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 building where Kenny and I had had our little chat.
Running in a crouch is never easy. It’s not a position one normally trains for. After the third row, I was feeling it in my legs and had to take a break. Ben stayed where I’d left him, obeying my request much better than most people would have.
I continued on. When I didn’t find any yellow hive boxes, I headed for the side of the building where I could see extra supplies stacked up. Pails, hive sections, spare honeycombs.
Nothing yellow.
If Kenny had painted the hives, it would be hopeless. I thought about reinspecting the brightest white ones again, if my legs would ever manage a crouched position again.
Then I sat down hard with my back against the building. I’d just remembered what Kenny had said about him being the key to my future. That was it! It wasn’t his comment that was significant, but it brought back another conversation I’d had recently with Ray.
When I’d asked him if he’d picked up the honey from Manny’s honey house, he’d said he had. Nothing bothersome there. But then he went on to say that Grace hadn’t been home and he’d taken what he needed anyway.
The honey house was always locked. Always, always. It had been locked up tight the few times I’d been back since Manny died.
So how did Ray get in? There was no way Ray had a key.
Was it possible I’d left it open?
No, I was absolutely sure I’d locked up every time. It was locked today. And Grace wouldn’t have left it open. She never set foot in the place.
Ray had been out at Kenny’s the day Manny died. And Ray had found Manny’s body, or so he’d said. What if Kenny and Ray were in it together? Ray could have been the one who killed Manny, then stole Manny’s key. What if Ray had been stung, not at the orchard like he said, but while he was transporting Manny’s bees from Grace’s house? The timeline sure fit.
Something about this whole thing smelled like rotten garbage.
Because of the way my luck was going these days, as in no luck at all, I heard a vehicle pull up in front of the building. I flattened against the metal wall, trying to imagine I was back in the only yoga class I’d ever attended, pretending I was between two panes of glass like the teacher taught me. I couldn’t see the car from my position, so I hoped I was safe from the driver’s view as well. I really didn’t want to explain why I was sneaking around behind Kenny’s Bees.
A car door opened and slammed shut, and I heard the door to the building open and close.
I felt something cold and damp on my leg and let out a squeal, which I managed to stifle before it had time to reverberate.
Ben had arrived without announcing his presence and stuck his nose against my leg. So much for perfect obedience.
“Go away,” I whispered. “Get back where you were supposed to wait. Now.”
The dog didn’t listen to a word of it. He sat down next to me.
Jeez. I’d have to get out of here quick or one of us might be spotted. Before I left, though, I really wanted a quick peek at whoever was visiting Kenny after hours.
Just curious.
I’d come this far. Why not?
With that decided, I promptly tripped over Ben and fell to my knees. He scooted out of the way. I rose, ignoring the skinned knee that would go with my other scratches and scrapes. I sidled up to one of the side windows, wondering why these kinds of buildings always had such tiny windows.
With one eye peering through the window and the rest of me hidden from view, I squinted until I made out Kenny’s backside, which as I said before, was pretty large. It seemed to loom even bigger in the shadow of the room. He stood with his hands on his hips, and his cigar-shaped fingers resting on his back like he had an ache or two he wanted to massage out.
Then I heard his voice rise and even without being able to hear the words, I could tell he was angry and yelling at somebody. I still couldn’t see the other person, hidden from view outside of the room.
Then I heard the blast go off inside.