Death By A HoneyBee (22 page)

   
“Matt, make sure no horses are around the car,” I cried, searching the dark for a house or lighted barn.
 
I didn’t need to worry, as the mares and their foals had rushed to the other side of the pasture.
 
But their screaming and neighing was disturbing and only added confusion to the situation.
 
A light flickered on in a house at the edge of the field.
 

  
Within twenty minutes, a fire truck, three police cars, an ambulance, and a very angry landowner’s jeep surrounded my now smoldering Mercedes.
 
I was getting lots of unwanted attention from policemen who were asking me to walk a straight line and to breathe into a tube.
 
Anxious to keep Matt

out of harm’s way, I said I had been driving the car, as he was not listed on the insurance.
 
When the police were finished with me, I sat in the back of the ambulance wrapped in a blanket, watching several half-dressed Mexicans herd the excited horses into another field.
 

  
The owner of the property was stomping before me, cussing a blue streak, which did not help the situation at all.
 
I disliked being the verbal victim of an overly-Botoxed, big-boobed trophy wife who had probably never purchased a real piece of art in her life.
 
She looked like the type who had a print of dogs playing poker in her study.
 
I waited while she made threats of lawsuits and court proceedings until I asked the lady if she had good farm insurance.
 
I pointed out that I was hurt on her land as the result of a crime.
 
Lawsuits can work both ways, I reminded her.
 
Exasperated, she walked off in a huff, stepping in some horse manure, ruining her pretty house slippers.
 
The paramedic, tending my cuts, chuckled.
  

   
The police finally acknowledged that we were not staggering drunk and took our statements independently.
 
The car was towed off for the insurance adjuster.
 
I was sure it would be totaled and the insurance company would issue a check for a pittance.
 
I couldn’t afford a new car, let alone another Mercedes.
 
Another piece of my past life had just slipped away.
 

  
Muscles sore, costumes dirty and tattered, Matt and I were driven home by the police.
 
We staggered into the house around four a.m.
 
I made us both a drink.
 
Rubbing my neck, I was grateful that I had a neck brace tucked in my bathroom closet.
 
I was going to put it on before I went to bed.
 

   
“What a screwed-up night,” commented Matt.

   
“My sentiments exactly.”

   
“Someone was trying to kill us.”
    

   
“It would seem so.”

   
“Perhaps they will find the other car’s paint on your Mercedes.”

   
“Or I could track down Taffy’s new hybrid and see if there are any scratch marks on it.”

   
“Stay away from that loony.
 
She’s not all there.
 
I’m sure she’s the one who tried to kill us.
 
Who else would even know we were on that particular road?”
 
He cupped his head in his hands.
 
“I just can’t believe it.”

   
“As you said before, we have a theory but no proof.”
     

   
Matt moaned.
 
“Ahh, the glasses.”

   
For the first time in hours, I smiled.
 
Holding up my purse, I dumped its contents on to the kitchen island.
 
Large shards of glass fell onto the teak wood countertop.
 

   
“We may have more than a theory.
 
I put the glasses in my purse.
 
It’s what saved them.”

   
Matt picked up the shards with a paper towel, placing them in a new large bag.
 
“Someone knows that you are still looking into Richard’s death and is trying to stop you.”

   
“That’s why I don’t want you to come around anymore, Matt.
 
This thing is getting too close to you.”

   
“But I live here.
 
I am just getting the cabana where it is livable for winter.”

   
“You need to stay in town – until this blows over.”

   
Matt looked astonished.
 
“Don’t do this.”
   

   
“You said yourself earlier tonight – you are just starting a new career.
 
You have your whole life ahead of you.
 
I don’t want to tarnish your future with my problems.”

   
“So I’m supposed to run at the first sign of trouble.
 
I was in that car too. You don’t think much of me, do you?”

 
  
“It is not that . . . it’s that I want to protect you.”

   
“I don’t need your protection.
 
I’m a grown man.
 
It seems that you’re the one needing protection.”

   
“I’m older than you . . .”

   
“But you’re not smarter than me nor wiser.
 
If I turned my back now, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.
 
I’m seeing this through.”

   
I shook my head.
 
“I don’t want you here.
 
You’re just in the way.”

   
“Shut up, Josiah.
 
You’re really pissing me off.
 
I need you to shut your mouth up now.”
 
Matt picked up his drink and went into my bedroom, where Franklin was probably awake listening.
 
