Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,97
and I saw something in Kenny’s eyes before he answered. Or did I?
“He took all the bees and hives from Manny’s yard,” I said. “Then he disappeared.”
“Then you are out of business.” Kenny tried not to look pleased. Or did he? I’d never be much of a detective if I couldn’t learn to read people better than this.
“We had a great production year,” I said. “All our honey is bottled and ready for sale, and once I get the rest of our bees back, it’ll be business as usual.”
“You never overwintered by yourself before. They’ll all be dead before spring.”
“I’ll manage.”
“We’re heading for Florida with ours. Leaving in a week or two. You want, I can take what you have left along.”
I’ll just bet he would! “Thanks, but no thanks. I have another question.”
“You’re full of them, aren’t you?”
I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought he was full of. Instead, I said, “You offered to buy Manny’s land. I’d like to know why.”
“None of your business. And Lori Spandle has one big mouth.”
“She wasn’t the one who told me.” Why was I trying to make Lori’s life easier when I owed her a dropkick to the back of her legs? “I also know that you withdrew the offer.”
“Changed my mind.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Again, that’s none of your business. Why don’t you run along now? And flip that open sign around on your way out.”
Forty-one
I wasn’t finished with Kenny Langley, not by a long shot. He had a large beeyard worth further investigation.
By the time I found a place to hide my truck, stumbled through all the brush, and tramped in the low areas where water had accumulated in hidden little patches, my feet were soaked and poked by thistles, and I had branch scratches all over my face and arms.
I made a mental note to carry sturdy boots and a jean jacket in my truck from now on. Flip flops and a short-sleeved top just didn’t cut it for fieldwork. Ben trotted ahead, then circled back to check on my progress. I couldn’t leave the poor guy in the truck this time without feeling like I was abusing Hunter’s four-legged partner. The fresh air would do him good, and he seemed to be a great listener whenever I asked him to pay attention.
I’d misjudged the distance from the truck’s hiding spot to the back of Kenny’s beeyard by what seemed like miles, although I’m sure it wasn’t more than one. The twists and turns and highs and lows and dodges around thick brush had made the hike take longer than I expected. But eventually I poked my head out of the brush line and gazed upon a field of beehives, for as far as my eyes could see. Beehives. Rows and rows.
Kenny had been increasing his apiary over the years, and I’m pretty sure he had downplayed its size when he met with Manny. But all I cared about was whether or not he had bees that didn’t belong to him.
But what clues could I go on to determine whose bees were whose? That could be a problem. Manny’s and my honeybees were strong, but that didn’t mean they looked any different than any others. If I was another bee, I would be able to smell the difference between each member of a hive, but I wasn’t. The best I could do was look for hive boxes that matched ours, and hope they hadn’t been painted over already. Kenny’s hives were all varying shades of white, ranging from bright to gray, depending on their ages. I’d painted all of Manny’s hives and the two I’d hidden at Grams’s an unmistakable bright yellow.
I’d been mentally going over the conversation I’d just had with Kenny as I traipsed through the bushes. My brain was telling me that something he’d said was important. If I could just remember what it was . . . Every time the scene rolled in my head, I stopped when he referred to me as “the girl.” Then I’d get annoyed and lose focus.
I told Ben to sit. He did. “Stay,” I said, before turning to the beeyard and crouching behind one of the hives at the end of a row. Bees flew over my head, a few checking me out before going off in search of nectar. They were too busy to bother with me as I ran in a crouch from hive to hive, always with an eye on the back of the white corrugated