Mind Your Own Beeswax (14 page)

I never showed up for dinner with my family that night. We had been too close for comfort as it was. Mom and Holly had been at the store the entire day, and I didn’t want to get into it with Mom, which happened almost every time we had meals together. So I called from my truck and told Grams I was too tired and couldn’t make it.

After Carrie Ann and I unloaded Dinky’s personal belongings, we returned to The Wild Clover. She drove off, I parked the truck behind the store, checked to make sure everything was locked up tight, then Dinky and I walked home.

The dog scampered along ahead of me on a leash I’d dug out of her stuff. She lunged at the end of it, determined to stay out front as lead pack dog. Sometimes she strained so hard, she gurgled and choked. Dumb dog didn’t even know how to walk on a leash. This was bound to be a major disaster.

At home I showed Dinky around the backyard, pointing out better places to do her business than on my foot.

At some point I finally realized that, at least physically, I had the upper hand in our relationship. I abandoned some of my dog-fear-induced anxiety, because Dinky couldn’t take me in an attack like the big vicious dog from my childhood had. And we’d find out soon enough which one of us would win the seat of power and control. I was confident and determined. It wouldn’t be the canine.

Dinky decided to take a nap inside the house and I was sitting on my front porch when Hunter surprised me by coming by on his Harley. He offered me a sweet ride on the back of his bike. I had purchased a black leather jacket for just such an occasion, since I absolutely loved motorcycles.

So with the powerful motor beneath me, and my arms wrapped around Hunter’s lean mean pecs, we headed north out of town toward Holy Hill, a national shrine perched on the highest point in southeastern Wisconsin. Unlike the small church I had converted into my store, this one’s steeple towered high above several small communities, its lights glowing and illuminating the sky for miles.

We rode past the building and drove in a loop across the countryside. For those who don’t know about Wisconsin’s topology and think the state is as flat as Kansas, nothing could be further from the truth, at least in this part of Wisconsin, where two giant ice sheets collided under great pressure during the Ice Age. The earth between them exploded up and out, creating large deposits of rock and sand as well as deep crevices.

Because of that history, Moraine sits among hills, valleys, steep ridges, and deep and plentiful lakes.

With the clear night and sweet smell of approaching summer, I forgot all about death, disaster, and dogs.

An hour later, Hunter parked his bike in front of my house. The night air was warmer and drier than yesterday, so we sat out on my front porch, handholding on an old love seat, which might eventually (hopefully not too far in the future) live up to its name. Although the thing had failed me miserably in the past.

“Did Carrie Ann call you?�� I asked, still concerned about my cousin’s sobriety.

“No, why?”

“She’s drinking again.”

I could see he was disappointed, even though he tried to hide it. Hunter didn’t like to throw around personal opinions until he had all the facts. That was the cop part of him.

“I could smell alcohol on her this morning,” I said. “She promised she’d call you.”

“I haven’t heard from her yet.”

“Call her then.”

“I’m not her parent or her jailer. She’ll come to me if she needs help.”

“You have all kinds of experience. Can’t you fix her?”

Hunter shook his head. “Only she can do that. But if you’re worried, I’ll find some way to run into her and see how she’s doing.”

“Thanks.”

The investigation into the case of the death of the two women in the woods came up next.

“We’re making an announcement in the morning,” Hunter said, “so I’d appreciate you keeping what I’m about to tell you to yourself. At least until then.”

I glanced over at P. P. Patti’s house and saw her pass by a window.

“I won’t say a word to anyone,” I said, wondering briefly if Patti had planted bugs at my house, then decided that kind of thinking, while perfectly realistic, was way too paranoid. “But keep your voice down anyway, just in case.”

“In case what?” Hunter asked.

Had I said that out loud? “Never mind. I’m just tired. Tell me.”

“We’ve ruled out the murder-suicide theory. Lauren didn’t shoot herself.”

I sat quietly and took that in. Two murders! That meant I was involved on a daily basis with a whole bunch of potential suspects, and I really didn’t want someone I knew or liked or lived near to be a killer.

For example, I had sat right down in Norm Cross’s kitchen, totally unaware that he could be considered
the
prime suspect. He was married to Hetty, and I knew as well as everybody else who watched enough television that spouses were the first ones the police hauled in and grilled. And even if the cops let them go, thinking they didn’t do it, by the end of the show it almost always turned out that they actually had.

“Did you question Norm Cross?” I asked. “Did you find out where he was during that time and if he had a motive?”

“We spoke to him, yes.”

“And what did he say?”

Hunter grimaced like he really didn’t want to say what he was about to say. “You’re edging into confidential territory. I can’t discuss that with you.”

“Oh, right,” I agreed. So what did that mean? Did he have something on Norm Cross?

Hunter and I shifted on the love seat and progressed from handholding to Hunter’s arm around my shoulder and my head resting against his chest.

What did I really know about Norm? Not much.

