A Beeline to Murder

“And her husband?”


“Jake Lennahan, businessman, spends a lot of time traveling. He financially backs lots of ventures. I think I heard he’s aligning with some backers to fund a resort of some kind. Don’t think he’s too involved with his wife’s political career or her nonprofit work. Keeps a pretty low profile.”

“Well, thanks, Kat. I appreciate your help.”

“My pleasure . . . especially since it got me a date for the Friday night movies.”

Abby had opened the car door but stopped short of climbing in. She stared at Kat in surprise. “The guard? He doesn’t seem your type.”

“You never know.... He has a wicked sense of humor, likes garage sales and weight lifting.”

“You found out all that while waiting for me for what? Five minutes?” Abby said in amazement. She sucked in a deep breath and let it go. “It occurs to me that you got something nice out of my invitation to come here, so how about letting me off the hook for that date with Bernie?”

“Not negotiable.”

“You want me to suffer, don’t you? For something so slight, I can’t even imagine what it is. I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are. But you are my best friend who needs favors . . . often.”

Abby sighed. “When you’re right, you’re right. But I can’t tell you how much I hate the thought of having to suck it up and deal with it. Anyway, Philippe is waiting for me, so I’d better be on my way.”

After a quick wave good-bye, Kat strolled back. Abby watched her return to the guardhouse—chest out, boobs high, and a light swing to her hips, all, no doubt, to titillate the guard.

Glancing in the rearview mirror as she made the turn onto the blacktop, Abby caught a glimpse of Kat and the guard laughing. Abby admired how easily Kat formed relationships with people, especially guys. When a love affair didn’t work out, Kat wasted no time getting right back into the game, looking for someone new. Her well-meaning advice to Abby after Clay had left was to move on. “You’ve got a blind spot where it concerns Clay Calhoun. Wake up, girlfriend. That hound dog is hunting again.”

For the longest time, Abby had tried to shut out thoughts of Clay, but her memories of him, like water from a deep hidden spring, would surface and ripple outward into myriad what-ifs. What if he didn’t like the new job? What if he walked back into the farmhouse like he’d never left? What if he still loved her with the intensity he’d expressed that day in the kitchen, when he’d knelt before her, taking her hands in his? She had believed that day that his profession of love was the beginning of a proposal of marriage—one she would have accepted—but he’d been interrupted by a phone call, and for whatever reason, Clay never got around to finishing what he’d started.

A week later, Clay had hugged and kissed her in front of the farmhouse, as though he would be back in time for dinner. He’d called ten times that day—at least once for every state he passed through. But when the calls stopped after a week, she called him. By then, she was angry at the man whose abrupt departure had left her feeling like a jilted lover. Her first call and all the subsequent ones went to voice mail. It made no sense. But in retrospect, she had learned something—her inner urge to be rooted and to nest was not his need. He suffered from a wanderlust that would ever urge him to seek out new and changing landscapes in the world.





Tips for Drying Mint

? Gather mint from your garden. Use shears to clip the stems close to the ground, as they will grow back.

? Wash the mint, place it on a large absorbent bath towel, and gently dry it.

? Gather the mint into bunches and tie the stems, cover each bunch with a small paper bag, and then hang the paper bags with cord, twine, or rubber bands in a well-ventilated place so that the mint air-dries.