A Beeline to Murder

Sugar met them at the driveway gate. “Down. Get down,” Abby said, kneeling to stroke the dog’s head and nose. Sugar licked her face, giving her multiple doggy kisses. “I know you’re glad to see me. I’m glad to see you, too . . . and so glad to be home.” Sugar ran from Abby to jump up on Philippe, pawing at his waist.

“No, no,” Abby commanded, but Philippe seemed not to mind Sugar’s excitement at being reunited. As they walked to the back of the house, Abby said, “She won’t let me out of her sight, Philippe. Will you play with her while I make us some mint tea? We can relax for a bit, and then I’ll make dinner. Okay with you?”

“Ah, oui. That sounds good, Abby.”

Abby smiled and walked inside the kitchen. It felt just like the old days, when Clay was around and the two of them moved in an easy rhythm of work and winding down. She kicked off her shoes but just as quickly picked them up for fear that Sugar would chew on them the moment she spotted them. Abby walked down the hallway and tossed the shoes in the bedroom closet, then closed the door securely. Back in the kitchen, she gave Sugar a rawhide bone to take outside.

After dropping ice cubes into two tall glasses, Abby turned on a burner, added water to a saucepan, and put it on to simmer. She strolled back outside and headed in the direction of the mint patch, where she plucked a handful of fresh green leaves. Back in the kitchen she paused to sniff the sweet scent of the summer mint before dousing it with cold water and then tossing it into the saucepan. After the mint had simmered long enough for the water to extract the flavor from it, Abby poured the tea over the ice cubes in the glasses, then sweetened each with honey. She cut up some honey cake into bite-size pieces and put everything on a tray, which she carried out to the patio.

As soon as Abby appeared with the tea and cake, Sugar trotted over, tail wagging. After handing a glass to Philippe, Abby sank into the old rocking chair. Philippe adjusted the cushion of the other chair, took a piece of the honey cake, and sat down beside her.

He put a bit of cake in his mouth. “Mmm,” he said. He reached for Abby’s hand.

She rocked slowly, secretly feeling delight at the warmth of Philippe’s hand around hers. He didn’t speak. Like her, he seemed to be soaking up the peacefulness of the early evening. She gazed at the eucalyptus trees next to the old house on the back acre. Branches swayed as the blue-green leaves rustled in the wind, which had begun to kick up, as it usually did around sunset. If the wind continued its summer pattern, the breezes would blow for a while. The mourning doves had descended from the olive tree to feed from the giant pottery saucer of birdseed that Abby kept filled near the back fence. A lone scrub jay screeched as it chased a flock of smaller birds from the firethorn bush sprawling between the two properties.

As the muscles in her body began to lose tension, Abby felt contentment take hold of her spirit. The rhythms of nature comforted her. All was right again on the farmette. More than right . . . Philippe was here to share the wild beauty of this place.

They sat in silence, the rocker quietly clicking on the stone surface of the patio. The sounds of the ice cubes groaning and plopping as they melted and moved to the bottom of the empty glasses reminded Abby that every day should end in such sublime sweetness. Torn between wanting to preserve the moment and knowing she should be getting up to make dinner, Abby looked over at Philippe. He was resting his head on the back of the chair, eyes closed. Abby heard a faint buzzing to the left of the patio, off near the bee apiary. The sound stirred Sugar off her haunches and into a state of alertness.

Philippe opened his eyes. He sat upright and turned toward the sound. After a moment, he pointed toward the wooden fence that partially cordoned off the apiary from the rest of the farmette. “There.”

Abby followed the line of his finger. She spotted a tiny swarm, no larger than a child’s fist, coalescing beneath the birdhouse she’d hung on the fence. “Well, bees, thank you for waiting,” Abby said, rising from the chair.