TWENTY-NINE

Tricia arrived at the library at precisely 4:25 that afternoon, her stomach tied in knots. If nothing else, just act professional, she told herself.

Part of the lot had been cordoned off, and as she pulled into a parking slot, Tricia noticed Larry Harvick’s pickup truck parked near the south side of the building behind the yellow caution tape. The bees were going back to their home. Tricia saw no sign of the beekeeper, figuring he must be on the roof, getting the bees ready for their ten-minute drive down the road to the Harvicks’ property, and wondered if they’d be relocated in the spring. She’d ask the next time she saw either Larry or his wife.

Tricia grabbed her purse and a leather-bound notebook and exited her car, walking around the building to climb the stairs at the front entrance.

At the reception desk, she asked for directions to the conference room Amelia had mentioned during their morning conversation and found that she was the first to arrive. She turned on the lights and took a chair facing the door at the long table that easily sat twelve people—most likely for staff meetings.

Minutes ticked by.

No Amelia.

Surely the person at the reception desk had notified Amelia that Tricia had arrived. Or was this a tactic Amelia used to make people—including her employees—anxious?

Tricia scrolled through her phone but wasn’t entertained. She noted the time—eleven minutes since she’d arrived. If Amelia didn’t show in four more minutes, she’d go looking for David and hang out with him until it was time for him to clock out. She could conduct whatever business she needed with Amelia by e-mail or phone.

Just as Tricia was about to get up, a somber Amelia arrived, closing the conference room door behind her. She looked downright grim dressed in a black blazer, white blouse, and dark slacks. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said gravely, taking a seat opposite Tricia. “I was detained by a visit from Chief of Police McDonald.”

Tricia inwardly cringed. She said nothing.

“Some people around here think I might have killed Lauren Barker. What do you know about that?” she demanded.

Tricia had run this scenario through her mind countless times during the afternoon. She hadn’t expected Amelia to jump into that topic without preamble.

“Well?” Amelia demanded.

Tricia could fudge, or she could come right out and ask.

“Well, what?” Tricia asked.

“Did you put it into the chief’s head that I might be responsible for Lauren’s death?”

Uh…not directly.

Tricia composed herself before replying. “I’m a mystery bookseller. I’ve literally read thousands of tales of murder and mayhem. I suppose countless people could have had a motive for killing Lauren.”

“For example?” Amelia asked, stone-faced.

“Dan Reed. He kicked up a fuss at Lauren’s signing and her memorial service. He’s since been arrested for harassing her online.”

“And?”

“Lauren purposefully humiliated her former high school English teacher at the signing. Their unpleasant discussion was captured on video and distributed to the press and went viral, causing Stella Kraft tremendous embarrassment.”

“Anyone else?”

“You,” Tricia said nonchalantly. “She did bully you in high school, right?”

“That was decades ago. Do you think I’m petty enough to hold a grudge for all these years?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

Amelia’s eyes widened, her mouth turning into a straight line. “How dare you accuse me!” Amelia’s voice rose higher with each word.

“It wasn’t an accusation; it was a question.”

Amelia’s gaze dipped to the tabletop, and she chewed her bottom lip for long seconds. Finally, she nodded. Her head tilted up, and she looked Tricia straight in the eyes.

“Yes, I killed that sorry bitch. But that’s the thing. I couldn’t wrangle an apology from her.”

Tricia blinked, shocked that Amelia would confess her horrendous deed so casually.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? That woman made my life a living hell for three long years.”

“She wasn’t a woman when it happened. She was a misguided girl.”

“Who hadn’t changed in the interval. I confronted her in the parking lot, and she taunted me. She bragged about her movie contract and merchandising deals. She had a high school diploma and is a multimillionaire while I’m still struggling to pay my student loans from a quarter of a century ago!”

And Lauren had to die for that?

Tricia wasn’t sure what she should do next. As she’d wondered during her conversation with Mary Fairchild, would a person who’d killed once find it easier to do it again? That seemed to be the trend.

Tricia swallowed. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Amelia said matter-of-factly.

Oh, yeah. It would definitely be easier the second time around.

“Why?”

“Because you know.”

Tricia feigned a calm she didn’t feel and nodded. “And they already suspect you of the possibility of murdering Lauren. Everyone’s given the presumption of innocence until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Since I’ve already told you I killed her, you’ll undoubtedly be the first to give evidence against me.”

Tricia had testified several times at murder trials. It was never a pleasant experience.

“So, what happens next?”

“As I said, I’m going to kill you. It’s the ultimate punishment for betrayal.”

“That just means you’ll spend even more time in jail,” Tricia countered.

“I don’t intend to spend a single moment in jail. I had an inkling of that when I choked the life out of Lauren. And let me tell you, it was sweet revenge. But I don’t intend to be punished for it. My life is already over. I may as well join you in death.”

