Death By A HoneyBee (27 page)

  
“Because you followed me.”
 
As I started past O’nan, he blocked my way and pressed against me.
 
I felt his chest heavy against my breasts.
 
Trying to free myself from his touch, I managed only to back up further in the dark hallway.
 
“Stand away,” I managed to say firmly.
 
“I’m warning you.”
 
My heart was thumping hard against my rib cage.

     
O’nan kept inching towards me. I backed up only to find myself trapped in a dead-end hallway. I fumbled for a light switch with no luck.
  
Now both of us were in the shadows.
 

     
O’nan pushed me against the wall, his hands fumbling at my dress buttons.
 
Slapping his hands away caused O’nan to smile at my heightening distress.
 
“I was surprised when you didn’t remember me, Professor Reynolds, but then why would you?
 
My friends and I were nothing to you.
 
You didn’t care that you might ruin our lives.
 
I lost my scholarship and my chance at pro ball because of you.”
     

    
“You made the decision to cheat.
 
You got what your deserved.”

 
   
He pressed his cheek against mine whispering into my ear.
 
“You have never cheated?
 
Aw come on – never?
 
Never on your taxes . . . never fudged on an application form?
 
Never took a pen that didn’t belong to you?
 
Never cheated on your husband?”
 
O’nan ran his tongue down my cheek.

     
“Oh,” I cried.
 
“Stop.”

 
   
He nibbled my ear.
 
I could feel his arousal through his clothes.
 

 
   
“I’ll scream.”

    
O’nan laughed.
 
“I’m betting on it.”

 
   
My eyes flew open.
 
He was making no attempt to contain my hands.
 
This was a trap, an attempt for me to hit him so he could charge me with assault.
 

     
There would be no marks on me, but he would have some.
 
It would be my word against his version of what had occurred – great copy for the newspapers.
 

     
“I know your game,” I said turning my lips towards his. “You’re trying to get me to slap you.
 
What were you going to say – that I slugged you coming out of the bathroom?
  
That I took a poke at you?
 
Nobody would believe the story that I was protecting myself from being molested.
 
I mean – it sounds ludicrous.
 
I look like a run-down clock. Why would a young buck try to accost an old bag like me?
 
Well, baby, I’ve got news for you.
 
It has been a long time since a man touched me – so you go right ahead.
  
Do your worst.
 
I won’t hit you.
 
I won’t even scream.”
  
I reached down and fumbled with his belt.
                                                           

    
O’nan pushed himself away from me.
 
“You’re crazy!”

  
  
“What I am is smart.
 
I was smarter than you when I was your professor and I’m smarter than you now.
 
Only a doofus would come up with such a ridiculous plan.
 
I didn’t ruin your life, buddy boy; you did that all by yourself.
 
Quit blaming me.
 
How you ever made detective is beyond me.
 
So if you are not going to screw me, then get out of my way.”

 
   
“You’re scared of me.
 
You’re trembling.”

 
   
“More like shuddering. Your stupidity frightens me.”

 
    
“I know you killed Richard Pidgeon, and I’m going to prove it.”
 
                                          

    
“Haven’t you heard that the case is closed?
 
Even if the case were still open, you have been dismissed.
 
You’ll never get close to Richard’s case again.”

 
    
“We’ll see about that.”

  
  
“This from a man who can’t even tell an El Greco from a Dali,” I sneered, surging past O’nan.
 
Please don’t have an asthma attack now,
I said to myself as I walked towards the staircase.
 
I could feel O’nan’s eyes scrutinizing me, wishing me to stumble, perhaps falling down and breaking my neck.
 
I would never give that idiot the satisfaction.
 

    
Re-entering the sanctuary, I saw Irene walking towards me.
 
“I was getting concerned,” she said, peering over her glasses.
 
“Thought maybe something was wrong.”
 
She studied me.
 
“You look awfully pale, Josiah.”

    
I didn’t reply.

    
“Everyone is going home.
 
How about we go for a drink?”

    
“Yeah, that sounds good.
 
I’ll follow you in my van,” I replied.
 
My skin felt clammy and my knees were weak.
 
What I needed was Dutch courage before I faced my isolated house on the palisades.
 
I hated funerals and made up my mind not to attend any more – including my own.

21

     
Working bees is sheer toil.
 
They do not take kindly to someone opening their hives to steal the product of their hard work of collecting nectar.
 
It takes the nectar from two million flowers just to make one pound of honey – so you can see their point of view concerning the honey harvesting issue.
 
But if they are handled gently with lots of smoke, the collateral damage can be small – on both sides.
 
I was on an exploratory expedition searching for disease or anything in the hives that was funky, trying to get them ready for winter.

