Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,59

was in the honey house, but it wasn’t there. I assumed it was in your house.”

“You’re sure it’s not out there?”

“Positive. Why don’t you look for yourself?”

“You know I don’t go near that place. The journal must be around someplace.”

“Why do you want it?” For the life of me, I couldn’t see Grace caring about Manny’s bee journal. She’d never shown any interest.

“I don’t want it,” she said. “But Gerald Smith called and asked about any notes Manny made concerning his bees. That’s when I remembered his journal. Gerald said it would be helpful to have it, since he will be working with the same bees. Manny wrote notes about the bees, you know, or whatever else beekeepers do.”

“Interesting,” I said, losing interest.

At that moment, ushers asked us to take our seats, and the funeral service began. Grams gave me a conspiratorial wink. I grinned. Hunter sat next to me, smelling fresh, like the outdoors with a faint hint of burning logs clinging to him. Nice.

Tears tried to form in my eyes as the funeral progressed, especially when they closed the casket, but something in that little pill refused to let them leak. The service was perfectly traditional, just like Grace, without any surprises or unscheduled oratories. Manny would have been pleased at the turnout.

Afterward, the family followed the hearse to the cemetery. The rest of us had a funeral procession to Stu’s Bar and Grill to send Manny off properly. I’d finished off my second beer when Grams came rushing in to find me.

“Don’t drink anything,” she said. “I forgot to tell you not to mix alcohol with the drug.”

“Okay,” I said, trying not to slur my words. “Thanks for the warning.”

“I didn’t remember until I was home, then it dawned on me. You didn’t have any alcohol, did you?”

“Nope,” I lied, leaning against Hunter for support.

“What’s going on?” he said to Grams.

“I gave Story a Valium at the funeral.”

“And it really worked,” I said.

“She doesn’t usually take medications,” Grams explained. “So it might affect her more than it would someone else. As long as she doesn’t drink alcohol she should be okay. How do you feel, Sweetie?”

“Great,” I said.

“That’s not your beer, is it?” Grams pointed at a beer bottle on the bar, the one I’d just finished off.

“Nope.”

“Let’s get a picture of you two kids,” Grams said. “You make a cute couple.”

“Okay.” I put on my best smile and stepped in closer to Hunter while Grams clicked away. She disappeared as quickly as she’d come.

“Let’s get out of here,” Hunter said. “The party’s over.”

“No, it’s not,” I said with nice relaxed muscles and not an anxious bone in my body. “It’s only beginning.”

Smiling, I threw him a question that would never have left my lips under normal circumstances. While he guided me to the door, I said, “Your place or mine?”

Twenty-three

The next morning, I remembered everything. Absolutely everything. In the light of a new day, with the effects of the drug and alcohol fading, I was shocked by my suggestive—okay, maybe more than merely suggestive—proposal to Hunter. I was equally embarrassed that he’d driven me home, helped me into bed, clothes intact, and then had left without one single inappropriate move.

He could have tried at least, and allowed me a proper moment of rebuff.

I’d like to believe I would have proved that my principles were sound, but frankly I’d been overly agreeable last night and anything could have happened if Hunter hadn’t been in control of the situation.

I’d called Hunter a jerk the last time he’d shown affection. Then, when he was behaving himself, I’d propositioned him. If I was confused, imagine where that left Hunter. Talk about sending mixed signals.

In my fantasies, which I was quickly realizing weren’t so spectacular in real life, Hunter would have undressed me for bed. I would have been wearing silky undies and my makeup would have been just as fresh as my shorts. But in reality, the only fresh part of me had been my offer.

And what about my disloyalty to my cousin Carrie Ann? When my ex-husband hit on her, she hadn’t stabbed me in the back. Jeez. One little pill and a few beers and I had been ready to become as sleazy as Lori Spandle. Or Clay.

Where had Carrie Ann been, anyway? Sure she’d called in sick for her shift yesterday morning, but she must have really felt horrible. Otherwise she’d have been at the bar for Manny’s going away party, even if she’d skipped the funeral.

My