Love Charms (16 page)

“Use
this.” He put the scoop down onto the counter and turned back to putting coffee
cups into stacks. She winced as she stood, her bottom tingling from sitting on
the floor so long in the same position, and retrieved the strange looking
contraption.

“Thanks.”
Annie tried to catch his eye, but he just nodded. He hummed as he worked, but
he didn’t look at her. The box was square, and the handle of the scoop was
hollow, she saw, so the beans would fall into the wooden container.
But how
will it help me to sort them?

“Cocoa
beans are heavier than coffee beans.” Joss’s voice startled her as she sat back
down in front of the impossible, never-ending pile of legumes. “Try it and
see.”

She
used her hand to push a large hill of beans onto the scoop and tipped it up.
There was a gentle sound, almost like rain, as the beans funneled down through
the hollow handle and into the wooden container in her hand. Glancing back at
Joss, she questioned him with her eyes, and he smiled.

“Now,
open the bottom, one side at a time.” He waved her toward the bags. Annie saw
that there were two sliding doors at the base of the box, one on each side.
Tilting the box flat so nothing would spill out, she carefully edged open one
of the wooden doors and glimpsed a heap of dark-colored beans. There wasn’t a
light-colored one to be found among them! Excited, she closed that door and
slid open the other to find all of the light-colored beans sorted into the
other side.

“Th—”
The words of gratitude were on her lips, but Joss was nowhere to be found.
Annie shook her head, smiling, and opened one side of the box over the correct
bag, and then the other, spilling sorted beans in. She hummed to herself as she
continued to scoop and pour, the pile diminishing more quickly this time.

She
didn’t know how long it was before she looked up again, but the light had
shifted across the floor, and most of the beans were back into the bags. She
had placed the amazing sorting contraption back on the counter, and was picking
up the last few strays by hand. It was the sound of Dita’s heels on the tile
that brought her out of her trance.

Dita’s
voice came from behind her and Annie glanced over her shoulder. “Goodness! Look
at you! What an effort!”

“I’m
really sorry,” Annie told her, unfolding her legs and wincing.

Annie
swept the rest of the beans into separate bags as quickly as she could. Dita
made no effort to help, but rather sat in the chair and watched. Annie knew
that without Joss’s help, she never would have gotten through the monumental
task. She placed both bags back on the table, making sure they were stable, at
least for the moment.

“Virgil,”
Dita said, as if it meant something to Annie.

“Excuse
me?”

“Virgil
Yadira,” she expounded. “I can give you his address. Eric stays there, I
believe, most of the time. At least, he was the last time I heard from him.”

Relief
flooded Annie’s chest. “Oh, thank you. I really need to speak to him. Thank you
so much.”

Dita
unfolded her small bag and took out a white business-sized card and a pen. She
wrote something on the back. “Here, my address is on the front.”

Dita
held the card fast when Annie reached for it, waiting until their eyes met.
“Virgil keeps bees.”

Annie’s
mouth opened but nothing came out. Finally, she just nodded. Dita released the
card and Annie looked at the address. It was in the city.

“He
keeps them on the roof of their apartment complex. If you wouldn’t mind, could
you ask him for a jar of honey?”

“A
jar of honey?” Annie repeated, wrinkling her nose.

Now
both Dita’s mouth and her eyes were smiling at the same time. “Yes, just ask
for Dita’s special honey. He’ll know.”

Annie
nodded, putting a hand to her forehead. “Sure.”

Dita
smiled again as she stood, and for the first time Annie looked at her fully.
She was wearing a beautifully patterned sarong wrapped around her waist, a thin
band of material over her breasts, covered with a sheer silvery top with
flowing sleeves and edges. Her body moved like music as she swept the large
bags of beans up in her arms and walked toward the back of the café.

Over
her shoulder, Dita sang, “Thank you, dear. Good luck!”

