Death By A HoneyBee Read Free

possibility that these bees are Africanized and attacked without provocation?”
         “You can test them if you like but   . . .” I held out my hand where several bees settled.   I poked them.   The bees merely scraped pollen into the pollen basket on their hind legs and flew off.   “They don’t seem too aggressive to me.   I think
    these are all European bees.”   It was every beekeeper’s nightmare that their pure European stock would become compromised with African DNA, making the bees a hundred times more aggressive.   Instead of being stung ten times by honeybees, a person would be stung a hundred times and be chased for one thousand feet or more.   The problem was that Africanized bees looked just like European bees.   To protect myself against possible aggression, I always wore my suit into the beeyard until I could establish that the bees were friendly.   If they were, I usually stripped down to a pair of pants, long sleeved shirt and a veil.   Other times they were cranky and I kept the suit on.
          Caleb wiped the sweat from his forehead.   “They look pretty gentle to me too, but I am going to check their DNA anyway.”
          “Fine with me,” I said. “I’ll let you go about your business then.”
          “Will call you if I find anything odd.”
          “Sounds good, Caleb.”   I watched the inspector move towards my hives.
          “Where is his car, Rennie?”   Matt used his pet name for me because I could recite Michael Rennie’s lines to the robot in The Day the Earth Stood Still.   We share a love of old movies.   It was how we met.  
          Three years ago, I was a guest at a Kentucky Derby party when I heard Matt arguing with another man about the commands to the robot.   Apparently they had a bet on it.
          “Klaatu barada nikto,” I whispered into Matt’s ear. “The robot’s name was Gort and the actress was Patricia Neal.”  
            Matt turned around with surprised eyes and said, “Well hello, Gorgeous!”
          “Barbra Streisand as Fannie Brice in Funny Girl ,” I replied.  
          “Marry me,” Matt quipped as he collected his money.   After talking into the wee hours of the night, it seemed that we both were batty about movies.   In fact, he came with me to watch Double Indemnity that night only to fall asleep in my car on the way home.   I awoke the next morning to find Matt leaning on my car drinking coffee while watching a flock of wild turkeys skirt around the house.   He really hadn’t left my side since then.   I believed his devotion has been due to my collection of four hundred and seventy-two videos and DVDs.   We watched a movie every week.   It was a standing date.
          Pushing those fond memories away, I responded to Matt’s assessment of the current situation.   “Oh,” I said, scanning the fields.   Great response, huh.
          “Something for you to study on,” Matt said, firmly snapping away. “The question of this poor slob’s transportation.”
          I snorted – but then again, Matt had recently passed his bar exam and now worked at a prestigious corporate law firm.   He helped me only during his days off, calling beekeeping his therapy from the overachievers, backstabbers and just plain scum.   He was referring to his colleagues – not his clients.                  
          “Sure.   Go ahead and take all the pictures you want.   I am going back to the house.   I have a whale of a headache,” I said while watching the police put yellow caution tape around my hives.
          “Take a breathing treatment,” he called after me.   “You’re wheezing.”   
          I put my hand on my chest.   Indeed I was.
     
     
     
     
     
    3
          A sharp knock woke me from a dream of my late husband.   It was just as well.   I surely didn’t want to waste my time with him now that he’s dead.