A Hive of Homicides

The flowers of a future garden are in the seeds
of seasons past.

Pain throbbed through Abby’s face, hands, and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she took stock of where she was—not in her bedroom, but on the living room sofa bed. Opposite from where she lay curled in a fetal position, Lucas slept in the overstuffed chair. Amused and curious, she watched his chest rise and fall in a quiet rhythm for a time. Some watchman, you are, Lucas Crawford. After slipping out from under the covers, she tied on her bathrobe and walked out her front door to survey the damage.

Her heart sank at the sight of the burned-out Jeep, which had been completely destroyed; the blackened elm tree, which had been saved; and the burned roof eave, the only damaged part of her front porch. They stood as a testament to what a hellish night she’d been through. Her gaze swept from the broken shards of windshield glass strewn about on the ground upward to the bare branches of trees and beyond. The songbirds were singing, the wind had turned gentle, and hungry cows on the hillside bawled. Standing like a beacon of security and calm in the distance was the Crawford Ranch barn with its silver roof. Behind the structure, a blue-gray fog bank hugged the horizon. Already, shafts of orange, lavender, gray, and pink light splintered through the mist. Dawn was about to break.

Watching the gentle movement of the vapor, Abby recalled the previous night’s drama. Her attacker had a name—Gary Lynch. Officer de la Cruz had told Lucas the guy was high and had drugs on him. That made it all the more remarkable that Abby had been able to hold her own against the wacko.

Thinking back to her therapy sessions with Olivia, Abby realized that embroiled in trauma—with no place to put her feelings and no time to process through them—she’d become confused and out of step with her own certainties. Strangely, the seeds of anxiety might have taken root deep within her much earlier—during the horrific languishing and loss of her first love, Ian Weir. A few years later, the devastating death of her younger brother had exacted its terrible toll. The anxiety that had plagued her since Jake’s death had been debilitating. But even after all of that, awaking a short while ago in the presence of Lucas Crawford, Abby’s body was racked with pain, but the anxiousness and dread that had long plagued her were gone. Perhaps facing down her foe had made it possible for her to begin healing. But there was so much to understand. And for that, she would continue her therapy sessions with Olivia.

Lifting her gaze to the eastern horizon, Abby gave her full attention to the dawn as a new day came into being. Combing through reddish-gold tangles with her fingers, she watched a pair of ravens winging their way across the horizon and then toward her. They landed atop the scorched elm. Her grandmother Rose had instilled in her that there were signs in the natural world for those who would see them. Her grandmother had counseled that it was right to show gratitude when friends linking the visible and invisible worlds brought a message. Some warning, guys.

Abby slipped back into the house to retrieve a bag of unshelled peanuts from the cupboard. After returning outside, she tossed them into the driveway. “Here you go . . . with thanks.”

“You talking to me?”

Lucas had followed her out onto the porch. He wore an amused expression on his unshaven face. His broad shoulders; long, jeans-clad legs; and worn cowboy boots shaped a sexy, rugged look that Abby found hard to resist. Whatever her future held, she hoped Lucas would be in it.

“Gratitude, yes, Lucas. But stale peanuts, no. I promised you a proper farm-to-fork breakfast. Fresh-squeezed juice is coming right up.”

Appraising her with the intensity of a lover, he closed the distance between them. With a scant foot separating them, he said in his rich baritone voice, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a damn good-looking woman, Abby?”

Abby laughed lightheartedly. Her pulse skittered. Unlike Kat, who had a rapid quip for everyone who uttered a flattering word to her, Abby didn’t often get compliments and rarely knew how to respond. And this was one of those times.

He reached out and stroked her hair. “I’ve got to go. Ranch chores to do.”

“What about that stupendous breakfast I was going to make for us?”

Leaning back, he grinned. Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I don’t doubt you’re up for it, but how about a rain check?” Lucas asked.

For Abby, his strong, unshaven jaw radiated male vitality. She melted under the intense light of his eyes, the color of creek water, and the sensuality of his face. “As you wish.”

A silence hung between them like the thick mist on the hills. His eyes moved from the cut on her cheek to her mouth. Abby thought he might kiss her.

“Mind dropping me off?” Lucas asked. “That way you can keep the truck for as long as you need it. I’ll have my car to use.”

