She handed me one and I started wadding up wrapping paper and ribbon.

“I’m not worried in the least! But now that I have you alone, I want to ask you something.”

“Sure! Anything.”

“Do you think the bees acted in response to the stories you told them?”

“Maureen?” I laughed and shook my head. “You’re going to learn all about the Lowcountry. You’re not in Tennessee anymore.”

“That’s for sure, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Okay, here’s what I think. I think there is no scientific proof anywhere, in any written record, that bees can do your bidding. It’s impossible. They have hive mentality, and they only work to preserve the queen and the hive. They can’t decide, oh, that Sharon is a terrible wretch who needs to know we’re onto her psychodrama. That’s not what bees do. It’s not their nature.”

“Okay. But aren’t there bees that kill?”

“Yes. African bees are super aggressive. But honey bees are sweethearts. Anyway, Maureen, you did a really good thing today.”

“So did your bees,” she said.

“I know.”

“Guess what happens to the drone bees?” I said.

“What?” Hunter asked.

“When it cools off in the fall, they get thrown out of the hive.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Vapors (Part 2)

When I got home, there was a police car in front of Archie’s house. I thought, Oh, come on. Really? What was the point of that? I went in our house. Momma was in the dining room. She had pushed all the catalogs and magazines aside and was spreading swatches of fabric by color group.

“Hey!” I said, curious to see what she had brought home.

“Hay is for horses,” she said.

“Fine. Did you and Leslie have a successful shopping trip?”

“Well, we got started. It’s a big project, you know.”

“No, I do know!” I said.

She said, “Well, do you know why the authorities are parked in front of Archie’s house?”

“Maybe.”

“Would you like to share?”

“My bees from the pink hive might have bearded Sharon’s car with her in it when she refused to let Tyler go to his own birthday party.”

She smiled wider than I had seen her smile in years.

“I see. Isn’t this a pretty shade of green? Very dramatic,” she said. “And you’re leaving out some details, I think.”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you get your poor old mother a glass of tea and we can chat for a few minutes.”

“I’d be delighted to,” I said. “Where’s Leslie?”

“In her room, on the phone with Charlie. What else is new?”

I poured two glasses of iced tea for us and just as we sat down, the doorbell rang. I knew it was the police. Hopefully, someone I knew. It was.

“Well, hey, Ted,” I said with a big old innocent smile.