The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(42)

“Really? That’s interesting.” She extended her hand, an odd thing for a young girl to do. “I’m Viper.”

Viper? Bree returned the handshake, but it felt odd. In her old social circle, hugs were de rigueur, even with women she barely knew. “Bree West.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bree. Does Toby happen to be around?”

How did this girl know Toby? Once again Bree felt the scope of her incompetence. She didn’t know where Toby was or what he did when he was out of her sight. “Toby!”

No answer.

“He’s probably in the woods,” the woman said with a kindness that made Bree realize she wasn’t a teenager after all. “Are you Toby’s mother?”

Bree’s pale redhead’s complexion had earned her the nickname Corpse from her brothers, and considering Toby’s racial heritage, she thought the woman was being ironic. But she seemed sincere. “No. I’m … his guardian.”

“I see.” Something about her steadfast gaze made Bree feel as if she really did see—maybe more than Bree wanted her to.

“Can I help you?” Bree knew she sounded brusque, but she wanted her to leave so she could get back to the bees. More urgently, she needed a cigarette.

“We’re neighbors,” the woman said. “I’m renting the Remington house.”

The Remington house? Her house. Could this be the woman Toby had been spying on? She pretended ignorance. “Remington house? I … only got here a couple of weeks ago.”

“It’s on the other side of the woods. There’s a path.”

The path she and Star had raced along a thousand times.

The woman glanced toward the hives. “You’re a beekeeper.”

“Toby’s grandmother was the beekeeper. I’m just trying to keep the hives alive.”

“Do you have a lot of experience?”

Bree laughed, a rusty sound that she barely recognized as her own. “Hardly. I worked with bees when I was growing up, but it’s been a long time. Fortunately, these are healthy, established colonies, and the cold spring seems to have kept them from swarming. If I don’t screw up, they should be okay.”

“That’s great.” She seemed honestly impressed. “Would you mind if I borrowed Toby for a while tomorrow? I need help moving furniture. He’s visited me a few times, and I thought he might like some work.”

He hadn’t been visiting. He’d been spying. “I … hope he didn’t cause any trouble.”

“An angel like Toby?”

Her ironically lifted eyebrow took Bree by surprise. Once again, she heard herself laugh. “He’s all yours.”

The woman who called herself Viper turned in the general direction of the woods and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Toby! I need help over at the house tomorrow afternoon. If you want to make some money, come see me.”

There was no answer, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She returned her attention to the hives. “I’ve always been interested in bees, but I don’t know anything about them. Would it be presumptuous to ask if you’d let me watch you work sometime?”

Her vocabulary and manner were so at odds with her appearance that Bree was taken aback. Maybe that was why she found herself giving a brusque nod. “If you’d like.”

“Great. I’ll see you soon.” With a smile, she headed back the way she’d come.

Bree turned toward the hives, then stopped as she was struck with a sudden thought. “How do you feel about mice?” she called out.

“Mice?” The woman stopped. “Not my favorites. Why?”

Bree hesitated, then gestured toward the last hive in the row. “If you’re interested in beekeeping, there’s something unusual you might be interested in seeing. Have you ever heard of propolis?”

“No. What is it?”

“This heavy, sticky substance bees collect to seal crevices in the hive. It has antibacterial qualities—some commercial beekeepers even harvest it.” She tried to sound professorial. “The bees also use it as a kind of hygienic seal around any hive invaders to protect the colony from infection. Go take a look.”

The woman walked toward the hive, a lamb to the mouse slaughter. She stopped in front of the noisome lump and gazed down at it. “Gross.”

But she didn’t move away. She kept staring. Bree snatched up the shovel she’d propped by the step. “If you want to pick it up and throw it into the gully …”

The woman glanced over her shoulder.

Bree did her best to continue her bright, informative chatter. “The propolis has actually mummified the mouse. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“You’re conning me.”

In the path of that steady gaze, Bree’s posturing collapsed. “I—can do it myself. I’ll have to. But … I hate mice, and you seem like the kind of person who’s up for anything.”

The woman’s eyes brightened. “I do?”

Bree nodded.

“Excellent.” She took the shovel, scooped up the mouse detritus, and tossed it into the gully.

It had been forever since another person had done something nice for her—even if she’d been manipulated into doing it—and Bree couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so touched.