Free Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2, May 2013 by et al. Mike Resnick Page B

Aerie.
    “The woman said they did,” I told her. “And you told me that you thought there was no telling how much the family might hate you after Elvira came out and went Special.”
    “Yes, but I expected them to hate me , not her.”
    “Would they have hated either one of you enough to kill?”
    “I could never think that…”
    “But?”
    “But the last time Papa and I spoke, he said I was dead to him.”
    “What about your brother?”
    “Antonio and Papa always got along. Like father, like son.”
    “Where is Antonio now?”
    “He left home to find work on the farms.”
    “Do you have an address?”
    “No, but I’m sure my parents do.”
    “Then it’s time for me to talk to your parents.”
    “ No! ”
    “Their daughter is dead. The city has already sent the official notification. If my daughter had died like that, I’d sure as hell want someone to tell me why, or who had done it.”
    “No,” she insisted.
    “Josefina, do you really want to find out who killed your little sister?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “Then let me finish this.”
    ***
    The barrios of East L.A. weren’t a hell of a lot different from the barrios of Oakland. Row upon row of mid-20th century cheap housing that had slowly been churning through the hands of the poor over the last hundred years. The little bungalow I stopped at was a near carbon copy of the house where I’d grown up, and though they were older, the Aguilars were about what my mom and dad would have been—had my father not died young and left Mama to struggle in solitude.
    Taking me for a city official—I neither confirmed nor denied that identity—the Aguilars welcomed me into the front room and offered me a cold glass of water.
    “Never should have let her go,” said Papa Aguilar, when I brought up the subject of Elvira. “It was bad enough when her older sister turned on the family.”
    “You had a falling out with Elvira’s older sister?” I said innocently.
    “She is a pervert!” Papa Aguilar said. “Ran off and turned herself into an animal who screws rich gringos. Disgusting!”
    I swirled the icy water around in the scratched acrylic tumbler they’d given me.
    “I’m sorry that things didn’t turn out better for you and your daughters.”
    “You make it sound so neat and clean,” he snorted.
    Mama Aguilar placed a firm hand on his bicep, gave him a knowing look.
    “We have lost both our daughters,” Mama said. “Please forgive us if we are not as polite about it as we should be.”
    “Understandable,” I said, and then took a swallow.
    “At least we still have Antonio,” Mama said.
    “Your son?”
    “Yes, he’s been home from Santa Clara for a few months now. He’s earned some money, now we’re going to help him go back to school.”
    “What was he doing in Santa Clara?”
    Mama led me into the kitchen, where she pulled a mason jar off the top of the refrigerator. It was filled with a viscous, golden substance. “Bee-keeping.”
    It took all my effort not to do a double-take.
    Mama handed me the jar of honey, and I hefted it experimentally, choosing my next words very, very carefully.
    “Did the coroner tell you exactly what caused Elvira’s death?”
    “Does it matter?” said Papa. “I got the notice. I crumpled it up and burned it without needing to read the fine print. Elvira was gone the moment she chose to follow her sister.”
    I carefully replaced the mason jar on top of the fridge.
    “Mister Aguilar,” I said, “did Antonio ever go visit either of his sisters after he came home?”
    “No,” he said.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes…Well, I can’t imagine that he did.” Papa’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”
    “If you had read the full text of the coroner’s findings, you’d know that Elvira died because she’d been injected with bee venom. ”
    Both of them froze in place, eyes narrowing at me, then slowly widening in comprehension.
    “ La policía… ” Papa Aguilar breathed.
    There was