored her, since obviously I was the one who should pass out, not her. “Did Stanley call the cops like I asked?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, where are they?” I didn’t hear a single siren. “You’d think they would respond pronto. They’re right down the street.”

  “It’s gridlock. All the parade vehicles and floats are jammed up and cars are trying to get out. Nothing’s moving.”

  Figures. In our small town we joke among ourselves that none of us better have an emergency during certain times. Like opening day of hunting season. Or St. Patrick’s day, which we consider a national holiday worth closing our businesses for. Now, we’ll have to add the Harmony Festival to the list of do-not-bother-calling-cuz-nobody’s-