Death By A HoneyBee Read Free Page A

I got up from my   comfortable retro couch, groggy from a late afternoon nap.   My medicine sometimes made me sleepy.
          “Just a moment,” I called as I ambled to the steel front double door straightening my shirt.   I led a plain-clothes policeman through the welcoming shade of my bamboo and water alcove, and into the great room with its walls of gray concrete and bold abstract paintings of jarring color.    
          “I am Detective O’nan.   I’m primary on this investigation.   We’re finished for now,” O’nan said, scanning the room and my things.   He showed me his police ID.   His first name was Fred.   I was surprised I didn’t see a badge like cops flash on TV.   “I just need to take a preliminary statement.   We can take a more formal statement later if something turns up.”
         “Turns up?”  
         “Just routine,” Detective O’nan assured, taking out a notebook. “In case you remember something else. I already talked   with your assistant, Matt,” he said looking at his notes.  
            O’nan looked to be in his late-thirties.   He was wearing an expensive dark suit that emphasized his powerful, wide shoulders and narrow waist.   His stylish haircut played down his thinning blond hair.   I noticed his nails were professionally manicured.   He reminded me of Tab Hunter.   Standing ramrod straight, O’nan towered over me.   His metallic blue eyes never seemed to leave my face. They betrayed a hardness that I suspected didn’t have anything to do with working homicide cases.
          “I got up, dressed, went to work in the beeyard and found . . . what you saw.   I called – you came.   End of story.”   I gaped curiously at O’nan.   His youthful face seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him.  
         “Unhuh,” he said, taking notes.   “Anything unusual happen that you noticed before you found the body – sounds?   Anything?”
         “Nothing.”   I shook my head.   “It has been quite a shock.”
         “I’m sure.”   His eyes narrowed.
         I stared at the floor.   Finally, I said, “There is nothing else to tell.”
         “Okay.” He flipped out a business card and handed it to me.   As O’nan turned to go, he saw Matt walk through the door.   “If you think of anything, give me a call.”
         I glanced at the card.   “All right.”   Thinking of my bees, I asked, “Hey, can I get back in the beeyard?   My bees need to be watered and powdered,” referring to the technique of dusting them with powdered sugar.   By grooming, they knock off parasites.   It was a holistic way of treating for mites.
          “Yes, we are completely finished.   The crime tape is still up but you can go underneath it.”
          “That’s good.”
          Matt strode past me into the kitchen, pulled the refrigerator door open, and drank out of a milk carton.  
          O’nan gave him a quick once-over.   I don’t think he liked what he saw.   His left cheek quivered for just a moment before he glanced back at me.
          “I can see myself out.”   He turned and was gone.  
          I faced Matt.   “He thinks you’re my fancy man.”
          “How about taking your fancy man out to a late lunch?   I just can’t do any work with this happening.   Bad juju.   Besides, the bees need to calm down before I go back out.”
          “Uptown or downtown?”
          “Ramsey’s is fine.”
          “How is my hair?”
          Matt gave me a lascivious look.   “You always look sexy.”
          I grinned and snapped my fingers.   “That is why you will always have a place at my table,” I replied.   I swept through the door he had opened for me.
          He chuckled when he saw a tangled knot of hair protruding from the back of my head.    Matt loved playing pranks on me.   As much as Matt played to my