Plan Bee

by Hannah Reed

  There was always a but when it came to Dinky.

  “…she isn’t very well trained. She peed on my brand-new slippers.”

  “That means she likes you.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Grams said, always looking for the best in everything. “But I can’t have that going on. Your mother almost had a conniption fit when it happened.”

  I thought about what Carrie Ann had said earlier about Dinky needing training. But what if she wasn’t trainable?

  “If I can break her of that bad habit, will you adopt her?” I was excited at a prospective new home for my foster canine. I sensed a sale. Not that I would actually try to sell Dinky. She was definitely a giveaway. But it would be great to have her close by, to be able to visit. She had plenty of flaws, but she had grown on me.

  “You don’t know anything about training dogs,” Grams pointed out.

  “No, but Hunter does and he’ll help me.”

  “Tell you what, you fix Dinky’s peeing problem and you’ve got yourself a deal. But don’t mention it to your mother. I want to surprise her.”

  Oh, that would really make her do cartwheels. Mom wasn’t exactly an animal-friendly person.

  “Where is she, anyway?” I asked.

  “At Stu’s Bar and Grill with that nice man Tom.”

  “Oh Jeez.” I’d forgotten all about keeping tabs on those two.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “Nothing. Gotta go. Can you keep Dinky until tomor-

  row?”

  “Sure thing,” Grams said, agreeing like I knew she would.

  Trent had worked a split shift today, so he was back at the store and agreed to lock up later. And better yet for me, business was slow enough that he felt he could handle it alone until closing.

  “Call me if you need me,” I offered. “I can be back here in five minutes.”

  I quickly headed home, changed my clothes, and wrapped my new tiger-print scarf around my neck, which I knew would please my mother.

  The full moon was already visible in the sky as I hurried toward Stu’s. We still had an hour or more of daylight and the moon was already out, waiting to prey on those of us with weak wills and unruly minds. And what if I qualified? Was that what had happened to end Ford’s life? Had Patti been right about the forces of the full moon driving someone over the edge?

  Spooky!

  As I reached the corner of Main Street, I caught sight of Lori’s car coming toward me from the north side of town. Her car slid into a parking space in front of the bar. I picked up speed when I saw her crawl out and stand up.

  Lori saw me and tried to jump back in her car, but I pulled her out by the back of her too-tight sweater.

  “We have a little unfinished business,” I said to her. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” Lori twisted around to check her sweater. Then she turned to face me. “And look what you did to my sweater. You stretched it out of shape.”

  “That’s nothing compared to what you did! For starters, you didn’t do a background check on Ford. You rented out the house right next to mine to a chronic jailbird. I’ll see your license to sell real estate revoked for negligence.”

  I didn’t have a clue what it would take to get her license lifted, but I vowed to find out. Lori didn’t look too worried, though, which wasn’t a good sign.

  “I’m warning you, Fischer,” she said. “Back off.”

  I decided to finish plotting the destruction of her career later. Right now I had a bigger bone to pick with her for telling Johnny Jay I’d been sleazing with Ford Stocke. I stepped closer.

  Lori was all red, like she gets when she’s mad. “Back off right now,” she warned me again.

  “Not until you reassure me that you’re going to reverse the damage you did to my reputation.”

  Lori smirked. “What reputation?”

  I wanted to kill her so bad it took all my willpower not to reach out and choke her. I didn’t need a full moon to have an overwhelming desire to finish her off once and for all. Normally, I’m not a physically violent person. I’m really not. But I’d had a really bad day and a chunk of it was thanks to Lori. Later I would blame the overhead Transylvanian lunar moon for my next move.

  I grabbed a bunch of her precious sweater, right between her big boobs, and yanked her closer, if that was even possible. “You want stretches,” I yelled. “You’ll get stretches.”

  We were nose to nose, breath to breath, eyeball to eyeball.