Annie
watched her go, fingering the thick card. She glanced at her watch and stared
in disbelief. It was after noon! She had missed three clients already! She
rushed to her car, digging her cell phone out as she fumbled with her keys. She
was so distracted by the time that it didn’t occur to her until later that
Dita’s airy sendoff was a strange thing for her to say.

Chapter
Four

“Come...look!”

Afraid
of heights, Annie refused to walk over to the edge where Virgil was trying to
show her the view. He gave up, coming to stand beside her. Crossing his
enormous arms over his chest, he nodded, surveying the rooftop with a smile.
His
own personal Bee-Kingdom?
She shook her head and sighed.

“So
where is this honey?” Annie queried, straining her neck to look up at him. She
shaded her eyes against the warm May sun glaring off his bald, dark head.
According to Virgil, Eric hadn’t been here in a month and now she wanted to get
out of here as soon as she could. Perhaps if she returned the jar of honey to
his mother, Dita could give her another clue as to her son’s actual
whereabouts.

“The
honey is still in the combs. I haven’t harvested this year,” he explained,
pointing to the large white boxes lining the roof.
There have to be at least
fifty of them.
As a city dweller, she had never seen a beehive before and
hadn’t given much thought to bees except at picnics.

“How...how
many bees are in each, uh...?”

“Hive?”
Virgil smiled down at her, his teeth a gleaming contrast to his dark skin. “In
the peak of summer, there are probably thirty-five thousand, but it’s early
yet. I’d say probably ten thousand.”

Annie
did the math. She was standing on a roof in the midst of half a million bees.

“Okay,
well,” she said, taking a step back. “Let’s just get this jar of Dita’s special
honey, and I’ll be on my way.”

“There’s
no reason to be afraid,” he assured her, his voice a soothing timbre. “These
bees aren’t aggressive. Unless you’re allergic?”

“I’ve
never been stung.” She took another cautious step, backing away from the large
white boxes. “I suppose I could be. Just how do they survive up here in the
winter?”

“They
stay inside and wait for spring.” He nodded toward the closest hive. “They have
been active lately, since the weather has really started to warm.”

Annie
bent to look more closely at the hive nearest to them. There were a few bees
buzzing around the outside, and some crawling on the surface. She frowned,
tucking her hair behind her ear as she stood. “There are really ten thousand
bees in each of these things?”

“Yes.”
He moved around her. “Let me show you.”

“No!”

“You
don’t need to be afraid.” His smile was an invitation. “You just need to be
smart and careful. These bees won’t sting you. Trust me.”

Annie
swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Virgil
moved toward one of the hives, his words flowing like poetry. “You should
always approach a hive slowly, with your arms out in front of you. Bees will be
frightened by sudden movement. Everything should be slow, fluid. Think of how
honey drips. That is how you move.”

“Shouldn’t
we have some protection?”

Virgil
chuckled, the sound seeming to vibrate in his chest. Annie was surprised the
bees didn’t feel it. “Some beekeepers do. I don’t. You, however, should put on
a pair of those goggles over there.”

He
nodded toward a pair of swimmer’s goggles hanging on a nail. Annie situated a
pair on her face, feeling silly. The world took on a plastic haze.

Virgil
stood fixed before one of the boxes, taking deep breaths through his nose. When
he spoke to her, he only turned his head. “I am going to open the hive and show
you one of the supers—that’s these things that look like trays. The top
ones will have just a few bees and be mostly honey. Go a few rows down, and we
will find all our bees.”

Annie
gulped, feeling faint. “Okay.”

He
smiled that welcoming smile again. “You can come look. But never breathe right
onto the bees. They will take off and may sting if you do.”

Virgil
pulled one of the middle trays from the hive. His movements were slow, easy,
and practiced.
Supers! I don’t know what’s so super about them!
Annie
watched, amazed. A low drone she had just assumed was the buzz of the electric
wires on the roof grew louder. It was the bees humming!

