by Nancy CoCo
“So you poisoned her,” I said.
“She humiliated me and then laughed about it.” There was horror in her eyes.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone and carefully dialed 9-1-1, slipping my thumb on speaker so we both heard.
“Nine-one-one what is your emergency?”
“Hi, Josie, we’re at 211 Pine,” I said, not taking my eyes off the sobbing woman. “Mildred just admitted to killing Agnes Snow.”
“Are you safe? Help is on the way.”
“Am I safe, Mildred?” I asked and took a step back.
“I didn’t know,” she said over and over. “I thought they were sleeping with each other. She laughed at me.”
“Stay on the phone,” Josie said.
“Why did you frame me?” I asked her.
She looked up at me as tears rolled down her eyes. “I didn’t.”
“I don’t understand. You used my lip balm to poison Mrs. Snow.”
“Yes, but only because I knew it was the only kind Agnes used. She refused to use anything but your beeswax.”
“What about Mr. Snow? Why did you kill him?”
“She didn’t,” Theodore said as he came in through the back door. He had a gun in his hand.
“Mr. Woolright,” I said. “Put down the gun.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “You know too much.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”
“I thought you were having an affair,” Mildred said to him. “I saw you with her. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t know,” Theodore said. “It’s okay, baby, I’m taking care of everything.”
I took a step toward Mildred. She was between me and the front door and she didn’t have a gun.
“Don’t take another step,” he said and pointed the gun at me.
“The police are on the way,” I said and raised my chin.
“Not soon enough,” he said and studied me. “I thought you would be an easy target. I told Mildred to tell the police she saw you with Agnes. But you couldn’t keep your nose out of things.”
“Why kill Bernie Snow?” I asked.
“He figured it out really quick,” Theodore said. “He came to the house to confront us. We told him to go home.”
“He threatened to go to the police,” I said.
“He didn’t know anything,” Theodore said. “He couldn’t prove anything and neither can you.”
Hearing sirens coming down the street, I took another step toward Mildred. “You should put the gun down now,” I said.
His hands were shaking. “Mildred can’t go to prison. She won’t survive there.”
“That’s up to the courts,” I said and took another step toward her.
“I won’t go to prison, either.” The gun shook in his hands.
“Oh, darling,” Mildred said and stood. “Do it. We can go together hand in hand for all eternity.”
“Don’t!” I shouted. The doors burst open and officers ran into the house. They grabbed the gun and I fell to my knees.
The officers cuffed Theodore and Mildred and took them away.
Jim took my hands. “I’m going to put you in a squad car,” he said gently. “You are shaking and you need to be warm.” He opened the car door and helped me in. Then, he went to the trunk and got out a blanket and wrapped it around me. “Stay here.”
He closed the door and went in after the other officers.
I felt strange, like I was in a bad dream. My body wouldn’t quit shaking. Soon an ambulance pulled up and the EMTs went inside. I watched as other police officers arrived. How could the tiny house hold so many people? I closed my eyes and thought of the rainbow craft room. All of this happened because Theodore asked Agnes to create a work of art. It was the saddest thing I’d ever heard.
Chapter 25
Later that night, Aunt Eloise and Porsche and I were huddled in my apartment living room with a bottle of wine and a tray of cheese and crackers. Everett was curled up in my lap.
“How did you know what the key went to?” Porsche asked.
“I remembered that Agnes had her own special craft house,” I said. “Aunt Eloise took me there once for tea when we moved here.”
“I knew you would figure out where the den of sin was,” Aunt Eloise said.
“What happened the night you got the key?” I asked. “Where did you get the phone?”
“Frankly, I have no idea. I was a fool and ran onto the dark beach to get away from Theodore. I fell and hit my head. When I came to I was too cold to move, and the phone, well, it was in my hand.”
“Someone must have put it there,” Porsche said.
“If they saw you on the beach, why leave a phone? Why not call for help?”
