Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,68

could charge him with any other crime and I’d go right along with it and hope my vote was the one that brought him down. But when it came to murdering Faye, I’d have to vote not guilty.

That left Grace. Meek and mild Grace. Her husband was dead and Clay’s girlfriend was gone, too. How convenient and sinister. There were so many connections a fuse was going to blow.

The tricky part would be getting the right people to believe me. That was the challenge. I’d have to outline the interpersonal relationships for Johnny Jay and convince him that Manny’s death hadn’t been an accident.

Then I asked myself an important question that changed my tune. Where was I when Manny died? He must’ve died pretty early Friday morning, before Ray found his body. I’d opened the store that morning, but when Carrie Ann had finally shown up, I’d cut out to spend a little time alone before the champagne celebration started. Now I remembered. I’d walked along the Ice Age Trail that bordered the Oconomowoc River. Holy crap. I didn’t have an alibi.

Which meant I better wait until I had all the facts, which I was determined to get. I owed it to Manny, my dead friend, and on some level I felt I owed it to Faye, too, since my kayak—and my ex—was involved.

After selecting a funky pair of yellow sunflower-studded flip flops and accessorizing with jean shorts and a pale yellow tee, I walked the two blocks to The Wild Clover.

I arrived at the store with a honey-coated bagel in my hand and enough concealer under my eyes to hide the evidence of another bad night’s sleep. Carrie Ann came in shortly after and took over at the register while I worked on inventory in the back. When I came out, she was gabbing with Stanley Peck as she bagged up his purchases.

This time, I was going to stick to Stanley like lint on fleece when he left The Wild Clover. If he had Manny’s bees, he’d lead me to them eventually. I had my thermos of coffee and my anything’s-possible attitude back. And I had a plan.

“If Patti Dwyre comes in, tell her I need to talk to her,” I said to Carrie Ann. P. P. Patti and I had some talking to do.

“Where are you going now?” Carrie Ann called out when I bolted for the door after giving Stanley a three-second lead. “I thought you hired me because you needed more help. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but I never see you anymore.”

“Be right back,” was all I had time to say before I bumped right into my grandmother, who’d chosen that exact moment to enter the store. I almost knocked her to the floor.

“Grams!” I exclaimed, attempting to rearrange my grandmother in an upright position and still keep one eye on Stanley as he opened his car door.

“I came to visit you,” she said.

“Well, come on then. We can chat on the way.” I grabbed her elbow and off we went.

“Where are we going, dear?”

“An errand.”

“I’ll drive.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. Get in the truck. And hurry. We’ll lose . . . uh, never mind. Come on.” I gave her a boost up.

I was a little delayed by my unexpected meeting with Grams, but we blew through town and caught up to Stanley on the outskirts of Moraine.

“That’s some driving, Story dear,” Grams said. “NASCAR stuff.”

“I’m practicing stunt-car driving techniques. I’m thinking of trying out next time they make a movie around here.”

“Looks to me more like we’re following Stanley Peck.”

My grandmother was one sharp cookie. So I told her about the bees and how I couldn’t find them, and how Stanley had checked out a beekeeping book, and was acting sneaky.

“He’s not heading for his farm,” Grams observed.

“No. I followed him yesterday and lost him on the rustic road.”

“Seems to me, you’d want to check out his farm rather than chase him around the countryside.”

I glanced over at my petite, gray, sweet grandmother. We did a U-turn. “You’re right, as usual. This is the perfect opportunity to find out if the bees are at his farm. You’re a genius.”

Grams grinned as if I’d made her day. But then she lived with my mother. You learned to appreciate any kindness that came your way when you spent too much time defending yourself against Mom’s constant criticism.

Stanley Peck’s farm was called, unoriginally, Peck Farms. Once upon a time, the Peck family worked the land themselves, growing