A Beeline to Murder

? Store dried mint in an airtight container in a cool, dark place.

? Make tea using the dried mint leaves, or crumble some dried mint leaves between your palms and then sprinkle them on salad to season it.





Chapter 12


Each nostril of a dog’s highly sensitive nose can track separate scents, proving useful in helping humans find illegal drugs, locate dead bodies, and even detect cancer.

—Henny Penny Farmette Almanac





Abby expertly guided the Jeep along the switchbacks, easily negotiating the curves of the two-lane highway from Las Flores to the forested summit of the coastal mountains. She stole a quick look at Philippe, whose face during the past few minutes had turned as white as a parsnip in April.

“You don’t look so good. Do I need to pull over?”

Cars had been whizzing past them in succession during the eight-minute trip from town to the summit. The shoulder on the right had eroded in places from mud slides during the recent rainy season. Pulling off the road wouldn’t be that easy, but Abby didn’t want poor Philippe upchucking his breakfast muffin on his charcoal linen dress pants. She flipped on the turn signal and prepared to turn.

Philippe swallowed hard. He hung on to his seat belt with a white-knuckled grip. “Much farther?”

“Half a mile more.”

Apparently planning for the worst but hoping for the best, Philippe pressed a white monogrammed handkerchief against his mouth and loosened his raspberry silk tie. By the time Abby had turned off the highway and had traveled a mile or so down a two-lane ribbon of asphalt, some color had returned to Philippe’s cheeks.

They searched for signs along the road for the Church of the Pines, built during the last century. Abby couldn’t use the navigation app on her phone, because it had lost its signal. She braked and searched harder for signs for the church. It was a pretty drive through towering redwoods interspersed with fields. The houses were few and far between, but there were signs of a thriving community—bicycles and trikes in a driveway, a plot of tomatoes growing out front, and chickens and ducks roaming about. The mountain had its own way of linking families through its rugged environment. People had to depend on each other when misfortune or bad weather struck.

As she drove, Abby’s thoughts drifted to Philippe’s family. She wondered how the conversation might have gone between Philippe and his dad about where to bury Jean-Louis. All Philippe had told her was that he had talked with his father by phone and they had decided as a family that a quick burial made the most sense, especially since Abby’s private investigation was ongoing and the health of Philippe’s mother was deteriorating. Nevertheless, Abby decided to broach the subject of Sugar.

“Philippe, could you take Sugar when you return home to New York? I mean, the dog is thirty-five pounds of pure love. And since she belonged to Jean-Louis, isn’t there a chance your mom and dad would also welcome her into their lives? She just needs a bit of training, but she’s smart. Really smart.”

Philippe looked at Abby with an incredulous expression. “I am sorry, Abby. I know you think I should take her. But this dog, I cannot take. I am not a dog person. I do not want the responsibility. And my parents are not able to take the dog, either. My father has his hands full, and my mother, she cannot care for herself. A dog would be too much for them.”

Philippe pressed his white monogrammed handkerchief against his mouth.