“We may never know,” my aunt said and sipped her wine. “Maybe it was Mildred. Maybe she felt sorry for me, but didn’t want to call the police and stir up more suspicion.”
“I’m glad you remembered my phone number and called me” I said.
“Me, too.”
“I’m making a point of memorizing your phone number in case anything like this ever happens to me.”
“Good girl,” my aunt said. “We used to have to know everyone’s numbers, you know. It wasn’t automatic.”
“The thing that bothers me is we’ll never know who put Everett in the box in the shed,” Porsche said.
“I suspect it was Theodore,” I said.
“But Everett didn’t react to him,” Porsche pointed out.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Well, no matter,” Aunt Eloise said. “At least now, the mystery is solved and our little town can go back to more important things like the Thanksgiving turkey trot and decorating downtown for the holiday season.”
“There is one good thing that came out of this,” Porsche said.
“Four people died,” I pointed out. “What’s good about that?”
“We have a scary Halloween story to go with next year’s Halloweentown celebration,” Porsche said. “Hey, you got to make lemonade out of lemons, right?”
Everett meowed his agreement.
Don’t miss the next intriguing Oregon
Honeycomb Mystery
A MATTER OF HIVE AND DEATH
Coming soon from Kensington Publishing Corp.
Keep reading to enjoy a sample excerpt . . .
Chapter 1
“Oh, Wren, what do you think?” Aunt Eloise asked as she walked into my shop, Let It Bee. She held out her Havana Brown cat, Elton, dressed in a green alien costume.
“That costume really brings out the color of his eyes,” I said. My cat, Everett, meowed his agreement. Elton was Everett’s uncle. My aunt had bred Havana Brown cats for years until after Everett’s mother died. Then she decided that encouraging people to adopt cats was a better way to go and started a Havana Brown rescue group.
“It’s for the McMinnville UFO festival,” Aunt Eloise said. “You’re going, right?”
I winced. “I forgot about it. But in my defense, all my time has been taken up by the Let It Bee second-anniversary celebration this weekend.”
“It’s only Monday, and the festival doesn’t start until next Wednesday. So you have plenty of time to get ready. I’m sure Everett is looking forward to it.” My only living relative and near and dear to my heart, Aunt Eloise was a tall woman with the large bones of our pioneering ancestors. At least, that’s how I liked to think of it. Anyone who’s played Oregon Trail, the computer game, knows it took hardy stock to make it all the way out to the Oregon coast.
Eloise had grown up in Oceanview, Oregon, along with my mother. I, myself, had only spent three years in town before going away to college. But over two years ago, I returned and started Let It Bee, a shop featuring honey and bees in a 1920s building just off Main Street and a few blocks from the beach. “I’m bringing Emma and Evangeline. You know how Everett gets jealous when his sisters get to do fun things and he’s left out.”
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br /> Everett meowed his thoughts on the matter. I sighed. It had been years since I’d been to the UFO festival. Based on a UFO sighting in McMinnville in the 1950s, the festival was equal parts campy, with parades and vendors selling alien souvenirs, and serious, with speakers discussing the science behind sightings.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll go for the parade and shopping, but I’m not dressing up.”
“Oh, goody,” Aunt Eloise pulled a silver costume out of the pocket of her long cardigan sweater. “I made him this! What do you think, Everett?” She held up the metallic spacesuit.
He jumped down from the cashier counter and walked to her. Aunt Eloise bent down, and Everett sniffed the suit delicately, then meowed and rubbed up against her leg.
“He likes it!” She straightened. The smile was wide in her strong face. Her gray hair was held in a bun on top of her head, and I caught a whiff of her orange-blossom perfume. “Now we can all watch the parade in style. Wait until you see my costume. I have a necklace that looks like a collar. The cats are the owner, and I’m the pet!”
“Well, that’s certainly true of all cats,” I teased. “But I’m not wearing a costume.”
