Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,53

window. I ducked back where she couldn’t see me.

When Grams opened the door, I could hear Mom. “Story, this is completely inappropriate. The next time you do something this foolish, don’t come to me.”

I hadn’t come to her, just to keep the record straight. I’d come to Grams, who shoved her concoction through the door. “Soap up with this,” she said. “Make sure you get it all over. Then use the hose to rinse off.”

“I have to do it outside?”

Mom answered by calling out, “You bet you do. What? We’re supposed to let you inside smelling like that?”

“What happened to all the family intervention? Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?”

Nobody answered.

I went behind the barn and striped down, lathered up, rinsed, and did it again until my skin was raw. Then I realized I didn’t have any other clothes to wear besides the smelly jeans and top. I couldn’t bring myself to put on the skunked clothes. I’d rather run naked through downtown Moraine.

Which might happen if Holly didn’t come back.

Since I come from an overall type of family, I found a dirty pair hanging in the barn and put them on, adjusting the buckles so my private parts stayed private. Then I rummaged around until I found what I needed.

That skunk would be back, if not tonight, then tomorrow. He’d scratch on the hive entrance until the guard bees came out to investigate. He could wipe out both colonies if I didn’t do something fast. I dug out two pieces of plywood and drove nails through them, setting the nails in an inch apart all over the boards. Then I walked back, hauling my masterpieces to the hives and adjusted the boards, nails up, in front of the entrances. If the skunk wanted bees, he’d have to walk over nails.

I heard a motor and turned to see my truck idling a short distance away.

The drive home was quieter that the ride over. In fact, I was pretty sure my sister wasn’t speaking to me.

I went to bed for the night, what was left of it, and decided this day was way up there on my list of worst ones ever.

Twenty

Tuesday morning the air was thick and heavy, as though a major storm was gathering, although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The small world of Moraine had the same storm-brewing quietness and anticipation to it that I’ve sensed before on funeral days.

My friend and mentor would be buried today, and I didn’t want to accept it. For me, the worst part of a funeral service was when the casket was closed up. Every time, the finality of it hit home like a blow to my body.

I wondered about Faye, if her body had been released, and whether her family had made arrangements. And whether Clay was really guilty and how it must feel to be behind bars, locked up like an animal.

As I was getting ready to go to the market, Ray Goodwin knocked on my back door. I felt awful from lack of sleep and, I swear, I could still smell skunk. It had permeated my skin and was running rampant through my blood system. The good news was the effects of the bee stings had almost disappeared.

I went outside to greet him rather than let him inside my home.

“I heard talk about a meeting to destroy your bees,” he said, his head cranked in every direction but mine. “I don’t see ’em—did they get them after all?”

“Nobody got my bees, Ray. I moved them, since Lori was determined to get her way.”

“That’s a relief. I hope my bee stings didn’t make things worse for you?”

“The situation couldn’t have gotten any worse, but that’s Lori’s fault, not yours. Don’t worry about it.”

“Bet you’re wondering why I stopped by.”

“A little, yes.”

“Just to see how you’re doing. I know you and Manny Chapman were real close.”

“That’s nice of you. Actually, you’re just the person I need to talk to.” Ray might know something about Manny’s bees that I didn’t. He was on the road, traveling the county most of the time, and people talked at his stops. “Have a seat.” I gestured to the patio table and chairs.

Ray took a seat without sniffing the air or backing his chair away from me, so I hoped that the skunk odor was a figment of my imagination. “I said I was sorry for what I did with Kenny’s Bees,” he said. “You aren’t going to bust my chops over it