Chapter Ten
BREE SCREAMED AND SPRANG AWAY from the hive.
“Oh, god… Oh, god… oh, god…” She moaned, hunched her shoulders, shivered. The mass she’d seen in the bottom of the brood box wasn’t an arbitrary collection of debris. Oh, no. It was a mouse. A dead mouse, petrified inside the sticky mass of protective propolis the bees had deposited around it.
She shuddered, jerked off her stiff leather beekeeper’s gloves, and retreated across the yard. According to Toby, Mr. Wentzel had given the bees a strong sugar solution last month, but now the hives needed to get new brood boxes. This was only the third hive she’d opened. What was she going to find inside the rest?
Maybe Star had it right after all. She’d hated working with her mother’s bees. But Bree wasn’t Star, and right from the beginning, the bees had fascinated her. Each summer she’d helped Myra with the hives. She’d loved the vague air of danger, the superiority of having a skill none of her brothers possessed. She liked the order of the colony, the strict rules that governed their society, the idea of a queen. Mainly, though, she’d liked being with Myra, who was quiet and private, so different from Bree’s own frantic, self-absorbed mother.
Bree had been awake most of the night studying Myra’s small collection of beekeeping books, but neither the books nor all her summers helping Myra had prepared her for this much responsibility. She’d even taken a beekeeping class a few years ago, but Scott had refused to let her put a hive in the yard, so she’d never done anything with it. And now here she was, with not a single hive to guard against rodents, parasites, and overcrowding but with fifteen of them.
She scratched her ankle with the toe of her opposite sneaker. Although Myra’s jacket with its attached hat and veil fit, the matching overalls weren’t designed for someone as tall and thin as she was, so she’d pulled on her own khaki slacks. Light clothing kept the bees calmer, since dark colors reminded them of predator animals like raccoons and skunks. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to tuck her slacks into her socks, which accounted for the sting throbbing near her ankle.
She considered the possibility of persuading Toby to dispose of the dead mouse, but he shared his mother’s dislike of bees, and it wasn’t likely. After yesterday’s spying incident, she’d intended to keep a better eye on him, but he was nowhere to be seen. What she did see was a teenage girl with dyed black hair and some messy dreadlocks coming around the side of the house. She wore a black tank top, shorts, and ugly boots. She was shorter than Bree, maybe five four, with small, even features and a generous mouth. If it weren’t for the awful hair and hard makeup, she might be pretty. She also looked vaguely familiar, although Bree was sure they’d never met.
She pushed her veil on top of her hat. The girl’s appearance made her uneasy, not just because of the tattoo and nose ring, but because nobody had bothered her until yesterday. She liked feeling invisible, and she wanted to keep it that way.
“I’m guessing you’re not Toby’s grandmother,” the girl said.
Despite her tough appearance, she didn’t seem threatening. Bree tossed her gloves down next to the smoker she’d been using to calm the bees. Myra used to work the hives with her bare hands, but Bree wasn’t even close to being ready for that. “Toby’s grandmother passed away at the beginning of May.”
“Really? That’s interesting.” She extended her hand, an odd thing for a young girl to do. “I’m Viper.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bree. Does Toby happen to be around?”
How did this girl know Toby? Once again Bree felt the scope of her incompetence. She didn’t know where Toby was or what he did when he was out of her sight. “Toby!”
No answer.
“He’s probably in the woods,” the woman said with a kindness that made Bree realize she wasn’t a teenager after all. “Are you Toby’s mother?”
Bree’s pale redhead’s complexion had earned her the nickname Corpse from her brothers, and considering Toby’s racial heritage, she thought the woman was being ironic. But she seemed sincere. “No. I’m… his guardian.”
“I see.” Something about her steadfast gaze made Bree feel as if she really did see-maybe more than Bree wanted her to.
“Can I help you?” Bree knew she sounded brusque, but she wanted her to leave so she could get back to the bees. More urgently, she needed a cigarette.
“We’re neighbors,” the woman said. “I’m renting the Remington house.”
The Remington house?
“It’s on the other side of the woods. There’s a path.”
The path she and Star had raced along a thousand times.
The woman glanced toward the hives. “You’re a beekeeper.”
“Toby’s grandmother was the beekeeper. I’m just trying to keep the hives alive.”
“Do you have a lot of experience?”
Bree laughed, a rusty sound that she barely recognized as her own. “Hardly. I worked with bees when I was growing up, but it’s been a long time. Fortunately, these are healthy, established colonies, and the cold spring seems to have kept them from swarming. If I don’t screw up, they should be okay.”
“That’s great.” She seemed honestly impressed. “Would you mind if I borrowed Toby for a while tomorrow? I need help moving furniture. He’s visited me a few times, and I thought he might like some work.”
He hadn’t been visiting. He’d been spying. “I… hope he didn’t cause any trouble.”
“An angel like Toby?”
Her ironically lifted eyebrow took Bree by surprise. Once again, she heard herself laugh. “He’s all yours.”
The woman who called herself Viper turned in the general direction of the woods and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Toby! I need help over at the house tomorrow afternoon. If you want to make some money, come see me.”
There was no answer, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She returned her attention to the hives. “I’ve always been interested in bees, but I don’t know anything about them. Would it be presumptuous to ask if you’d let me watch you work sometime?”
Her vocabulary and manner were so at odds with her appearance that Bree was taken aback. Maybe that was why she found herself giving a brusque nod. “If you’d like.”
“Great. I’ll see you soon.” With a smile, she headed back the way she’d come.
Bree turned toward the hives, then stopped as she was struck with a sudden thought. “How do you feel about mice?” she called out.
“Mice?” The woman stopped. “Not my favorites. Why?”
Bree hesitated, then gestured toward the last hive in the row. “If you’re interested in beekeeping, there’s something unusual you might be interested in seeing. Have you ever heard of propolis?”
“No. What is it?”
“This heavy, sticky substance bees collect to seal crevices in the hive. It has antibacterial qualities-some commercial beekeepers even harvest it.” She tried to sound professorial. “The bees also use it as a kind of hygienic seal around any hive invaders to protect the colony from infection. Go take a look.”
The woman walked toward the hive, a lamb to the mouse slaughter. She stopped in front of the noisome lump and gazed down at it. “Gross.”
But she didn’t move away. She kept staring. Bree snatched up the shovel she’d propped by the step. “If you want to pick it up and throw it into the gully…”
The woman glanced over her shoulder.
Bree did her best to continue her bright, informative chatter. “The propolis has actually mummified the mouse. Isn’t that fascinating?”
“You’re conning me.”
In the path of that steady gaze, Bree’s posturing collapsed. “I-can do it myself. I’ll have to. But… I hate mice, and you seem like the kind of person who’s up for anything.”
The woman’s eyes brightened. “I do?”
