Death By A HoneyBee (10 page)

    
“Mornin’, Miss Josiah,” she said.

    
“Hello Taffy,” I replied, aware that the other farmers were watching from the corners of their eyes.
 
“My condolences for the loss of your father.”

    
“Miss Josiah, I won’t play the grieving daughter if you won’t play the concerned friend.”

    
“Okay.”
      

    
“We both know Daddy was a big turd,” she continued, inhaling deeply.
 
“I feel like I can breathe for the first time.
 
You did us a favor.”

    
“I didn’t do anything, either for you or to your father.”

    
Taffy pouted.
 
Like Detective O’nan, she didn’t like being corrected.
 
But then – who did?
 
“Whatever.
 
I just came by to say no hard feelings.”

 
    
I decided to change the subject.
 
“What are you and your mother going to do now?”

 
   
“Well, Mommy is still stunned.
 
She doesn’t know what to do without Daddy barking orders at her at all hours.
 
She’ll snap out of it as soon as she gets the insurance check.”

 
    
“It is lucky that your father had such a large policy,” I said trying to find out how much.

 
    
“How do you know how much it’s for?” Taffy quizzed while readjusting her purse strap on her shoulder.
 
Her heavily made-up brown eyes narrowed.

 
    
I shrugged.
 
“People talk.
 
Say it’s for a million.”

     
Taffy guffawed.
 
“I wish.”
 
She pulled her badly dyed blond hair into a scrunchy.

     
“I know money can never replace a loved one, but it can soften the blows that come after.”

     
Taffy smiled.
 
I hoped that she would spend some of that money on dental repair.
 
“I’ll tell Mommy about your concerns.”
 
She checked the time on her cell phone.
 
“Gotta go.
 
You take care now, Miss Josiah.”

 
    
“Will do,” I said.
 
I watched her leave in a new Prius.
 
So Taffy was already spending the money before her mother got the check.
  
I would have to find out more about Richard Pidgeon’s life insurance policy.

10

   
It was a day for relentless surprises.
 
Arriving home from the Market, I came upon three cop cars waiting at my newly installed gate.
 
I called Shaneika immediately on my cell phone.
 
She was incommunicado so I left a message.
 
Ignoring O’nan as he tapped on my van window, I called Matt as well. O’nan, red-faced, was yelling at me to lower my window and waving a piece of paper in his hand.
 

   
I cranked the van window open.
 
“What’s this all about?” I asked.
 

   
Detective O’nan shoved the paper into my lap.
 
“Warrant to search your house and property.”
 

   
“The bug didn’t work, so you are on another fishing trip, Detective?
 
Don’t you guys ever take a break from harassing people?
 
We are going to sit right here until I hear from my lawyer.”

  
O’nan sneered, showing very uniform teeth, the kind that only result from braces.
 
“In that case, I am placing you under arrest for resisting an officer.”

   
I was seething now.
 
“You wouldn’t dare!”
 
I glared at O’nan.
 
His blue eyes were lit up kind of crazy.
 
It was my first inkling that his behavior was more than a good cop/bad cop game with Goetz.
 
Maybe he personally disliked me, and would try to take it to the next level to see me take a hit.
 

  
Goetz was leaning against a police cruiser looking uncomfortable.
 
From his body language, I assumed the warrant was O’nan’s idea all the way down the line.
 
But I knew he would not interfere with whatever O’nan did.
 

   
It is not unheard of around here for a suspect’s head to get busted open for “resisting.”
 
For some reason, I didn’t think O’nan would have any qualms arresting . . . or even tasing me.
 
I realized I hated him . . . because I feared him.
  
                                                                                                                                      
 

   
“Okay,” I said.
 
“I always want to cooperate with the law, but I will be present and taping the entire search.”

   
O’nan started to object, but closed his mouth.
 
There was really nothing he could fuss about.
 
I was within my legal rights to tape them searching my house.
 
Climbing into the back of my rusty van, I retrieved a video camera I kept in the case of a car accident.
 
I began by giving the date and time plus all the officers’ names.
 
Turning off my camera, I punched in the code for the gate.
 
I went in first and drove slowly, not wanting the police to accidentally hit any of my animals, which for the most part ran free on the property.
  
I was also stalling for time.
  
A cruiser behind me blew its siren to move some peacocks out of its way.
 
There were deer munching on fruit from a plum tree.
 
They gave a disdainful look at the intruders before jumping over the pasture fence and escaping into the woods.
 

