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“Call me if you need anything too,” Calli replies.
“Your friend likes me,” I tease once she walks off and the waitress brings our receipt.
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Calli says with a grin, grabbing my hand as we leave.
We make a quick stop at the grocery store because she wants to make a pot of chili for dinner tomorrow. After we’ve gathered all the ingredients, I pause at the baking aisle. “Do you like cornbread or crackers with it?”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“Excuse me?”
She looks up at me and repeats what I thought I misheard. “I like it with cinnamon rolls. What do you eat with chili?”
“Cornbread is my favorite but back up a second. Are you screwing with me?”
Giggles rain out of her. “No! You’ve never had a cinnamon roll alongside chili? You’re from the Midwest!”
“I also don’t put ice cream on my spaghetti.”
“Shut up. I’ll make cornbread too.”
Our good natured argument continues in the car until we get close to our driveway. Calli sees it at the same time I do and hits her brakes.
“Arlow,” she whispers.
“I see it.” Dark smoke trails across the sky behind the graveyard. I take a moment to try to decide what to do. I don’t want to put her in danger but I’m not letting her out of my sight either. “Do you have your gun with you?”
Her eyes widen, and she nods. “In the glovebox.”
“I have mine too. We can go investigate or call the fire department first.” We’ve already decided the cops aren’t going to be an option.
“It doesn’t look like a lot of smoke. Could it be a fire on someone else’s property?”
“Possibly.” I doubt it. It looks like it’s coming from the clover field.
“Let’s go,” she says, and continues down to the dirt road on the opposite side of the church ruins. This road is barely wide enough to accommodate her car and she takes her time, careful not to get us stuck while I watch our surroundings.
It could be a grassfire or even a forest fire, but things haven’t been nearly dry enough for that to be likely. As it becomes clear where the smoke is coming from, my stomach sinks.
“Oh, Arlow, no,” Calli breathes, parking at the side of the road.
We both stare at my beehives, or what remains of them.
There isn’t a soul in sight as we walk across the field, our feet crushing the winter browned patches of clover. A sickly sweet scent hangs in the air, the last whiff of scorched nectar and honey. It’s combined with the familiar smell of gasoline.
The hives are far beyond saving, the colonies long dead. Burned alive. Rage makes my heartbeat pound in my ears.
I’ve had enough.
Calli is upstairs when I step out onto the porch to call Lee. He listens as I catch him up on everything before I get to the point of my call. “I need to find a private investigator, but I want someone who isn’t afraid to break the law to find Handleman and won’t question what I plan to do with the information afterward. Do you know someone I can trust?”
“I can make a call. Have you considered some security in the meantime? A guy to watch over shit while you keep your girl safe. It’s fucking difficult to do both alone.” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he says, “Give me a few minutes, I’ll call you back.”
I knew Lee would be willing to help me when I called him, but I didn’t expect to see him pull into my driveway just after dark.
He holds up a bottle of whiskey. “I’m crashing here tonight.”
“Okay, but I like to cuddle.”
