Death By A HoneyBee (23 page)

    
Franklin and I drove to Taffy’s apartment, where we located her Prius in the parking lot but found no scratches or dents. Finding Taffy’s car unlocked, Franklin quickly did a search.
 
After all, she did not know of Franklin’s existence and would not recognize him if she saw him rifling through her car.
 
The car was clean except for a few Mars candy bar wrappers.
  
Not wanting to give up, Franklin insisted we drive to Wasser’s house.

     
Nancy Wasser lived on the other side of town, but we got there quickly for the churches had not let out yet.
 
Wasser’s house was a one-story red brick home in a low-income neighborhood.
 
The street was lined with mature pin oak trees standing guard over tidy homes and velvet green lawns.
 

     
Franklin drove slowly by Wasser’s house and spotted her car parked on the street directly in front of her home.
 
He drove to the end of the corner, turned around, and parked four doors away from Wasser’s house.

 
    
“Stay here,” he said while getting out with his camera.
 
He looked both ways.
 
No one was visible.
 
Franklin was casually strolling up to the car when Taffy and Nancy exploded from the house.

     
I slumped down in my seat.
 
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Taffy seemed upset.
 
Nancy grabbed Taffy’s arm while trying to reason with her.
 
Taffy pulled away brusquely.
  
Franklin walked past them, continuing up the street until he disappeared around the corner.
 
Enraged, Taffy yelled something crude and got into Nancy’s car only to speed off.
 
Nancy, looking distraught, tugged her robe about her and went back inside the house, slamming the door.
 
She pulled the front curtains shut.
 

    
Several minutes later, Franklin, having circled the block, got back into the car.
 
Without saying a word, he drove towards Matt’s office.
 
Once we were out of the neighborhood, he motioned for me to sit up.

   
“My, that was thrilling!” exclaimed Franklin.
 
“Did you see how cool I was under the gun, so to speak?”

   
“What were they saying?”

   
“Taffy said something like ‘you had no right.
 
You’re gonna get me in trouble.’
 
Something like that.”

   
“Could mean anything,” I replied.
 
I thought for a moment.
 
“See any dents in the car?”
 

   
“I didn’t dare look.
 
I was concentrating on keeping my breakfast down.
 
I mean, how exciting.
 
I can’t wait to tell Matt everything.”

   
“Do you think those two are an item?”

   
“I don’t know, but it would seem that Miss Nancy wishes they were.”

   
“It just seems strange, Franklin.
 
I mean, I have always seen Taffy with serious boyfriends.”

   
“Maybe she got tired of the same old, same old and wanted to walk on the wild side.”

   
“Maybe,” I said.
 
I let Franklin off at Matt’s office and drove Franklin’s car home.
 
I knew Matt would be hauling Franklin back to the farm to eat an early dinner.
 
We had learned little except that Taffy may or may not be having a lesbian affair.
 
Who in the hell cared about that?
 
Not me.
 

19

     
Later that afternoon, Matt and Franklin showed up looking for a hot meal.
  
I was ready with chicken and dumplings, greens flavored with ham hock, skillet fried corn, chilled sliced tomatoes and biscuits slathered with my Black Locust honey – everything purchased from the Farmers’ Market.
 
We sat at the Nakashima table watching the sun drift behind the hills in Madison County, just across the river.
 
Having overeaten, Matt unbuttoned his pants and rambled over to the couch.
 
He was soon asleep, snoring with the Sunday paper lying on his chest.
 

 
    
I turned to Franklin.
 
“You don’t look very well, Franklin.”

     
“What do you mean?
 
I feel fine,” he replied somewhat alarmed, touching his hand to his forehead.

 
    
“No, you don’t,” I insisted.
 
“Your skin looks sweaty and gray.
 
Let’s go to the LETC and get you checked out.”

     
A sudden realization dawned on Franklin.
 
“No, after this morning, I have had enough.
 
I just want to relax after this great meal.”
   

     
Yanking Franklin from the chair, I said, “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!”

     
“Rosalind Russell in
Auntie Mame
and I won’t go.”

 
   
I got in Franklin’s face.
 
“Aren’t you tired of working in a drab room cranking out software?
 
Don’t you want adventure?
 
Don’t you want to be like T.E. Lawrence or Richard Burton?”

     
“The actor?”

