A Beeline to Murder

Kat shook her head. “He is such an idiot. He was afraid she’d talk. But he was the one doing the talking. He likes booze. Drank too much and spilled to his cousin what they’d done.” Kat met Abby’s gaze. “Don’t you remember me telling you when we met him in the bar that night that his kind mouthed off too much and that would be his undoing sooner or later?”


Abby nodded. “His cousin Roy Sweeney might have been next on his list. It’s crazy.” She looked toward the apartment. Philippe was standing in the doorway, the light behind him. He was leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets, grinning and shaking his head, apparently finding it humorous that the two women were hunkered down, heads together, in conversation . . . in the cruiser.

“I need to get back, Kat,” said Abby. “But I have to know why Roy Sweeney attacked me.”

“As a favor to Harlan, who was giving him shelter and a helping hand. Those two were not too happy about how you were turning up the heat on the investigation just when they hoped it would go down as a suicide. It was payback for your interference.”

“What a hot mess!” Abby said. “But thank goodness, it’s all over.”

“Yeah. I hear you.” Kat leaned down and looked past Abby out the window. “When is Philippe flying back to New York?”

“I suppose soon, now that his brother is buried and the Sweeneys are in jail,” Abby replied.

“He’ll be back,” Kat said. “He seems to appreciate you. If he doesn’t come back because his heart tells him to, then he’ll surely return to visit his brother’s grave, and let us not forget, the trial of his brother’s murderer. . . .” Kat heaved a tired sigh. “Well, that’s it, girlfriend. I think I’ll head home now, take a shower, have a sandwich, and call it a night.”

Abby leaned over and gave Kat a quick hug. “You’re the best,” she whispered. “Thank you, Kat.”

“Thank me? No, I think we should all be thanking you. This case was closed until you gave us a reasonable theory and evidence to reopen it.”

Abby grinned and allowed herself to feel a moment of personal pride before getting out of the car and waving good-bye. Philippe had strolled away from the apartment’s doorway and was walking toward her.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“More than all right,” Abby answered. “It’s over, Philippe. Two people took your brother’s life. One is dead, and the other is in police custody.”

“And the police, they can prove it was murder?” Philippe asked as they headed back to the apartment.

“Yes. Well, they’ll give the case to the DA to prove in court. But the murderer is going away for good.”

Philippe ran his fingers through his hair. “Fantastique!” Once they were back inside the apartment, he closed the door and look at Abby tenderly. “What about the man who hurt you?”

“That hooligan is in custody, too.”

Philippe sighed and pulled her into his arms. “There is only the silverware to pack now. Let’s finish this tomorrow, Abby. You are welcome to stay in town tonight, or I could accompany you home . . . make sure you get there safely.”

Abby turned over the options in her mind. “Both are lovely choices, but home is calling. Sugar will be waiting for me, and I want to check on the bees and my chickens.”

Philippe stroked her hair and whispered, “I’ve never met anyone like you, Abby. Whatever happens, I hope you’ll always remember that for me you are a woman extraordinaire.”

Abby relaxed into his embrace. As she tilted her head up to look into his eyes, he leaned down and touched his warm, soft lips to her, at first kissing her slowly and then devouringly. Maybe Sugar and the chickens could wait a while longer; it wouldn’t be dark for a few more hours.