Death Bee Comes Her

Book 1: Oregon Honeycomb Mystery

by Nancy Coco

Genres: Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Nancy Coco, author of the popular Candy-Coated Mystery series, brings the Pacific Northwest's rainy coast to life with her new Oregon Honeycomb Mystery series starring Wren Johnson and her Havana Brown cat, Everett.



Wren owns a specialty shop in the tourist town of Oceanview, where it's all things honey, from taffy to body scrub, until the murder of a victim clutching one of Wren's homemade beeswax lip balms makes things sticky . . .



A BALMY WAY TO GO



With her Let It Bee honey boutique buzzing along nicely, life is as sweet as nectar for Wren Johnson—until she takes a morning walk along the Pacific beach with her Havana Brown cat, Everett, and stumbles upon the body of Agnes Snow, the cranky queen of the local craft fairs, stiff as driftwood. More unfortunate? Clutched in the victim's fist is a label from Wren's homemade beeswax-and-honey lip balm. Which makes Officer Jim Hampton focus his dreamy-blue Paul Newman eyes on Wren as suspect number one.



With fabulous feline support from Everett, Wren must comb the town for clues and clear her name before someone else gets stung.

Release date: January 26, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Cozies

Print pages: 322

Sample

The people who live on the Oregon coast are a bit . . . shall we say quirky? Hippies, grunge fans, and hipsters have melded into a colorful and interesting community. That’s the way I like to think of us, anyway. When you think of the West Coast, you might think of sun, surf, and sand, right? That doesn’t always apply here. We have fog, cool breezes, and rocky shores. Did you ever see that movie, Twilight? It’s more like that. In fact, parts of it were filmed nearby.

Now, I’ve lived here a while and I’ve never seen a vampire, but I have seen a few sparkly people. One was Emma Jean Baily, who owns a gift shop near the beach. She was out sweeping in front of her shop.

“Glitter is the herpes of the craft world,” she’d told me. “Once it’s on you, it will never truly go away. I still find it in the most interesting places.”

“Hi, Mrs. Baily,” I said and smiled at her glittered T-shirt. Her shop was sided with rugged, stained redwood. The porch rose up from the sidewalk and invited people inside.

“Hello, Wren, how are you and Everett doing today?” Emma Jean asked. She was a small woman with a cap of blonde hair and bright blue eyes in a pixie face. She was my mother’s age, but looked youthful in jeans and T-shirt.

“We’re well,” I said. Everett’s my cat and constant companion. He purred his reply. Everett is a Havana Brown and his breed is known for their propensity to talk. “We’re going for a walk on the beach.”

“Good day for it,” she said and gestured toward the beach. “I’d stroll with you, but I’m setting up for next week’s Halloweentown extravaganza. Lots to do. Is your shop doing anything?”

“I’m making honey taffy. And we’re dressing up, of course.”

“Of course,” she said and leaned against her broom. “This year I’m going as Little Red Riding Hood. What are you going to be?”

“Everett is going as a warlock and I’m going as his familiar.” Everett meowed his approval.

Emma Jean laughed.

“I’m just kidding,” I laughed. “As much as Everett might like that, I don’t know yet what I’m doing exactly . . . maybe a Wizard of Oz theme.”

“Oh, there’s a lot you can do with that,” Emma Jean said, her eyes twinkling. “If you need any help, I’ve got supplies. It would be fun to do Glinda the Good Witch, in glitter.”

“I just might take you up on that offer,” I said and Everett agreed.

“Well, if you need my help or not, I can’t wait to see you both at the costume parade on Halloween.”

“Bye.” We continued toward the beach, which was only a block or two from my shop. Most people didn’t look twice when they saw me walking my cat on a leash. Everett loved going for walks. He was a social cat with slick, chocolate brown, short hair and bright green eyes. My Aunt Eloise was a cat fancier and bred Havana Browns. Everett was the great-grandson of her best show cat, Elton, and just as handsome, if I say so myself.

Aunt Eloise loved Havana Browns because they were charming, outgoing, and playful. Everett fit the bill to a T.

“Hi, Wren,” Barbara Miller said as she stepped out of Books and More. “Hello, Everett. Are you two off to the beach?”

“I thought we’d walk the shore for a bit,” I said. “I’ve been making candy all morning and I needed to stretch my legs.”

“Are you making honey taffy for the Halloweentown celebration?”

“It is a favorite for Halloweentown,” I said. “Funny how people like the taffy for Halloweentown but prefer the dark chocolate for the Big Foot Festival.” Halloweentown was a series of Disney movies that were filmed on the coast of Oregon. In honor of the movies, Oceanview celebrated all things magical and scary every year for an entire week in October.