     
“No, the explorer of the Nile River.
 
Come on, Franklin, Live, live, live!
 
You need something to write memoirs about,” I yammered as I pushed him out the door.
 
I grabbed the keys to Franklin’s Smart Car and off we went.
 

     
We had just pulled onto Tates Creek Road when Franklin’s cell phone buzzed.
 
I grabbed it from him, turned it off and threw it in the back seat.

     
“You’re a hateful woman,” said Franklin.
 
“I bet that was Matt.”

     
“I know it was Matt.
 
What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

     
“Such a cliché.”

     
“Life is a cliché from time to time.
 
How old are you?
 
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine.
 
Just wait, Franklin.
 
Life has got some surprises waiting for you, like lots and lots of clichés.”

     
Franklin did not address me the rest of the trip, but used the time to perfect his moaning and stomach clutching.
 
He inspected his grimaces in the rear-view mirror.
 
Drama was my minor,” he confided as I pulled into the LETC parking lot.

     
“Never would have figured you for a drama queen.”

     
“Ha ha, very funny,” said Franklin rolling his eyes.

    
“You’re teasing, Franklin.
 
I know you have a Bachelor of Science from UK.”

    
“Well, actually, I have two degrees – one in computer science and the other in mathematics, but I love drama.”

    
“No kidding.”

    
I helped a trembling Franklin stumble into the LETC waiting room and up to the front desk.
 
Luckily there were only a few people in the waiting room.
 
To our relief, no one looked as though they had anything contagious.
 
A clerk handed Franklin some forms to fill out.
 
“Who is going to pay for this?” hissed Franklin in between obligatory moans.
 

    
“I will pay for whatever your insurance doesn’t cover.”

    
Franklin snorted.
 
“Yeah, like you’re Diamond Jim Brady.
 
I’ll never see a single sou out of you.”
 
   

    
“Yes, you will.
 
Just write down the information and let’s get on with this.”

  
  
I took the completed forms back to the front desk, but had a momentary lapse when trying to hand over the insurance card.
 
It didn’t seem to want to leave my fingers.
 
The clerk began tugging the card to get it from me.

 
   
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
 
It had felt so good to hold a medical insurance card, something I hadn’t had for several years. I could feel the clerk watching me as I took my place beside Franklin.
 
I tried to look inconspicuous as I read
Field and Stream
.
 

 
    
Ten minutes later, we were inside an examining room.
 
I explained that I was Franklin’s older sister and that he was a mid-life baby, which explained the difference in our ages; and due to the painful labor our mother endured on his behalf, he was “not all there.”
 
Franklin started to complain loudly about abdominal pain.
  

 
    
The nurse noted all the symptoms on a little computer board, giving us the once-over before she left the room.
 
I tried to look sympathetic.
 
Franklin tried to look sick.
 
We both probably looked like we were up to no good – which, of course, we were.
 

 
   
A friendly Asian doctor came in several minutes later, asked pertinent questions in a thick accent, examined Franklin, and ordered him to be whisked off to x-ray.
 
A technician soon came for Franklin, explaining to us in slow enunciation where she was taking him.
 
Apparently, the word had made the rounds that our parents had been first cousins.
 
Franklin followed her, shuffling and complaining that he needed a wheelchair.
 

  
  
The nurse came back to straighten the room, but I suspected it was really to keep an eye on moi and keep me from ripping off the clinic’s latex gloves, sterile cotton balls, and outdated
O
magazines.
  
I found this the perfect opportunity to ask about Tellie.
 
“I have an acquaintance who works here,” I said.
 
“Her name is Tellie Pidgeon.
 
Is she here today?”
     

    
Nurse Ratched suddenly warmed up to me.
 
“She has had a death in her family and is not working her regular schedule.”

    
“I knew her husband, Richard Pidegon.
 
I thought if she were here, I would express my condolences.”

   
The nurse looked at the computer board searching for my name, which I had given as Frances Farmer, the mentally unstable 30’s movie actress.
 
If they asked for ID, I was a dead duck.
 
“There seems to have been some question about how Richard died.”

   
“Oh really,” I said feigning surprise.

 
  
The nurse looked up from her board.
 
“Oh, nothing sinister.
 
Apparently he keeled over in some woman’s beehive, and Tellie wanted to find out whether he died from bee stings or from some other cause.”