A Matter of Hive and Death

Book 2: Oregon Honeycomb Mystery

by Nancy Coco

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

When a bee wrangler is bludgeoned, Let It Bee honey shop owner Wren Johnson makes it her beeswax to solve the crime in Nancy Coco's second Oregon Honeycomb Mystery . . .



For the picturesque town of Oceanview on the Oregon Coast, May brings blossoming fruit trees and the annual UFO festival. As Aunt Eloise tries out alien costumes on their Havana brown cat Everett, Wren is off to meet with a bee wrangler, her go-to guy for local fruit tree honey.



But when she arrives, Elias Brentwood is lying on the ground amidst destroyed hives and a swarm of angry bees. The bees didn't kill him, a blow to the head did. As blue-eyed Officer Jim Hampton investigates and the town is invaded by its own swarm of conspiracy theorists and crackpots, Wren and Aunt Eloise decide the only way to catch the bee wrangler's killer is to set up a sting . . .

Release date: March 29, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“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.”

“I’m at Elias Bentwood’s place. Elias is on the ground and not moving. I called emergency services, but someone has vandalized his hives. Bees are swarming everywhere. I don’t think we can get to Elias to help him.”

Klaus muttered something dark. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Don’t let anyone do anything stupid to the bees.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Please hurry. I don’t know how badly Elias is hurt.”

Klaus hung up the phone, and I walked back through the house to the front porch to wait for emergency services to arrive. I had some practice working with beehives, but they had always been docile. As angry as these bees were, there was no way I could reach Elias without help.

I heard sirens in the distance and ran off the porch to the street to wave them over. It was a police car. Officer Jim Hampton parked the car. Riding with him was another officer I didn’t know.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked when he opened his car door.

“It’s Elias,” I said. “He’s on the ground in the back, but someone has attacked the bees, and they are too angry for me to get to Elias.”

The second officer got out of the car. “I can’t help,” he said, his dark gaze flat. “I’m allergic to bee stings. Got an EpiPen in the glove box.”

“Show me where Elias is,” Jim said. He was six feet tall, had blue eyes in a tan face, and looked a bit like the actor Paul Newman. “Ashton, check out the house.”

“It’s open,” I said. “I found the door unlocked and went inside to get a better look at the backyard.”

Jim frowned at me. “Elias is in the backyard, and you went into the house?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was the only way to safely see the entire backyard. It’s how I found Elias.” We took off down the sidewalk as I continued to explain. “I called Klaus Vanderbuen. He’s the closest bee wrangler. But he’s about fifteen minutes out.”

Jim followed behind me. I stopped at the corner and peered around the side of the house. Jim stepped around me and then ducked back beside me. “Those are some angry bees. Any thoughts on how to handle them? Should we smoke them?”

“Smoke them?” I asked.

“You know smoke tends to calm bees.”

“I think that only works if you are gently moving parts of the hive,” I said. “You need protective gear and maybe a bee box to capture them.”

“I’ll call it in,” he grabbed his radio. As he spoke into it, I crouched down, wondering if I could somehow crawl slowly toward Elias. But the bees swarmed the entire backyard.

“Ashton,” I heard Jim say into the radio when I moved back beside him.

“Yeah, boss,” the radio crackled.

“Can you see anything from inside the house?” Jim asked.

“I’m looking out the bedroom window. Bees are swarming the back porch as well as the yard. Looks like we have one man down and three hives demolished. I don’t see how whoever did this got away without being stung multiple times.”

“I’ll put a call into the ER to watch for bee attacks,” Jim said. “Can you tell if Elias is moving?”

“I’m not seeing any motion,” Officer Ashton said. “Looks like maybe blood pooling near his head. Also the back bedroom looks tossed.”

“I can hear the ambulance,” I said and hurried back to the front of the house. The ambulance arrived, and I rushed to the driver’s side. EMT Sarah Ritter stepped out. She was five foot nine with short brown hair and serious eyes.

“What do we have?” she asked as she headed to the back of her rig to get out her equipment.

“Bees,” I said. “Are you allergic?”

“Nope,” she replied and opened the back door. I saw Jim go into the house as the second EMT came around and parked behind the ambulance.

It was Rick Fender. He was my height, and rail thin with bleached blond hair and a surfer look. He grinned at me. “Maybe you can lure them out with that honey candy you make.”

“There are three hives of angry bees,” I said. “I don’t think my candy is going to soothe them. I hope you’re not allergic.”

“I’m not,” he said and grabbed the end of a stretcher.

“Where’s the victim?” Ritter asked.

“He’s in the backyard, but the bees are there, too, and they’re swarming. Listen, I called a bee wrangler.” I glanced at my phone. “He should be here in about ten minutes.”