“Everything in your shop is wonderful,” she said. “I don’t know how people choose. Now that I think of it, I need a couple of new candles. Is someone minding the store?”

“Porsche is there,” I said. “She can help you pick out the best beeswax candles for the season.”

“Oh, good,” Barbara said. “I’m on my way over there now. Tootles.” I watched her walk off. Barbara Miller was my grandmother’s neighbor. They had grown up together. While my grandma had to use a walker, Barbara still got around quite well in her athletic shoes, jeans, and jacket. Her short hair went from gray in the back to white in the front, but it framed her wide face well.

Everett and I headed down the nearly empty street. Since it was October, most of the large crowds of tourists had left the coast, leaving the die-hards and the locals. It was my favorite time of year. I loved the colors of fall when the ocean was a deep cold blue. The trees had begun to turn red and yellow while the pines were dark green. Orange pumpkins dotted the sidewalks along with autumnal wreathes and Halloween decorations.

The thing about Everett was he was a bit of a talker. He liked to comment on things we saw on our walks. I talked to him often without even realizing that most people didn’t understand talking to a cat. “Want to go down to the beach?” I asked him.

“Are you talking to that cat?” Mildred Woolright said as she passed by.

“Oh, hello,” I said. “Yes, I guess I was.”

She blinked at me. “You’re a bit too young to be a crazy cat lady.”

“I’m not crazy,” I said with a smile. “But I’ll admit to being a cat lady.”

Mildred rolled her eyes and continued down the street as I winked at Everett. “Shall we go to the beach?” Cats don’t usually care too much for water, but Everett had grown up beside the ocean and as long as we didn’t get too close to the water’s edge, he didn’t mind the sand.

He meowed his agreement and we left the promenade. There were a few slight dunes where the wind had blown the sand between the promenade and the Pacific Ocean. They rolled gently no more than a yard high and were covered with waving beach grass. Everett loved the feel of the grass against his fur.

Bonfires were allowed on the beach and the evidence of them crunched under our feet. Black charcoal spread out in piles large and small. Pieces of charred wood scattered about. The beach was a deep stretch of sand that narrowed during high tide and stretched out during low tide. I was enjoying the sound of the ocean and searching the waves for evidence of whales when I felt Everett pull on his leash. “What?” I asked as I followed him past a clump of dune grass. He led me over to a woman sleeping in the sand. “Hello?” I picked the cat up and looked at the woman. Sometimes people camped on the beach, but rarely in the rounded dunes.

Who was she? Why was she here?

The woman wore nice clothes and didn’t look like someone who regularly slept on the beach. “Ma’am?” I squatted down and shook her shoulder, but she was stiff and cold. I put my fingers on the base of her neck. There was no pulse. “Oh, boy.” I jumped back and wiped my hand on my long skirt.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“Nine-one-one, how can I help you?”

“I think there’s a dead woman on the beach.” My voice trembled and came out barely audible. My face felt a little numb and my thoughts tumbled.

“This is the nine-one-one operator. Can you please repeat that?”

“Josie?” I recognized my friend’s voice through the jumble of emotions.

“Wren?” she asked. “Are you okay? Did you say there’s a dead woman on the beach?”

“When did you start working as a dispatch operator?” I asked because I was in shock and not thinking clearly.

“It’s my first day,” she said with what sounded like nervous pride. “You’re my first call. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m okay, yes, I’m fine. I think. There’s a woman on the beach and I think she’s dead. I guess that would make her a dead body?”

“Where are you exactly?”

“I, um.” I glanced around. “I’m about fifty yards from the beach entrance on Main Street.”

“Okay, good, an ambulance and police officers are on their way. Are you in danger?”

“No, I seem to be alone on the shore. Should I stay on the line?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Please stay on the line. You’re sure you’re safe?”

“I’m sure,” I said.

After a pause that stretched out for what seemed like forever, she said, “the police are on their way.”

“Great.”

“Please stay on the line so that I know you are safe.”

“Okay,” I said and waited a couple of long moments in silence. The wind blew against my face and the ocean roared. I felt as stiff as the woman at my feet. “Maybe we should keep talking.”

“I can do that. Why don’t you tell me what she looks like,” Josie asked. “Anyone we know?”

I leaned down closer. “She’s dressed like a country club woman. Nice shoes, expensive dress slacks in a swirl pattern, and a tunic-style black top, blonde hair,” I said. “She might be in her sixties. Strange, though . . .”

“What?”

“The sun is out, but you know the wind off the ocean . . .”

“Brisk, I bet,” she said. “Why?”

“She isn’t wearing a jacket.”

“Weird,” Josie said. “Most ladies that age would be wearing a puffy coat.”

“Maybe the killer took it,” I said and squatted down to take a closer look.

