Death By A HoneyBee Read online

  Within twenty minutes, a fire truck, three police cars, an ambulance, and a very angry landowner’s jeep surrounded my now smoldering Mercedes. I was getting lots of unwanted attention from policemen who were asking me to walk a straight line and to breathe into a tube. Anxious to keep Matt

  out of harm’s way, I said I had been driving the car, as he was not listed on the insurance. When the police were finished with me, I sat in the back of the ambulance wrapped in a blanket, watching several half-dressed Mexicans herd the excited horses into another field.

  The owner of the property was stomping before me, cussing a blue streak, which did not help the situation at all. I disliked being the verbal victim of an overly-Botoxed, big-boobed trophy wife who had probably never purchased a real piece of art in her life. She looked like the type who had a print of dogs playing poker in her study. I waited while she made threats of lawsuits and court proceedings until I asked the lady if she had good farm insurance. I pointed out that I was hurt on her land as the result of a crime. Lawsuits can work both ways, I reminded her. Exasperated, she walked off in a huff, stepping in some horse manure, ruining her pretty house slippers. The paramedic, tending my cuts, chuckled.

  The police finally acknowledged that we were not staggering drunk and took our statements independently. The car was towed off for the insurance adjuster. I was sure it would be totaled and the insurance company would issue a check for a pittance. I couldn’t afford a new car, let alone another Mercedes. Another piece of my past life had just slipped away.

  Muscles sore, costumes dirty and tattered, Matt and I were driven home by the police. We staggered into the house around four a.m. I made us both a drink. Rubbing my neck, I was grateful that I had a neck brace tucked in my bathroom closet. I was going to put it on before I went to bed.

  “What a screwed-up night,” commented Matt.

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “Someone was trying to kill us.”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Perhaps they will find the other car’s paint on your Mercedes.”

  “Or I could track down Taffy’s new hybrid and see if there are any scratch marks on it.”

  “Stay away from that loony. She’s not all there. I’m sure she’s the one who tried to kill us. Who else would even know we were on that particular road?” He cupped his head in his hands. “I just can’t believe it.”

  “As you said before, we have a theory but no proof.”

  Matt moaned. “Ahh, the glasses.”

  For the first time in hours, I smiled. Holding up my purse, I dumped its contents on to the kitchen island. Large shards of glass fell onto the teak wood countertop.

  “We may have more than a theory. I put the glasses in my purse. It’s what saved them.”

  Matt picked up the shards with a paper towel, placing them in a new large bag. “Someone knows that you are still looking into Richard’s death and is trying to stop you.”

  “That’s why I don’t want you to come around anymore, Matt. This thing is getting too close to you.”

  “But I live here. I am just getting the cabana where it is livable for winter.”

  “You need to stay in town – until this blows over.”

  Matt looked astonished. “Don’t do this.”

  “You said yourself earlier tonight – you are just starting a new career. You have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want to tarnish your future with my problems.”

  “So I’m supposed to run at the first sign of trouble. I was in that car too. You don’t think much of me, do you?”

  “It is not that . . . it’s that I want to protect you.”

  “I don’t need your protection. I’m a grown man. It seems that you’re the one needing protection.”

  “I’m older than you . . .”

  “But you’re not smarter than me nor wiser. If I turned my back now, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I’m seeing this through.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want you here. You’re just in the way.”

  “Shut up, Josiah. You’re really pissing me off. I need you to shut your mouth up now.” Matt picked up his drink and went into my bedroom, where Franklin was probably awake listening. He closed the door silently.

  I went to sleep in the guest bedroom. For some reason, I couldn’t cry.

  18

  The next morning, I found a sullen Matt munching on cornflakes in the kitchen. Neither of us spoke as I made tea. I busied myself with reading yesterday’s newspaper while each of us slurped, slurped, crunched, crunched in our fashion until Franklin, in a dazzling white shirt accented by a green bow tie with purple polka dots, swept into the kitchen.

  Baby happily padded after him. Upon seeing me, he came over to be petted, trying to climb into my lap. I rubbed his floppy ears while he buried his soft muzzle in my crotch.

  Franklin threw his arms around me in a dramatic gesture, saying, “Matt may be a boy to you, but last night he showed me what it means to be a man.”

  “Ooooh nasty, too much information,” I said laughing as Matt flung some soggy cornflakes at Franklin’s head.

  “Okay, kiddies, kiss and make up. I am sure last night’s fight was fueled by fear, the specter of death, and an abundance of alcohol,” coaxed Franklin. “Come on. Come on. Today’s a new day. Matt, you’ll need to handle the car insurance and police people, acting as Josiah’s attorney.

  Please don’t bill her as she lets you live here rent free in her tacky little caretaker’s shack.” Franklin squeezed my arm. “I don’t think you know this, dear, but Matt gave up his apartment in Lexington to be with you. You simply cannot throw him out now. Besides Josiah, darling, you are going with me this morning. We’ve a car to check out.”