    
The warrant gave O’nan the right to search my house and property for Pidgeon’s missing vehicle and epinephrine pens.
 
The pens gave me a clue.
 
Every beekeeper keeps one handy in case he gets one bee sting too many and goes into anaphylactic shock.
 
Epinephrine, which is nothing more than adrenaline, will save a life.
 
It usually comes in a tube with a springboard needle that thrusts through clothes into the thigh.
 
They are called adrenaline or adi pens for short.
 
Yet, a dose of epinephrine can cause a heart attack if the heart is weak.
 
A glimmer of an idea took root in my mind.
 

    
Once we got to the house, the entourage of cops waited for me to punch in the code for the home security system.
 
I took this opportunity to warn them.
 
“Guys, you break it, you pay for it.
 
Understand.”
 

    
O’nan just grimaced.
 
I looked about for Goetz but didn’t see him.
 
I watched a cadre of young policemen with military haircuts spread out through my property.
 
Their faces revealed a childlike excitement as though they were about to hunt for Easter eggs. Deep in my heart, I worried they would plant evidence.
 

     
I keyed in the code to the house, and opened the steel front door letting the police pass into the main hallway.
 
Almost every one had the same expression – one of awe.
 
The waterfall cascading off the roof into a rock-hewn basin, the moats filled with water plants, the exposed steel frames, the wooden beams, the large expanse of glass overlooking the river, and the artwork, which had taken me a lifetime to collect, hanging on the concrete walls. One cop popped his gum and whistled in admiration.
 

    
O’nan waved his hand getting their attention.
 
He separated them into groups of two.
 
It would be hard for me to keep up with them as they were going through my things.
 
I resumed my recording.

    
O’nan sidled up to me.
 
“Mrs. Reynolds, do you have any adrenaline injections?”
  

    
“Yes, I do.
 
I also have the prescription for them.
 
I can account for each and every one of my injections.”

  
  
“I will need a copy of your prescription.”
       

    
“I can get that and more.”
 
I went to a writing pad and wrote my doctor’s number on it while hearing closet doors opening and furniture being pulled out.
 
I handed the paper to O’nan and then resumed recording.
 
The ransacking of my house went on for twenty minutes. My paintings were torn from the walls and sculptures turned upside down. Suddenly, I heard a crash in the other room.
 
Running into the library, I found a horrified cop clutching an early Stephen Powell glass piece.

    
“I am sorry.
 
It slipped. I think the neck is cracked,” said the officer, his face clouded with dismay.
 
He was truly mortified.
 
Even so he had just damaged an important piece of art.

    
Turning towards O’nan, I could barely control the anger in my voice.
 
“That is a $30,000 Stephen Powell work.
 
It is a one-of-a-kind piece of hand-blown art glass.
 
Now it’s ruined,” I protested.

   
O’nan glanced at it.
 
“Put some glue on it.
 
No one will notice.”

   
“You crazy fu . . . ” I said when my cell phone interrupted me.
 
It was Shaneika.
 
I hurriedly told her what was going on.
 
She told me to put O’nan on the phone.
 

   
“Unhuh,” he said picking lint off his pants.
 
“Unhuh.
 
Nope.
 
Okay.” O’nan handed the phone back to me.
 
“Let’s wind this up,” he called out to his minions, waving a finger in the air.
 
He then turned towards me, “You can file a report about that glass and see if the city will pay for it.
 
Just call the Department.”

   
The commotion had awakened Baby, who was now whimpering in his crate.
 
I let him out, but before I could grab him, he rushed over to O’nan.
 
Growling, he tried to protect me by placing himself between O’nan and me.
 
Unfortunately, in his excitement he piddled right in front of O’nan.
 
“Great watchdog you got there,” said O’nan, stepping back from the puddle.
 
I picked Baby up and cradled his squirming body. He smothered my face with puppy kisses while still dripping droplets of urine.

  
“Yeah, well, he knows who’s responsible for this mess.
 
Can’t you go now and leave us in peace?”
 

  
O’nan rounded up his men and was gone.
 
It had taken less than thirty minutes to destroy a $30,000 art piece and ransack my home.
 
It had made O’nan’s day, but I was sorely pissed.
 

    
Several hours later Shaneika arrived and found Matt and me in my office going through boxes of records from my years of teaching at UK.
 
Baby was happily chewing on a toy in Matt’s lap.
 
“You sure got some crazy-ass art in this weird house of yours,” remarked Shaneika.
 
“Is that a George Nakashima that you are using for a dining room table?”