Death By A HoneyBee

Death By A HoneyBee by Abigail Keam Read Free Book Online

Book: Death By A HoneyBee by Abigail Keam Read Free Book Online
Authors: Abigail Keam
rose from her desk, she buttoned her Ann Taylor navy jacket that had a tease of a peach silk camisole peeking out.   Her gold jewelry was modest but expensive.   I noticed she still wore a wristwatch.   Most people don’t now because of cell phones.
           I glanced haplessly at my out-of-date wool skirt sporting a healthy crop of lint balls.   Mud was caked on the heels of my ankle boots.   Fearing that I was going to leave dirt on her Persian carpet, I inwardly groaned.
          Agnes shook my hand with a crisp grip while telling her secretary to bring us tea.  
          As soon the door closed, I blurted out my confession.   “Ms. Bledsoe, I am so sorry, but I am here under a pretext,” I babbled.   “I didn’t know if you would see me knowing the real reason for my visit.”
          “You’re not one of those PETA people are you?” asked Agnes, alarmed.
           “No.   I’m here about Richard Pidgeon.”
           Agnes took in a sharp breath.   “You look familiar.   I know who you are. You’re Josiah Reynolds, the UK art professor.   I heard one of your lectures at the Newman Center on traditional symbolism in religious paintings during the Dark Ages.”
           “I no longer work for UK, but thank you for remembering me.”
          “Nothing to thank me about.   I thought you were perfectly dreadful.   Didn’t understand a damn thing you said.”
          Okay – if this is the way she wants to play .   A soft knock on the door kept me from responding.   Her secretary brought in an ancient tea service and set it down on the coffee table.   Agnes gestured to the surrounding chairs.   I plopped down immediately.  
          Agnes settled in a moss green camelback settee and began serving tea with perfect aplomb.    I nervously rested the nineteenth century china cup on an end table, fearful that I might splatter tea on her antique furniture.   As I had already lied to the woman, I certainly didn’t want to leave a water spot on her Duncan Phyfe.   Agnes watched me the way a cat watches a fluttering bird.   “I must say you have my curiosity. Why here about Richard?   I divorced him years ago.”
          “If you know who I am, then you must know that Richard died on my property . . .”
           Agnes gaped at me with genuine shock and her hand faltered.   I quickly grabbed her tilting teacup.   She sputtered something unintelligible.   Seeing a bottle of water on her desk, I fetched it for her.   I was about to call her secretary when she regained her composure.   Mopping her forehead with a tea towel, she said, “My, my!   Aren’t you the jack-in-the-box of bad news.   First you lie to get into my office and now you bring death to my door.   How else may I be of help to you, Mrs. Reynolds?”
           “Are you telling me that you didn’t know that Richard had died?”
           “Richard and I don’t have mutual friends.   I don’t read the paper unless it is the racing news.   No, I didn’t know.   How did he . . . pass away?”
          I briefly told her the circumstances of his death.  
          “I still don’t see why you are here.”
          “There are some questions about his death. Since he died on my property, I am seeking information that might answer them.”
           Agnes Bledsoe was a sharp woman.   “So there are some questions about his death and now you are here trying to find something that could pin Richard’s death on me.   Aren’t you a plum!”
          My face blushed.   With my flyaway red hair and freckles, I knew I must have looked most unattractive and guilty.  
          “I haven’t been married to Richard for over two decades but I keep …”    She stopped talking to wipe her running nose   “I kept tabs on him from time to time through a private detective.   I couldn’t risk personal contact with him, but I
    wanted to know how he was doing.

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