Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(84)

“Yes, please. Just black. By the way, your garden is unbelievable.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s your momma?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Really? Is that a good thing?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Leslie and her husband in Las Vegas.”

I poured two cups and put one in front of him. Then I sat down.

“Las Vegas. That’s a crazy place, eh? We had an ABA meeting out there a few years back. It was like, wow!”

“That’s what they tell me,” I said.

He took a small notebook from the chest pocket of his sport coat and a pen from another.

He took a sip of the coffee and said, “This is really good coffee. Starbucks?”

“No, Folger’s. This is some mess,” I said.

“Well, Darlene told me what she heard on the wire, but why don’t you tell me what happened in your own words and then we can see what to do.”

I gave him the sequence of events, but I didn’t tell him about the more mystic aspects of my bees or that they might be responding to my pleas for help in ways that they could. It just sounded too crazy. But I did tell him about the bees dropping tiny bombs on Sharon’s car and about them bearding. And I told him about Sharon’s personality and how I thought she was way too uptight. And I mentioned her strawberry allergy.

“So it’s clear there was no friendship between the two of you.”

“No.”

I told him about my relationship with Archie’s boys and Archie and that I had been good friends with Carin. I might have mentioned something about Sharon being a complete paranoid, germophobe, and perfectionist. Maybe.

“She wouldn’t let the boys bring library books home because they had been touched by other people who might have filthy germs,” I said.

“Really. Wow,” Mark said.

“I know,” I said. “Wow.”

“Criminal law isn’t really my area of expertise, but until we’re sure you need one, I’ll represent you on the house. I’m not going to stand back and watch an old island family’s daughter get pushed around, and that’s what happens if you don’t have legal representation. I don’t think any charges have been filed, but I will stay on it and find out.”

“Oh, Mr. Tanenbaum, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“Call me Mark. Mr. Tanenbaum is my dad.” He smiled and I thought, What a lovely man. “In the meantime, talk to no one. Do not give a statement to the police or the press or say a single word on social media, understand? As far as I can see it, I don’t think any crime has been committed here.”

“Good. Mark? Why was she in my yard?” I asked.

“I don’t know. No good reason I can think of. Did anyone see her?”

“I don’t know. I was out on a date with Ted Meyers.”

“No kidding. Well, in your best interest, I’d say no canoodling with him, either, until this is all sorted out.”

“That’s a shame,” I said, thinking, I finally have a fish on the hook and I have to release him?

“Look, Holly, you don’t want to get into a he-said, she-said thing with the chief of police, temporary or not. Basically, from here on in, I speak for you. And I think for you. Here’s my card. You can text me or call me any time of the day or night, but please, if it’s possible, let me get my beauty rest.”

I smiled then and said, “Mark? Am I in trouble?”

“I don’t think so. I think you should relax until I let you know otherwise. Holly, I’m an old-school lawyer. I like to see all the facts and then we go from there. So far, we don’t have all the facts.”

“Will you tell me what you find out?”

“Absolutely. As soon as I hear something, you’ll be the very next to know. I’ll call the coroner’s office this morning. Now, I’ve got to go to the gym. I’ve got a young wife, you know what I mean?”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” I said and laughed. I felt so much better. “Thanks, Mark.”

I walked him to the door and as I glanced at my backyard, I noticed crime scene tape everywhere and three men in bee suits walking around, looking in the bushes.

“Mark! Wait! What’s all that tape and who are those men?”

“They would be crime scene investigators investigating a would-be crime scene. Don’t worry about them. They’re actually on our side.”

“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t so sure.

“I’ll call you later,” he said. “And stop worrying. You’ll get wrinkles.”

I smiled. He was actually pretty sweet.

“Thanks.”

I stretched out on the sofa thinking I might catch a nap. I couldn’t tell you how much time went by, but when I woke up, it was dark outside, well past the cocktail hour, and Archie was at my door. He didn’t ring the doorbell, he was just calling my name, like Stanley calling Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire.

I got up to let him in and he stumbled into my hallway.

“Archie? Are you a little bombed?”

“I’m impaired. I won’t deny it.” He blinked his eyes as he struggled to focus in the light. “Can I have a moment of your time?”