“Oh, gosh, that would be great. I much appreciate it, Lucas. Give me two minutes to change.” She was already thinking of Kat’s suggestion of meeting under the holiday tree in the downtown park. She fantasized about having breakfast with Lucas sometime during the holidays. Now, wouldn’t that be just the perfect thing? And between pulling on her jeans and work shirt and dropping Lucas off at the ranch in his truck, Abby would think of some artful way to invite him.

* * *

It was mid-morning before Abby could take Paola home. They’d been through quite an ordeal. Abby felt guilty about that. But Paola’s mood had become unexpectedly cheerful.

“I think we should make truffles today,” Paola said when Abby had parked in front of the house on Thornhill Way. “But I know you have much to do. Thank you, mi hermana. You kept me safe.”

“I’m sorry to have put you through such a night,” Abby replied. “But, yes, let’s make some lovely holiday treats soon. I’ve got honey.”

Paola grinned broadly. “I am counting on it.”

An hour after she’d dropped Paola off, Abby began the process of cleaning up her property and dealing with the disposal of the Jeep. If possible, she’d prefer to recycle it; otherwise, she’d contact a demolition company once the insurance company gave her the go-ahead. The shell of her car was a gross reminder of the past. She was ready to move on.

At noon, Kat texted. How soon can you get to the station? Sinclair wants a face-to-face.

Abby had hoped that the inevitable sit-down with the lieutenant would take place after she’d had more sleep. But clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. Abby texted back. Be there in an hour. She might feel tired and beat up, but she didn’t have to look that way. Sinclair would have questions. He might take her answers more seriously if she weren’t wearing jeans and a flannel.

After taking a hot shower, Abby dried off and dressed in a knee-length black pencil skirt and a crisp white shirt. The fitted waist-length wool jacket, charcoal scarf, and flats made her look more like a lawyer than a farmer, she reckoned. Brushing her hair back and anchoring it with a sparkly clip was all she could manage. Trying to braid it had proven too painful for her shoulder and arm. Abby applied a little makeup—a light foundation, soft plum blush, and a deeper plum lip gloss. She applied a new bandage to the wound on her cheek and used a bit of mascara to darken her lashes before reaching for her phone and purse and heading to the downtown in Lucas’s truck.

* * *

Sinclair said, “In here.” He’d chosen the briefing room rather than the confines of his office or the tiny interview rooms. Otto, Kat, and Chief Bob Allen walked in. Abby assumed Nettie must be handling patrol, while a cadet worked the desk. It was weird to see the team assembled together like this when Abby was no longer serving on the force.

Once they were all seated, Sinclair thanked Abby for coming in. “On Thanksgiving Day, Ms. Mackenzie, you gave two of my officers a phone number that, as it turns out, belongs to Trevor Massey. Massey is the cousin of Gary Lynch, the man arrested last night on your property.” Sinclair slightly loosened the knot of his tie.

“I’d like you to help us plug the holes in the case we’re building against Lynch for the murders of Jake Winston and Dori Langston.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “So, let’s start at the winery the night you and Officer Petrovsky went to the vow renewal party for Jake Winston and his wife. You okay with that?”

Abby nodded.

A car alarm went off outside. Otto glanced over at the window and said in a dry drawl, “Oh, dang. Someone’s stealing my Ford Pinto.”

Everyone broke into laughter.

“Like they even make those anymore,” said Kat. Abby appreciated Otto’s timing. Levity at the right moment was always a good thing.

“You want coffee or a glass of water or anything before we start?” asked Sinclair.

“No, thanks.” Abby just wanted to give them the information they wanted and be done with the case.

“On the night Jake Winston was killed, you stated you heard a shot and then a car engine started up. You described that car as a light-colored sedan. It drove toward you. You dove to hide behind a truck. The car in question slowed and flashed a light through the passenger window. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Why would the driver be flashing the light out the passenger window?”

“All I can think is that the driver had only the car headlights and his flashlight to find me. If that creep had just murdered someone, he wouldn’t want to dally by getting out of his vehicle to go looking for a possible witness. Yet he saw me. He knew I was somewhere in the parking lot and used whatever was handy that might help him locate my hiding place. If he’d found me, I’d be dead, too.”

“How many occupants were in the car?”

