Free The Bee Balm Murders by Cynthia Riggs Page B

and poured the champagne into two flutes. “Will there be anything else, madam?”
    “No, thank you, darling. That’s lovely. We can take care of ourselves from now on.” She glanced at Finney. “Can’t we, Finney,” she added after Courtney had wheeled the empty cart away.
    “Perfection,” said Finney, raising his glass.
    Dorothy held her own glass up. “To the success of a perfect project.”
    After that, they talked in general terms about the project—general because Finney didn’t understand the technology at all and Dorothy apparently didn’t, either. Finney made a feeble offer to check some information on his laptop, but Dorothy insisted that could wait. They toasted each other with champagne and served themselves fresh strawberries with thick cream poured on top.
    “You must try honey on the strawberries,” said Dorothy. “It’s Island honey produced by Island bees.”
    “Island bees,” Finney murmured. “I’m allergic to bee stings.” He nodded at the screening under the grapes above them. “I’m glad to see you keep your yellow jackets contained.” He held up the honey jar to the morning sun.
    “Local honey is supposed to alleviate allergies,” said Dorothy. “Go ahead, try it.”
    “I don’t think that applies to insect stings.” He said again how much Angelo would have liked to be involved with the project and how Angelo thought the project was a winner. This theme was voiced repeatedly throughout breakfast and the magnum of champagne.
    “When do you expect to pay off the rig?” asked Finney.
    “I’m leaving that up to my accountant to work out,” said Dorothy. “I think micromanaging is so unprofessional.”
    “Very wise,” said Finney.
    “What do you think of Orion?” asked Dorothy abruptly.
    Following the sudden change in topic, Finney had to think a moment. “I just met him yesterday, but he seems like a competent guy. Intelligent. Certainly knows his stuff. Why do you ask?”
    Dorothy toyed with her spoon, making swirls of honey and cream on the bottom of her crystal bowl. “Did he seem, well, I don’t like to say anything.”
    Finney leaned forward and put his hand on top of hers. “If it’s anything to do with the company or the project, tell me.” He realized how much he enjoyed the company of an older woman, especially a wealthy one.
    “Not really,” said Dorothy, blotting her mouth with a dainty linen napkin. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
    “Out with it,” said Finney, feeling manly.
    “It’s nothing, really. I think I’m just overly sensitive, and it seemed to me he’s been under a great deal of pressure lately. Please, forget I said anything.”
    “Of course,” said Finney. “A project like this is bound to create a lot of pressure.”
    “That’s right,” said Dorothy. “He’s such a sweet man; I hate to see the pressure getting to him. I’m sorry, Finney, darling. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
    But when Finney was in the Mercedes on his way back to Vineyard Haven, he spent the time thinking how he could check up on Orion Nanopoulos’s mental stability without being too obvious.

 
    C HAPTER 11
    While Finney and Dorothy were breakfasting alfresco, Victoria was cutting a bouquet of black-eyed Susans. She happened to look toward Sean’s beehives and saw a pineapple-shaped black object hanging from the wild cherry tree. When she looked more closely, she realized the object was a mass of bees in constant motion. She went into the house as quickly as she could and called Sean.
    “Your bees are swarming. They’re hanging from a branch. What would you like me to do?”
    “Nothing. I’ll be there shortly.”
    “I’ll keep an eye on them,” said Victoria.
    “Keep your distance,” said Sean.
    He arrived ten minutes later.
    “Are they leaving the hive?” Victoria asked.
    “These are.”
    “That’s the end of the hive then?”
    He shook his head. “That’s how bee colonies reproduce. Half the hive takes off with the