“The victim could be dead by then,” Ritter said and pulled the stretcher and her kit toward the side of the house.

“I don’t think you understand,” I said. “The bees are bad.”

“I’m not afraid of a few stings,” Ritter said and moved quickly down the side of the house.

“Fine,” I said and threw up my hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They rounded the back of the house, and I counted to myself. “Five, four, three—” Both EMTs came scrambling back to the side of the building without the stretcher.

Ritter waved a bee from in front of her face and stopped next to me. “That’s more than a few angry bees. You run the honey shop. Do you have a bee suit?”

“No, I only wrangled for a season and used one of Elias’s suits,” I said.

“How far out is the bee wrangler?” Jim asked as he and Officer Ashton stepped off the porch.

I glanced at my phone, “Maybe ten minutes? Is there anything we can do in the meantime? Elias could be dying.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Jim said. “But until we get those bees under control, there’s no getting to Elias.”

“I can try a hazmat suit,” Sarah said. “We have a couple back at the station. Don’t know if they will be protective enough against that many bees. But it’s worth a try.”

“Go get it,” Jim said. “Ashton and I will stay here and monitor the situation.”

“Dispatch wanted to call animal control,” I said. “But even if they have a bee suit, Klaus will get here before they can dig it out.”

“What if Elias moves?” Jim asked. “Will the bees attack him?”

“There’s a chance they will,” I said.

“Then we’d better hope he keeps his head down,” Jim said. “Fender, monitor the victim from a safe distance. Ritter, go get the hazmat suit.”

“And me?” I asked.

“Stay out of the way.”

“That’s a mess,” Klaus said as he eyed the backyard. He wore a full bee suit with gloves and carried a helmet in his hands.

“Is there anything you can do to calm them?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Elias hasn’t moved?”

“Not an inch,” I replied.

“It could mean he’s hiding from the bees,” Klaus said.

“Except for the pool of blood we can see around his head,” EMT Ritter said. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, to start, that hazmat suit might help, but chances are, if you go into that swarm, you will be stung, no matter how well you’re protected,” Klaus said.

“I’ll take that chance,” Ritter said.

“Then we’ll go in slow. The number-one rule is to act calm. We will walk slowly along the edge of the porch. When we are directly in front of Elias, then we will walk slowly and calmly to him. Chances are that’s when we’ll be stung the most, as we will be approaching the hives.”

“And you can’t just smoke them?” Jim asked.

“Smoking the bees is a diversion. It makes them feel as if the hive is under attack, and they digest as much honey as possible to save it. These bees are beyond that. I would love to get in there and recover the queens and reset the hives, but that will take a lot of time,” Klaus said.

“Time we don’t have,” Ritter said. “Let’s go in.”

“Wait, how are you going to remove Elias?” I asked.

“We are going to slowly and calmly two-man-lift him,” Ritter said. “No sudden jerking movements.”

“When we bring him out, there will be bees that follow us, so I recommend that everyone stay back and away from the ambulance,” Klaus said, his pale blue gaze serious. “Anyone who has a bee allergy needs to move at least a block away.”

“That’s me,” Officer Ashton said.

“Ashton, call the ER. Let them know there will be live bees on the victim,” Officer Hampton said.

“Got it,” Ashton pulled out his radio and walked quickly away from the house and the emergency vehicles.

Somewhere in the mix, the fire truck had shown up, but I cautioned them from hosing the bee swarm. Bees could be badly hurt from that kind of water pressure, and it wouldn’t help Elias.

The firemen hung out on the side of the road. We all watched as the bee wrangler and EMT calmly and carefully walked the same path along the back of the house. Bees swarmed the screened porch and the two people. They stopped and counted to ten before they moved away from the porch and toward Elias.

Unable to take off their gloves to feel for a pulse or check for neck injuries, they both squatted and slowly lifted Elias to sitting. His head lolled, and the bees buzzed louder. I listened as the EMT and the bee wrangler stopped until things settled. Next, they slowly put Elias’s arms around their necks. Then lifted him to his feet by holding his wrists. It was clear Elias was not conscious. His head lolled to the side, and his skin was a funny blue color. Bees swarmed around their heads. I hated to think how badly Elias was getting stung. If he survived the fall, he might not survive the stings.

The two slowly and calmly retraced their steps, dragging Elias between them. We scattered as they rounded the corner of the house, bringing bees with them. Retreating to the safety of the car, I watched as the two loaded Elias into the ambulance and shut the door.

Sirens blaring, the ambulance took off down the street. Calmly, Klaus retreated to the back of h. . .