A Beeline to Murder

Abby walked over to the casket. A peaceful-looking Jean-Louis was visible from the head to just below the waist. The bottom half of the casket was covered by a massive spray of white lilies. Philippe had dressed his brother in a tropical-print shirt of muted colors, which made Abby smile. Jean-Louis looked like a carefree young man napping on his favorite beach on the island of Hispaniola.

“Chef Jean-Louis,” Abby whispered, leaning in. “Just so you know, I was on time for the last honey delivery.” Unexpectedly, a shiver shot up her spine. Abby tensed as she stared at the corpse. His features, once so expressive, seemed intensely somber now, as if holding a secret. She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. “I hated finding you like that.” The back of her eyes burned as she stifled the cry building within. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell the bees about your passing. I’ll have to tell them, although I guess I’m more of a bee whisperer than a talker.” Abby’s lip quivered. “You know, they sometimes”—her voice cracked—“sometimes sing to me.” She swallowed a sob and sniffed hard.

“My grandfather, may God rest his soul, now, he was a bee talker,” she explained. “He was the one who told me that when someone close to the bees dies, the bees know. They sometimes fly away with the spirit of the dead. Listen, Chef, I don’t want to lose my bees, so if they fly off with you, please tell them to come home to the farmette.”

The tears that had welled now trickled over her cheeks. Abby dabbed them away with the backs of her hands. “Once we get you tucked in, I’ll open the hives, I promise, and whisper what they surely already sense. You know they liked having you visit them. I’m going to find out who did this to you, Jean-Louis. I promise.”

“Abby,” Philippe’s voice called out softly.

Abby quickly wiped the tears and turned to greet him.

Philippe took her in his arms and held her close.

Abby felt her heart aching, her stomach knotting. Even as she told herself to hold it all in, a sob erupted. Pull yourself together. From Philippe’s warm and sheltering embrace, she began to draw strength and calmness.

“Philippe, he’s so beautiful, so peaceful,” she said when they parted. “And the flowers are exquisite. Your doing?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

“Non. They have been delivered with cards, all but this one.” He reached out and touched the spray of white lilies tied with ribbon that lay atop the casket. “The staff told me a thin man in a dark suit and sunglasses brought these. There are also two roses just there, where the casket lid comes down. He laid them in a way, it seems, to suggest that Jean-Louis carry them into the afterlife.” Abby knelt down to see the two roses for herself and then stood up again, facing Philippe.

“Do you know who that man might be?”

“Non. He requested time alone with Jean-Louis. The staff told me that he sobbed so hard, they brought to him tissues and a glass of water.”

“Did he tell them his name?”

Philippe shook his head. “He stayed a short time. That is all.”

At that moment, a lithe, petite woman in a navy shirtwaist dress and pearls walked through the chapel door. As she approached, Philippe introduced her as Brenda, the coordinator he had been working with.

“We have some business to complete,” he explained.