That wasn’t what Tricia wanted to hear. “Surely you don’t intend to kill me here.”

Amelia nodded. “Of course not. I wouldn’t want to scare any children who might be in the building. There are plenty of wooded areas just outside the village.”

Tricia swallowed. Was the woman certifiably crazy or did she just possess a warped mind?

“And what makes you think I’d accompany you out of the library?”

Amelia’s hand came up from under the table, clasping a semiautomatic pistol.

Tricia swallowed, a shiver of fear running through her. “I’m supposed to meet some people after this meeting. They’ll report me missing almost immediately.”

“Good. The sooner they start looking, the sooner they’ll find our bodies. I presume you’d planned on leaving with David Price.”

A rising terror threatened to choke Tricia. She didn’t answer.

“Give me your phone.”

“What for?”

“A text to Mr. Price should be all it takes to have him meet you outside the building by your car. You see, he needs to be punished, too, for bringing Lauren here to spread her filthy messages.”

Holy crap. The woman was nuts!

“Unlock the phone and give it to me.”

Tricia sat rock still.

“Give it to me or traumatize every child in this building.”

Knowing what Angelica had gone through after finding a suicide victim, Tricia couldn’t let that happen to a child.

She unlocked her phone and pushed it across the table.

Amelia picked up the phone, tapped out her text, reading it out loud so Tricia could hear. “Hey, honey. I’m almost done with my meeting. Meet me at my car out in the parking lot.”

Tricia hadn’t told him she had a meeting with Amelia. She’d never called David honey. Would that tip him off that something was wrong?

Honey! Unless moving the bees had already been accomplished, Larry Harvick might still be hanging around the parking lot.

The phone pinged.

Amelia looked at the screen and smiled. She read the answer aloud. “ ‘Sure thing, bunnykins.’ ” She simpered.

David had probably thought Tricia had been messing with him and answered in kind.

The phone pinged again. Amelia read the text. “Just finishing up for the day. Meet you in five.”

Amelia set the phone down and tapped in two letters: OK.

Tricia watched the analog clock on the wall tick, tick, tick the minutes away, feeling damp with perspiration as the two women sat in the deafening silence.

Finally, Amelia spoke. “We’re going to walk straight out the front door. I’ll be right behind you with the gun in my jacket pocket. Make a mistake, and I’ll blow you away in front of anyone who gets in my way. Maybe them, too. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“No,” Tricia said quietly, and rose.

Amelia pushed back her chair and stood. “Let’s go.” She waited for Tricia to open the door, then stepped in behind her, shoving the gun barrel into Tricia’s back to remind her to do as she’d agreed.

Tricia walked slowly toward the reception desk, with Amelia practically breathing down her neck. No one paid them any attention.

Descending the library’s front steps, Tricia walked slowly toward her car. The caution tape was still in place, but now someone in a beekeeper’s suit had braced himself, holding on to a heavy-duty rope. Some kind of pulley system was now attached to the building. Another suited someone hung over the edge of the roof, steadying several stacked hives slowly being lowered to the ground.

Closer, closer.

“Hey, Tricia,” called the man on the ground. Larry Harvick.

Tricia raised her hand and gave him a one-handed wave.

Suddenly, the rope slipped through Harvick’s fingers, and the hives dropped from at least ten feet, smashing into the ground. Instantly, a dark mass emerged from the broken case as hundreds of crazed bees escaped, buzzing around.

“Run!” Harvick hollered, but Tricia stood stock-still, too shocked to do anything.

“Run!” Harvick warned again as the bees swarmed, moving in Tricia’s direction.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Amelia was shooting, but not at Tricia—at the hives!

Harvick fell back as splintering wood, wax, and honey shot into the air as Amelia pumped ten shots into the hives.

As though identifying their enemy, the bees moved en masse straight toward Tricia and Amelia.

Tricia made a dive for her car, jumping into the driver’s seat and yanking the door shut, but not before she’d been stung at least a dozen times. She clawed at the insects still clinging to the bare flesh of her face and neck, getting her hands stung as well. When finally she could no longer feel anything crawling on her, she dared to look out the window.

Amelia lay on the ground writhing in agony as the dark swarm covered every inch of her. Harvick was overhead, trying to swat the bees away but having little effect.

Tricia didn’t have her phone; she couldn’t call 911. All she could do was watch in horror.

It seemed to take eons before the bees began to dissipate. Harvick was shouting at someone. Tricia strained to see what was going on. David had arrived. He was on his phone frantically gesturing as he spoke—more likely shouted—to a 911 dispatcher.

Tricia dared to look at the disfigured body that lay on the ground. Amelia had been allergic to beestings. Already, her face was red and swollen. She clawed at her neck, as though gasping, writhing weakly—anaphylactic shock.

Oh my God, Tricia thought. She’s dying!

Amelia Doyle was dead long before the paramedics arrived.