Free Plan Bee by Hannah Reed Page A

spiral ones that they can flip. Patti flipped hers. “People don’t usually lie still on the ground under black plastic unless they’re dead. Conclusion then is, therefore, the person is dead.”
    I’d pretty much figured out that one a long time ago, but didn’t say that.
    “We’re looking for a body, a dead one,” Holly agreed. “And a killer, since most dead people don’t cover themselves in plastic, right?”
    “So everybody in this bar is a suspect,” Patti said. “This is a big job. I hope you two are going to continue to assist me in breaking in to journalism. This could be important to my career.”
    “Help you?” I said. “This isn’t only about you. It’s about my believability.” Okay, that sounded just as selfish as Patti’s comment. So I corrected myself. “But mostly it’s about somebody else. About finding out what happened and exactly who it happened to.”
    My sister gave me a long, studied look. “And you’re positive of what you saw?” she asked me for what felt like the zillionth time.
    “Absolutely,” I said again. “I’m heading home. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
    I left Holly and Patti at the bar and walked the short distance home.
    Dinky greeted me at the door, where she’d been lying on a soft blanket I’d placed there just for her. Only it wasn’t looking so soft and fluffy anymore. She had barfed on the blanket, regurgitating a clot of who-knows-what that wasn’t meant to pass through her digestive system—grass, stringy digestive goo, lumpy this and that. Ewww.
    I knew this moment was part of my future the minute she gobbled up whatever was on the ground in the cemetery. Sure enough, I’d been right again. I hate it when I’m right, especially when it has to do with Dinky.
    I swiped it up with a wad of paper towel, dumped it into the garbage, and put the blanket in the laundry bin.
    Yuck, that dog was trouble.

Nine

    Marauding hive robbers.
    That’s what I found early the next morning at one of the beehives in my backyard apiary. Dinky was on the sidelines watching, after having done her business on the kitchen floor right before I opened the door to take her out. Not the best start to the day, and now this.
    One characteristic humans share with honeybees is a penchant for war, with the winner taking all the spoils. Sad, but true. And just like us when we are threatened, each hive posts guard bees at the entrance, ready to defend the colony. Their job is to identify invaders.
    Robber bees will fly around a hive looking for opportunities to steal honey by getting past the guards and in through the entryway. An experienced beekeeper pays close attention.
    If bees are going into the hive with honey, that’s as it should be.
    But in this case, bees were leaving with honey. Notgood. Not good at all. The entrance to the hive was frantic with activity.
    I grabbed protective gloves and quickly ripped up some grass, digging my fingers in deep to get a grip on some dirt, too. Then I stuffed the wad around the hive entrance to make the opening smaller and hopefully easier for my bees to guard. Since they were fighting for their lives, embroiled in combat, some of my bees mistook me for the other side, so I sustained a few war wounds despite the gloves.
    Ouch, they hurt.
    But I felt I deserved it. This was all my fault; in the beeyard I’m supposed to protect my wards from harm. I was supposed to be paying attention, on guard all the time. But right now I didn’t have time to wallow in guilt. I had to help the bees fight back.
    I grabbed a sprinkler, jammed it on top of the hive, ran to the faucet, and turned it on. Bees really hate getting wet, so a downpour of water that simulated rain was guaranteed to deter another looter attack. The rotating sprinkler gave me time to get a spray bottle filled with a mix of liquid bee smoker and water. I sprayed the heck out of the entrance.
    Then I surveyed the damage. Not too bad. My bees were groggy from the bee smoke