Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,8
a bee suit,” I said, changing my mind about the armor idea, since it would be the M.E. going in. If one single honeybee stung him, I’d hear about it for the rest of my life. “You’ll be perfectly fine. Most of them will fly away when the fan starts up.”
I directed a silent plea to the remaining bees, hoping my message of peaceful interaction resonated through the universe and came to rest where it should. One could always hope.
With more coaxing and reassurances, Jackson let me help him into Manny’s bee suit. I adjusted the veil for him. Hunter blew the fan at high speed and we watched most of the bees blow away, which gave the M.E. renewed confidence. He went in and went to work. Not long afterward, he gave us a thumbs-down.
The official verdict, the one we’d all known was coming: Manny was dead.
I went into the house and cried with Grace. Up until now we hadn’t been more than polite acquaintances in spite of all the hours I’d spent at her house learning beekeeping from Manny. I’d never been comfortable around her, sensing that she was an insecure woman who resented the interest in bees I shared with her husband. But for now, we put our unspoken differences aside.
After the cop cars and fire trucks pulled away and Grace headed to her bedroom to rest, I went outside on the porch. Hunter was still studying the apiary. The dog I’d seen earlier was on a short leash at his side. Manny’s death hadn’t slowed the bee activity. Honeybees poured in and out of the hives.
Hunter walked over with the dog to join me. I took a few steps back, keeping some distance between us. He didn’t seem to notice that his dog was way too close.
My nose was running, I had a wad of tissues clutched in my hands, and my eyes felt almost swollen shut. “I didn’t know you had a dog,” I said.
“He’s one of our police dogs.”
“What happened after I went in the house with Grace?”
“I seem to be the one delivering all the bad news today,” Hunter said. “Johnny Jay wants to destroy the beehives. He’s right, you know.”
No! Not the bees! I thought, temporarily forgetting the dog. “Nobody knows yet what killed Manny. Isn’t his decision a little premature, not to mention drastic?” I’d square off against the police chief and every cop in the county to protect those honeybees.
“Anyone could see that Manny had been stung all over his body,” Hunter said. “The bees have to go.”
“Please don’t let Johnny Jay kill them! I can prove they weren’t responsible.”
“You’ll have to make it good, if I’m going to have a case. It’s never easy convincing Johnny Jay of anything.”
“Manny’s bees aren’t Africanized, if that’s the worry.” Africanized honeybees, also known as killer bees, had escaped from a breeding program in the tropics and began to crossbreed with European bees, their gentler cousins. Africanized honeybees were extremely defensive—they had a larger number of guard bees, protected a larger zone around their hives, and would chase for longer distances. “Killer bees can’t survive our cold winters.” Which was true. Wisconsin didn’t have killer bees.
Hunter sighed. “That’s it?” he said. “That’s your whole argument? They aren’t killer bees? Of course you want to protect them, but you have to face facts.”
I leaned against the porch rail. “Listen up,” I said. “Bullet point number one.”
Hunter smiled at that. Bullet points had always been my favorite way of listing pertinent facts and he knew it.
“Bullet point number one,” I said again, “honeybees have barbed stingers. That means that when they attack they leave their stingers behind, imbedded in flesh. Did you see any stingers in Manny?”
“No, but you have my attention.” He could tell that I was just warming up. “Are you sure about the barbed stingers?”
“Of course,” I said like a confident pro rather than the rookie that I really was. “Bullet point number two: These bees knew Manny wasn’t a threat. He worked with them every day. The only time he was ever stung was if he accidently put his hand down on one. Number three, honeybees die after stinging. Did you see piles of dead bees around Manny?”
“I didn’t notice, but I’ll take another look.” Hunter’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. He still had those laughing eyes I’d fallen so hard for in high school. He’d also had great feet; I have a secret thing about beautiful male feet. A fetish,