“I didn’t see the driver or occupants. The light through the passenger window appeared to me to be that of a flashlight. It shined briefly in my direction. And then the car took off.”

“So you never saw the driver?”

“No.”

“And you don’t know the make or model of the car?”

“No,” Abby said. “Why? Have you found a suspect vehicle?”

“We believe the car you saw was a nineteen-ninety-five silver Honda Accord.”

“Means nothing to me.”

“Do you know anyone who might drive or have access to that type of car?”

Abby turned slightly in her chair. “No. Should I?” Sinclair said nothing but looked at her, as if waiting for her to figure out if she did or didn’t.

“Like I said, I noticed the car was a sedan, light colored, with the passenger-side lens broken or missing from the taillight. I’m certain that it was the same car that picked up Dori Langston from the Pantry Hut. That was about a week after Halloween. The car had a broken or missing lens cover. On that night, the driver wore a slouchy multicolored beanie. And recently, when I visited Jake Winston’s widow, Paola, in the hospital, I saw the same man in the corridor on the wing where she was recovering. That’s when I worried that she might be in danger. I asked Chief Bob Allen here to put a guard on her.”

Glancing over at her old boss, Abby noticed his jaw tense.

Sinclair looked over at Chief Bob Allen and tapped his pencil on the table. “The man you saw in the car at the Pantry Hut . . . what did he look like?”

Abby inhaled a deep breath and let it go. “I couldn’t see him very well. Like I said, he wore a stocking cap or beanie over his ponytail. It looked to me like the kind of floppy hat a granny would crochet with leftover yarn. Lots of colors.”

“So, Lynch wore his hair in a ponytail, but you saw him last night with a shaved head.”

“That’s right,” said Abby. “Changed his appearance . . . It’s not uncommon for a criminal to do that if he wants to evade detection.”

“We think we can link him through forensics to the knit cap found in the winery parking lot.”

“So did he kill Jake Winston?” asked Abby.

“We think so,” said Sinclair. “He’s the one guy on our radar that had a motive, the means, and an opportunity.” Sinclair pulled on his ear and stared thoughtfully at the table surface. “We now believe that Dori Langston provided Gary Lynch with the murder weapon after having stolen the gun from Emilio Varela during the time she stayed with him in August.”

Abby now realized that Kat and Otto had taken her theory to Sinclair, and he’d adopted it as his own. She suppressed a smile. “You said he had a motive. Was it money?” asked Abby.

Sinclair nodded. “Two thousand dollars. That’s the amount Dori had saved from money Jake had given her.”

“Wow. Seems like a paltry sum, although no amount could equal the value of a human life,” said Abby.

Kat chimed in. “According to Trevor, who has been singing to us like a songbird, Dori was going to use the money to furnish an apartment that Jake was going to set up for her. She thought he’d move in with her, too, but he renewed his vows with his wife. That infuriated her. And making matters worse, she thought Jake would fire Emilio and promote her to head up the wine club’s special events program. But Jake had no such intention.”

Sinclair opened his water bottle and took a sip. He screwed the cap back onto his bottle and set it on the table. “The woman was obsessed,” he said. “The winery workers thought she was an ambitious control freak. She couldn’t control or hang on to a relationship with Jake Winston. In a plot of revenge that was driven by thwarted ambition and jealousy, she hired Gary Lynch to kill Jake. In a twist of irony, Winston was a poor sucker who paid for his own hit, not realizing what Dori Langston would do with the two thousand dollars he gave her.”

Kat looked out over the heads in the room thoughtfully. “Who knows what Jake was thinking when he gave Dori the money for the new place? The winery workers and Jake’s wife agree that his behavior changed after his last trip to South America. Caught some kind of a brain fever. He was treated for it, but still. . . .”

“Paola worried that the illness injured his brain and altered his behavior,” Abby said.

“Well, she would, wouldn’t she? It’s what she told us, too,” said Kat. “She thinks it explains his lack of impulse control and strong desires for the ladies. But the doctors we talked with think that is unlikely. The wife might just need to explain away his bad boy behavior.”

“We’re not here to discuss the victim, just the perpetrator,” Sinclair reminded them.

