Plan Bee Read Free Page A

is on the road all the time, so Holly compensates by involving herself in my store’s business, of which she is now co-owner after lending me the cold cash I needed to keep it running through some tough times. Holly also developed a serious text-speak problem and is seeing a therapist to correct it, thanks to Mom stepping in and declaring enough was enough—just when I’d finally learned how to text-speak back with a decent range of acronyms.
    “How’d it go?” I asked, since Holly had just had a counseling session. I saw her glance nervously over at the bee table.
    “Great, Ms. Passive Aggressive.” She hurried past, bolting for the store.
    “What?” I sort of shouted in disbelief.
    “You heard me,” she called from the interior.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be working on yourself?” I shouted back.
    “I am. But you’re part of my problem.”
    With that shocking disclosure, she vanished inside. I couldn’t believe it. My own sister, the one I cherished as my best bud and the only person whom I thought understood me inside and out, upside and down, was dissing me?
    What was this? Dump on Story day?
    “Hi, sweetie.” My grandmother stepped onto the curb.
    I bent down to give her a cheek kiss. “Hi, Grams.”
    “You look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today. Give me a great big smile.”
    Grams, always camera-ready, snapped a picture of me with her point-and-shoot, then asked, “Where’s Helen?”
    “Mom’s off patrolling the town,” I said, gazing at my grandmother with loving appreciation. Grams is the sweetest woman in the world, which makes me wonder what Mom would be capable of if only she’d lighten up some.
    Grams wears her gray hair in a tight little bun, and likes to weave in whatever flower is blooming in her garden. Daisies are her favorite, but today she sported a silver tiara with sparkling rhinestones and crystals, since she’s this year’s Grand Marshal in the Harmony Festival parade.
    “We’re supposed to be having a meeting about tomorrow’s parade,” Grams said. “Everybody’s at the library waiting on Helen.”
    “Well, here she comes,” I said, seeing Mom spot us, my cue to duck and run for cover inside.

Two

    I slunk away from my mother and into the back room of The Wild Clover, which doubled as a storage room and my office. Carrie Ann and I both jumped about two feet when I opened the door. I hadn’t expected to find anyone back there, and apparently she hadn’t either, probably assuming I’d be busy outside with festival preparations. My cousin had a dog on her lap and her fingers poised over the keyboard of my computer.
    “Uh, just checking for messages,” she said, quickly closing the browser window before I could see the screen. Then she passed the little mutt over to me on her way out.
    Somehow I’d become a permanent dog-sitter for Norm Cross, one of my old neighbors, who had had a family crisis a while back, and had dumped his dog Dinky on me, claiming he’d return soon. Then he decided not to come back at all, which I suspect had been part of his original secret plan from the very beginning. Plus, he informed me that his new digs didn’t allow dogs. Which was just great.
    Dinky is a Chihuahua mix with hair in all the wrong places and a major-league small-dog complex. She’d been the runt of the litter so, according to Norm, had had to fight harder for her share of food and attention. At least that was his excuse for her bad behavior.
    Dinky licked my face and snuggled closer. She
was
affectionate; I’d give her that. She regally adjusted herself on my lap when I sat down, as though she was Honey Queen and I was her throne. Well, she could think that way for now, but I was looking for a new home for her and her wayward attitude.
    Did I mention Dinky prefers doing her business indoors rather than outside? Or that if she likes a person, she pees on them? Or that I didn’t have a single pair of panties without chew holes? She’s even turned some of them