Chapter
Six

And you found this in the driver’s seat after you drove the van home?” Nott looked at the cup now encased in a sealed plastic baggie on the desk between us. “After you vacuumed it. After you ran it through the car wash.”

“Well, yes. I didn’t notice it right away.”

“Didn’t notice it.” Nott’s dark eyes bored into mine. So far he had repeated everything back to me. Shouldn’t he be taking notes?

Nott leaned back, studied the ceiling tiles for a moment. Then he stood. “Be back in a moment, ma’am.” He took the baggie with him, casually swinging it back and forth, like it contained a ham sandwich and he was on his way to lunch.

What was I doing? Nott obviously thought I was crazy to bring in a cup of squished insects and claim they were a murder weapon. I rummaged through my bag until I found a Hershey Kiss. I popped it in my mouth. Who would kill someone with bees? You’d have to know how to handle them, that’s for sure. Not something I’d want to mess with. A memory teased at the edge of my thoughts. Something about bees? No. Honey? I crushed the foil wrapper. Abby brought me honey the day Cass died. It was from Jeff’s mom.

Oh, no. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Jeff’s parents had a hobby that, to me, was slightly bizarre. They were beekeepers. Jeff couldn’t be involved in this, could he? He didn’t have a hive, but he knew how to get bees and handle them.

And Cass had threatened him. Then he’d gone outside. What had I done?

I watched Nott return without the baggie. He escorted me out of the large room with scattered desks into a private office with a faux cherry–finished desk and a window overlooking an empty parking lot. Colonel Witson sat behind his desk, turning the plastic bag around in his hands. “Nice of you to bring this in, all bagged up and everything. You must watch a lot of TV.” Witson grinned and tossed the bag on his desk.

I felt my face heating up. I’d been trying to help, but Witson made me feel like I was some kind of bungling police groupie, a big joke.

“I thought you might need it. It might help,” I said tersely.

“Was this”—he looked at a file on his desk—“Cassandra Vincent a friend of yours?”

“Not really. I’d just met her a few days before.” I wished I had changed out of my shorts and T-shirt into something dressier. I felt a distinct disadvantage here.

Witson picked up the baggie. “And now you think someone placed this in her car so she’d be stung and die?” His smile was wide.

“Look, I don’t know. That’s why I brought it to you. It sounds too crazy to be true to me, too. But I thought you would want to know.”

“Yes, we do always appreciate any help we can get. Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Avery. We’ll look into it.” He closed the file and stood up to shake hands with me.

I tossed a load of tiny clothes in the washing machine. How could someone who weighs twelve pounds generate three loads of laundry? Upstairs, I heard the gentle splash of water and the murmurs of Mitch’s onesided conversation with Livvy as he bathed her. I closed the washing machine lid and looked at the cabinets without seeing them. The supper dishes were done and I’d started the laundry more to keep busy than anything else. I couldn’t seem to focus on anything tonight. Despite Colonel Witson’s apparent lack of interest, two Security Police officers arrived at our house shortly after I returned from the base. They left with the van and my hand vacuum, so Witson was more interested than he let on. Although I didn’t like his attitude, he seemed to be following up on what I had found.

I felt a surge of anger and shook my head at myself. My time-delayed anger, which I experienced over and over again, didn’t do me any good. I wished I’d spoken up and defended myself instead of being embarrassed.

I couldn’t do anything about that now, but I could do a little research. I climbed the stairs from our basement garage/laundry room. In our bedroom, I punched on the computer. It was too big for the secretary desk that my dad had made, so the computer was squished into our already crowded bedroom on a tiny pressboard desk. While the computer whirred through its warm-up routine, I plucked a chocolate Kiss out of the dish on the desk. Chocolate helps you think, I’d told Mitch. It was logical to have Hershey Kisses beside the computer. I logged on to the Internet and searched for information on bees.

Even though Witson had the van at the base, there was no guarantee he would do anything. Cass had died an awful, untimely death and whoever planned it was getting away with it.

The confrontation between Cass and Jeff worried me. That scene combined with Jeff’s knowledge of bees really worried me. I chewed the inside of my lip. Did I want to do this? I scooted the chair closer to the computer. The truth had to be better than not knowing.

