Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,30

ached at the thought.

“Your bees, too,” she said next. “They have to go.”

I shook my head. “You stay away from my bees. They haven’t done anything to anybody and I still will prove that honeybees didn’t kill Manny Chapman.”

“We’ll see about that at the meeting tomorrow night.” Lori wore prebattle triumph on her face.

“What meeting?”

“The regular monthly town meeting, except this time we have extremely pressing business to discuss and we’re taking a vote. Your bees are going.”

I groaned. Usually the monthly town meetings were b.o.r.i.n.g. But, by the gleam in Lori’s eyes, I suspected major trouble at this one. Lori was obsessed with shutting down my bee operation by extending killer-bee fear to all corners of the county and she wasn’t above using her husband’s position as town chair to further her cause.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I lied. “But doesn’t the board have to give me some kind of notice?”

“Not if it’s a threat to the community. Your say doesn’t count.”

“It sure does. I’ll be there and my vote will count just as much as yours.” Another thing about small community boards—they bend the rules to suit themselves.

Pity-Party Patti ate up our exchange like it was chocolate mousse at an all-you-can-eat dessert table. “I have to see a doctor,” she said, launching into her current problem after Lori flounced out the door. “Look at my hand shaking.” Her hand quivered in my face.

“Too much coffee?” I guessed.

“I gave up all caffeinated beverages. It might be Parkinson’s,” she said. “Then what would I do? I have nobody to take care of me or that big house and yard or all those raccoon attacks.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“Being a single woman is hard in this world. That’s why I’m glad at least one of us has found a man.”

I looked at Patti. “You’re in a relationship?” As long as I’d known Patti, I’d never heard of her even going out once with a man.

“Not me, Carrie Ann. I saw her making out with Hunter Wallace. Talk about hot!”

Gawd, I didn’t want to hear what Patti just told me. So that was pretty much it. I had barely felt the rustling of interest in Hunter before it was snatched away. I might be a lot of things, but I’m no relationship buster. I’d been on the receiving end of that with Clay, and it wasn’t a good place to be.

Thankfully, business picked up right then and I was able to make my escape from Patti.

Stu came in for a Sunday paper and confirmed that Carrie Ann hadn’t been in the bar since I’d seen her there for lunch yesterday. Unless she was slinking into taverns outside of town or drinking at home, she had made it twenty-four hours.

Good for her. And good for Hunter for supporting her efforts, and whatever else he was supporting.

Every time business tapered off, I tried to imagine what had happened to Manny and what a person without bee experience might do if a swarm of stinging insects attacked him. He’d instinctively run, but an experienced beekeeper like Manny would also know to pull his shirt up to protect his head and eyes. That could explain why his stomach had been exposed. But here was the clincher: Why wouldn’t he have kept running? He wasn’t that far from his house. Even his car was within reachable distance. He could have saved himself by getting into his car. All he had to do was keep moving toward safety.

I supposed that most accidental deaths carry this kind of after-the-fact analysis and helpless sense of regret for those who feel they could have changed the outcome. If only things had been different. If only I’d been there when it happened. If only Grace had been home when the attack occurred. If only.

Although it would take only one sting in the wrong place (like inside his mouth as the medical examiner had told Johnny Jay) to finish him off. I wondered whether or not he’d realized he was going to die. How long had he suffered? Please, let it have been easier and faster for him than I imagined.

At two o’clock Carrie Ann came by the store. She didn’t look good.

“I’m having a hell of a time,” she said, gnawing on her fingernails. “But I haven’t smoked, not a single drag.” She still hadn’t mentioned the whole not-drinking thing to me.

“Just keep busy and try to think of other things,” I said, knowing how hard that was.

“Do I