“She was terrible not to even bring up your name,” I agreed. “I don’t know how you didn’t say anything. I would have had it out with her. I mean, there’s a point where it makes sense to put your foot down. Is that what you did the night of the bonfire? Did you put your foot down and stand up for yourself?”

  “I did,” she said. “And that woman was awful. She laughed at me. Laughed and said I couldn’t handle the responsibility she took for everything. That I just thought it was my idea when it was actually all hers.”

  “What happened then?” I asked softly. “I mean, I would have wanted to hit her for laughing at me.”

  “Is that when you got the gun?” Rex asked. “Is that when you came back and shot her?”

  “She fired you, didn’t she? It’s understandable if you were in a rage,” I said. “I would have been.”

  “I was furious,” she admitted. “Something snapped in me and I did get the gun.”

  “And you shot her, didn’t you?” I said. “Rex is looking at you now. Everybody sees you. Don’t you want people to know what you did and why you did it? Come on—it will be a relief to tell your story again. Didn’t it feel better after you told me the first time?”

  “Fine, I shot her. Are you happy now?” Tears poured down her cheeks and I reached for a box of tissues and handed them to her. She blew her nose. “I don’t remember shooting her. I was so angry, but I remember seeing her fall into the water. I was horrified,” she whispered. “This woman I’d loved over half my life was dead.”

  “And Patricia, Amy, and Elias?”

  “I had to silence them, I had to get you to look the other way,” she said. “They were too close to figuring me out.”

  “Like me,” I said.

  “Like you.” She looked at me, her eyes once again defiant. “This is all your fault. If you had only let it go, I would be free and Avril in jail.”

  “Avril is innocent, isn’t she?” Rex asked.

  “Of course she is, you stupid cop. It’s so easy to fool you. If Allie hadn’t been on to me, I would have gotten away with everything.”

  “Everything meaning killing three people and wounding another?” Rex asked.

  “Yes,” she shouted. “Of course. Everything.”

  I swallowed hard at the angry energy she exuded. “Excuse me,” I said as my heart raced, and I felt panic building inside me. I got up and shakily opened the door and leaned against the wall, taking big gulps of air.

  Rex followed. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. “No,” I said. “I think I’m having a panic attack.”

  “That’s reasonable, considering all you went through,” he said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” He put his arm around me and signaled for another officer to look after Michelle. I leaned on him and when we stepped out into the cooling dusk, I took a deep breath. “That was harder than I thought.”

  “You did a great job,” he said.

  “Will she be charged now?”

  “She will,” he said, walking beside me. “We have her confession on tape.”

  “I’m glad she didn’t ask for a lawyer,” I said.

  “She was arrogant and thought she didn’t need one.”

  “Arrogant is only the beginning of what’s wrong with Michelle.” I took Rex’s hand in mine as we walked. “I’m glad it’s over.”

  “Me too, Allie. Me too.”

  Chapter 48

  The next day I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. I guess the adrenaline of escaping had made it so I didn’t notice how I had to twist my body to pull myself out of the window. I’d made my morning fudge and Frances had told me to go up and take a bath to ease my muscles. I didn’t disagree. When I got out, I put on a sundress and sandals and went downstairs, where Frances, Douglas, Jenn, Shane, Rex, and Liz were gathered around the reception desk.

  “Did I miss the party invitation?” I asked.

  “Allie, how are you feeling?” Jenn asked.

  “I hurt in places I didn’t know could hurt,” I said. “But I’m fine.”

  “Rex tells us you got Michelle to confess,” Liz said. “That’s a great story. Can I get an exclusive?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think anyone else is interested, so sure.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said. “This will go out on the wire and others will pick it up. Local girl escapes from serial murderer. Meaning she killed more than one, not that she was a serial killer,” Liz clarified. “Serial killers generally don’t have motives.”

  “Potato, potahto,” Frances said. “Michelle was messed up.”

  “She snapped,” I agreed. “It’s hard to take daily abuse and harder yet to stand up to it and then get laughed at. I think we all could have snapped, given the circumstances.”

