Free Death By Bridle by Abigail Keam

in the area as a reward! I should say not. Deal as before. I get a fourth of the harvest.”
    “That takes a load off my mind.”
    “Now, I’m just going to harvest the hives. I’m not going to work the bees for you.”
    “Okay. That’s my problem. I’ll sort it out.”
    “Why don’t you go into my office and cool your heels. There are some drinks in a cooler. I’m going get you some fresh tomatoes and squash from my garden. Only be a minute.”
    “That sounds great, Larry. Thanks.”
    I hobbled into the honey house and sat at Larry’s desk, as there wasn’t another suitable chair.
    Uh oh. It wasn’t two seconds before I was lifting up old bee magazines and playing with broken bee equipment thrown on the top of his old desk. I moved some letters so I could glance at his desk calendar. My, oh my, he was a very busy guy. Gave talks at a lot of bee clubs. Various doctor appointments.
    While perusing, I knocked over some broken frames Larry had been repairing. Bending down, my elbow pushed the desk calendar out of place. Stuck in between paper folds of the calendar were several postcards.
    Pulling one out, I wondered whom it was from. On the front was a picture of the southwest desert. I flipped it over, though feeling a wee bit guilty. On the back was a short note from a friend saying that the hunting was great and wished Larry would join him. Signed Tom.
    I caught my breath as I studied the word Tom. A distinctive hook on the bottom of the T rang a bell, and I realized that this was the handwriting of Tellie Pidgeon.
    Tellie Pidgeon tried to frame me for murdering her husband, Richard Pidgeon, and she almost succeeded. She left Kentucky with my blessing, but not before I got her confession on tape and blackmailed her into giving me her Prius and money.
    I know. I know. I’m bad sometimes.
    There was no return address, but the card had been mailed to Larry at a private post office box.
    Hearing Larry round the corner, I pushed the postcard into my pocket and straightened the desk.
    “Hey, no drinks yet?”
    “Waiting for you, good buddy,” I said, trying to keep my face from sinking. “Oh by the way, where’s the noble consort Brenda?”
    Larry hesitated for a split second. “Went to see her mother. She’s getting up there you know.”
    “No, I didn’t, but send Brenda my regards when you talk to her.”
    “Sure.”
    “Well, I’ve got to be going. Thanks for the vegetables, Larry. I’m going to slice them up tonight.”
    “Anything for you.”
    He walked out with me to the Prius. I couldn’t wait to get away, but took my time chatting about people we both knew. Finally I started the car and turned around.
    Looking in the mirror, I caught him staring at the honey house and then at me.
    I got the hell out of there.
    Flying home like my Prius had wings, I was thankful to see that Goetz still had a cop car at the entrance to my driveway. I waved to the guy, pulling up alongside him.
    “Anything unusual?” I asked.
    “Very quiet, ma’am.”
    “That’s good,” I said, handing him Larry’s vegetables.
    “Gee, thanks,” he cooed happily, putting them down on the seat beside him.
    “Do me a favor, will ya?” I asked.
    The policeman nodded.
    “Let me know if you see a midnight blue Ford Explorer cruising by. In it will be a white male in his late sixties with frosty blue eyes. Sorta like Paul Newman’s eyes. Jessamine County license plates. I’d really appreciate it.”
    “Something I should know about?”
    “Too soon to tell. Just a hunch.”
    “Okay. I’ll be on the lookout.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Jeremy Snow.”
    “You’ll let me know?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Thank you. Much obliged.”
    “Just one thing,” requested the young policeman. “Who’s Paul Newman?”
    I groaned and started down the gravel driveway, thinking I had to be wrong. But if I was right, I had to move fast. Stopping the car by the front gate, I punched in the code to the bamboo door, hurried past