“That’s ridiculous,” I said.

Holly said, “It is the craziest, most over-the-top bunch of bull I’ve ever heard.”

“No lawyer will represent them and no judge in Charleston will hear the case,” Mark said. “It’s going to get thrown out of court. Watch. You’ll see.”

“And where does Mr. Archie stand on all of this?” Momma asked.

“Behind his curtains,” Holly said.

“Probably sucking his thumb,” I said.

“He’s radio silent,” Mark said. “Not a word. But that doesn’t matter. I’m just waiting to see the CSI report and the autopsy. We should have that any day.”

“He probably doesn’t know what to think,” I said. “What about the boys?”

“Well, it’s another transition for them,” Holly said. “They’ve been waving at me from next door with smiles as big as Texas.”

Chapter 31: Stop and Smell the Roses

Tyler said, “Do bees have friends?”

“No, they work together as a team. But in many ways, human beekeepers are their friends, because we keep their hives free of mites and beetles.”

“It’s a good idea to have someone watch out for you,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “it surely is.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Stop and Smell the Roses

Leslie took Momma to see her doctors and I stayed home to work in the yard, which had become a veritable horticultural miracle. I knew the bees were so relieved to be rid of Sharon that they were cross-pollinating like madwomen, hopping from one flower to the next, waggling and leaping in joy, bringing about an insane profusion of blooms. Those dahlias that I didn’t think would thrive were flourishing as though I had fertilized them with unicorn droppings and irrigated them with the tears of saints. Cars stopped to take pictures, and I gave away armfuls of flowers every day. It seemed that the more flowers I cut, the more flowers bloomed. I finally put a sign in the yard that said, Help yourself to a few.

I was just handing a large bouquet to a carful of curious members of the Sullivan’s Island Garden Club when Mark pulled into our driveway. He got out of the car sporting a broad smile, which had to mean the investigation had gone our way.

“Hi!” I said. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I have some very good news for you,” he said.

“Should we go inside?” I said. “Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

“Why not?”

It was a hot August afternoon and let me tell you, August on Sullivan’s Island was like the seventh circle of hell.

We went inside. He followed me to the kitchen, where I pulled a cold pitcher of tea from the fridge and filled two glasses.

I pushed the sugar bowl and a dish of lemon slices across the table to him.