  “Well, I’ve got my marching orders,” said Matt, sliding off the barstool. He put his hand on my shoulder. I patted it affectionately. Neither of us spoke.

  Franklin looked at us sympathetically. “It is a real shame that the two of you can’t really hook up, but then . . . c’est la vie. Let’s get crackin’.”

  Following me into my bedroom, Franklin rummaged through my closet, picking out the day’s outfit. “I am tired of seeing you look like Marjorie Main.” He threw a dress at me when I came out of the shower. “Here’s something that doesn’t look like a feed sack.”

  Ignoring the dress, I put on jeans, boots and a thin sweater. I brushed my hair and put it up with a clip. “Let’s go,” I said, walking out of the room.

  “Middle-aged women should not wear jeans. It makes their already big butts look humongous,” said Franklin, scrambling after me. We went in Franklin’s Smart Car. Of course, Franklin loved his car and would not hear of any criticism. When not hanging on to the passenger strap for dear life, I checked out Franklin’s music.

  “Really, Franklin. ABBA?” I said with scorn.

  He grabbed the CD out of my hand. “Everyone has a guilty pleasure, Miss Good Taste dressing like a charwoman.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said as I continued to browse through his CD box. “Genevieve Waite’s Romance Is On The Rise 1974.” I looked at him in amazement. “You know who Genevieve Waite is?”

  “Of course, doesn’t everyone?”

  “My hat is off to you, Franklin. Here I thought you were just a vacuous pretty boy for Matt. It seems like you have depth after all.”

  He smirked. “As if I’m pretty.” He glanced in the rear view mirror. “Think so?”

  “Do you think I’m pretty, Franklin?”

  “Oh, God no.”

  “Then I don’t think you’re pretty either.”

  We both laughed as we raced the back roads. On the way, I called Officer Kelly on my cell phone and told him of last night’s incident. He said he would look into it for me. I also told him about Nancy Wasser, asking him if he could check on her for me. He replied he would do what he could.

  Then I called Shaneika, catching her for once and told her about last night’s adventure. She had a friend in the city’s
Vehicle and Boat Tax Division. She promised to call me back when she found out some information. When I asked her how this information could be gotten on a Sunday, Shaneika told me to mind my own business. I wondered if she could work the internet or had someone on the inside. Regardless, fifteen minutes later, she called back with both Taffy’s and Nancy’s VIN and license plate numbers complete with model, year and make.

  Franklin and I drove to Taffy’s apartment, where we located her Prius in the parking lot but found no scratches or dents. Finding Taffy’s car unlocked, Franklin quickly did a search. After all, she did not know of Franklin’s existence and would not recognize him if she saw him rifling through her car. The car was clean except for a few Mars candy bar wrappers. Not wanting to give up, Franklin insisted we drive to Wasser’s house.

  Nancy Wasser lived on the other side of town, but we got there quickly for the churches had not let out yet. Wasser’s house was a one-story red brick home in a low-income neighborhood. The street was lined with mature pin oak trees standing guard over tidy homes and velvet green lawns.

  Franklin drove slowly by Wasser’s house and spotted her car parked on the street directly in front of her home. He drove to the end of the corner, turned around, and parked four doors away from Wasser’s house.

  “Stay here,” he said while getting out with his camera. He looked both ways. No one was visible. Franklin was casually strolling up to the car when Taffy and Nancy exploded from the house.

  I slumped down in my seat. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Taffy seemed upset. Nancy grabbed Taffy’s arm while trying to reason with her. Taffy pulled away brusquely. Franklin walked past them, continuing up the street until he disappeared around the corner. Enraged, Taffy yelled something crude and got into Nancy’s car only to speed off. Nancy, looking distraught, tugged her robe about her and went back inside the house, slamming the door. She pulled the front curtains shut.

  Several minutes later, Franklin, having circled the block, got back into the car. Without saying a word, he drove towards Matt’s office. Once we were out of the neighborhood, he motioned for me to sit up.

  “My, that was thrilling!” exclaimed Franklin. “Did you see how cool I was under the gun, so to speak?”

  “What were they saying?”

  “Taffy said something like ‘you had no right. You’re gonna get me in trouble.’ Something like that.”

  “Could mean anything,” I replied. I thought for a moment. “See any dents in the car?”

  “I didn’t dare look. I was concentrating on keeping my breakfast down. I mean, how exciting. I can’t wait to tell Matt everything.”

  “Do you think those two are an item?”

  “I don’t know, but it would seem that Miss Nancy wishes they were.”

  “It just seems strange, Franklin. I mean, I have always seen Taffy with serious boyfriends.”

  “Maybe she got tired of the same old, same old and wanted to walk on the wild side.”