“You said that already,” she pouted a moment, then broke into a wide smile. “Is it okay if I ask Sally Hendrickson to come with us? She would wear a costume. She’s into cosplay.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I said.
The bells on the door to the shop jangled, and my sales manager, Porsche Allen, stepped inside the door. She shook off her umbrella, folded it, and walked into the shop. “Not busy today?” She looked around the currently customer-free store.
“We had a nice rush this morning, but between the rain and school getting out soon, there’s a bit of a lull,” I said.
“Typical Monday,” Porsche said as she put her umbrella into the holder behind the cashier stand and pulled off her raincoat. Porsche was tall and thin, with gorgeous black hair from her Korean mother and sparkling blue eyes from her American father. Today she wore jeans, black booties, and a green sweater. “Hey, Eloise, what’s up?”
“We’re going to the UFO festival in McMinnville this weekend,” Eloise said. “Isn’t Elton cute in his little green costume?” She held up her kitty and placed the silver metallic costume on the counter. “I brought this one for Everett.”
At the sound of his name, Everett jumped up on the counter and brushed by Porsche so that she could stroke his brown fur.
“Nice,” Porsche said. “I took the kids to that festival last year. They had a blast.”
I grabbed a zippered hoody sweatshirt off the coat tree near the counter, slid it on, and then grabbed my purse. “Please tell me you didn’t dress up.”
“We didn’t,” Porsche confirmed. “But the boys want to this year.”
“Oh, good, we can all go together,” Aunt Eloise said.
“Well, I’ll let you two figure things out. I have an appointment. Thanks for coming in a bit early and covering for me, Porsche. Is someone picking the kids up from school?”
Porsche had two boys, River and Phoenix, who were ten and eight years old, respectively. “Jason worked from home today, so he can get them.” Her husband, Jason, worked for a local tech company and was able to work from home whenever he wasn’t traveling.
“Great, thanks. I’ve got to go see a bee wrangler about the fruit-tree honey,” I headed toward the door.
“Tell Elias we said hi,” Aunt Eloise said.
“I will.” I waved my goodbye and pulled the hood up over my curly hair to keep it from frizzing too much in the soft rain. It rained a lot in spring on the Oregon coast. Unlike Porsche and her umbrella, most natives simply put on a hooded sweatshirt and stepped out, hood up. I guess we were used to being damp.
Elias Bentwood was a bee wrangler who lived in an old house on the edge of town. He’d trained me in the art of beekeeping and was my go-to guy for local honey. If Elias didn’t have it, he could point me to where to get it.
I got into my car and drove the mile or so it took to get there. The house was a one-bedroom shotgun style, which meant you could open the front door and shoot a gun straight through the house and kill someone in the backyard. Aunt Eloise said that a bachelor lumberjack had built it in the 1920s, and it had been neglected until Elias bought it in the 1980s.
The tiny home was painted white and had sea-blue shutters. Elias maintained it well. I’d known him ever since I’d gotten out of college. Most of his hives were hired out at the moment to the farmers near Mount Hood. It was fruit-tree-blossom season, and bee wranglers would ensure there were hives close to the blossoms.
Bees typically foraged two miles from their hive, and even though some were thought to forage two to three times that distance, bee owners trucked hives in during blossom season to ensure the trees were properly pollinated.
Elias loved his bees and wintered some of his hives behind the house. It was Elias who had helped me design the glass-walled hive that took up a portion of my shop. Bees are important to the environment, and he’d been thrilled when I told him I wanted a safe way to give my customers a look inside a working hive.
He’d helped me build the hive on the exterior of my shop and introduced the queen bee and her court to the hive. It had become so successful that it was one of the biggest draws to my shop. The kids loved to come and watch the bees work, making honeycomb and depositing honey.
