Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,84

in the back-to-the-earth movement, in case you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I suppose I have a few you could start with, to see how you like them. If you don’t, you can always bring them back. If you do, you can keep them or start your own.”

Exactly what I’d hoped he’d say.

“Why don’t I stop over at your place around three o’clock? After the twins come to cover for the rest of the day.”

“Works for me.”

I wasn’t going to chase after Stanley Peck in my car anymore. This time, I’d go head-to-head with him, tackle the issue like a woman, and wrestle it to the floor until it gave me some answers.

I better take Holly along.

Thirty-five

“I remember back when Stanley had dairy cows,” Holly said on the ride over to Stanley’s farm. “He always smelled like manure.”

“I like that smell,” I said.

“And school groups would go out there and take tours. I got lightheaded from the strong odor and had to wait in the bus, I still remember.”

“The days of local dairy farmers are almost gone,” I said. “Someday, nobody will recognize the fresh, clean perfume of cow poop.”

“The sooner, the better.”

We pulled up next to Stanley’s farmhouse. I turned off the truck.

“I forgot to tell you, Mom wants us to go over for dinner tonight,” Holly said.

“Your husband Max out of town?”

“Foolish question. Of course he is. Will you come?”

I’d been expecting an offer, since I hadn’t been over to Grams’s for a while. Well, not all the way inside, at least. I could check on my bees, too, make sure nothing menacing was bothering them.

“Who’s cooking?” I wanted to know.

“Mom. And we’ll have Grams’s AP.”

My mental text dictionary couldn’t keep up with her random abbreviations. “AP?” I asked.

“Apple pie. She said to come over at six o’clock and no later.”

“Can I drink heavily first?”

Stanley came out of his house before Holly could endorse my strategy. We got out of the truck and followed him to his chicken coop on the side of the barn. He recited enough material on raising chickens to fill an entire textbook, beginning, middle, and end, until I knew more about the birds than I’d ever wanted to know.

“Pick out a couple. Three or four, for starters,” he said, pointing to masses of hens pecking around inside a fenced area connected to the coop. “I’ll find something for you to carry them home in.” He wandered off in search of a way to transport them.

“They stink,” Holly said, wrinkling her nose. “Worse than cows. And now you’re stuck with chickens.”

I’d filled Holly in on the way over so she knew the real reason we were visiting Stanley. The chickens were simply a cover.

“I’ve been considering getting chickens anyway,” I said. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to put stinky chickens in your backyard.”

“I like that smell.”

“They all look alike.”

On that, at least, we agreed.

Stanley came back with a big cardboard box and chicken feed. He and Holly watched me run around until I managed to snag three plump hens, then Stanley helped me get them into the box. “Tie this around it nice and tight,” he said, handing me a ball of twine. “That’ll keep them from getting out.”

“Before we load them into the truck,” I said after securing the box, “we have to clear the air.”

Holly wrinkled her nose again and stifled a chuckle. The air, according to her silent smirk, needed big time clearing. “I feel dizzy,” she said. “I’ll wait in the truck.” From the fumes, she mouthed to me so Stanley couldn’t hear.

At times, it was hard to believe that Holly and I were from the same family; just like it was impossible to imagine Mom and Grams were related.

“What’s up?” Stanley asked me.

“You’ve been studying up on bees. You checked out a beekeeping book from the library. So you tell me what’s up?”

“Can’t a man read what he wants?”

“Sure he can. But he has some explaining to do if he’s reading on a subject and that same subject seems to have vanished from Manny’s beeyard right after he died. And especially since the town is upset about bees and certain residents don’t want us raising them and are willing to make trouble over it.”

“That’s just Lori. She’ll find something else to rail about eventually.”

“Please, I need to know. Are you getting ready to raise bees?”

“What ever gave you that idea?”

“The book, Stanley. The beekeeping book.”

“I was just reading.”

Stanley refused to explain further. I phrased and