Plan Bee (15 page)

“After what happened on this block yesterday,” I said to him, “with a dead man and a killer running loose, you can’t assume this was accidental.”

“Really! And who went and made you the new chief of police?” Johnny Jay said with enough sarcasm even Lori Spandle would have caught it going by. “But since you’re here, you saved me a trip to your store to pick you up.”

Oh no, not again. The man hauled me down to the police station every chance he got. I’d been waiting for the ax to fall even though I’d given him a fully detailed written and verbal statement at the scene.

“Don’t you need a warrant?” I said, even though I knew what he would say.

And he did. “I can get one, if you want to go in cuffs instead.”

“What about my window and telescope?” Patti demanded.

Johnny scratched his jaw like he was pondering her question. “I expect a few people in town will be relieved about the loss of your telescope, Dwyre,” he said. Which was true. Me, for example. I didn’t appreciate that thing one bit. “But you can file a claim with your insurance company. Report will be ready by tomorrow. You can pick it up then. Let’s go, Fischer.”

“I’ll meet you at the station,” I said. No way was I voluntarily driving anywhere with him. And I knew he couldn’t force me. Legally that is, although Johnny bent the rules to suit himself.

He glanced at Patti. In the past, she’d managed to capture a few of his more aggressive actions on video. I could tell he was remembering, too, and didn’t want to go through that again. “Suit yourself,” he said to me. “But don’t make me come looking for you.”

With that, he strolled to his car and drove off.

Tim came out and left, too.

Patti and I studied the window.

“Coincidence?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said, doubting it.

“I’m not so sure. And to top it off, I could have been up in that window when the rifle was fired. My eye could have been shot out. My life is definitely in danger.” Then Patti grinned, a wide, happy smile. “Somebody’s out to get me. I’m a real, honest-to-goodness reporter now.”

“I don’t know how you can be enjoying this.”

“Come on, give me five.”

Patti made the universal gesture of high five, and reluctantly I slapped my palm against hers. “Glad I could be here for your shining moment,” I said.

“Me, too.”

“Where were you when it happened?” I asked her.

“Around.”

“Really?” Call me too nosy to resist. I could tell by her dodgy eyes that she’d been up to something worth knowing about. “And I thought we were best friends.”

“Okay, okay, I was looking around inside over there.”

She pointed to my ex-husband’s house where yellow police warning tape was plastered all over the door. “I’m pretty sure they were done there anyway,” Patti said. “Somebody just forgot to remove the tape.”

We looked at each other. “And?” I said. “Find anything?”

Patti dug around in her pocket vest and handed me a hickory nut. “I found this by the front door.”

I do my best to follow Patti’s lines of thought, and I usually do a pretty good job. But this time, she had zoomed to another planet and was speaking Martian.

Here’s what I know about hickory nuts:

• They grow in Wisconsin woodlands.

• President Andrew Jackson was called “Old Hickory” because he was so tough, and hickory wood is so hard it’s even used for ax handles.

• Shagbarks, named for the distinctive way they shed bark—in long, ragged strips—are the most common hickory trees and produce the best tasting nuts.

• The nuts are encased in hulls that fall apart when they’re ripe enough to eat.

• And they are heart healthy, filled with nutrients like protein, potassium, and vitamins A and C.

• Pecans are close relatives, so you can use them just like you would use hickory nuts.

• Right now, in August, they are beginning to fall from the trees and will continue to drop through September.

“Then I found this one under my window.” Patti handed me another one, exactly the same as the first—still in its hull, a little smaller than a golf ball, just beginning to crack open.

I like to think of myself as a naturalist, loving all living things. The proof is in my backyard. I raise honeybees for lots of reasons, but one main reason is because they are threatened, and I hope to make a difference in local crops, which are fertilized by bees raised by people like Stanley and me. My garden is a source of outright pleasure for me. To watch a seedling sprout and grow into a mature plant bearing gifts is a joy to behold.

That might be why I finally caught up with Patti’s thinking. “There aren’t any shagbark hickory trees on this block,” I said.

“Right.” Patti slammed me on the shoulder as a reward for my hard brain work.

“Maybe a squirrel dropped it there,” I guessed. “They’re starting to forage and bury food for winter.”

Reluctantly Patti admitted that possibility. “Still, I think someone left them as warnings.”

“Have you been nosing around anyplace else that you shouldn’t?” I asked Patti.

“Of course, it’s part of my job.”

“Well, watch your back,” I said, returning the nuts and leaving her standing in her backyard. Not that I was too worried. The woman has been known to carry wasp spray to fend off potential attackers. Who knew what else she had hidden in that vest she always wore?

When I got back to the store, I found DeeDee Becker, the kleptomaniac Honey Queen, squaring off with Holly in the entryway. They had a sizable group of spectators because The Wild Clover is a gathering place for the locals, especially when there’s something as gruesome as a murder in our backyard to gossip about. When something this big happens, the community rallies around our Main Street businesses, clinking glasses at Stu’s bar, whispering in the library, and speculating in line at my store. Then the rumors and innuendos really fly.

Whatever had caused this altercation between DeeDee and my sister was an added attraction for them.

Holly saw me and said, “I’m throwing her out of the store, and you’re not going to believe why.”

DeeDee still wore the Honey Queen crown on her head. I wanted to knock it off, but by some miracle I managed to rein myself in. I felt like snorting fire at her, burning up the
stupid crown. This was the first year for an official Honey Queen. It should have been me, not DeeDee.

“I represent Moraine,” DeeDee said. “Grant said I have the key to the town and can go wherever I please. That includes The Wild Clover. You can’t throw me out.”

“You’re taking this Honey Queen thing a little too seriously,” I told her. “Besides, the weekend is over and so is your reign.”

