A Beeline to Murder

“Think about it. Let me know,” he said in his deep country-singer voice.

Abby stared at the hills, which were now ablaze with color and which, only hours ago, would have looked like camelback humps in black. Her thoughts returned to the skinhead. She wondered who he was and why he’d come all the way out to her farmette to attack her. She was dying to call Otto to find out what the cops knew, but she would make the call when she was alone, after Lucas and Philippe had gone. This was personal.

“Looks like you got yourself a pointer there, judging from the liver spots.” Lucas stretched out his long, jeans-clad legs and crossed his feet, one worn cowboy boot over the other, and sipped his coffee.

“Well, Sugar actually belonged to someone else, but . . . her owner isn’t coming back,” Abby said, then took a swig of her coffee and thought that it had never tasted so good. But as she thought about Sugar, it seemed to her that the poor dog really had no one but Abby. Abby had a debt to pay to Sugar. And just like that, she decided she would care for the mixed-breed canine for the rest of the dog’s life. What is that . . . ? Fourteen . . . fifteen years?

“I could use a good bird dog,” Lucas said. “Take her off your hands . . . train her. Get you a proper guard dog, if you want.”

“Well, I appreciate your offer, Lucas. I really do. But I think Sugar and I are destined to be together. ”

His light brown eyes stared straight out over the back property. “Glad to hear it. A woman living alone out here . . . Well, you know how I feel about that.”

“Yes, and I appreciate that you came straight to my farmette as soon as you heard the shot. A lot of folks live along Farm Hill Road, but you are the only one who checked on me. You’re a wonderful neighbor, Lucas. I hope you know that.”

He took another swig of coffee and locked his soulful eyes with hers. After a long beat, he said softly, “Maybe sometime we could—”

“Your bees, they are happy today, Abby,” Philippe cried out exuberantly. “And the coffee smells great.” He strolled back to the patio, a broad grin creasing his face, apparently unaware that he had interrupted Lucas in mid-sentence.

“Lucas brought a cup for you, Philippe. Right there.” She pointed to the white mug on the table.

“Merci, mon ami.” Philippe gave an appreciative nod to Lucas, reached for the mug, and poured some coffee in it. After tasting it, he put the mug back down. “Oh, sadly, the coffee, it is not hot enough.”

Lucas rose and strolled into the kitchen to put his mug in the sink. Philippe sank into Lucas’s chair. When Lucas returned, he put a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Feel better, Abby. You know where to find me.” A few moments later, his pickup engine started, and the gravel crunched under his truck tires as he pulled away.

“I think I’ve seen him before, Abby. Who is he?” Philippe asked.

“He raises beef on a ranch near here, one that’s part of an old Spanish land grant.” Abby’s thoughts were drifting elsewhere. What was it Lucas had said? Maybe sometime we could . . . What? What was Lucas about to say when Philippe interrupted? Abby made a mental note to ask Lucas the next time she saw him.

Although her cheek throbbed and her body felt weary, Abby wanted to get Philippe back to Las Flores so he could finish packing up his brother’s apartment and ship the boxes back to New York. And she also wanted to find out the details of Eva Lennahan’s murder. She also wanted to talk with Otto about that skinhead and find out what the police knew. The pain reliever the paramedic had given her would soon kick in, and so for now, regardless of how she felt, she would work her agenda.

“I’ll just change out of my dress and drive you to the funeral home, where you left your car.” Abby used her most cheerful voice. Despite her tone, the smile evaporated from Philippe’s face.

“Must we?”

“I think we must.”





Sugar’s Favorite Doggy Treats