  “I’m certainly glad this is over,” Jenn said.

  “Speaking of news,” I said to Jenn and Shane. “Did you tell everyone yours?”

  They both grinned wide. “In case you didn’t already know, we’re pregnant!”

  “Congrats, again!” Frances said and gave her a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Congratulations,” Douglas said.

  “That’s great news,” Rex said.

  “We’re going to have a reveal party,” I said. “When they find out the sex, we’ll have a big celebration.”

  “It will be nice to have children around the McMurphy on a full-time basis again,” Frances said.

  “What about you two?” Douglas asked.

  I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks. “Rex and me? We’re just dating.” I glanced at him. “I mean, we just started dating. We’re certainly a long way away from babies.”

  “I don’t know,” Rex said. “It might be nice to have a little Allie running around solving crimes.”

  “Well, I certainly hope not until she’s at least eighteen,” Frances said. “My heart can’t take another family member always getting into danger.”

  “You want kids?” I studied Rex’s handsome face.

  “Sure,” he said sincerely. “At least two. Don’t you?”

  “I guess with everything going on, I’d not thought about it,” I said. “But yeah, I’d like to have kids one day.”

  Rex’s eyes twinkled. “Nice to know we’re on the same page.”

  “Well, for now, let’s celebrate Jenn and Shane. I have a nice bottle of sparkling wine and a bottle of sparkling water in my apartment.”

  “It’s brunch time,” Frances said.

  “Then I’ve also got orange juice. Let’s make some mimosas.”

  “Allie is always prepared,” Jenn said with a laugh.

  “I’m just happy to have everyone here.” I led them up the stairs.

  “We’re happy you’re back where you belong and only a little worse for wear,” Frances said.

  Another adventure in my life, I thought. Next time I hope it’s a little less deadly.

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank-you goes out to the folks of Mackinac Island who answer my questions and let me embellish the truth. No book is made in a vacuum. So special thanks to my awesome agent, Paige Wheeler, and my wonderful editor, Michaela Hamilton. And all the wonderful people at Kensington Books who work tirelessly to give you the best books possible.

  Extra fun for fans of Nancy Coco’s cozy mysteries!

  Don’t miss her new Oregon Honeycomb series.

  Keep reading to enjoy the opening pages of A Matter of

  Hive and Death, featuring honey store owner Wren

  Johnson, her Havana Brown cat Everett, and a murder

  that shocks coastal Oregon’s beekeeping community.

  Available from Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Chapter 1

  “Oh, Wren, what do you think?” Aunt Eloise asked as she walked into my shop, Let It Bee. She held out her Havana Brown cat, Elton, dressed in a green alien costume.

  “That costume really brings out the color of his eyes,” I said. My cat, Everett, meowed his agreement. Elton was Everett’s uncle. My aunt had bred Havana Brown cats for years until after Everett’s mother died. Then she decided that encouraging people to adopt cats was a better way to go and started a Havana Brown rescue group.

  “It’s for the McMinnville UFO festival,” Aunt Eloise said. “You’re going, right?”

  I winced. “I forgot about it. But in my defense, all my time has been taken up by the Let It Bee second-anniversary celebration this weekend.”

  “It’s only Monday, and the festival doesn’t start until next Wednesday. So you have plenty of time to get ready. I’m sure Everett is looking forward to it.” My only living relative and near and dear to my heart, Aunt Eloise was a tall woman with the large bones of our pioneering ancestors. At least, that’s how I liked to think of it. Anyone who’s played Oregon Trail, the computer game, knows it took hardy stock to make it all the way out to the Oregon coast.

  Eloise had grown up in Oceanview, Oregon, along with my mother. I, myself, had spent only three years in town before going away to college. But over two years ago, I returned and started Let It Bee, a shop featuring honey and bees in a 1920s building just off Main Street and a few blocks from the beach. “I’m bringing Emma and Evangeline. You know how Everett gets jealous when his sisters get to do fun things and he’s left out.”

