A Beeline to Murder

“Sure thing, Lucas. And I know you’re just on the other side of that there hill.” She pointed east.

The corners of his mouth crinkled in amusement.

Abby sensed a longing in Lucas. Like a thistle floating in the air, it was almost imperceptible, but she could see—for a moment, anyway—a tender vulnerability in his eyes.

“Thank you for your concern, Lucas. Means a lot.”

He nodded, touched the brim of his hat, and strolled back to his pickup. After sliding onto the seat and slamming the door shut, he leaned an elbow over the window and called out, “Stay alert, Abby. You know as well as I do that bad people can hide in plain sight, and you don’t need a reason to call me.”

Nodding, Abby waved as Lucas drove off down her driveway. Lucas did not wave back, but his words “You don’t need a reason to call me” vibrated through her being. Quiet, serious Lucas, with that deep, resonant voice and unassuming manner, had suddenly and unexpectedly set her heart aflutter.

She stood there, her mind on the man in the truck. Suddenly, Lucas pulled back into view, giving Abby a start. He was backing up his truck to accommodate a car barreling down the drive. It was Philippe, who’d steered his rental car off the blacktop road and onto Abby’s driveway, right in Lucas’s path. It was either the pickup or the mailbox—unless Philippe yielded the right of way. Which he didn’t. So Lucas had to back up.

Abby watched as the Frenchman and the cowboy faced off, and smiled as the two men inched their vehicles past each other in an automotive stare down. Her mailbox was safe—at least for now.





Honey Body Wash





Ingredients: 1 cup oil (sweet almond, sesame, grapeseed, or light olive oil)

? cup honey

? cup liquid castile soap

10 to 20 drops scented essential oil (lavender, rose-geranium, sandalwood, ylang-ylang, or your favorite oil)



Directions:



Pour the oil in a medium-size mixing bowl. Add the honey, soap, and scented oil and gently mix with a spoon to blend.

Pour the body wash into a clean jar with a lid or a pretty bottle with a stopper.





Makes enough luxurious scented body wash for four to five baths





Chapter 9


The next time you have a hankering for popcorn, try an heirloom, open-pollinated variety and compare the taste of it to movie-theater popcorn.

—Henny Penny Farmette Almanac





The lobby of Cineflicks Theater smelled of hot butter and popcorn. The fresh-faced young woman with the dark hair and hoop earrings at the ticket window inclined slightly toward Abby. “How many?”

“Oh, we’re not here for the movie,” Abby said. Taking note of the woman’s name tag, she asked, “Could we see your manager, Ms. Gonzales?” Abby pushed her business card under the ticket window.

The young woman looked it over, rose, and disappeared from the booth. A moment later, she swung open the theater’s glass doors.

“He’s in the projection room,” the young woman explained. “I’ll have to go and get him.” A beat passed. She said, “Uh, I’m working the ticket window and the concession. . . alone. Don’t let anyone in until I get back. Okay?”

Abby nodded.

Laughter erupted from the wings beyond the two heavy doors. Abby looked over at Philippe. His cold expression had not changed since the driveway encounter with Lucas.

“Have you seen this film, Un virage pour le pire, A Turn for the Worse?” Abby asked. “The marquee noted it was a French film with English subtitles. Must be a comedy,” she said. Abby wondered if he would see through her lame attempt to engage him in banter, perhaps draw him out of his dark mood.

Philippe barked back, “No.” His expression remained unchanged.

Changing the subject, Abby pointed to the platters of pastries at the concession stand. “You know, Philippe, the brownies and cookies here are absolutely yummy. They’re homemade by the theater staff.”