Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,96

Faye have to do with any of this? Was it possible there were two killers?

It was time to admit the truth of the situation: I was in real danger.

Would anybody believe my story? Probably not.

The honey house had an abandoned feel to it when I inserted my key into the padlock and opened it up. I stood in the doorway looking inside, but not really seeing it.

Grace Chapman wasn’t the murderer. Grace was a bitter, hurting woman, and I hadn’t made her transition from wife to widow any easier. She’d had to deal with innuendos and lies at the same time she had to learn to live without her husband.

Gerald Smith had suspect written all over that fake, generic name. And Kenny Langley had something to do with this, too, trying to buy Manny’s home. But why had he withdrawn his offer?

There was only one way to find out what was going on.

I’d have to ask Kenny.

Kenny’s Bees had been in the Langley family for multiple generations, and every one of the eldest male heirs was named Kenny. This particular Kenny was the fourth son to take over the business, and according to rumor, he was grooming his own son Kenny to take over for him. Their honey farm, in rural Washington County, was located on twenty acres of rolling fields. An ideal location to raise bees.

I pulled into a gravel driveway and parked next to a white corrugated building with a sign hanging from a metal awning that read “Honey for Sale.” An “Open” sign hung on the inside of the door. As with some other small businesses in the area, Kenny hadn’t bothered posting the hours he was open. Some people just didn’t want the additional commitment of getting to work at a specific time. That always amazed me. I couldn’t imagine opening The Wild Clover whenever I felt like showing up. What bad business sense was that?

Yet Kenny had a thriving honey business.

Ben waited in the truck again. He gave me a disappointed stare. I could tell he wasn’t happy with my decision to leave him behind again by the way his pointed ears sagged ever so slightly.

Kenny was a tall, large man in his late fifties, with soft, flabby features. In my opinion, he needed a daily run or he’d go the same way the other Kennys in the family went—out quick with major heart attacks, dropping right on the spot, and never getting the chance to find out what life might be like in their sixties.

Too much bacon grease will do that to a person.

Now was a good time to reaffirm where the lines had been drawn with Kenny and our honey distribution. It was a good excuse to start a conversation and lead it where I wanted it to go.

“Well, if it isn’t the girl,” Kenny said in greeting from a stool behind a counter, instantly rubbing me the wrong way and setting us on a rocky path right from the start.

“That’s Ms. Fischer to you,” I said.”

“Sorry to hear about what’s-his-name.”

“His name was Manny.”

“I guess your honey business is down the toilet. What a shame.” Kenny didn’t look sad, not one bit.

“I’m taking over Queen Bee Honey,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. I still had my sights on the honey house and the possibility of raising enough colonies to continue producing our premium products.

Kenny laughed like he thought I was unbelievably funny. “Anything I can do to help,” he said, “just ask.”

“I do have a favor I need from you. I’d very much appreciate it if you would continue to honor the agreement you had with Manny about sales territories.”

“Why? He’s not around anymore.”

“It’s still a viable business, and you shook hands on it. I was there, remember?”

“Sure I do. But a girl like you can’t run an operation like that. You’re spread thin as it is with that hobby grocery store you run. I could help you out. In fact, why don’t you come work for me? I could be the key to your future.”

“I’m doing fine. And you haven’t answered me about upholding the agreement.”

Kenny shifted on the stool. “We can work something out.”

“Ray can’t sell your honey in Waukesha County. I already told him that.”

Kenny glanced down at some papers on the counter like he had better things to do and was dismissing me.

“I’m looking for a guy named Gerald Smith,” I said, watching him closely. “Do you know him?”

“Never heard that name.” But his head came up,