Plan Bee (24 page)

We turned into the field Grams rented out to a local farmer. He’d planted corn this year, rotating annually between corn and alfalfa. The corn was a whole lot taller than knee-high, almost ready to pick, which meant we were
concealed from view. I kept to the far edge of the field, bouncing along, scraping against the closest row of stalks until I was sure we were out of sight.

Patti pulled up, got out, ran around, opened the passenger door, and did something to her prisoner, then slid into the seat next to me.

My head swiveled toward the van. “You can’t leave him alone in there,” I said. “Won’t he drive away?”

“He’s handcuffed. Besides, he has a temporary vision problem.”

I couldn’t believe what Patti was capable of. I needed to remain in her good graces for eternity, so she didn’t practice her methods on me. Or else I needed to run away from her as fast as I could. Whatever my future choice would be, I was stuck with what I had at the moment. “How do you know for certain that Bob was the one who attacked you?”

“I smelled him,” Patti said. “Then it all came rushing back.”

I thought about that. She’d groin-punched Bob, kidnapped him, and handcuffed him all because of his smell. This was
not
a good thing.

Patti must have sensed my doubt because she said, “Haven’t you ever noticed a person’s smell? Until they weren’t there anymore, you didn’t think that person had a particular scent of their own. But then you put your head down on a pillow they’d used. Or you picked up a piece of clothing they’d worn that hadn’t gone through the wash yet. And suddenly you breathe in something familiar. You smell
them
.”

Patti’s little speech had a touch of poignancy to it. Don’t tell me P.P. Patti actually had a soft, tender side?

Not that you’d know it by her recent actions.

And more amazingly, I understood exactly what she meant. That exact thing had happened when my grandfather died. He had his own little den where he smoked his pipe. After he died, I’d go in there just to smell him. Grams would, too. That room was where we felt closest to him.

“Okay,” I said. “What’s Bob’s scent? What tipped you off?”

“Sort of a cross between peppermint or menthol…”

“Like the stuff you rub on your skin to make a sore muscle feel better?”

“That’s it! And garlic. And stale cigarette. He smelled exactly like those things the other day and he still smells like them. I’m going to make him spill his guts.”

I trotted over to his van right behind Patti, who had her own special scent—she reeked of determination. What if she got even more extreme?

Bob didn’t look so good. He’d just endured one of every man’s worst nightmares. Patti must have sprayed him with something toxic, too, because his eyes were all red and he couldn’t stop blinking. And his hands really were handcuffed.

“Help!” he croaked when he saw me. “Is she going to kill me? I didn’t do anything. Please believe me.”

Patti leaned in close to him. “You tell us the truth,” she said. “And we’ll let you go.”

Bob looked frantic. I backed away and considered taking off, leaving Patti behind. She’d done it to me in the past, so I figured I was justified if I did. I made up my mind. Any more torture and I was outta there.

“Now,” Patti said to her captive, “do you recognize me?”

Bob nodded.

“From where?”

“I delivered a package to your house.”

“And then you grabbed me from behind and tied me up and duct-taped my mouth.”

“I didn’t do that part,” Bob said.

I edged closer.

“Who did?” Patti wanted to know.

“I don’t know. Somebody called the main office where I work, just like you did. Looking for me.” Bob’s face twitched. I assumed it was some kind of aftereffect. “I was
finishing up for the day, clearing my paperwork when the call came in.”

“And?”

“And they said there was some cash in it for me if I let them know if you had any deliveries come through. Your house is in my delivery area, so I said, sure, cash was always appreciated.”

“How much?”

“A hundred.”

“Did you collect?”

“Not yet.”

I couldn’t resist joining in. This was so cool. Patti really was making him talk. “All you have to do,” I said to him, “is give us your contact information. The number you called.”

“It wasn’t a phone number,” Bob said, his eyes never leaving his tormentor, Patti. “E-mail.”

“What’s the address?” Patti said, getting out her flip notebook and pencil.

Bob rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Are you going to let me go if I tell you?”

If it was me, I’d also be asking him about Ford and feeling around for clues that he might be Ford’s partner. I looked forward to my turn to interrogate him.

“We’ll let you go,” I said, “after a few more questions.”

“But,” Patti said, adding a caveat, “tell anybody about this and I’ll start screaming rape. You hear me?”

“I hear you loud and clear,” Bob said.

“I should have been given a chance to question him, too,” I said as we drove back to the store.

“What questions didn’t he answer?” Patti asked.

“You don’t even remember, do you? All you could focus on was you and your own problems.”

“A violent stalker isn’t a major neighborhood problem?
Next time it might be you on the ground all tied up and dying a slow death.”

“I wanted to find out if he knew Ford. Remember that? Murder trumps stalking in most people’s priorities.”

“You could have asked.”

“Yeah, sure,” I snorted out in a whine.

Because right after Patti removed the handcuffs, Bob got out of the van, and she kneed him again. No discussion with me in advance, no sign whatsoever. Just blam.

“I had to incapacitate him,” she said. “So we could make a clean getaway.”

“He’s never going to answer questions from us ever again. Not after what we did to him. And I bet he’s going to press charges.”

“That guy is such a wimp,” Patti said, “considering he’s supposed to be a criminal. He’s a pathetic example of his profession. Did you see how he opened up? I really rattled his cage. He’s not going to press charges against us unless he wants a rape charge to add to his rap sheet.”

I was still bitter about the outcome. “If you’d given me equal time, I would have answers, too.”

“We know he’s involved in stealing my telescope,” Patti said.

“He tried to blame most of it on somebody else. He could be lying.”

“He wasn’t.”

“He sure started talking fast. Shouldn’t he have resisted for a while?”