  “Maybe,” I said. I let Franklin off at Matt’s office and drove Franklin’s car home. I knew Matt would be hauling Franklin back to the farm to eat an early dinner. We had learned little except that Taffy may or may not be having a lesbian affair. Who in the hell cared about that? Not me.

  19

  Later that afternoon, Matt and Franklin showed up looking for a hot meal. I was ready with chicken and dumplings, greens flavored with ham hock, skillet fried corn, chilled sliced tomatoes and biscuits slathered with my Black Locust honey – everything purchased from the Farmers’ Market. We sat at the Nakashima table watching the sun drift behind the hills in Madison County, just across the river. Having overeaten, Matt unbuttoned his pants and rambled over to the couch. He was soon asleep, snoring with the Sunday paper lying on his chest.

  I turned to Franklin. “You don’t look very well, Franklin.”

  “What do you mean? I feel fine,” he replied somewhat alarmed, touching his hand to his forehead.

  “No, you don’t,” I insisted. “Your skin looks sweaty and gray. Let’s go to the LETC and get you checked out.”

  A sudden realization dawned on Franklin. “No, after this morning, I have had enough. I just want to relax after this great meal.”

  Yanking Franklin from the chair, I said, “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!”

  “Rosalind Russell in Auntie Mame and I won’t go.”

  I got in Franklin’s face. “Aren’t you tired of working in a drab room cranking out software? Don’t you want adventure? Don’t you want to be like T.E. Lawrence or Richard Burton?”

  “The actor?”

  “No, the explorer of the Nile River. Come on, Franklin, Live, live, live! You need something to write memoirs about,” I yammered as I pushed him out the door. I grabbed the keys to Franklin’s Smart Car and off we went.

  We had just pulled onto Tates Creek Road when Franklin’s cell phone buzzed. I grabbed it from him, turned it off and threw it in the back seat.

  “You’re a hateful woman,” said Franklin. “I bet that was Matt.”

  “I know it was Matt. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “Such a cliché.”

  “Life is a cliché from time to time. How old are you? Twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Just wait, Franklin. Life has got some surprises waiting for you, like lots and lots of clichés.”

  Franklin did not address me the rest of the trip, but used the time to perfect his moaning and stomach clutching. He inspected his grimaces in the rear-view mirror. Drama was my minor,” he confided as I pulled into the LETC parking lot.

  “Never would have figured you for a drama queen.”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” said Franklin rolling his eyes.

  “You’re teasing, Franklin. I know you have a Bachelor of Science from UK.”

  “Well, actually, I have two degrees – one in computer science and the other in mathematics, but I love drama.”

  “No kidding.”

  I helped a trembling Franklin stumble into the LETC waiting room and up to the front desk. Luckily there were only a few people in the waiting room. To our relief, no one looked as though they had anything contagious. A clerk handed Franklin some forms to fill out. “Who is going to pay for this?” hissed Franklin in between obligatory moans.

  “I will pay for whatever your insurance doesn’t cover.”

  Franklin snorted. “Yeah, like you’re Diamond Jim Brady. I’ll never see a single sou out of you.”

  “Yes, you will. Just write down the information and let’s get on with this.”

  I took the completed forms back to the front desk, but had a momentary lapse when trying to hand over the insurance card. It didn’t seem to want to leave my fingers. The clerk began tugging the card to get it from me.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. It had felt so good to hold a medical insurance card, something I hadn’t had for several years. I could feel the clerk watching me as I took my place beside Franklin. I tried to look inconspicuous as I read Field and Stream.

  Ten minutes later, we were inside an examining room. I explained that I was Franklin’s older sister and that he was a mid-life baby, which explained the difference in our ages; and due to the painful labor our mother endured on his behalf, he was “not all there.” Franklin started to complain loudly about abdominal pain.

  The nurse noted all the symptoms on a little computer board, giving us the once-over before she left the room. I tried to look sympathetic. Franklin tried to look sick. We both probably looked like we were up to no good – which, of course, we were.

  A friendly Asian doctor came in several minutes later, asked pertinent questions in a thick accent, examined Franklin, and ordered him to be whisked off to x-ray. A technician soon came for Franklin, explaining to us in slow enunciation where she was taking him. Apparently, the word had made the rounds that our parents had been first cousins. Franklin followed her, shuffling and complaining that he needed a wheelchair.

  The nurse came back to straigh
ten the room, but I suspected it was really to keep an eye on moi and keep me from ripping off the clinic’s latex gloves, sterile cotton balls, and outdated O magazines. I found this the perfect opportunity to ask about Tellie. “I have an acquaintance who works here,” I said. “Her name is Tellie Pidgeon. Is she here today?”

  Nurse Ratched suddenly warmed up to me. “She has had a death in her family and is not working her regular schedule.”

  “I knew her husband, Richard Pidegon. I thought if she were here, I would express my condolences.”