He closed the door silently.
  
     

   
I went to sleep in the guest bedroom.
 
For some reason, I couldn’t cry.
 

18

     
The next morning, I found a sullen Matt munching on cornflakes in the kitchen.
 
Neither of us spoke as I made tea.
 
I busied myself with reading yesterday’s newspaper while each of us slurped, slurped, crunched, crunched in our fashion until Franklin, in a dazzling white shirt accented by a green bow tie with purple polka dots, swept into the kitchen.

     
Baby happily padded after him.
 
Upon seeing me, he came over to be petted, trying to climb into my lap.
 
I rubbed his floppy ears while he buried his soft muzzle in my crotch.
   

     
Franklin threw his arms around me in a dramatic gesture, saying, “Matt may be a boy to you, but last night he showed me what it means to be a man.”

    
“Ooooh nasty, too much information,” I said laughing as Matt flung some soggy cornflakes at Franklin’s head.

  
  
“Okay, kiddies, kiss and make up.
 
I am sure last night’s fight was fueled by fear, the specter of death, and an abundance of alcohol,” coaxed Franklin.
 
“Come on.
 
Come on.
 
Today’s a new day.
 
Matt, you’ll need to handle the car insurance and police people, acting as Josiah’s attorney.
 

Please don’t bill her as she lets you live here rent free in her tacky little caretaker’s shack.”
 
Franklin squeezed my arm.
 
“I don’t think you know this, dear, but Matt gave up his apartment in Lexington to be with you.
 
You simply cannot throw him out now.
 
Besides Josiah, darling, you are going with me this morning.
 
We’ve a car to check out.”

    
“Well, I’ve got my marching orders,” said Matt, sliding off the barstool.
 
He put his hand on my shoulder.
 
I patted it affectionately.
 
Neither of us spoke.
  

    
Franklin looked at us sympathetically.
 
“It is a real shame that the two of you can’t really hook up, but then . . . c’est la vie.
 
Let’s get crackin’.”

    
Following me into my bedroom, Franklin rummaged through my closet, picking out the day’s outfit.
 
“I am tired of seeing you look like Marjorie Main.”
 
He threw a dress at me when I came out of the shower.
 
“Here’s something that doesn’t look like a feed sack.”

 
   
Ignoring the dress, I put on jeans, boots and a thin sweater.
 
I brushed my hair and put it up with a clip.
 
“Let’s go,” I said, walking out of the room.
 

    
“Middle-aged women should not wear jeans.
 
It makes their already big butts look humongous,” said Franklin, scrambling after me.
 
We went in Franklin’s Smart Car.
 
Of course, Franklin loved his car and would not hear of any criticism.
 
When not hanging on to the passenger strap for dear life, I checked out Franklin’s music.

    
“Really, Franklin. ABBA?” I said with scorn.
 

    
He grabbed the CD out of my hand.
 
“Everyone has a guilty pleasure, Miss Good Taste dressing like a charwoman.”

    
“Okay, okay,” I said as I continued to browse through his CD box.
 
“Genevieve Waite’s
Romance Is On The Rise
1974.” I looked at him in amazement.
 
“You know who Genevieve Waite is?”
      

    
“Of course, doesn’t everyone?”

    
“My hat is off to you, Franklin.
 
Here I thought you were just a vacuous pretty boy for Matt.
 
It seems like you have depth after all.”

    
He smirked.
 
“As if I’m pretty.”
 
He glanced in the rear view mirror.
 
“Think so?”
  

   
“Do you think I’m pretty, Franklin?”

   
“Oh, God no.”

   
“Then I don’t think you’re pretty either.”
  

   
We both laughed as we raced the back roads. On the way, I called Officer Kelly on my cell phone and told him of last night’s incident.
 
He said he would look into it for me.
 
I also told him about Nancy Wasser, asking him if he could check on her for me.
 
He replied he would do what he could.
 

   
Then I called Shaneika, catching her for once and told her about last night’s adventure.
 
She had a friend in the city’s Vehicle and Boat Tax Division.
 
She promised to call me back when she found out some information. When I asked her how this information could be gotten on a Sunday, Shaneika told me to mind my own business.
 
I wondered if she could work the internet or had someone on the inside.
 
Regardless, fifteen minutes later, she called back with both Taffy’s and Nancy’s VIN and license plate numbers complete with model, year and make.