He
was graceful, his movements as smooth and lithe as any ballet dancer. The sun
was bright and shone onto the golden combs as he tilted the tray up. Annie
gasped. There were hundreds of bees working in the waxy substance, the tray
dripping honey in slow drops at Virgil’s feet. Curious, she leaned in,
remembering what he had said about breath, keeping hers confined to her nose.
Virgil, turning his head away from the hive as he spoke, whispered, “Taste.”

Annie
moved her hand in slow motion, watching as bees crawled over the frame, over
Virgil’s big, dark fingers, a few buzzing upward and settling on his arm. Annie
touched her finger to a wet part of the comb and just as slowly brought it back
to her mouth. It was the sweetest substance that had ever touched her tongue,
and she looked up at Virgil in wonder, moving just her eyes to meet his. He
smiled.

Lost
in the moment, Annie finally noticed a bee sitting on her arm. She froze. Her
first instinct was to blow at it, or shake it off, or worse, run!

“Be
still. Wait.”

She
followed his instructions, holding her breath as she felt the bee’s crooked
legs, so soft they tickled, working their way toward her elbow. Then there was
a little buzz and the bee took flight, heading back to the comb.

Virgil
replaced the tray with the same deft care he’d used to remove it. Annie’s heart
was pounding and her ears were ringing. She felt charged, exhilarated, like she
did after waking up from dreams of flying.

“Wow,”
she breathed, her eyes shining up at him.

“Food
of the gods,” he said with a wink.

Annie
grinned back at him. “I’ll say!”

“I
find beekeeping to be quite a meditation,” he remarked. “You have to move
slowly up here.” He pointed at the floor. “Unlike down there.”

Annie
nodded in understanding. “Thank you for showing me.”

Virgil
shrugged, changing the subject. “Well, about Dita’s honey. We’ll have to go
into the greenhouse.”

“In
there?” Annie pointed to the small glass building at the other end of the roof.

He
nodded and then motioned for her to follow him.

“So,
Virgil, how did you get permission to do all of this?”

Virgil
walked and Annie mimicked his fluid steps. “I own the building.”

Annie
stared at him as they stopped outside the door, bemused. “You do?”

He
ignored her question. “The bees in here are different.” His smile was gone.
“These are a strain of bees derived from African honeybees. Have you heard of
them?”

Her
eyes widened, remembering some news story she once saw. “Aren’t those killer
bees?”

“Yes,”
Virgil nodded. “They are not so named because one sting can kill you, but
because they are much more aggressive than their European cousins out here.”

Annie
peered into the greenhouse and could see bees buzzing about. “How much more
aggressive?”

Virgil
shrugged. “They can sense a threat fifty feet or more from a nest. They respond
quickly. They sting in large numbers, and they will pursue a perceived enemy
for a quarter mile or more.”

Annie’s
hand went to her throat as she looked up at him.

“These
are actually assassin bees,” he continued. “They have killed off another hive
in order to take over this one. I harvested them from the wild. It is believed
the nastiest bees actually make the sweetest honey.”

Annie
frowned. “Is that true?”

“Partially
true.” His eyes moved over her face. “They are harder workers and produce more,
but honey is like wine. It picks up the flavors of the nectars in the local
environment, so its sweetness depends on the flowers.”

Annie
shaded her eyes again, looking into the greenhouse. “Is that what makes this
honey special?”

“Yes.”
Virgil nodded. “Honey was once called the soul of flowers. This honey is the
soul of the passionflower. They are highly fragrant, and their nectar is very
potent. It makes honey that tastes...well, you’ll see.”

Annie
breathed in the smell of the flowers as they entered. “Isn’t keeping killer
bees illegal?”

“Not
yet. Just walk behind me.”

It
was like walking into Eden. The scent permeated everything. There were flowers
blooming, crawling on vines toward the ceiling, like exotic, fragrant
sunbursts. It was warm and humid inside.

