Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,12

a small piece of the action based on my own sales’ efforts, Ray’s actions cut into my profits, too. I shoved the clipboard back at him. “You have an agreement with Queen Bee Honey, and you know it. How long has this been going on with Kenny’s Bees?”

“Only once,” Ray said, which is exactly what my ex, Clay, had said the first time I caught him. “And I feel real bad about it.”

“I bet you do, and you’re going to feel worse when I take a percentage off this invoice you just handed me to compensate for you reneging on an agreement, which, by the way, is now null and void.”

“Come on, Story. It won’t happen again.”

“Manny’s not even in his grave,” I said, laying on the guilt with a spatula. “Or he’d be turning in it.”

“I promise. I really do. What if I take a few more cases than usual and find new buyers? My route’s expanding. I can sell more.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” I gave him a hard look, but my voice changed to small and pained. “Now tell me about finding Manny.”

“Not much to tell.” Ray tipped his ball cap back and scratched his head. “I was supposed to pick up cases of honey between nine and ten this morning. I got there a little before ten and found him covered in bees. I called nine-one-one.”

“Was he dead?”

“I don’t know—he wasn’t moving, and I wasn’t about to check his vital signs with bees flying everywhere.”

“I didn’t see you there this afternoon.”

“I freaked out after I called for help. That never happened to me before, a crisis like that with me the only one around. I’ve never been too good in emergencies. I should have stayed, I know. The sheriff let me have it good for leaving.”

When he drove off, I went inside through the back door thinking about Ray Goodwin. When our long-time deliveryman retired, Ray managed to land the job. But he’d always been a loser with a capital L, moving from one job after another, most of them finishing fast with his termination. I made a mental note to keep a better eye on him in the future.

The store buzzed with activity, giving me another brief moment of guilty pain; I felt bad that my store was benefiting from Manny’s death, but it clearly was—I had the evidence of that right before my eyes. A line at the register kept Brent busy ringing up orders. I took over behind the counter so he could help his brother unpack cases of fresh produce from Ray’s truck—apples, corn on the cob, cabbage, beets, and a variety of late potatoes, including my favorite, fingerlings. Today’s delivery was only a small sampling of the abundant produce Wisconsin had to offer at this time of year.

For the rest of the evening, while the twins and I worked, through the pizza we shared from Stu’s Bar and Grill, until eight o’clock when we closed up, I could hear the growing concern in customers’ voices.

I walked the two short blocks home, knowing it was only a matter of time before the residents of the town would come hunting for killers in my own backyard. I had to think of something to prove that Manny’s bees were innocent.

Lights were off in my ex-husband’s jewelry shop next door, but they were on in Clay’s small living area behind the shop, meaning he was entertaining. Why else would he be home on a Friday night? I wondered if he was still with Faye, or if he’d already moved on to someone new.

Faye Tilley, as the entire town knew thanks to their performance outside my store, was only Clay’s latest in a long line of females extending way back into our history as a couple. While I expected my ex to have the unmitigated gall and extreme bad taste to bring her to the divorce proceeding, I blamed Faye just as much for going along with something like that. To top it off, she’d come wearing dragonfly earrings and a wire butterfly barrette in her hair, original pieces I recognized as Clay’s handmade jewelry.

For some twisted reason, it was comforting to know there were other women in the world with judgment as awful as mine. I felt slightly guilty for being happy that it wasn’t me lying in his bed, but it didn’t last more than a second or two. Let someone else think they could change him. The man was like a shell—beautiful on