A Beeline to Murder

“Well, it just means you’ll have to visit Sugar and me as often as possible,” Abby said. She held his jacket in one hand and jiggled the car keys in the other. “Ready?”


“Oui.” Philippe dropped the stick he’d been throwing to the dog and brushed his hands together a few times, apparently to rid them of dirt from the stick and Sugar’s slobber. “Did you know Sugar can do tricks?”

Abby smiled. “What kind of tricks?”

“Fetch.”

“Really? Does she find the stick and bring it back?” Abby wondered why Sugar had never fetched for her.

“Well, no. She goes after it, but she does not bring it back.”

“Then, technically, I don’t think it’s a trick. But we’ll work on it, won’t we, Sugar?”

Sugar trotted over and stretched down on her forepaws, looking up at Abby with large brown eyes. She wagged her tail happily, as if in anticipation that she would accompany the humans during an outing, which she already sensed.

Abby already felt guilty for not wanting to take Sugar to the police station, and her heart melted as she looked at Sugar’s sweet face, with its expression of trust. She knelt and scratched the short hairs behind Sugar’s ears. “Good girl. I love you for protecting me, Sugar.”

“What about me?” Philippe asked. “I threw the stone.”

“Of course you did!” Abby said, looking over at Philippe and smiling. “You hit him squarely on the shoulder. Your aim was perfect.”

“Well, not exactly,” Philippe admitted sheepishly. “I was aiming for his head.”

Abby laughed and stood. “But at least you nailed him, and not Sugar or me.”

Philippe gave her a quick hug. “You know, Abby, when I first saw this place, I couldn’t understand why you would choose to live out here. I thought how difficult it would be for me to live without art galleries, the opera house, and a symphonic hall all within walking distance or, at the very least, a taxi ride away. But I think I understand. It is your paradise, n’est-ce pas?”

“I suppose it is. Not quite paradise, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

After a beat, Philippe said, “When I return to New York, come with me. I’ll introduce you to my parents. They’ll love you. And we will get to know each other better, ma chérie.”

Abby felt a momentary rush of excitement. New York. The Big Apple. A place she’d always wanted to see someday. But how on earth could she possibly get away now, when she had fallen behind with her planting and renovation projects? She said nothing but swallowed hard.

An awkward moment ensued. Abby maintained her silence, pondering how to respond to his invitation. In the silence, an unwelcome tension arose between them. Abby sensed it, and her stomach tightened. Finally, she touched his arm and said tenderly, “You know I’d love to . . . someday . . . but I can’t leave the farmette now, not with seeds still to go into the ground . . . and the harvesting of stone fruit for canning . . . and the honey flow just starting. Then there’s Sugar, who needs training, and those plywood countertops, which need replacing, and the bathroom renovation . . . all before the rains come . . . our season of winter.”

“I understand, Abby. I do.” Philippe stepped back and gestured to the house. “I’ll just wash my hands and be right out.”