“The
bees have free reign in here, all year round,” he explained. “Step carefully.”

She
followed, trying to tuck herself behind his large, muscled frame as he walked,
as if then the bees wouldn’t notice her.

Virgil
led her toward the other end of the greenhouse. “Bees eat honey. The goal of
beekeeping is to harvest honey while still leaving the bees enough to survive.
One of the reasons African strains developed was because bees adapted to people
cleaning their hives out entirely. It’s called bee-robbing. Now all African
strains seem to believe they are going to be robbed.”

Annie
nearly ran into him as he stopped. She considered his words, thinking of some
of her clients’ ingrained behaviors. “I can see how that could happen.”

Virgil
moved to pick up a box-shaped hood that looked like it would fit over one of
the hives that lined the end of the greenhouse. Annie counted ten of them and
did the math. One hundred thousand assassin killer bees.

“What
is that?” Annie asked, watching him turn the hood over and apply liquid to the
inside top.

“It’s
a fume board.” Virgil put the cover over one of the hives and then glanced at
his watch.

“These
bees are so aggressive, we have to outsmart them. Instead of taking the supers
out, like we did outside, we drive them deeper into their colony so we can
safely remove the upper trays full of honey.”

In
spite of her fear, Annie couldn’t help her curiosity. “What’s that stuff you
put on it?”

“Benzaldehyde.”

She
laughed. “God bless you!”

He
smiled back. “It’s just oil of almonds. Bees hate the stuff.”

“Huh!”
She peered at the next closest hive. To her untrained eye, they looked just
like the bees outside. “Now what?”

He
shrugged. “We wait.”

Annie
was aware of the gentle hum of the bees around her flitting from flower to
flower. She wondered with a shiver what it would be like to die from a hundred
thousand bee stings. She had a strange impulse as she watched the bees crawling
over the hives to knock them all over, just to see what would happen.

She
hugged her arms over her chest, turning toward the wall to look at some of the
flowers climbing a vine toward the ceiling. She had never seen a passionflower
before. They were exotic and strange, and they reminded her of sea urchins. She
touched an orange and yellow one, leaning in to breathe in the scent. It was
divine and dispelled any unpleasant thoughts of bee-tipping.

She
noticed that Virgil was watching her. She smiled at him. “So when did you see
Eric last, again?”

He
cleared his throat before speaking. “As I said, about a month ago. But that’s
not unusual. He paid his rent in one lump sum for the year, and he comes and
goes. For all I know, he could show up tomorrow.”

Annie
cocked her head at him. “He doesn’t tell you where he’s going? Leave you any
number?”

He
shook his head, looking puzzled. “None of my tenants do.”

“Oh!”
Annie knitted her brow. “He isn’t your roommate?”

“No.”
Virgil laughed. “Eric has his own apartment in the building. I do believe he
has a roommate, but I don’t see either of them much. Those guys keep odd
hours.”

Annie
tried to remember exactly what Dita had said. “Oh. I thought—”

“We
should be about ready,” he said, turning toward the hive. “I’d really like to
veil you, just in case, if you don’t mind.”

Annie
felt like a blushing bride as he slipped the hooded gauze over her head and his
fingers lingered over her as he adjusted it. She watched through the film as
Virgil turned and removed the fume board. He pulled off the top super and
replaced the hooded fume board over the hive.

“There
it is.” He sounded satisfied. “Hand me that knife.”

Annie
handed him a large, sharp, serrated knife from the table next to her as she
leaned closer to study the comb, noticing each little hole was covered with
wax. Virgil began removing those caps with his knife.

“A
lot of beekeepers will smoke the bees, to make them more lethargic, but it
affects the flavor of the honey.”

Annie
looked up at him. “Now what?”

“Now
we spin the honey out.” Virgil slipped the comb into what looked like a large
pot. He put a lid with a crank on top. “Turn it.”

Annie
did, once. Virgil laughed. “Keep going!”