I quickly told them the story and they were horrified.

Momma said, “Her family’s going to blame you, you know. Get ready for a lawsuit.”

“Momma! Don’t say that! How can they sue me? On what grounds? And what would they get? Three hundred pounds of honey?”

Then Leslie told me about Charlie’s huge success in his showcase, which of course I was happy to know, but given the weight of the moment, I couldn’t get too excited. My mind had been racing while she was going on and on about Charlie and Cher and now Char, and I finally had to stop her.

“Leslie, listen to me. I might be in huge hot water. Sharon’s death might be ruled a negligent homicide or involuntary manslaughter, and then what?”

“Well, then, do what Momma said and get a lawyer. You’re a big girl; call someone!”

“Leslie, I don’t even know a lawyer.”

“Well, sister? I’d Google it, then. Let us know what happens, okay?”

“Sure,” I said and pressed the end button.

I was shaken. Leslie had not expressed any concern or sympathy. But she probably had no more of an idea on how to handle this pickle than I did. Maybe because they were on the other side of the country, it didn’t seem real to them.

I was feeling very alone in the world. Very. Archie didn’t want to see me? I needed a lawyer? What kind?

The car door opened. It was Ted again.

“So,” he said, “there will be an investigation, of course. I don’t want you to get upset, but you might be implicated. I don’t know how they can accuse you of anything, except keeping bees that may or may not have turned into a malicious private nuisance.”

“My bees have never been malicious. And they’ve never been a nuisance,” I said and then reconsidered. “Okay, they used her car as an outhouse and they bearded her car, but that’s normal behavior for bees. She did not get stung.”

“The coroner most likely will be calling for an autopsy. In a few days, we’ll know whether it was bee venom that killed her or not. I expect the odds are that it was the venom, because she was an otherwise healthy young woman.”

“With a very unhealthy mind,” I said.

“Listen, Holly, want to be smart? Don’t talk to anyone—from any kind of media. And hire a lawyer first thing in the morning. A criminal lawyer. And here’s my number if you need me. You know Darlene, our emergency dispatcher? Her husband, Mark, might be able to help. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door. And stay away from your bee yard. It’s a crime scene that needs to be combed, and you sure don’t want to be accused of tampering with evidence.”