The Murder of a Queen Bee by Meera Lester Read Free Book Online Page B

halfway there.
    â€œWhat do you say to a drive into the mountains, Sugar Pie? Would you like that?” Abby fastened her seat belt, shifted the gear into reverse, and backed up the Jeep. Sugar cocked her head to one side. Looking over at her, Abby could almost swear Sugar was smiling back.
    Abby stuck to the back roads through Las Flores, then drove through the mountains until she reached the red barn signifying the turnoff to Fiona’s cottage. After navigating up the short gravel road, she parked at the mailbox and read the sign on the front porch: WELCOME LITTLE PEOPLE, FAIRY FOLK, AND BEINGS OF LIGHT . Abby smiled and wondered how Fiona had managed to persuade Dr. Danbury to let her put that up. But then again, who would read it, except maybe the mail carrier and the two of them? Of course, there was also the occasional transient Fiona brought home when rain or freezing temperatures threatened. A couple of weeks ago, Fiona had told her about picking up an Iraqi war vet who was hitching his way through the mountains to the valley of towns on the other side. He had slept on her couch for two nights. Abby sighed at the realization that for all her compassion, Fiona’s rescuing personality might have been her undoing.
    Turning off the engine, Abby looked for signs of life. Perhaps the doc would peek out the window. Dr. David Danbury had been a successful surgeon at the local hospital. He’d purchased the property right after marrying a pretty psychiatrist from Stanford University who was doing the rotation part of her residency program at his hospital. When their growing family outgrew the cottage, the doc built a larger house right next door and connected the two homes with a breezeway. Later, when the marriage failed and his wife moved back east, taking their daughters with her, the doc gave up his lucrative practice to make wine. He rented out the little cottage and eventually became an alcoholic recluse.
    Fiona had confided to Abby that she and the doc had initially got on just fine. But with booze on board, it was another story. The affable doctor turned into a pushy, mean drunk. He would talk about his life and insult each person as he remembered them. There was never a kind word for anyone. When Fiona didn’t want to keep drinking with him, he insulted her, too, saying she was an emasculator, like his wife had been. After that, Fiona had to tread upon the proverbial razor’s edge between being friendly with the doc and spurning his advances, which put her chances of staying in the cottage in jeopardy.
    She loved her small home, positioned as it was in the middle of Dr. Danbury’s ten-acre vineyard. At the back, there was a Christmas tree farm that bordered another forty acres of wilderness. The latter provided refuge for wildlife, a small stand of old-growth redwoods, and many indigenous plants. When Fiona decided to leave the commune for good, it had been a stroke of good fortune to find Dr. Danbury’s cottage. She’d tried to stay in the doc’s good graces by offering to plant him a garden that included heirloom vegetables and herbs. One day, he’d pointed to a swath of land near a large olive tree, which he said he’d planted years ago for the wife who left him. The doc had plowed a section under the tree and had told Fiona, “Plant there.” That was the extent of his interest in gardens with anything that wasn’t a grapevine or a Christmas tree.
    Abby held Sugar’s leash securely. She’d brought along the scarf Fiona had left at her house, Now, with Fiona’s scarf in hand, she approached the mailbox and looked around. Maybe if she stood there long enough, someone would notice. She didn’t want to look like a trespasser, a prowler, or, God forbid, an identity thief. She was, in fact, standing next to the mailbox. Mountain people didn’t take kindly to strangers walking about, so Abby hung back and held Sugar in check by her side.
    After a