  Lori grabbed my brand-new scarf with both hands, getting a good grip on each side and jerking it tight around my throat. She tripped and we both went down. By now I was pretty sure we were in the middle of the street, but I was seeing red, partly because of lack of oxygen to my brain, partly because I was flaming mad.

  I had her. She had me. First she was on top, then I was.

  “Let go,” I managed to croak. We both still had firm grips; me on her sweater, her on my scarf and I wasn’t breathing so well.

  “You first,” she said back.

  We both gripped harder. I tried to get a leg over her torso, which I hoped would give me an advantage. She got an elbow free and tried to swing it into my nose. I blocked it. To anyone observing, we must have looked like a giant lunatic pretzel.

  Pretty soon, firm hands grabbed both of us and pulled us apart. I had a chunk of Lori’s hair in my fist. Her sweater was stretched so far her bra was popping out. Some of the beads from my scarf bounced away, which really ticked me off.

  Then I noticed a bunch of Stu’s customers out on the curb, watching the whole thing. My eyes landed on two people front and center: Mom and Tom. Mom had a hand clapped across her mouth like she was mortified. Tom pulled her close to him in a show of manly support and protection.

  “Well, Lori deserved it,” I called out to Mom right before she turned and hurried away. “She ruined my new scarf.”

  Twenty-one

  Tuesday morning at The Wild Clover, I wasn’t imagining all the snickering going on behind my back. It was definitely real. In the light of day, my actions last night seemed juvenile at best. I regretted what had happened in the middle of Main Street. Boy did I ever. It’s just that something came over me and I totally lost all self-control.

  The worst part was that nobody who came into the store talked about it out in the open. Which made me squirm even more.

  Bits and pieces of other information slowly began to surface, sharing the limelight with my public meltdown. Tom Stocke’s entire life story for one, thanks to blabby Patti. Nothing I hadn’t already heard, though—his wife running off with Ford, Ford’s ongoing problems with the law, and Tom’s quiet move to Moraine to bury the past. Until the past followed him here and got itself buried instead.

  A catfight in the street should have been overshadowed by that juicy news, but by the sly and amused looks I was getting from my customers, I knew I was competing with Tom for top news story.

  His friendly association with my mother came up, mostly behind my back, too, but my staff clued me in. My perfect mother, who’d spent her life worrying about what the neighbors would say, and blaming me for what they did say, was now fodder for gossip herself. At least when she eventually reverted back to her old snarky ways, I would have some ammunition of my own next time she fired a round. After last night, I suspected that round had to be right around the corner.

  The senior citizens arrived to play sheepshead, Wisconsin’s official state card game, in the choir loft, a friendly, cozy nook I’d converted into a gathering place. This was their regular card day, but they usually played in the afternoon.

  Grams, an avid card player, said it best as she came in carrying Dinky. “We want to be part of the conversation and there’s sure a lot going around.” She handed the dog over to me, saying, “And here’s your adorable Dinky back. Let me know when she’s trained, sweetie.” Grams winked to let me know the deal was still on.

  The seniors were mixed on whodunnit. Everybody
hoped the killer was an out-of-towner who was gone for good. Of course, Tom’s name came up as the one and only other possibility, but many of the crusty old-timers thought his brother had gotten his just deserts, whether Tom did the deed or not. A small-bit criminal who stole his brother’s wife didn’t garner the same compassion as your average murdered citizen.

  Stu walked in the door for his daily newspaper and had a silly smile on his face when he spotted me. He didn’t mention the fight, though. And he had news we hadn’t heard yet. “Aggie and Eugene Petrie are out of jail on bail.”

  “Their sidewalk rummage sale days are over, though,” I said. “I hope they learned their lesson.”

  What goes around, comes around. Words my sister and I had heard plenty while growing up. Sometimes it’s true. Actions, words, whatever—they all have a way of boomeranging back at you when you least expect it.

  Aggie is a perfect example. She shouldn’t have threatened me the way she did. If she hadn’t blackmailed me into letting her set up her junk tables outside my store, she wouldn’t be in trouble now.