Patti grinned, and it wasn’t pretty. “You don’t need to know everything,” she said. “It’s better that way.”

Okay, then.

Back in my office, away from the queen of torture, I keyed in the e-mail address that Bob had given us and sent a blank e-mail to see what would happen.

It bounced right back with a message informing me that the e-mail account didn’t exist.

Figures. Did that mean it had never existed? Or that it wasn’t available any longer?

Had Bob lied?

Or was Patti’s opponent really good at covering his tracks.

Either way we were back to square one.

According to the local news reports, we were in for a few days of bad weather, even a possible tornado, which always brings customers stampeding in for staples. The most popular household items at times like these are milk, eggs, bread, and beer. But the number one choice for the more intelligent among us is toilet paper. There aren’t many substitutes for that particular item. Mom, in the spirit of things, had stacked the toilet paper up front so no one would forget to buy it.

I could almost sense and smell the storm approaching from the northwest. Still, when I heard the first burst of thunder, I thought Stanley’s grandson was up to his chemical tricks. Until I went outside and saw the sky. Ugly clouds were forming on the horizon. For those lucky enough to live in twister-proof territory, a tornado is an enormous, destructive funnel cloud whirling from the ground right up to the clouds. Wisconsin is on the outer fringe of Tornado Alley, but we get more than our fair share of that kind of weather.

There’s a big difference between a tornado watch and a tornado warning. A watch suggests conditions are ripe for a twister to form. A warning means one has been spotted and you better run for cover. Hide in a basement or in an interior room. If you don’t have shelter, dive into a ditch and start praying. Because one of those funnels can pick up a house and move the whole thing just like in
The
Wizard of Oz
.

In the past, we couldn’t believe anything our weather forecasters told us. If they said one thing, we could count on the exact opposite. But lately, they were getting better at predicting what was coming, even approximately when it would hit.

Another thing I’ve noticed about approaching storms—whether snow, hail, rain, or thunderstorms—is the upswing in camaraderie among Moraine’s residents. Having to batten down the hatches lends a certain excitement to the air. There is no subject better than impending bad weather to spark conversations in the checkout line and aisles to bring us closer together as a community.

I’d been watching the sky from the entrance when suddenly, the town’s siren went off announcing a high alert.

“Into the basement,” I ordered my customers and staff.

Carrie Ann burst out of the back room and scampered for the stairs.

Stanley Peck ran in as customers continued to file down into what used to be the church’s gathering place. “Noel’s missing,” he said, sounding on the verge of panic. “I have to find him.”

“Get downstairs, Stanley,” I said, noticing how dark the sky had become in the open door behind him. Black and scary. “Hurry. I’m sure he’s hiding out somewhere. There’s no time.” Stanley hesitated, so I punted, invoking Holly’s name even though she wasn’t in the building. “My sister and I will use whatever wrestling techniques required to get you down there. Don’t put us in that position.”

Reluctantly, Stanley stomped down with the rest of the customers to wait out the storm.

Next, I called down to Mom. “What about Grams?”

“I warned her. She’s in her cellar,” came the reply.

Holly burst into The Wild Clover with Dinky in her arms.

“Take this animal,” she said, pushing Dinky at me. “I can’t stand her another second.”

Dinky hated storms more than anything in the world. She could hear thunder before any of us humans. She was so tuned-in, she could be a celebrity weather dog. As soon as she started shaking, that was our cue to pay attention.

Holly and I went down the basement steps.

I did a mental count of family and friends. Everyone was clustered around my craft table, the one I used for teaching classes related to honeybees and their by-products. Patti wasn’t with us, but she was resourceful and had lived in Moraine long enough to know the signs of a serious storm. Stanley sat at the far end of the table, looking worried.

Dinky clawed her way under my arm. I wrapped her in a fleece I’d left on the back of a chair and that seemed to calm her.

I wandered over to Stanley and said, “Any kid as smart as Noel, who can create chemical reactions like he can, will know how to survive a tornado. In fact, he’ll probably harness its energy.”

Stanley gave me a weak but appreciative smile. “If anybody could, it would be him.”

“He’s taken shelter. I’m sure of it.”

“But where has he been all day?”

“We’ll find him as soon as the storm lets up.”

By now, we could hear full gale forces outside. A clap of thunder and the lights flickered and went out. I heard the backup generators kick on.

Hunter called my cell. “Where are you?”

“In the basement of the store. The power went out, but we’re safe. Where are you?”

“Safe, too. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you when it’s okay to come out.”

“Is Ben with you?” My favorite K-9 better not be at Hunter’s house in his outdoor kennel.

“He’s here. I’ll get back to you.”

The sounds from above us were deafening. Dinky burrowed deeper into the jacket. I wished I had a great big cuddle blanket to hide under. I could see the outlines of the others in the basement, but just barely.

Mom said, “I told Tom I’d stop by his house and pick up a few things for him. A change of clothes, something to read…” Her voice broke.

“When we get out of here,” I said, “we’ll go over together.”

“I’d hoped Tom would be back tonight.”

“At least he has the money to make bail.”

“Bail!” Mom said. “This isn’t going to go that far. You make it sound like he’s going to actually be charged with a crime.”

“Of course he won’t,” Holly said, meeting my eyes over the top of our mother’s head.

Thirty minutes later, Hunter called to say the coast was clear, that the storm hadn’t produced any funnels after all. Stanley tore off in search of Noel. Other than a few toppled Adirondack chairs in front of the store, The Wild Clover hadn’t suffered at all. All good news so far.

The electricity hadn’t come back on, so I called to report it, thankful for the generators that would make sure the coolers stayed cold. There wasn’t anything else to do at this point but close up and check periodically to see if the power was back on.