“I get to do this until next year’s festival when I crown my successor.”

I really wanted to crown DeeDee right now but not in the way she meant. “And what purse-sized items inside my store have your attention today?” That wasn’t nice of me, but the woman ran around with a suitcase for a purse and liked to load it up with freebies. And there it was right on her shoulder, probably completely empty in anticipation of a Wild Clover windfall.

“Tell Story why you’re here,” Holly said to DeeDee.

“I have to inspect your honey products and make sure they meet code,” DeeDee said to me with a whole lot of presumptuous authority.

The gall of the woman!

“Take her away,” I said to my sister.

DeeDee resisted, so Holly got her into a headlock. The crown went flying, and in the blink of an eye, my wrestler sister had DeeDee and her big tote bag on the ground.

“I’m telling Grant,” I heard DeeDee shout as she got to her feet and snatched up the tiara.

Noel was watching from the sidelines. He had a fistful of honey sticks. With his free hand, he gave me a thumbs-up. I liked that kid more and more all the time.

Carrie Ann was behind the cash register, ringing up a few customers, the ones who weren’t too busy watching the wrestling show to shop. Holly stepped in to help her. “I’m going to be gone again today for a little while,” I said.

“What else is new?” Carrie Ann said. “You haven’t been around much. Lucky for you, you have me to watch your store while you’re away. I tell you, I’m management material.”

Everybody wants to be the boss—Carrie Ann, Holly, Mom. As long as the going is good. But just let things get sticky and they all go running. Well, maybe not Mom, but she doesn’t handle situations like a normal person, either.

“This time I don’t have a choice,” I said. “Johnny Jay has more questions for me. Believe me, I’d rather stay here. And I appreciate everything you do.”

“We’ll take care of everything,” my cousin said. “Don’t worry. Right, Holly?”

Carrie Ann slung a goodwill arm across my sister’s shoulder. “Holly might not always be on time,” she said, “but when she finally shows up, she’s like having two more people on the schedule. And she keeps the riffraff out as you just saw. We’ll handle things together.”

Holly has a work ethic? I was amazed. My sister? Really? I would have to start paying more attention.

I stood there, in the middle of my store, my legs refusing to take even one step toward the door. Johnny Jay and his lockable interrogation room were waiting for me. I was starting to feel beat up, abused, and generally unfit to handle Johnny in my usual fashion.

All the nasty people in my life had been in my face for the last two days—Lori, DeeDee, the police chief, Aggie Petrie, Mom (before she transformed into super mother). The very last thing I wanted to do was spend another minute with any of them, especially with Johnny Jay.

So I decided not to go.

I called Hunter from my office. “The chief is bothering me,” I said. “He demanded that I show up at the station.”

“Want me to meet you there?”

“No. I’m not going.”

Hunter sighed into the phone. “He’s investigating a crime. You have to cooperate.”

“Yes, but I did that already. I told him everything I knew. I cooperated perfectly fine.”

“Don’t you watch cop shows?”

“Sometimes.”

“The police always want witnesses to go over their stories more than once. There’s a reason for that.”

“To try and trip them up. See, he’s after me.”

“To make sure they don’t know something important that they might have forgotten.”

“Believe me, I didn’t forget a thing. Will you tell him that?”

“No. If I step in, he’ll go after you harder.”

“Fine,” I said, knowing that was true.

Then I told Hunter about Patti’s window and that the telescope had been shot out.

I didn’t mention what our esteemed police chief thought, about it being some thoughtless, trigger-happy mistake. I wanted to see if Hunter came up with the same dumb rationale. And I definitely didn’t mention the hickory nuts because then he would think I was… well… nuts.

After I finished, Hunter didn’t say a single thing for what felt like a long time. Finally, he said, “I’ll call and talk to Patti. Unofficially, of course.”

And that scared me a little, because he wasn’t taking the incident lightly at all. If Hunter had explained it away like Johnny had, I would have been annoyed. Now I felt scared. This felt much worse.

“That would be great,” I said.

“Keep your cool with Johnny, okay, precious?”

“I love when you sweet-talk me,” I said, feeling wanted and loved as I hung up.

In a perfect make-believe world I wouldn’t have any problems. Or if I did, Hunter would solve them for me. Unfortunately, in the real world, a woman has to look out for herself.

So during a lull in business, I took a break from the store, walked home, and stopped briefly to admire my beeyard, where all my honeybees were humming in a happy way, implying no more hive robbers were around. Then I tugged my kayak into the river. Whoever shot through Patti’s window would have had to have been on the opposite side of the river, judging by the angle.

Patti had two windows in that upper room. One looked out directly at my bedroom window. The other window faced the river. That’s the one that was blown out.

I waded into the cool water of the Oconomowoc River, not caring that my flip-flops got wet, which was one of the beautiful things about my preferred footwear. Then I scooted into the kayak, careful not to tip it.

The river was lazy today, not much more than a ripple here and there where bugs slid along the surface. I paddled over to the opposite side, got out carefully, pulled my kayak up onshore, and studied the situation, angling a little so my vision lined up straight with Patti’s window.

From the bank of the river, the terrain sloped up. I climbed it, keeping one eye on Patti’s window, picking my way through the brush and trees until her house was out of sight. That meant the shot had probably been fired from the area between the brush on the top of the hill and the riverbank.

Next, I studied the ground on the way back to the riverbank, looking for anything that might point to the culprit.

Not a thing.

Next, I looked around for shagbark hickory trees.

None along the bank of the river, but I hadn’t expected any. Most of them grew a little more inland where squirrels buried their nutty treasures then forgot all about them. We should be grateful for the little pests because they help more trees grow. But I’ve also found my tulips growing in the woods, thanks to squirrels digging up my bulbs and replanting them.