  After rearranging a fresh batch of red and yellow heirloom tomatoes, I came around a corner and caught Holly, Carrie Ann, and Patti whispering together. When they saw me coming, they pulled apart with guilt written all over their faces. Patti quickly hid something behind her back.

  “What?” I asked. “What’s going on? I know you’re talking about me.”

  They looked at each other then burst out laughing. All of them were laughing so hard they couldn’t talk, tears running down their faces.

  “What!”

  Still unable to speak, Patti handed over two pictures that had obviously been printed out from a computer.

  “Where did these come from?” I demanded, staring in disbelief. Somebody had captured Lori and me in full motion. On the ground, trying to rip each other’s clothes apart. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “It’s all over the Internet,” Patti said.

  By the time my three “friends” got themselves under control, another wave of customers came through and we had to split up to take care of business. But before that, I ripped up the damaging photos and threw the small pieces into the garbage can. It didn’t feel really great being on the outside looking in. Now I knew how P.P. Patti felt her whole life. I always thought she deserved her outcast status. Today, I deserved mine.

  When I had a chance, I said to Holly, “You three have your fun. Me? I’m taking an early lunch. If anyone wants me, I’ll be at the library.” I paused, then added, “On second thought, everybody just leave me alone.”

  I grabbed a plastic bag with my scarf inside it and stomped down the street.

  Where I promptly ran into DeeDee, sporting an enormous red, white, and blue tote bag slung over her shoulder. “You stay away from my sister,” she warned me with a snarl. “Or you’ll have me to deal with.”

  “Yeah, right,” I muttered and kept going.

  Moraine’s library is tiny, but well stocked. I hoped to find a how-to book there that would help me figure out how to replace the missing beads. The library is run by Emily Nolan and her daughter, Karin. While the Harmony Festival was a town-hall-run event, all the other community attractions are planned and executed by small committees. The library sponsors most of them, many taking place on the lawn in back of the library when weather permits.

  Besides children’s events like story times, we have several book clubs and special visitor talks. Events bring the town together in shared camaraderie and focused missions. At an invasive species discussion in the spring, we were all motivated to attack and kill garlic mustard and buckthorn. We even ran a contest to see who could destroy the most. And not too long ago we had a fabulous chocolate tasting. Then there was music—jazz, folk, country, whatever.

  But I wasn’t at the library to talk about any of those things.

  As I came up to the front desk, I saw Emily and Karin working hard to control their mouths, their lips curling up on the corners. But being the serious librarians they are, both of them stayed in control, unlike the treacherous trio back at the store. Did every single person in town know about Lori and me?

  What a dumb question.

  I pretended that nothing was wrong, though, and explained about the beads missing from my scarf.

  “Let me see it,” Karin said, taking the scarf and laying it out flat on a counter.

  “Great scarf,” Emily said.

  “Mom bought it for me.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Karin said. “Just a few missing beads. It’s really not that noticeable.”

  “It is to me,” I said.

  Karin studied it a little more. “You don’t need a book to fix this. I’m pretty handy with this sort of thing. I can do it. Where are the beads?”

  “I looked for them this morning,” I said, which was true. I’d returned to the street and hunted for them. “Now what?”

  “Do you know who made it?”

  I nodded. “Alicia Petrie.”

  “See if you can get more beads from her. Leave it here. I’ll match up the bead thread in the meantime.”

  “I really appreciate your help,” I said. “A nice gift from Mom is something to cherish.”

  After that, I sat down at a picnic table behind the library.

  Holly popped around the corner.

  “Go away,” I said, wrapping my arms across my chest in classic ticked-off mode.

  “Listen, we need to talk.”

  “Make it short, as in text-speak,” I said. Then realized how insensitive that was. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “You’re going to get even crabbier with me when you hear what I have to say, but hear me out. And don’t interrupt till I’m done, okay? You’ve been acting weird ever since you found out Mom was dating.”