After pointing and clicking my way around a few sites, I found several color pictures on a university education site and realized I had seen wasps, not bees. Wasps! I felt a little better. But if you know how to handle bees, you’d probably know how to handle wasps, too. I scanned the text. Yellow jackets are fairly aggressive wasps, especially if their nest is disturbed. If the hive is crushed it will provoke a fierce response, with wasps stinging repeatedly, instead of only once, as in the case of bees.

I scrolled down and clicked on the heading “Allergic Reactions.” It described the symptoms of a reaction. If the reaction was severe, death could occur within half an hour, but sometimes within five minutes.

I bookmarked the sight and continued exploring the other hits. The emergency room on-base had closed last year. That info was part of Mitch’s in-processing brief and he’d told me, so I’d know in case I ever had to get Livvy help when we were on the base. The nearest hospital was at least fifteen to twenty minutes away. I shivered, thinking of Cass. Even if she had been stung in the parking lot with people around, she might not have reached a hospital in time to help her. Whoever had placed the wasps in her car must have known it would be difficult for her to get to a hospital or emergency room.

But where was her EpiPen? Had it been in the car and she was too overwhelmed to find it and use it? I’d ask Joe when he called again. I wondered if the police would call him and ask about the wasps and the EpiPen.

I left the computer and went outside. Mitch joined me in the backyard a few minutes later. He carried Livvy. He’d dressed her in her pajamas dotted with violets. She grinned and gurgled at me. I kissed her fuzzy head and inhaled the scent of baby powder and lotion. “Are you feeling better?” I asked her.

She punched out her legs in a kick for an answer.

“What are you doing out here?” Mitch asked.

“See that?” I pointed to our trash cans in the alcove behind the shed. Two wasps dipped and dove around the cans and then disappeared under the rim of the lid. “Yellow jackets. The same thing I found in the van.” I described the information I’d read online. “If we’ve got two in our yard, they must be pretty common. Anyone could attract them and then put them in the van.”

“Yeah, but how would you do it? Wasps aren’t the most cooperative things around,” Mitch said as we watched one wasp emerge and fly to our neighbor’s yard.

“A site online sells traps for bees. Apparently some people want to catch them. Or a bowl of water with sugar or rotting fruit attracts them. They’re less active at night when it’s cooler. They can even be refrigerated. And smoke calms them down, too.”

Of course, if you grew up with beekeepers for parents you’d already know this stuff. I didn’t say my thoughts aloud. Jeff and Mitch went way back. My worries could be coincidences.

I hoped they were coincidences. “The murderer could have trapped the wasps, cooled them down, and then moved them to Cass’s van at the last minute. It would take a little time for them to warm up, but when they did …”

“She’d be on the road to the back gate, which is usually deserted.” Mitch finished the thought for me.

“Whoever did it picked the base because it was farther from medical care,” I said.

“And I suppose, if you weren’t allergic, a sting or two wouldn’t bother you,” Mitch said. His words stirred a memory, but it flitted away before I could pin it down.

“Let’s go inside.” I felt cold even though the night was still warm.

I logged off the computer. Mitch placed Livvy in the middle of the bed and propped himself up beside her with his head resting on his arm. I settled on the bed on the other side of Livvy.

“Look, she’s finding her hands,” I said. Livvy stared intently at her right hand. She pulled it closer and closer to her face until she bumped herself in the nose and we laughed.

He looked at me over Livvy’s flailing arms. His eyes turned troubled as he put his finger out for Livvy to grab and said, “It was probably someone from the squadron.”

I thought back to the day of the barbeque. “There was a one hundred percent ID check at the gate that day. It is possible that someone could have gotten on base with a visitor’s pass or as a passenger in a friend’s car, but I’m sure the Security Police will check it out.”

Mitch said, “It’s much more likely that it was someone from the squadron.”

I sat cross-legged, Indian style, on the bed and rubbed my arms. I just couldn’t seem to warm up. I was chilled from the thought that someone we know, maybe someone we had talked to that day, had purposefully put an end to Cass’s life. “What kind of people are you working with up there?” I asked.

Mitch didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “It could be someone I don’t work with.” Livvy started huffing, so I picked her up and moved to the chair in our room to breast-feed her. Once I was settled I realized what Mitch was saying. “You mean one of the spouses!”