He had lived with a mean woman, he didn’t know how to train his dog, and he was overly tolerant of substandard conditions judging by the inside of his house. Norm might have done away with Hetty, and I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit, but why would he hurt Lauren?

“It also could have been random,” Hunter said.

“Not out here.”

“You think random acts of violence only happen in big cities?”

“Norm Cross is worth investigating thoroughly,” I advised.

“Well, Sherlock, I’ll keep that in mind.” We heard a noise coming from inside the house. I tried to ignore it.

“What’s that whimpering sound?” Hunter asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

Hunter got up and opened my front door a crack. That was all Dinky needed to slide through and race for me, leaping up and down on my leg, scratching away with her minuscule toenails until I picked her up. Which by the way was the first time I’d actually held the thing. And it wasn’t pleasant. Her fur was coarse, and some spots where she didn’t have any at all felt like fish scales to me.

But I suffered through the ordeal.

And told Hunter how I ended up with Norm Cross’s unruly dog and how my cousin had manipulated me. I didn’t see that much funny about it, but Hunter began laughing and wouldn’t stop. Every time he looked at Dinky, who sat on my lap like a crowned princess, with all that wild coarse fur in all the wrong places, having decided I was her newest best friend, he started in again.

“Oh, man,” he finally said, wiping his eyes. “I needed a good laugh after the day I’ve had. That’s the goofiest looking animal I’ve ever seen. But it’s good to see you tackling your phobia head-on by accepting the challenge.”

“This is all Carrie Ann’s fault.”

“If you’re right about her drinking again, at least she hasn’t lost her wit and spunk.”

“I have a serious question if you’re done laughing at me.” Some of the talk I’d overhead at the cop shop came back to me.

“I can be serious,” Hunter said, not looking serious at all.

“Lauren wasn’t killed right away. She crawled away, right?”

Hunter nodded, no longer smiling. “I’m not sure how you found out, but yes.”

“So, why didn’t the killer shoot her again?”

“Ah, a fine question. Lauren might have pretended to be dead until the killer left or she could have passed out, regained consciousness, then crawled for help. Or the killer might have wanted to watch her suffer.”

My imagination took over and I pictured a trail of blood as long as The Lost Mile. “Who would do a thing like that?”

“You’d be surprised. The world is an ugly place.”

I looked down at the thing in my lap. To lighten the mood, I said, “Not half as ugly as this dog.”

That got Hunter going again. I stifled my own laughter. Now that I really looked at the situation, it
was
sort of funny.

Holly pulled up in her Jag and got out, carrying a brown lunch bag.

“I brought you a care package from Grams,” she said, dropping it down on one of the porch’s side tables. “Casserole and cherry pie. Hey, Hunter. You’re just the man to confirm or deny the latest. Rumor has it, Hetty Cross and Lauren Kerrigan were both murdered.”

Hunter held his arms up over his head and glanced up at the sky, a sure sign of frustration. “The minute I think the thought, it’s out on the streets.”

“What is that thing?” Holly looked at my lap. “And it’s alive. Whatever it is, it just moved.”

“I’ll tell you the story later. Will you take our roommate inside with you and get acquainted?”

“Roommate? Acquainted? That has a permanent ring to it.”

“Only temporary.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Dinky.”

My sister hooted. Hunter joined in. I had to admit, the dog’s name was a riot.

Holly picked up Dinky and correctly identified the critter. Or almost. “A puppy!” she said.

“No, I think she’s just a very small dog,” I said.

“I bet she’s still a pup.” Cooing at Dinky, Holly went inside.

Hunter and I watched the stars for a while, sitting comfortably together, then he kissed me good-bye before roaring away on his bike.

A shooting star flew through the sky overhead, reminding me of Aurora. I disagreed with her philosophy. Everybody had choices. If we didn’t have free will and everything was predetermined, what was the point of even trying to influence outcomes or do our best?

I did, however, believe in chaos.

Monday morning I woke up feeling slightly hungover from sharing a bottle of wine with Holly after Hunter left.

I strolled through my beeyard, checking on my honeybees and thinking hard about Hunter, which happened every time we got together.

At night, in the evenings when the store closed and I could relax, I dropped my reservations. Then I wanted him for eternity, every last bit of him, the good and the bad—which I had some insight into, since I’d known him my entire life.

The light of day was a whole different animal. I became less sure, remembering how incredibly hard a real relationship was and how badly I’d failed in the past. How I had once thought my ex-husband was the right one. These days I needed distance and space before I could make any more life-altering decisions. Besides, look how many women were horrible judges when it came to picking good men. What if I was eternally doomed to be one of them?

Not to mention Hunter hadn’t asked me for any kind of commitment, which just went to show how messed up my mind was when it came to men. Why couldn’t I just have fun with him instead of worrying about our future?

The pros and cons of Hunter, as went through my head while observing my bees:

Since I had so many unanswered questions, why couldn’t I just live in the moment instead of worrying about the future? Today, I’d try to take a break from conflicting thoughts and just enjoy.