  I opened my mouth to set her straight. The problem wasn’t that Mom was dating. It was who she was dating. Wasn’t it?

  Holly held up a warning finger. “Let me finish. Dad’s been gone five years, but to me it’s like he died five minutes ago. Sometimes, I even forget he’s not here and when I remember, it hurts like heck all over again. I bet Mom feels the same way. And I bet you do, too.

  “So seeing Mom with another man is difficult. Believe me, I have all kinds of emotions bouncing around inside of me. I don’t like it. Part of me thinks it’s the right thing for her to do. Another part of me feels like she’s cheating on Dad. But look at Mom. How happy she is. Tom is making her feel good about herself again. She’s positively glowing. And she deserves to feel that way. Story, it’s been five years! We have to let her start living again.”

  Tears welled in my eyes and I didn’t fight them.

  “I miss him so much,” I said, wiping at tears.

  “Me, too.”

  “You’re getting really good at that therapy stuff.”

  Holly patted my hand in appreciation then said, “You had a fight with Lori because you were angry about Mom and Tom.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “Did you know Mom was inside the bar?”

  I nodded.

  “And when was the last time you and Lori got physical?”

  “Last year. When she tried to spray poison on my bees.”

  “Then you were defending your hive, protecting them because they couldn’t help themselves. Why did you fight this time?”

  I thought about the reason. Lori had made a stinky comment about my reputation. But I’d put up with much more than that from her without snapping. “She said I was sleeping with Ford.”

  “Are you mad at me, too? Mad enough to fight with me? Because you know I’m the one who started it.”

  “I’m not exactly happy with you.”

  “I’m really sorry. I had no idea how that one comment would take on a life of its own and bite you in the butt.”

  And in that second, all the meanness and bitterness and anger washed right out of me. A simple apology from Holly had done the trick. I thought over some of my own acti
ons recently and decided to make some amends, too.

  “I’m going to apologize to a few people myself,” I said, giving my sister a big hug.

  Twenty-two

  Tom Stocke’s antique shop was located between Moraine’s new post office and a seasonal corn stand, where Country Delight Farm operated a successful business on weekends selling fresh corn on the cob dripping with pure Wisconsin butter.

  The sidewalk outside Tom’s store was jam-packed with various items he hauled out every morning to entice potential customers. Every night he hauled them back inside.

  I’m not much of an antique collector, but I had to pause to admire a Schwinn bicycle in perfect condition. Then I realized I was stalling and went inside where I saw mahogany and wicker, spinning wheels and toys, glassware and crocks, a Popeye tray next to two cartoon character metal lunch pails. Almost too much to take in all at once.

  I found Tom at the back of the store, sitting in a wooden rocker. And he was cleaning a firearm. Like the one that shot out Patti’s window and telescope. That’s the first thing that popped into my head even though I couldn’t tell one type of gun from another. But didn’t Tom complain to me recently about Patti’s snooping? In the past, I had intentionally overlooked the fact that Tom had a wanted poster face, mainly because of his mellow personality. If I’ve learned nothing else in life, I have learned not to judge a book by its cover. Although, on second thought, haven’t I picked up lots of books because they had cool covers? Only to find sometimes that the insides didn’t measure up?

  Anyway, right now, I saw Tom in a whole new criminal-element light. It’s amazing how a weapon in somebody’s hand can change your perspective on their capabilities.

  “Hi, Story,” he said, looking up and seeing me before I could hightail it out of his store.

  “Is that a rifle?” came out of my mouth, because suddenly I forgot why I’d come here in the first place.

  “Pretty, isn’t she?”

  I couldn’t peel my eyes away. “Is it an antique?” It looked old even to my inexperienced eyes. Not exactly like something you’d see in a war movie, not the kind that had to be loaded with gunpowder. But cowboy flicks had firearms that looked a lot like the one in Tom’s lap. Where was Hunter with his weaponry knowledge when I needed him?