The rain stopped, and the sun came out as I walked up on the porch. I pulled my hood off, letting my curls spring out and knocked on the door. “Elias? It’s Wren.” There wasn’t an answer, but I wasn’t worried. Elias was probably out in the back with the one or two hives he hadn’t hired out. I moved off the porch and followed the sidewalk around the side of the house to the back. The house didn’t have a garage or even a driveway. Instead, there was a two-track alley in the back where Elias would pull his truck in and out to move the hives.
I heard someone moving through the back bushes. “Elias? It’s Wren.” Rounding the corner of the house, I came upon a horrifying scene. There were three hives tilted over, the roofs pushed off and the bees swarming, angry and confused. I caught the sound of car doors slamming and saw a blue car speed away down the alley.
“Elias! The bees!” Instinct had me stepping back to keep the side of the house between me and the angry bees. “Elias!” I called and peered around the house. Whoever did this must have taken off in the car. I didn’t want to get stung, so I stayed on the side of the house and dialed Elias’s cell phone.
I could hear ringing coming from the backyard. “Elias?” The only sound was the phone ringing, and it went quiet as I was dumped me into voice mail. If Elias was in the backyard, he might be hurt or, worse, attacked by the confused bees. The only safe vantage point to find out for sure would be from inside the house. I hurried around to the front of the house.
The door was unlocked, and I walked into the small living room. “Elias? It’s Wren. Are you okay?” I made my way quickly through the tidy kitchen to the bedroom in the back. No one there. The bedroom was a mess of scattered papers and files on top of the made bed. I hurried to the back door that lead out to a tiny screened porch.
Elias lay on the ground, unmoving, while the bees swarmed around him. “Elias! Don’t move. I’ll get help.” I knew better than to rush into a swarm of angry and confused bees. I dialed 9-1-1.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
I recognized Josie Pickler’s voice. “Josie, it’s Wren Johnson. I’m at Elias Bentwood’s house. He’s lying on the ground in his backyard and not moving. I think he’s hurt.”
“Okay, Wren, I’ve got an ambulance and police on their way. Can you check for a pulse?”
“No,” I said. “Someone has disturbed Elias’s bees. They’re swarming the entire backyard. We’ll need bee wranglers with protective gear.”
“I’ll call animal control,” Josie said. “Or should I call an exterminator?”
“Don’t call an exterminator! I don
’t want the bees hurt.”
“I’ll advise the ambulance that bees are swarming,” Josie said.
“Have them park out front,” I said. “I know another beekeeper. I’ll hang up and call him.”
“Okay,” Josie said. “Stay safe.”
I hung up and scrolled through my contacts to find Klaus Vanderbuen’s number. Klaus was a friend of Elias, and although he lived twenty miles from town, he was the only person I could think of to call.
“Hello?” Klaus’s voice was deep and comforting.
“Oh, thank goodness you answered,” I said. “It’s Wren Johnson. I own the bee-themed shop near Main in Oceanview. I’m a friend of Elias Bentwood.”
“What’s going on, Wren? You sound out of breath.”
“I’m at Elias Bentwood’s place. Elias is on the ground and not moving. I called emergency services, but someone has vandalized his hives. Bees are swarming everywhere. I don’t think we can get to Elias to help him.”
Klaus muttered something dark. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Don’t let anyone do anything stupid to the bees.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Please hurry. I don’t know how badly Elias is hurt.”
Klaus hung up the phone, and I walked back through the house to the front porch to wait for emergency services to arrive. I had some practice working with beehives, but they had always been docile. As angry as these bees were, there was no way I could reach Elias without help.
I heard sirens in the distance and ran off the porch to the street to wave them over. It was a police car. Officer Jim Hampton put the car in PARK. Riding with him was another officer I didn’t know.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked when he opened his car door.
“It’s Elias,” I said. “He’s on the ground in the back, but someone has attacked the bees, and they are too angry for me to get to Elias.”
The second officer got out of the car. “I can’t help,” he said, his dark gaze flat. “I’m allergic to bee stings. Got an EpiPen in the glove box.”