“Does it look like a mugging? Is she disheveled?”

“No, I don’t think so. She still has her wedding ring on and what looks like large single diamond earrings.”

“Does she look familiar?”

“There’s something familiar, but her face is hidden,” I said with some relief.

The woman was on her belly facedown. There didn’t appear to be any wounds, but she did have sand stuck in her hair.

“Any idea how she died?”

“I don’t see any obvious signs of trauma,” I said. “There’s some goop in her hair, you know, sand and such.”

“And no one else is nearby?”

I glanced around. “There are a couple of kids walking down the shore toward me.”

“Keep them away,” she said.

“Right.” I stood and watched them. “If they get too close, I’ll wave them off. I’m just afraid that if I wave now, they will come see what’s going on.”

“Oh, okay,” Josie said. “Can you hear sirens yet?”

I held my breath and listened to my heart beat in my ears. “Not yet,” I said.

“Don’t worry, they are on the way,” she said. “Boy, this job is stressful. I mean, I never imagined anyone dying on my first call . . . you know what, I’ll check again.”

I looked down at the dead woman at my feet. Everett was lying nearby watching everything from a rise in the dunes. The grass sprung up around him like the vegetation surrounding a lion on the Serengeti. It struck me that I should keep an eye out for tracks or other evidence and make sure no one stepped too close. I glanced around and saw indentations that must have been the woman’s original tracks in the sand. Just hers. It didn’t look like anyone else had been there.

Her hands were curled into fists. They were drawn against her at the waist. A piece of paper fluttered from the edge of one of her hands, so I took a closer look. She was clutching something. I knew enough to grab a tissue out of the pocket of my skirt and carefully turned her hand to reveal the paper. It whipped about in the breeze. I wanted to take it, but I didn’t want to upset a crime scene. Still, it might just blow away in the wind. Thinking quickly, I grabbed my phone and took a few pictures. Then I used the tissue to pry the paper from her fist.

It was a label. A familiar label.

“What’s going on, Wren?”

I turned at the sound of a deep, male voice. It was Jim Hampton, a regular on the promenade, a beat cop, and a noticeably handsome man. He reminded me of the actor Paul Newman. My Aunt Eloise raised me on old movies, and I remember he played a cop in one of them. Jim’s blue eyes were guarded and unreadable.

I felt a flash of guilt and I think he picked up on it. “Josie, Jim Hampton’s here. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Okay,” she said. “Call me later?”

“I will.”

“Wren?” He raised an eyebrow, looking from me to the body. “What’s going on?”

“Everett found her,” I said.

Jim was a tall man, maybe six foot, with square shoulders and an athletic frame. He hunkered down and felt for a pulse. “She’s dead.”

“I know, I called nine-one-one,” I said and raised my phone. “Josie said she called the police. I’m glad you’re here, but I didn’t hear a siren.”

Then I heard the siren in the distance coming closer. He looked up at me. “I was walking on the promenade and saw you. You looked . . . upset.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze falling to the poor woman.

“I guess I am,” I said and hugged my waist. “It’s not every day you find a dead body.”

“Everett seems to be handling it well,” he said glancing toward my cat, who rolled in the sand.

“He’s used to dead things,” I said, stating the obvious. “He’s a cat.”

“What’s that in your hand?”

“My phone?”

“No, the paper you were looking at.”

“Oh, I found it in her hand,” I said and held it out. “It’s the label off one of my lip balms.” He took it from me.

“You mean it belonged to you?”

“No, it’s from my store. I make it and sell it. It’s beeswax, coconut oil, and honey. My recipe. I also designed the label. That’s why I recognized it.”

“Yes, well, it’s evidence and you moved it,” he said and stood.

“I have a picture of her holding it,” I said as if to prove my limited prowess in evidence collecting. “I watch crime shows.”

He made a dismissive sound. “I’m not sure that will hold up in court.”

The siren went silent as an ambulance stopped at the edge of the promenade. Two EMTs hopped out and went in the back for their gear. Jim stood. “Better call the morgue. This woman is long dead.”

“That’s what I told Josie,” I said and picked up Everett. He took an interest in the vehicle’s flashing lights.

“Neither one of you are doctors,” the female EMT said. Her shirt tag read RITTER. She was five foot ten with short brown hair and serious brown eyes. Built for power, she hauled a stretcher out. Her partner was a young guy about my height with bleached blond hair and a thin build. He had a surfer’s tan and winked at me.

“Gotta let Ritter check her out,” surfer EMT said. “We’ll call the morgue if she’s—”

“Oh, she’s dead,” Ritter confirmed as she knelt beside the body. “She’s stiff. Fender, call Dr. Murphy and let him know that we’ve got a dead body for him.”

“Will do,” the younger man said. He grabbed his radio and started talking.