Mitch rolled onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. He looked relaxed, he usually did, but I could tell from the wrinkle between his eyes he was troubled. “There were plenty of spouses there.”

I shook my head. What could drive a person to kill another?

Jeff had been angry with her. Angry enough to kill her? As soon as the thought formed, my mind skittered away from it. Not Jeff. Please not Jeff. Who else could have done it?

“Cass had a big argument with Diana at the spouse coffee. She was hot,” I said.

“Who?” Mitch asked. “Diana was mad?”

“No. Diana was pretty subdued. That new subdivision came up after the meeting.”

I saw Mitch’s puzzled look and said, “You know, the really expensive one that’ll have a golf course. Anyway, Cass and Diana started out being extremely polite to each other. Cass gave Diana a compliment, but her smile was fake, kind of plastic. But Diana just said thanks. I thought she didn’t notice. Then Cass started needling Diana about Wilde Creek. Diana’s a realtor and I guess she’s got the listings in there. Cass said something about how Diana must be raking in the bucks and that there wouldn’t be one wild thing left when the development was finished. Cass started to simmer. I saw her flush and I thought the chips and salsa were going to vibrate off her plate because her hands were shaking so much.

“Diana just wiped her mouth with a napkin and explained the subdivision was going to maintain open space and preserve natural beauty. She talked about large lots and keeping trees. They have an arborist on retainer.”

“What did Cass say?” Mitch asked.

“It was like the calmer Diana was the madder Cass got. She was flaming by then. She said, ‘Don’t give me that. You care more about your manicure than the environment. Don’t kid yourself.’ I could picture her at those anti-Wal-Mart rallies, appealing to the crowds, when she said, ‘Acres of trees will be razed for the fairways on that golf course. And the chemicals, the pesticides and fertilizers. Wilde Creek will be as natural as one of those casinos on the Las Vegas strip.’

“That finally got Diana going. She stood up and said, ‘You think I don’t care about the environment? Then why would I take half my normal commission to handle the sales in Wilde Creek? Because I care.’ As she said that she jabbed her drink at Cass and a few drops of water sloshed onto the coffee table. Then she said, ‘But, unlike you, I’m practical.’ She thinks controlled development with open spaces and upscale homes is better than a strip mall or condos covering every inch of the valley. She even challenged Cass and said, ‘You fought that Wal-Mart with everything you had. You should be on my side.’

“Cass stepped closer to Diana and said, ‘What’re you saying? That keeping the valley unspoiled is an impossible dream?’

“Diana snorted. I had to smile at that because Diana seems so particular. She looks like the kind of person who wipes down the grooves in the jelly jar or the ketchup before she puts the lids on, you know? Snorting didn’t quite go with the image, but she didn’t back down. She said, ‘More like a fantasy.’

“Jill ended it when she told them to stay on squadron-related topics if they couldn’t be civil.”

Mitch said, “It sounds like they were arguing more over philosophy than anything else.”

I had to agree with him. “Diana did say the houses are already under construction, so their whole argument was kind of pointless anyway.”

“The way you describe it Cass was the volatile one, not Diana,” Mitch added.

“I know. She was passionate about the environment.” I thought back over my interactions with Cass. “You know, Cass wanted to tell me something about Gwen. I had the feeling it was some juicy gossip, but I cut her off.”

“That’s kind of far-fetched, isn’t it? To kill someone over gossip.”

I murmured an agreement, but I still wondered what Cass had been about to say about Gwen. Who would go to such an extreme to murder another person? “Who hated her so much?”

“If we knew that we might know why she died and who killed her,” Mitch said.

We didn’t talk about it anymore because Livvy pulled away and cried, as if she didn’t want to eat, but then she latched on again and gulped the milk. A few seconds later she pulled off again and cried. After a few minutes of that routine I was so frustrated I wanted to cry, too. Finally, I put her to bed and she fell asleep with a sigh of relief.

An Everything in Its Place Tip for an
Organized Move

Stay in Touch

• Buy a small address book or notepad to carry with you to farewell get-togethers. Pass it around to get contact info, especially e-mail addresses.
• If your friends are military, exchange permanent addresses of parents or a relative who can forward mail in case you lose touch with friends between moves.