“And as perpetrators go, Lynch is intriguing,” said Otto. He had been sitting back and listening but now leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Gary Lynch just got out of the slammer,” he said. “Like most ex-cons, he needed money. Lynch was finding it difficult to land a job with his long rap sheet. Father Joseph had cut him loose at the Church of the Holy Names, so he went to his cousin Trevor Massey for help. His cousin tried to get him hired to work at the winery. The company didn’t outright hire him, but Jake Winston would call him in to do odd jobs. Winston paid Lynch in cash on the same day he completed the work assigned.”

“So,” said Kat, “the night Jake Winston died, Lynch had been doing some cleanup around the place. Usually, he’d wait to be paid by Jake, but on that night, he told the sous-chef he was leaving when Trevor came on duty and would collect his moola the next day.”

“That’s why Lynch’s name didn’t show up on the employee roster or sign-in sheet for the day. His deal was strictly an under-the-table arrangement with Jake Winston,” Sinclair said.

“Wow,” Abby said. “So you think Gary Lynch lay in wait in his car until Jake and Paola arrived?”

“It’s plausible,” said Sinclair. “And then Dori Langston demanded Lynch return the gun. He, in turn, demanded more money. She refused.”

“So her refusal sealed her fate?” asked Abby.

Sinclair nodded. “We found Dori’s purse and cell phone hidden on the winery property where he admitted to stashing them. That phone had Jake’s private number stored in its contacts. We know from the last three numbers called from it that Lynch made those calls to terrorize Jake’s wife,” said Sinclair.

“His plan was all rather tidy,” said Kat, “until he heard about possible witnesses. You had been nosing around, asking questions of Trevor Massey’s girlfriend—Charlotte over at the Pantry Hut. At some point, Gary Lynch believed that it was just a matter of time until you figured out that he and Trevor were cousins and that they both had a great-aunt who owned a light-colored sedan with a broken taillight lens.”

“Recently deceased aunt,” Otto clarified.

“Lina Sutton,” said Kat, “remembered seeing Massey and Lynch at the hospital the night their great-aunt passed away after the nursing home staff had her transported to the emergency room. Lina said she’d seen Lynch on other occasions lurking around the hospital. He didn’t seem to have a purpose for being there. She said it was weird the way he just hung out in the corridors or waiting areas. Maybe he was looking for an easy way to score some drugs.”

“Well,” said Otto, “thanks to your rancher neighbor Lucas Crawford, who got a partial ID of the license plate of the old lady’s car that Lynch was using, we were then able to narrow our search field and track down the owner registration to her. Finding her last known address was easy.”

“Wait . . . what do you mean Lucas gave you a partial? When?” Abby asked.

“Last night he noticed a suspicious car in the vicinity of your house. He reported it.”

“You don’t say.” Abby suppressed a smile at the thought of Lucas patrolling her neighborhood. “I have always believed that the car was the key. And that if we could find it, we could locate the killer,” Abby said. “He must have kept the vehicle hidden. Do you know where?”

“In the garage of his great-aunt’s house,” said Sinclair. “The old lady broke her hip in a fall and was in a nursing home until she developed pneumonia. Lynch has been living in her house. The team went out there this morning and located the crime scene in the garage. It’s where he killed Dori Langston. He apparently transported her body by car to the reservoir where he dumped it.”

Kat leaned in and said, “You remember mentioning to me that old church up there that now has a communications tower on its steeple? On the night Dori went for a drink with a friend, she got a call,” said Kat. “You remember telling Otto and me about that?”

“Sure do,” said Abby.

“Well, Lynch’s cell phone call pinged off that church tower. He called her while she was out drinking that night.”

“Who was Dori’s drinking friend?” asked Abby. “Did you check the Black Witch’s CCTV?”

“Uh-huh,” said Otto. “She met with Don Winston. We’ve learned that her purpose was to convince Winston to fire Emilio and move her into the head chef position. But Winston wasn’t convinced it was in the best interest of the winery. He told Dori that he’d decided to keep Emilio Varela employed, that he liked the chef’s ideas. Winston said Dori’s phone rang as she threw her drink at him. She took her phone call while walking out of the bar.” Otto leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “According to Winston, she never returned.”

“Let me guess. So the caller was Gary Lynch?” asked Abby.

