Death By A HoneyBee Page 20

  O’nan brandished the gun around my head. “But that’s just it, Josiah. There’s not going to be a tomorrow for you. Don’t you get it? Do I have to expain . . . explain, oh hell, everything to you?”

  My eyes widened in fear, but I kept talking. “See, you’re so high, you can’t even speak correctly. Let’s everyone calm down. I’ll fix us all something to eat. Then you’ll feel better.” I rose, knocking O’nan’s feet to the floor.

  Furious, O’nan grabbed my hair and pushed me to the floor. I screamed while reaching up and scratching his hands. Suddenly I heard a crash and was released. I looked up. Franklin had smashed my 1952 Blenko glass vase on O’nan’s head. O’nan was down for the count – or so we thought.

  Franklin yanked me up, nearly pulling my arm out of its socket. We ran towards the front door but the sound of gunfire made us dive behind the kitchen buffet counter. Covering our heads, we lay splayed on the floor as a spray of bullets hailed over us. Then it was quiet. I peeked around the counter. O’nan was struggling to reload, fumbling with the clip. “Now,” I cried as Franklin and I scrambled towards the front door. But we weren’t fast enough.

  I heard Franklin scream out in pain as he took a bullet in the shoulder. I turned my head as blood spurted in my face. I froze. Franklin slid down slowly. He was in shock. I reached for his good arm and began to drag him. Then I heard O’nan next to me.

  “Tsk, tsk, Josiah,” he said, gleefully pressing the gun against my temple. “If you don’t stop this moment, I’ll have to finish him off.”

  I dropped Franklin’s arm instantly. It fell with a thud on the slate floor. I didn’t know how many bullets O’nan had reloaded into his gun, but even one more bullet was enough.

  “You’re nuts,” I said quietly. “Are you really going to play all the way to the end, or do you just want to torture us for a while?”

  Bending over to look at an unconscious Franklin, O’nan said, “I think we have passed the playful stage, don’t you? Yeah, I think it is all the way to the end.” He began pacing back and forth in front of me, sometimes stumbling over Franklin’s legs. O’nan had lost his flip-flops and was walking barefoot.

  I got a bright idea. “Let me call Goetz. He will know what to do.” I was really hoping that Matt had already called the police and they were on the way. I just had to stall O’nan.

  “That putz. I hate his guts. He never said anything but I could tell he thought I was bungling the Pidgeon case. Some of the guys told me that he said that I was overly anxious to turn it into a murder case when it was just a simple heart attack.” O’nan leaned into me. “But we know better, don’t we, honey.” He winked at me.

  Suddenly the lights went out. Matt had turned off the electricity. No one knew my house better than I, so I pushed O’nan away and turned to the left, knowing that he was pounding behind me. Slamming doors, I made a beeline towards my bedroom hoping to get enough time to lock its steel door, but he was right on my heels. I could feel O’nan reaching for me. Rushing through the bedroom, I thanked God the sliding glass door was open. Bursting through the screen door, I scratched my skin to shreds. I didn’t stop, though, and ran around the pool when I slipped, plunging into the water. I am not ashamed to say that I peed in my pants from fear. Bobbing to the surface, I coughed up water.

  O’nan grabbed my hair again and began to dunk me in the deep end of the pool. Panicking, I struggled to free myself from his grasp until I felt faint. When I ceased resisting, I could hear O’nan laughing manically. He pulled me out of the water by my hair.

  “Sweet Lord,” I prayed, “help me, please.” A warm breeze played over my face and my mind calmed with acceptance. This wasn’t just about me. This was about saving Franklin and Matt, who had their lives ahead of them, and perhaps Baby, if he was not dead. It was about leaving my daughter with the legacy that I went down swinging – that I fought to the bitter end.

  O’nan was stronger and taller, but I had one advantage. I was forty, perhaps fifty pounds heavier than he - and I was going to use it now. O’nan pulled me up. Finding some leverage with the pool’s concrete ledge, I pressed my weight down, suddenly thrusting against O’nan while digging my head and shoulder into his gut. He grunted. With all my might, I pushed against him. He lost his balance and grabbing onto me, we both fell over the precipice towards the forbidding Kentucky River. Pushing O’nan’s hands away, I reached for branches of young trees growing from cracks in the palisades. I hit a ledge, knocking the breath out of me. Feeling pain rocket through my shivering body, I began gasping for air as an asthma attack started. I couldn’t even call out. The pain was too much. I was starting to black out. There was only so much punishment my poor arthritic body could take. It was over. I could have used that Catholic priest now – yes, we are all here for a short time. Resigned to meet my maker, I faintly heard Matt calling and the distant sounds of sirens. And then nothing.