  Everett meowed his thoughts on the matter. I sighed. It had been years since I’d been to the UFO festival. Based on a UFO sighting in McMinnville in the 1950s, the festival was equal parts campy, with parades and vendors selling alien souvenirs, and serious, with speakers discussing the science behind sightings.

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll go for the parade and shopping, but I’m not dressing up.”

  “Oh, goody.” Aunt Eloise pulled a silver costume out of the pocket of her long cardigan sweater. “I made him this! What do you think, Everett?” She held up the metallic spacesuit.

  He jumped down from the cashier counter and walked to her. Aunt Eloise bent down, and Everett sniffed the suit delicately, then meowed and rubbed up against her leg.

  “He likes it!” She straightened. The smile was wide in her strong face. Her gray hair was held in a bun on top of her head, and I caught a whiff of her orange-blossom perfume. “Now we can all watch the parade in style. Wait until you see my costume. I have a necklace that looks like a collar. The cats are the owner, and I’m the pet!”

  “Well, that’s certainly true of all cats,” I teased. “But I’m not wearing a costume.”

  “You said that already,” she pouted a moment, then broke into a wide smile. “Is it okay if I ask Sally Hendrickson to come with us? She would wear a costume. She’s into cosplay.”

  “Yes, that’s fine,” I said.

  The bells on the door to the shop jangled, and my sales manager, Porsche Allen, stepped inside the door. She shook off her umbrella, folded it, and walked into the shop. “Not busy today?” She looked around the currently customer-free store.

  “We had a nice rush this morning, but between the rain and school getting out soon, there’s a bit of a lull,” I said.

  “Typical Monday,” Porsche said as she put her umbrella into the holder behind the cashier stand and pulled off her raincoat. Porsche was tall and thin, with gorgeous black hair from her Korean mother and sparkling blue eyes from her American father. Today she wore jeans, black booties, and a green sweater. “Hey, Eloise, what’s up?”

  “We’re going to the UFO festival in McMinnville this weekend,” Eloise said. “Isn’t Elton cute in his little green costume?” She held up her kitty and placed the silver metallic costume on the counter. “I brought this one for Everett.”

  At the sound of his name, Everett jumped up on the counter and brushed by Porsche so that she could stroke his brown fur.

  “Nice,” Porsche said. “I took the kids to that festival last year. They had a blast.”

  I grabbed a zippered hoody sweatshirt off the coat tree near the counter, slid it on, and then grabbed my purse. “Please tell me you didn’t dress up.”

  “We didn’t,” Porsche confirmed. “But the boys want to this year.”

  “Oh, good, we can all go together,” Aunt Eloise said.

  “Well, I’ll let you two figure things out. I have an appointment. Thanks for coming in a bit early and covering for me, Porsche. Is someone picking the kids up from school?”

  Porsche had two boys, River and Phoenix, who were ten and eight years old, respectively. “Jason worked from home today, so he can get them.” Her husband, Jason, worked for a local tech company and was able to work from home whenever he wasn’t traveling.

  “Great, thanks. I’ve got to go see a bee wrangler about the fruit-tree honey,” I headed toward the door.

  “Tell Elias we said hi,” Aunt Eloise said.

  “I will.” I waved my goodbye and pulled the hood up over my curly hair to keep it from frizzing too much in the soft rain. It rained a lot in spring on the Oregon coast. Unlike Porsche and her umbrella, most natives simply put on a hooded sweatshirt and stepped out, hood up. I guess we were used to being damp.

  Elias Bentwood was a bee wrangler who lived in an old house on the edge of town. He’d trained me in the art of beekeeping and was my go-to guy for local honey. If Elias didn’t have it, he could point me to where to get it.

  I got into my car and drove the mile or so it took to get there. The house was a one-bedroom shotgun style, which meant you could open the front door and shoot a gun straight through the house and kill someone in the backyard. Aunt Eloise said that a bachelor lumberjack had built it in the 1920s, and it had been neglected until Elias bought it in the 1980s.