“Exactly,” Sinclair said. “Lynch picked her up in that sedan of his great-aunt and took Dori to the aunt’s house and killed her execution-style. Trevor Massey will testify that his cousin Gary began to obsess over whether or not you and Paola Varela might finger him for the murders. Likely high on drugs, Lynch went to Paola and Jake’s home. He used Dori’s phone to call Jake’s private number. Paola wasn’t alone, but he wanted to break in, but then Officer de la Cruz and the cadet showed up. You arrived shortly after that.”

Sinclair splayed his fingers on the table. He leaned forward and looked directly at Abby. “Gary Lynch followed you and Paola Varela to your place, with the intent to burn the house down with you both in it. Of course, Lynch was high on drugs, so he torched everything around the house first. Drug use was what Lynch and Scott Thompson had in common. Scott depended on drugs that he got from Lynch and didn’t want Chef Emilio Varela to expose that. Through his criminal connections, Lynch facilitated Thompson getting the drugs he needed to support his addiction.”

Chief Bob Allen stood up. He faced Abby. “The important thing to take away from all this is that Lynch underestimated your courage, Mackenzie.” Stroking the sparse mustache he’d grown, the police chief exchanged a look with Sinclair and then again addressed Abby. “So you know how these citizen merit awards work, don’t you? Sinclair, here, thinks we ought to give you one.”

Abby sat stunned. Her hands, covered in adhesive bandages, remained folded in her lap. “Seriously?” She shot a surprised look at her former boss. Dumbfounded, she glanced at Kat, who was clearly trying not to smile. Then at Otto, who’d leaned over to pick something up off the floor.

Turning to leave, Chief Bob Allen said, “Don’t hold your breath, Mackenzie.”

Abby struggled to sort through conflicting feelings. “Well . . . thanks,” she called out, but the chief had already stepped through the door into the hallway.

Lieutenant Sinclair pushed back from the chair and stood. “We’re done here.” He stretched out his hand. “Thanks for coming in.”

Abby extended her bandaged hands. Her thoughts flashed on Lieutenant Sinclair’s stolen service revolver. Abby had seen Gary Lynch casing cars in the hospital parking lot. Should she tell Sinclair or not? Most assuredly, he’d search Gary Lynch’s great-aunt’s house and the local pawn shops for his missing service revolver. A thought intruded. When a cop thinks you are trying to tell him how to do his job, the prudent thing to do is keep your mouth shut. Abby decided this was one of those times. She waited until Otto had left behind Sinclair, and then she and Kat tarried a moment longer.

“Your leads and theories helped us put this all together, Abby. But it was Chief Bob Allen’s idea to give you the award. He has his reasons, I guess, for putting it on Sinclair, but that’ll be our little secret. So . . . the holiday tree lighting happens just after dark today. Then the whole downtown flips the switch on the streetlights and decorations. Otto and I are going for a slice of pizza over at the Black Witch. Join us?”

Abby checked the wall clock for the time and thought about Kat’s proposition. “Well, that’s just an hour or so from now. I guess I could stick around.” Mentally, she thought of things to do to kill a little time. “I suppose I could fetch my business mail from the post office box and stop in at the Pantry Hut to look around at their holiday offerings.”

“Wait until I sign out,” said Kat. “I’ll go with you. The walking will do us good.”

Abby’s expression brightened. “Deal.”

* * *

At five o’clock, Abby and Kat, already in a holiday mood thanks to a couple of glasses of champagne they’d had at Kat’s house after hitting the post office, stood admiring the hand-painted dinner plates featuring nostalgic holiday images in shades of green and red and gold that the Pantry Hut had on display.

“Oh, how lovely,” Abby said, drawing Kat to her side. “Wouldn’t these look stunning on a buffet table, especially under candlelight or by a blazing fireplace?”

“Hello, Abby. Fancy meeting you here,” a female voice called out.

Abby spun around to face Olivia. Standing next to her was Lucas. Gripped by giddiness, Abby reminded herself to breathe. Under Lucas’s steady gaze, she was relieved to be dressed in the professional attire that she’d worn for her meeting with Sinclair, instead of her usual flannel and jeans. Then, realizing Kat and Olivia had never met, Abby introduced them.

