A Beeline to Murder

Abby awoke hours before dawn. In the dark, she lay unmoving . . . listening. It was hot, stiflingly so. A sound had awakened her—a long creak. Then a thud. Someone or something was on her roof.

Even groggy, Abby remembered the ladder that she had propped against the south side of her house, where she had torn out a paper-wasp nest a week ago. She had left the ladder there, intending to pick the ripe figs and then cut the branch overhanging the roof. The last thing she needed was a colony of roof rats. But she had never gotten around to finishing, and the ladder was still there, waiting.

She eased off the mattress, feeling chilled in her short cotton gown, and searched for her flashlight on the bedside table. Her fingers soon touched the grooved metal. Leaving the flashlight turned off so it wouldn’t signal to the intruders that she was on to them, Abby felt her way in the dark along the hallway wall and over to the kitchen sliding-glass door. Sugar was not to be left behind. She bounded off the foot of the bed and shot past Abby to the door, her strong tail rhythmically smacking the wall.

“You stay here. Guard the inside. I’ll be right back.”

Sugar was having none of that. She squeezed right through the door, between Abby’s legs. Whatever! Abby slipped outside, then limped, barefoot, along the gravel path to the ladder. She climbed up it until her fingers felt the edge of the roof. Sugar had bounded off into the black night, whining and sniffing. Suddenly Abby brought the light beam up and shined it across the roof. The blinding light exposed the black, banded eyes, the white-tipped ears, and the ringed tail of a raccoon on a predawn raid with her three youngsters. The mother coon was standing on her hind legs, reaching upward for the figs and knocking some down in the process. Abby swore under her breath and backed away down the ladder. It was never a good idea to get between a wild coon and her cubs, especially when they were dining on their favorite food. Abby didn’t mind sharing, but she could have done without the startling fear that a dangerous man might be on her roof.

“Sugar, come here.” Abby flashed the light around the yard. She spied Sugar at the back gate, where the raccoons must have come onto Abby’s property. “Sugar! Come here, girl. Come.” Oh, good grief, dog. Tune me out, as you always do.

Abby returned to the kitchen and fished some doggy biscuits from a canister. Maybe one of these babies will bring you back. Abby found her shoes, slipped her feet into them, and walked toward the back fence, where Sugar stood on her hind legs, pawing at the fence. She leaped backward. Barked. Pawed some more.

“Look. Look what I have here,” Abby said as she walked toward the back fence. “Doggy biscuits. Come get ’em.”

Sugar took a flying leap at the fence, knocking over a pottery saucer filled with water. Now the poor animal had drenched herself. Abby shined the light at the back of the gate and saw another raccoon cowering in a half-turned position, as if ready to run. It would not be good for either Abby or the half-pint-sized dog to be trapped between two groups of coons. Abby dropped the biscuits, lunged, grabbed Sugar, and carried the wriggling, wet, yapping dog to the safety of the farmhouse.