  The tiny home was painted white and had sea-blue shutters. Elias maintained it well. I’d known him ever since I’d gotten out of college. Most of his hives were hired out at the moment to the farmers near Mount Hood. It was fruit-tree-blossom season, and bee wranglers would ensure there were hives close to the blossoms.

  Bees typically foraged two miles from their hive, and even though some were thought to forage two to three times that distance, bee owners trucked hives in during blossom season to ensure the trees were properly pollinated.

  Elias loved his bees and wintered some of his hives behind the house. It was Elias who had helped me design the glass-walled hive that took up a portion of my shop. Bees are important to the environment, and he’d been thrilled when I told him I wanted a safe way to give my customers a look inside a working hive.

  He’d helped me build the hive on the exterior of my shop and introduced the queen bee and her court to the hive. It had become so successful that it was one of the biggest draws to my shop. The kids loved to come and watch the bees work, making honeycomb and depositing honey.

  The rain stopped, and the sun came out as I walked up on the porch. I pulled my hood off, letting my curls spring out, and knocked on the door. “Elias? It’s Wren.” There wasn’t an answer, but I wasn’t worried. Elias was probably out in the back with the one or two hives he hadn’t hired out. I moved off the porch and followed the sidewalk around the side of the house to the back. The house didn’t have a garage or even a driveway. Instead, there was a two-track alley in the back where Elias would pull his truck in and out to move the hives.

  I heard someone moving through the back bushes. “Elias? It’s Wren.” Rounding the corner of the house, I came upon a horrifying scene. There were three hives tilted over, the roofs pushed off and the bees swarming, angry and confused. I caught the sound of car doors slamming and saw a blue car speed away down the alley.

  “Elias! The bees!” Instinct had me stepping back to keep the side of the house between me and the angry bees. “Elias!” I called and peered around the house. Whoever did this must have taken off in the car. I didn’t want to get stung, so I stayed on the side of the house and dialed Elias’s cell phone.

  I could hear ringing coming from the backyard. “Elias?” The only sound was the phone ringing, and it went quiet as I was dumped into voice mail. If Elias was in the backyard, he might be hurt or, worse, attacked by the confused bees. The only safe vantage point to find out for sure would be from inside the house. I hurried around to the front of the house.

  The door was unlocked, and I walked into the small living room. “Elias? It’s Wren. Are you okay?” I made my way quickly through the tidy kitchen to the bedroom in the back. No one was there. The bedroom was a mess of scattered papers and files on top of the made bed. I hurried to the back door that led out to a tiny screened porch.

  Elias lay on the ground, unmoving, while the bees swarmed around him. “Elias! Don’t move. I’ll get help.” I knew better than to rush into a swarm of angry and confused bees. I dialed 9-1-1.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  I recognized Josie Pickler’s voice. “Josie, it’s Wren Johnson. I’m at Elias Bentwood’s house. He’s lying on the ground in his backyard and not moving. I think he’s hurt.”

  “Okay, Wren, I’ve got an ambulance and police on their way. Can you check for a pulse?”

  “No,” I said. “Someone has disturbed Elias’s bees. They’re swarming the entire backyard. We’ll need bee wranglers with protective gear.”

  “I’ll call animal control,” Josie said. “Or should I call an exterminator?”

  “Don’t call an exterminator! I don’t want the bees hurt.”

  “I’ll advise the ambulance that bees are swarming,” Josie said.

  “Have them park out front,” I said. “I know another beekeeper. I’ll hang up and call him.”

  “Okay,” Josie said. “Stay safe.”

  I hung up and scrolled through my contacts to find Klaus Vanderbuen’s number. Klaus was a friend of Elias, and although he lived twenty miles from town, he was the only person I could think of to call.

  “Hello?” Klaus’s voice was deep and comforting.

  “Oh, thank goodness you answered,” I said. “It’s Wren Johnson. I own the bee-themed shop near Main in Oceanview. I’m a friend of Elias Bentwood.”

  “What’s going on, Wren? You sound out of breath.”

 

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