  Epilogue

  It was an hour after dawn. Mist still hung near the beehives and the grass shimmered from the dew. Matt pushed through the tall grass noting that he needed to mow the pathways to the beeyard again. Pulling his dinner jacket’s collar up around his neck, he tried to keep the early morning chill from escaping down his neck. Matt’s hands shook as he smoothed the dinner jacket, which was white with various stains of reddish, brown from blood and dirt. The blood was not his own but from his best friend’s and his lover’s. The dirt was from trying to climb down a cliff to reach a dying woman.

  How could his life have unraveled in such a short span of time? Eight hours ago, he was sitting in a rich woman’s parlor while sipping on smooth whisky and chatting with beautiful women. Tears formed in his eyes. After so many years of being rootless, his parents dying while still young, Matt had found a home with Josiah and love with Franklin. Was all that lost now?

  Matt straightened his shoulders and faced the hives. He had a duty to perform. “Ladies, ladies, wake up,” he called. He scanned the opening to the hives but saw no honeybees peeking out. It would be some hours before they would be active, but he hoped that he would be napping. Matt had to catch a few hours of sleep before he went back to the hospital.

  Matt sighed. Hoping he wouldn’t get stung, Matt ran around to the back of the hives and banged on their covers. He jogged fifteen feet in front of the hives. Hearing their angry buzzing, Matt smiled in spite of himself. Bending down, he could see guards and worker bees peeking out. Someone was going to pay for disturbing them at this ungodly hour. A few flew into the cool air, but feeling the chill turned back to the warmth of their hives.

  “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got something important to tell you,” Matt called out to them. “Something terrible has happened. Josiah was attacked and is in bad shape. The doctors don’t know if she is going to make it or not.” Matt stopped and cleared his throat. “The reason I am telling you this is that Josiah made me promise that if anything happened to her – I was to tell you. So I am. If this is some sort of magic thing between a beekeeper and her bees, then do your hoodoo stuff. She needs it. Okay?” Matt could see that most of the bees had gone back up into the hive. “I don’t want you to worry. I will be taking care of you . . . for now.”

  Matt rubbed his face, his skin feeling heavy from fatigue, and made his way back to the Butterfly. He hoped that the cops had finished. He would check on the house and then go to his little shack to get some sleep. Later, he would call a cleaning service to clean up the mess and blood once the house was released from investigation. He stood up on tiptoes to look down the hill at the Butterfly. He could still see a few police cars in the driveway. Goetz was outside leaning against a post smoking a cigarette. He still had his pajama top on but it was tucked into his pants like a regular

  shirt. Resigned that sleep was maybe still hours away, Matt stumbled down the gentle sloping Bluegrass hill towards the Butterfly. He needed to find out what was going on. Trying to climb out of his mental fog, Matt knew he needed to sit down and make a list of what needed to be done. The e
xecutive director at the Farmers’ Market would need to be notified first. Then Shaneika needed to be contacted. He would make the calls when he got to the Butterfly. The cell in his pocket was dead.

  The wind began to whip furiously. Hearing the roar of rotating blades, Matt looked up to see a black MIL MI helicopter descending into the adjoining field. The whirlybird landed with a thud. As Matt ran towards it waving, the door slid open and a tall woman in dark clothing jumped out. The woman, seemingly unconcerned with the motion behind her, waited patiently. Her tight expression was one of concern and anger.

  Behind her, three men peered out from the black bird. Their severe expressions were mirrored on the shiny guns in their leather shoulder holsters. After the blades died down, the men began pulling out trunks filled with military-looking equipment. Matt saw the men put on rappelling equipment.

  “The cliffs are that way. If you find him alive, bring him to me before you give him to the police. Same if dead,” she barked. “I want him bad.”

  Matt watched the men take off for the palisades and knew there was going to be hell to pay for this fiasco, all the way down the line, starting with the police. Everyone involved was going to have a piece of his ass chewed off. Josiah’s daughter had just come home.