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As she neared the turnoff to Goose Cove Lane, she glimpsed the same robin’s-egg blue house she’d spotted yesterday. The island’s undulating shoreline made distances deceptive, but this must be where Toby and his grandmother lived—not all that far from the Remington home as the crow flew.
A mailbox leaned at a precarious angle on one side of the driveway with an abandoned farm stand on the other. Although the house was several miles from town, it had a decent location for selling summer produce, since the highway led to the south beach, the largest on the island and the place where she’d gone last night near sunset. A faded sign dangling crookedly from a broken chain read CAROUSEL HONEY FOR SALE.
Impulsively, she turned into the driveway.
Chapter Ten
BREE SCREAMED AND SPRANG AWAY from the hive.
“Oh, god … Oh, god … oh, god …” She moaned, hunched her shoulders, shivered. The mass she’d seen in the bottom of the brood box wasn’t an arbitrary collection of debris. Oh, no. It was a mouse. A dead mouse, petrified inside the sticky mass of protective propolis the bees had deposited around it.
She shuddered, jerked off her stiff leather beekeeper’s gloves, and retreated across the yard. According to Toby, Mr. Wentzel had given the bees a strong sugar solution last month, but now the hives needed to get new brood boxes. This was only the third hive she’d opened. What was she going to find inside the rest?
Maybe Star had it right after all. She’d hated working with her mother’s bees. But Bree wasn’t Star, and right from the beginning, the bees had fascinated her. Each summer she’d helped Myra with the hives. She’d loved the vague air of danger, the superiority of having a skill none of her brothers possessed. She liked the order of the colony, the strict rules that governed their society, the idea of a queen. Mainly, though, she’d liked being with Myra, who was quiet and private, so different from Bree’s own frantic, self-absorbed mother.
Bree had been awake most of the night studying Myra’s small collection of beekeeping books, but neither the books nor all her summers helping Myra had prepared her for this much responsibility. She’d even taken a beekeeping class a few years ago, but Scott had refused to let her put a hive in the yard, so she’d never done anything with it. And now here she was, with not a single hive to guard against rodents, parasites, and overcrowding but with fifteen of them.
She scratched her ankle with the toe of her opposite sneaker. Although Myra’s jacket with its attached hat and veil fit, the matching overalls weren’t designed for someone as tall and thin as she was, so she’d pulled on her own khaki slacks. Light clothing kept the bees calmer, since dark colors reminded them of predator animals like raccoons and skunks. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to tuck her slacks into her socks, which accounted for the sting throbbing near her ankle.
She considered the possibility of persuading Toby to dispose of the dead mouse, but he shared his mother’s dislike of bees, and it wasn’t likely. After yesterday’s spying incident, she’d intended to keep a better eye on him, but he was nowhere to be seen. What she did see was a teenage girl with dyed black hair and some messy dreadlocks coming around the side of the house. She wore a black tank top, shorts, and ugly boots. She was shorter than Bree, maybe five four, with small, even features and a generous mouth. If it weren’t for the awful hair and hard makeup, she might be pretty. She also looked vaguely familiar, although Bree was sure they’d never met.
She pushed her veil on top of her hat. The girl’s appearance made her uneasy, not just because of the tattoo and nose ring, but because nobody had bothered her until yesterday. She liked feeling invisible, and she wanted to keep it that way.
“I’m guessing you’re not Toby’s grandmother,” the girl said.
Despite her tough appearance, she didn’t seem threatening. Bree tossed her gloves down next to the smoker she’d been using to calm the bees. Myra used to work the hives with her bare hands, but Bree wasn’t even close to being ready for that. “Toby’s grandmother passed away at the beginning of May.”
“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?”
