Buzz Off (30 page)

“I saw him. That’s all I know.”

“When?”

“About five or six days before those bees stung him to death. I was having my raccoon problem then. I probably told you how they destroyed my house and how much money they cost. I’d just set the trap, and gone back inside.”

“Five or six days before he died,” I repeated. That fit what Stu had said about Manny asking to borrow the canoe. It also gave the false rumor about us plenty of time to have reached Grace before her Thursday visit to Clay. “What exactly did you see? Tell me.”

“It was almost dark. Good thing I was at the window at that same moment or I would have missed it completely. I saw Manny paddle up to your backyard, pull the canoe to shore, and walk toward your house, staying in the shadows. I couldn’t see much after that, but believe you me, I tried.”

“You could be mistaken, if it was that dark.”

“You have that light out by the river. I saw him clear as day until he walked out of its beam of light. It was Manny Chapman and he was definitely sneaking around.”

“Was I home?”

“You sure were and you know it. I saw you through your window, then you moved into a different room where my view was obstructed.”

“You saw him go to my door?”

“I didn’t have to. I’m not dumb, you know. And I don’t lie.”

Now that Patti mentioned the whole lying thing, I realized that I hadn’t really ever caught her in any outright lies. Mostly she just stretched the truth until it transformed into a completely different shape than it’d started out.

“I can’t believe this,” I said.

“I’ve got to go.” With that, she hung up.

Even P. P. Patti didn’t want to be my friend anymore.

But I had bigger problems to solve, because Patti might actually have had some basis for thinking that Manny and I were carrying on behind Grace’s back. Flimsy, though, if what she said was based on real observations versus creative fiction. But Stu had pretty much corroborated it, saying that Manny had taken off in his canoe around the same time, heading downstream. That would have taken him right past my house.

So why didn’t I know anything about it? Why would Manny come over without ever announcing himself?

This was too weird.

“How’s the head?” Holly asked, coming into the back room. She pulled the ice pack away and fingered my head knot.

“Ouch,” I said. “Don’t touch.”

“She really clocked you.”

“You should have restrained Patti, not me. She was the menace.”

“You looked more likely to do major damage. Now tell me the story.”

My younger sister clucked over me like a mother hen while taking in the facts as I laid them out.

When I finished, neither of us had a clue what was going on.

“Anybody minding the store?” Someone called from the front.

Holly said, “BBL (
Be Back Later
),” and bounced away to take care of customers, leaving me with my dark thoughts.

What a confusing mess! And it all came back to the same small circle—Manny, Grace, Clay, Faye, and me. One of us was in jail and two of us were dead.

And how did Stanley Peck fit in to the equation? An entire apiary was missing, and Stanley was studying up on bees with library books.

Then of course there was big-mouthed Patti and all the trouble she’d caused. Grace would never have thought anything bad about Manny and me if P. P. Patti hadn’t spread it around. Was she up to more than just destroying reputations?

If Grace didn’t kill her husband to be with Clay, might she have killed him because she thought he was having an affair with me?

That had possibilities, but how did that explain Faye’s murder? Nothing was adding up.

Process of elimination. That was the only way. I’d start with Stanley, since he was much more approachable than Grace or Patti were at the moment.

When Stanley came into the market in the early afternoon, I said to him, “I’d like to get started in chickens.” I knew that Stanley raised a few himself.

He looked surprised. “Don’t you have your hands full as it is?”

“I’m busy, but how much work could a few chickens take? I have that little shed out back where we had chickens when I was a kid. They can stay in there at night and scratch around the yard eating bugs and laying eggs for me during the day. Chickens are the latest craze 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.

“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 rephrased the same question different ways without any luck. With nothing more to discuss, Stanley helped load the hens, feed, and a bale of straw into the back of the truck. Holly and I headed out.

“That man is hiding something,” I said.

“No luck getting him to talk?”

“Nope.”

 

 

Ten minutes later Stanley drove out of his driveway. We blew out of our hiding place and gave chase.

“Stay back or he’s going to see you,” Holly called.

“He’s not going to check his rearview mirror for a tail,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Outside of the movies, what real person does that? When’s the last time you glanced back to see if a vehicle was following you, one you recognized?”

“He’s bound to notice eventually.”

“Besides, last time I stayed back, I lost him. I don’t want him getting away this time.”

We left Moraine, following the rustic road, which was becoming more familiar to me from all the time I was spending chasing Stanley around. He wasn’t in a hurry, going much slower than the speed limit. On the same stretch where I’d lost him before, he turned into one of the driveways I’d checked last time. Only last time I hadn’t noticed that the main driveway went one way and a smaller, gravel drive went another.

Stanley followed the gravel one.

“GFI!” Holly shouted, getting excited. (
Go For It!
) “Follow him in.”

Instead, I pulled over and parked. Hens squawked from the back of the truck. “Let’s wait a few minutes, see if he comes out.”

Fifteen minutes later, Stanley hadn’t reappeared.

“Let’s walk in,” I said.

“ITA (
I Totally Agree
),” she said. “That will be less obvious.”

The driveway was longer than we thought, ending at a small cottage tucked between a mature maple and an oak tree. A woman’s home, with lace curtains peaking out, fresh flowers on windowsills, and tended daylilies all along the front.

Stanley’s car wasn’t parked next to the cottage, so I assumed he’d pulled into a small garage close by. That explained why I hadn’t spotted his car the first time I chased and lost him on this same road. I remembered turning into this driveway then.

As we edged around the back I spotted beehives.

Not many. Five to be exact. Certainly not Manny’s bees, judging by the beehive construction. And while you can’t really tell one honeybee from another, completely different hives meant different honeybees than the ones I was searching for.

I moved closer to the back of the cottage, wondering who lived there. Holly stayed with me. Not a sound came from inside.

Holly tugged on the back of my top, gesturing with her head and her eyes.
Time to go. Let’s get out of here
. I shook my head back.
Not yet
. Three feet to one of the back corner windows. I had to look in. We’d come this far. Two feet. One. Crouching lower than the window, easing up. Eye level. Holly right beside me.

It was a good thing the window was closed when I backed up, tripped, clutched my sister for support, and took her down with me. Holly let out a muffled yelp. We untangled and crawled out of sight.

I’d discovered Stanley’s secret.

He had a girlfriend, one who was at the moment naked and entwined with Stanley on a bed right before our eyes.

And here I had been, peeking in at them like P. P. Patti without a telescope. If I found time, I’d be ashamed of myself later.

Holly and I darted back down the driveway a safe distance before speaking to each other.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Stanley has a girlfriend,” I said, which was pretty obvious to both of us.

“He doesn’t want anybody to know.”

“It’s our secret.”

“Right.”

“He’s learning about bees because of her.”