“And, of course, Lucas and Kat already know each other,” said Abby, secretly pleased that her gorgeous girlfriend hadn’t claimed Lucas as one of her conquests.

“Our civic leaders always light a holiday tree on the first weekend after Thanksgiving. We’re just heading over to the downtown park to meet a friend of ours and watch the festivities,” said Kat. “Why don’t you all join us?”

“Oh, I’m just here to pick up a trifle bowl I ordered,” said Olivia. “And then I’ve got a little gathering to attend. Maybe Lucas will.”

Abby watched as Lucas eyed Olivia before he looked at Kat. Then he turned his attention to Abby, gazing intently at her. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

“We’d better get going, or Otto will think we’ve bailed on him,” said Kat.

Moments later, after walking to the police station, where Otto was waiting, the foursome joined the crowd that had gathered in the nearby park, under the decorated blue spruce. It towered forty-five feet into the night sky, under a sliver of the moon, which shined a pale light over the town. The crowd listened as a choral group from the Church of the Holy Names sang in four-part harmony “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”

Kat’s waiter friend from the Root Cellar also showed up. He found them near the edge of the park, next to the street where several horses and buggies waited with drivers at the ready. Everyone awaited the flip of the switch that would mark the start of the holiday shopping season in their small town. With the anticipation of a good season before them, the downtown merchants would welcome all comers into their shops this night with markdowns that they served up along with cups of spiced cider and cookies, candy canes, and hot pretzels.

Abby felt Lucas’s hand slip around hers. “Shall we take a ride, Abby?”

Her impulse was to hold back, protest that the lights would be turned on in a moment, that the festivities would soon start. But then again, why was she hesitating? What was she afraid of? When had Lucas ever asked her to do something so spontaneous and romantic? She heard herself say, “Why not?”

At the carriage, Abby realized there was no dignified way to step up into it in a pencil skirt. Without a word, Lucas lifted her up into the seat. He then mounted the step to take his place beside her. The driver, dressed in a top hat and tails and looking as though he’d stepped from the cover of a Currier and Ives holiday card, spread a blanket over them. After taking his position in the driver’s seat, he soon gave a shake to the reins. The horse pulled forward into an easy clip-clop, clip-clop.

They had just passed Cineflicks, the Black Witch, and Edna Mae’s quilt and antique shop when Lucas whispered, “You’re shivering. Come close.” He slid his arm around her and scooted her closer. “Not hurting you, am I?”

“No.” Abby’s pulse quickened. Butterflies stirred in her stomach. Breathing in the scent of his body, perfumed by a woodsy spice and leather cologne, Abby felt her senses reeling. She leaned into his body’s warmth and grasped the blanket trim.

Putting his hand over hers, Lucas said, “I’ve thought about this for a long time. . . .” His voice trailed off, as though he needed time to collect his thoughts. Filling the silence were the jingling bells on the horse’s harness and the clip-clop of its hooves. Then, in a gentle tone barely above a whisper, he said, “We’ve let too many seasons pass, you and I. And not a word between us about how we feel.”

Abby took in a ragged breath. A warm glow of anticipation spread through her. Such a serious tone. Where was he going with this?

“I’ve got a confession. Since my wife died, I’ve filled the void with ranch work. But these places we love—well, a house . . . a barn . . . a field—there’s a certain longing inside that they can’t fill. Agree?” He impaled her with his eyes.

“Yes, I know what you mean, Lucas,” said Abby. “I feel the same.” Excitement mounted within her. Something told her if she made a move right now, he’d kiss her. Heart skipping wildly, Abby squeezed his hand. Lucas gathered her into his arms. His lips caressed her forehead, and then he moved his mouth over hers. The touch of his lips was slow and gentle, until it was smoldering. He held her close to his heart. Abby savored the dreamy, intimate silence until the horse jostled them slightly apart when it made a turn to head back up Main Street.

Lucas pointed out the tree in the park. It shimmered in holiday splendor. High above the tree in the night sky, Abby saw a shooting star, a predictor her grandmother Rose would have said of a seasonal shift and good things to come. She and Lucas were on the threshold of something new and exciting and unknown. This was new ground to furrow, new seeds to plant for the seasons to come. And for what it was worth, her Scots-Irish grandmother was almost always right.

“Come for breakfast,” she blurted out.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said with a grin.