Read Online Death By Bridle by Abigail Keam - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Abigail Keam
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plump office chair, I spied Clay and his staff busily satisfying customers. Knowing this was going to take a long time, I settled into my seat and began nosing around Clay’s desk.
I know this is a bad habit. I know it’s rude, but it’s amazing what you can find out about people just by poking around their desk or bathroom cabinet. Yes, I’m that kind of person who would read an unlocked diary, which is why I don’t keep one. And I had nothing else to do but snoop.
After going through his mail, which consisted of business matters – no juicy love letters – I studied the pictures on his walls. It seemed that Clay was a softball player in his younger days. I noticed several other beekeepers I knew including my friend, Larry Bingham. The date on the last picture of Clay and Larry together was ten years ago. Hmmm.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew Clay was pulling on my shoe. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”
“I’ve loaded everything up for you,” announced Clay, who obviously wanted his comfy chair, but I was not ready to give it up yet. He handed me an invoice.
“Busy day, huh?” I asked.
“Been running my tail off,” he said, “but that’s a good problem to have.”
“Yeah,” I said, reluctantly motioning to Clay to help me up. I got up on my two legs and Clay handed me my cane. He looked worn out and seemed relieved that he could sit in his own chair.
“Hey, Clay?”
“Hey what,” he returned, giving me a series of quick looks. “Josiah, did you go though my mail? Everything is out of order.”
“Of course not,” I pouted, acting put out. Wanting to change the subject, I said, “I didn’t know that you played softball.”
Clay glanced at the pictures. “Yeah, we had a great team. I played shortstop.”
“I noticed Larry played too.”
“He played left field, but then he got too old to play. Anyway that’s what he said. Stopped playing after our last big Bluegrass Stakes game. Aw, that was some game.”
“You still play?”
Clay gave me a big grin. “Naw, got too many things going on now. Don’t have the time, but wish I did. Lots of fun.”
He walked me out to the car, holding my cane while I struggled to get in. Clay tossed the cane in the back seat. “Bees doing OK?”
“The best I can tell, but I am going to need help this next harvest, which is coming up very soon. Know anybody that can help?”
“If you can’t find anyone, give me a call. I’ll help you,” replied Clay.
“Maybe I’ll ask Larry again,” I said. “I just hate to bother him all the time.”
“He doesn’t mind. But seriously, call me if you can’t find anyone.”
“Thanks, Clay.”
He patted the roof of my car before saying, “Be careful, Josiah.”
I waved goodbye.
Since I would pass Larry’s house on the way home, I decided to drop by and see if he was available for the summer’s honey harvest. Within twenty-five minutes I was pulling up into his driveway. At the front of the driveway was Larry’s honey stand where jars of golden honey were stacked alongside a cigar box. People paid on the honor system and it was amazing that honey or money were rarely stolen. Perhaps it was because everyone knew that Larry was a retired G-man.
Underneath his love of classic rock ’n’ roll, puzzles, and 1940’s era slang was someone who was not to be trifled with. Maybe it was his eyes. They seemed to tear a person up.
I pulled up next to his fancy honey house and honked my horn. Larry shambled out. I smiled and called his name, but I swear for the briefest of seconds a shadow pass over his face. His eyes narrowed. It startled me, but then he smiled.
“Hey, Toots. Whatcha doing?” he inquired in a friendly voice.
I must have been imagining his dismay upon seeing me. I shook it off.
“Came for a quick chin wag. Just got back from Clay’s. Clay said if you can’t help me with the next harvest, he would do it.”
“And get some of the best honey
I know this is a bad habit. I know it’s rude, but it’s amazing what you can find out about people just by poking around their desk or bathroom cabinet. Yes, I’m that kind of person who would read an unlocked diary, which is why I don’t keep one. And I had nothing else to do but snoop.
After going through his mail, which consisted of business matters – no juicy love letters – I studied the pictures on his walls. It seemed that Clay was a softball player in his younger days. I noticed several other beekeepers I knew including my friend, Larry Bingham. The date on the last picture of Clay and Larry together was ten years ago. Hmmm.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew Clay was pulling on my shoe. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”
“I’ve loaded everything up for you,” announced Clay, who obviously wanted his comfy chair, but I was not ready to give it up yet. He handed me an invoice.
“Busy day, huh?” I asked.
“Been running my tail off,” he said, “but that’s a good problem to have.”
“Yeah,” I said, reluctantly motioning to Clay to help me up. I got up on my two legs and Clay handed me my cane. He looked worn out and seemed relieved that he could sit in his own chair.
“Hey, Clay?”
“Hey what,” he returned, giving me a series of quick looks. “Josiah, did you go though my mail? Everything is out of order.”
“Of course not,” I pouted, acting put out. Wanting to change the subject, I said, “I didn’t know that you played softball.”
Clay glanced at the pictures. “Yeah, we had a great team. I played shortstop.”
“I noticed Larry played too.”
“He played left field, but then he got too old to play. Anyway that’s what he said. Stopped playing after our last big Bluegrass Stakes game. Aw, that was some game.”
“You still play?”
Clay gave me a big grin. “Naw, got too many things going on now. Don’t have the time, but wish I did. Lots of fun.”
He walked me out to the car, holding my cane while I struggled to get in. Clay tossed the cane in the back seat. “Bees doing OK?”
“The best I can tell, but I am going to need help this next harvest, which is coming up very soon. Know anybody that can help?”
“If you can’t find anyone, give me a call. I’ll help you,” replied Clay.
“Maybe I’ll ask Larry again,” I said. “I just hate to bother him all the time.”
“He doesn’t mind. But seriously, call me if you can’t find anyone.”
“Thanks, Clay.”
He patted the roof of my car before saying, “Be careful, Josiah.”
I waved goodbye.
Since I would pass Larry’s house on the way home, I decided to drop by and see if he was available for the summer’s honey harvest. Within twenty-five minutes I was pulling up into his driveway. At the front of the driveway was Larry’s honey stand where jars of golden honey were stacked alongside a cigar box. People paid on the honor system and it was amazing that honey or money were rarely stolen. Perhaps it was because everyone knew that Larry was a retired G-man.
Underneath his love of classic rock ’n’ roll, puzzles, and 1940’s era slang was someone who was not to be trifled with. Maybe it was his eyes. They seemed to tear a person up.
I pulled up next to his fancy honey house and honked my horn. Larry shambled out. I smiled and called his name, but I swear for the briefest of seconds a shadow pass over his face. His eyes narrowed. It startled me, but then he smiled.
“Hey, Toots. Whatcha doing?” he inquired in a friendly voice.
I must have been imagining his dismay upon seeing me. I shook it off.
“Came for a quick chin wag. Just got back from Clay’s. Clay said if you can’t help me with the next harvest, he would do it.”
“And get some of the best honey
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