Jim took pictures with his cell phone. Then, he and Ritter turned the body. I saw her face and gasped.

Even without color to her skin, I would know her anywhere. It was Agnes Snow.

“You recognize her?” Ritter studied me.

“It’s Agnes,” I said. “Agnes Snow.” Agnes was my aunt’s rival at the local craft fair. They had been feuding over who got the grand champion ribbon for decades. It didn’t matter which craft my aunt picked up, Agnes was always there with an award-winning entry.

Aunt Eloise had been acting secretively, hiding her latest craft, certain that Agnes was spying on her. She’d even gone so far as driving all the way to Portland to buy her materials on the off chance that Agnes was somehow keeping track of what my aunt bought at the local craft store.

I should have known Agnes from the way she was dressed. Agnes always wore high-end boutique clothes. She looked like a woman who came down to spend two weekends a year in her million-dollar beach house, but, in fact, Agnes had lived in Oceanview her whole life. She had married into a local family with political clout. Bernie, her husband of nearly forty years, was mayor of Oceanview for over half those years. They never had children. Instead, Agnes had gotten good, very good, at every craft known to man.

“Wait, is she the ex-mayor’s wife?” Ritter asked.

“Yes,” Jim said. “Bernie Snow’s wife and Eloise Johnson’s biggest rival.” He glanced at me, his blue eyes squinting in the bright autumn light. “Might explain the label you found in her hand.”

“Could I see that?” Ritter asked, stepping closer.

“It’s from one of my lip balms,” I said. “I own Let It Bee. The honey store in town. I make handcrafted lip balms, lotions, candles, and—”

“Candy,” Fender said. I turned to him.

“Yes, candy.”

“The best candy,” he said, grinned a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad, and leaned in. “The honey salted caramel is to die for.”

“Let’s hope Agnes didn’t agree,” Jim said.

“I’m sure there’s no connection,” I said. “Besides, it was a lip balm label, not one from candy.”

“You have to admit that it still doesn’t look that good for you,” Jim said his face suddenly sober.

“Wait, you think I had something to do with Agnes’s death? That’s nuts. Why would I call nine-one-one if I killed her?”

“You watch crime shows,” Jim said. “You know the answer.”

“Because I want to involve myself in the investigation?” My voice crept up two octaves. “That’s crazy. It doesn’t happen in real life. Does it?”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “It happens often enough that they put it in a television show.”

“Well.” I hugged Everett. “It’s silly to think I could hurt anyone.”

“Any idea how she died?” Fender asked. He leaned over the dead woman and studied her. “I don’t see any obvious trauma.”

“Cause of death is for the coroner to determine,” Ritter said.

“Stand back,” said a woman my age as she walked up with a black bag in her hand. She wore a blue shirt that was marked with CSU. “You all are muddying up my crime scene. Is that a cat?”

“Yes, his name is Everett,” I said. “He found the body.”

She stepped over to me. “Hello there, handsome,” she practically purred and scratched Everett behind the ears. He purred back at her. “Is he wearing a leash?”

“He loves to go for walks and the leash keeps him safe,” I said and patted his head.

“Okay,” she said and turned on her heel. “All of you, do not move! I need to see where you all have come in and messed up the crime scene.” She put down her bag, opened it, then pulled on a pair of gloves. Frowning, she took a large camera out of her kit. “Really, Officer Hampton, you know better.”

“We moved the body,” he said. “Needed to see if she was hurt.”

“I have pictures,” I said and held up my phone.

“Someone is smart,” she said as snapped away with her camera. “I’m Alison McGovern.”

“Wren Johnson,” I said.

“Wren, like the bird?”

“Yes,” I said. I was used to the question. “My mom loved the name.”

“It’s cool,” Alison said. “Okay, you two can remove the body.” I watched in fascination as she continued to bully the EMTs and Jim and work the crime scene. I swear she bullied the grass into giving up its secrets. But she did it in a slow and methodical way.

After a while, Jim stood beside me and watched her work.

“She’s good,” I said.

“Thorough,” he agreed. “I’m surprised that cat is letting you hold him so long.”

“Everett? He loves to be held.”

“That is not my experience with cats,” he said. “My experience is they lure you in to pet their belly only to scratch and bite and run to hide under the bed for the next day and a half.”

I laughed. “Yes, that also sounds like a cat. They’re all different, you know. Just like people.”

“So where were you for the last twelve hours?”

I turned to him. “Are you still thinking I’m a suspect?”

“Can you answer the question?”

“Can you?” I asked him. “I mean, twelve hours is a lot of time to account for.”

“I’ve been working for the last six,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill someone,” I countered. “Did anyone see you every minute of the last twelve hours?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m no. . .