    
I pressed my knee against the back of the hive. If the hive remained stable, then it had enough honey for the winter.
 
If the hive tilted forward, the bees would have to be fed.

    
It was almost dusk when I came to the hive that Richard’s head had been stuffed into like a fat sardine.
 
I checked it carefully as the bees were still skittish.
 
They had never sufficiently recovered from the stress and damage of that day.
 
I went to get a portable nuc, placing the frames with bees from the main hive into the smaller box.
 
A nuc is a miniature hive. I poured a line of honey on each frame to distract the bees.
 
After cramming the nuc with the Queen and thirty thousand worker bees, I put the top on.
 

    
I checked the empty hive body for stragglers.
 
Satisfied, I placed the nuc and the old hive into the van and proceeded to the trash-burning area.
 
I positioned the van close to the burn pile.
 
After placing the empty hive boxes on the pile, I got the nuc out, placing it on the van hood so the bees could see out.
 
I lit the old hive boxes on fire, while the bees and I watched the bad juju burn away.
 
I patted the nuc.
 
“Don’t worry.
 
I’ve got a great new place for you tomorrow morning. ”

   
The humming of the bees swelled and then lulled into a nice cooing.
 

  
After banking the dying fire, I placed the nuc of bees back in the van.
 
Tomorrow, I would take them to their new home in Madison County, where I had another beeyard on a friend’s farm.
 
Since the blue moon was bright, I went back to where the compromised hive had been.
 
Carefully, I poured salt on the ground, chanting a medieval prayer for bees.
 
Then, using a large branch, I raked the salt into the soil.
 
My smoker was still lit so I smudged the entire area.
 
Satisfied that the yard had been cleansed of all bad energy, I lay in the tall grass listening to the night sounds and fell asleep studying the celestial canopy.
 

  
Awaking several hours later, wet with dew and stiff with the night cold eating at my arthritic bones, I pulled my rigid limbs up from the ground and limped towards home following the pools of moonlight scattered on the gravel road.
  
Not wanting to get the bees rattled again, I hadn’t started the van.
 
I didn’t mind the half-mile trek to the house, but wished I had my walking stick.
 
About two hundred feet ahead, a coyote ran out on to the road, stopping to inspect me.
 
Friend or foe?
 
Either I was too big to take down or getting a whiff of my human smell, she decided in favor of caution and disappeared into the bushes. But it wasn’t me that the coyote was cautious of – it was something else.

  
  
I was quiet like the coyote, which is why Nancy and Taffy didn’t hear me behind them.
 
My heart gave a start when I saw two human forms sneaking down the road.
 
I hunkered on the wet ground until they turned a corner, and then followed behind trying to hear their conversation.
 
Excitedly, they whispered to each other as they tiptoed around trees that lined the gravel driveway.
 
It had probably been the sound of their car that had awakened me.
 
In Nancy’s hand, I spied what appeared to be a gas can.
  
Those lunatics!

    
I was sick of their psycho behavior and mystified as to what good they thought their hostile actions would do them.
 
I knew that I couldn’t handle them by myself.
 
I didn’t know if Matt was in the cabana or not.
 
I had fallen asleep before he got home.
 
He could just as well be having a night out with Franklin.

   
I was on my own.
 
Pulling out my cell phone, I began to call the police but decided against it.
 
Fury welled up within me.
 
I was mad as hell and wasn’t going to take it anymore.
 
Calculating the risks of revenge coming back to bite me in the butt, I surmised that it could be low.
 
It was time to inflict some grief of my own.
 

  
Brannon was right.
 
I could be quite nasty when I wanted to be.
 
Their car had to be parked at the front gate.
 
I faded into the shadows, backtracking to the entrance of my property.
 
Puffing, I made it to the gate.
 
Thank goodness I had my albuterol spray with me.

  
Sitting pretty for me was Nancy’s car.
 
I didn’t even think about what I was doing.
 
It was like I was on automatic pilot.
 
I slowly climbed the gate as the keypad was on the other side.
 

  
Pulling out my cell phone, I called the police telling them there were intruders trying to get into my home and it looked like they had weapons.
 
They had to come quick.
 
The dispatcher was still talking to me when I shut the phone.
 
Unzipping my beesuit, I tore off a piece of my T- shirt, stuffing it in the gas tank.
 
Teeth chattering, I lit the shirt with my Zippo lighter.
 
I felt the adrenaline coursing through me as I entered the gate code.
 
As soon as the gate opened a little, I was through it as if the devil himself was after me.
 
I ran to the field where my van was stationed, nicely hidden by a stand of apple trees.