Bee Conspiracy, page 12
“Yes,” she answered with enthusiasm.
Chapter Twelve
Valerie Wilder waited for her ride on a section of Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood, just east of several historic film studios. In the 1930s this area had been bustling and glamorous with tinsel town activity: costume shops, salons and other businesses that catered to stars and starlets and their industry. Now it was a street littered with cannabis shops, liquor stores and a few industrial carpet outlets. It was also a place frequented by prostitutes and their drive-by patrons.
Valerie did not like standing out on this street. It was not her territory. But this was where her john had insisted she be waiting for pickup. He was a new customer and for all she could tell he was a high roller. He had been vetted by a concierge friend at one of the better hotels. Upon seeing her picture, he left a large cash deposit of several hundred dollars. So she reluctantly waited for her ride at this street corner.
Valerie actually missed Howard Skulberry. Not in an affectionate way per se, although he had been kind to her. He frequently liked to talk the night away about his love of butterflies and other insects. She didn’t ask too many questions, she just listened. But he was an unhappy man in a job he hated, that was very clear to her. The loss of Howard as a regular client had also left a hole in her pocketbook. That was why she had to put out some feelers to her network of contacts. She didn’t like to take on new clients, but she had no choice.
A large black limousine pulled over just ahead of her and the door opened. It was a glamorous car fit for a movie star. At one point she had dreamed of riding in a car like this, dressed in a designer gown, pulling up at the red carpet of the Oscars and stepping out to the snaps and flashes of the press. That dream had died long ago. Now she was walking up to a random limo to spend the night with a person she did not know. She walked over and got a glimpse of Albert Fossil. His complexion was ruddy and pockmarked. She assumed it was acne that had scarred him, rather than the many bee stings which had done the damage. In any event, he was clean and well-dressed.
“Valerie?” he asked.
“Hi,” she said as she stepped into the vehicle.
***
Beryl drove her white Mustang up the Angeles Crest Highway above the twinkling lights of Los Angeles. The car was running well now that it was back from the shop. Kelso rode shotgun. He seemed more at ease now that they were out of the city limits. “The party is really way up here?” Beryl asked.
“Yeah, it is. It’s not at a house or anything. It’s just an outdoor party in the forest.”
“You’re not a raver, are you? Because that would blow my mind,” she responded.
“No, it’s not a rave. It’s something very different. Turn here!” he told her, pointing to a small fire road off the highway. Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued. She was not in the slightest spooked about driving up this dead-end fire road. She trusted Kelso implicitly.
Up ahead she noticed a clearing. There were quite a few cars parked under the moonlight. “This is it?” she asked.
Kelso noticed several large white sheets suspended between two trees. A series of black lights projected purple on the sheets, causing them to glow in the dark. “Yes, this is it!” Kelso said.
Beryl took in the scene. “It is a rave! You lied to me! If I had known, I would have brought my glow sticks!”
“No, it’s not a rave,” Kelso maintained.
“Kelso, I see the black lights. I know a rave when I see one.” She turned the car off and set the parking brake. They got out of the car.
Hector Sanchez, an entomology PhD candidate, stood in the back of his pickup truck, spinning tracks on a turntable. The black lights seemed to pulsate with the music. Beryl watched Hector as he squatted and shook his buttocks in the air. “Oh my, he’s twerking!”
“No, he’s not twerking! He’s demonstrating the wooly aphid’s defensive stance. They lift their fuzzy posteriors high in the air and pulse them in unison as a warning to predators. He’s doing a thesis paper on them.”
Beryl rolled her eyes. “Right. Sure. Okay.”
Kelso took her hand and they walked towards the sheets. “The black lights attract night moths and other insects.” He pointed to the swarms of moths and some beetles and flies attracted to the purple light. A group of entomologists stood around watching the insects land and buzz against the white sheets. They took still pictures with macro-lensed cameras and videos with their phones.
Chris Helingdock, a skinny entomologist in an Indiana Jones-like fedora recognized Kelso and called him out. “Hey! There he is! The fearless protector of endangered butterflies!” This was an obvious reference to the collar that Kelso had made at LAX of the butterfly poacher.
Kelso approached Indian Jones wannabee-guy. “Long time no see Chris! This is my friend Beryl.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chris replied as he took her hand in his. Welcome to the party. There’s beer in the cooler. Please help yourself! Excuse me but I think we got an Annaphila in the house.”
“Who’s Annaphila?” Beryl asked. “That’s a really pretty name!”
“Annaphila is a moth,” Kelso replied, pointing out an orange moth with black specks on its wings hovering around the sheet. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Kelso went over to the snack table, manned by Laurel Deering, whose arms were covered with tattoo sleeves of various insects, including butterflies, beetles and some spiders too. Kelso high-fived her. “Hey Laurel! I see you got some new ink.”
Laurel smiled and showed off her latest tatt, a yellow glowing firefly on her wrist. “Who’s your date?” she asked with mild interest.
“She’s a civilian,” Kelso answered.
Laurel smiled. “Brave girl to come up here with you. Care for some of my party punch?” She mixed a frothy green concoction that looked almost radioactive.
“I better not,” Kelso answered. “Need to keep my wits tonight.” He dipped his hand into a cooler and fetched a couple of beers. He popped the cap off one, carefully placing it in a trash receptacle, and walked over to Beryl with the open bottle.
Beryl took a swig of her cold brew as Kelso opened his. “Who’s the tattoo girl?”
“Laurel Deering. Just a friend.”
“Could have fooled me. I sensed a little history there.”
“Purely work related. We’ve been to a couple of conferences and a field camp or two.” He took a draught of his lager.
“Uh-huh.” Beryl was not convinced.
Professor Crosby, a bespectacled man in khaki, clinked Kelso’s beer bottle. “Cheers to you! Very nice work on the Africanized honeybee case!”
“Thanks Professor,” Kelso replied. He didn’t want to get into his misgivings about the case, so he accepted the compliment graciously.
Beryl strolled towards the sheets that were the star attraction of this gathering. “So let me get this straight. You guys just watch the bugs that fly around these sheets?”
“Yeah,” Kelso replied. “You don’t see this variety in the city. In addition to the Annaphilas, we’ve got Palm Moths, Duskywings, Lichen Moths and the Edwards’ Glassywing!”
Since Kelso had a white shirt on several moths alighted on his shoulder. “They like you!” Beryl pointed out. “They’ll eat your nice shirt!”
“No, not here. There’s plenty of other things for them to eat in the wild.” Kelso pointed out some beautiful foxglove flowers. “For instance! Wildflower nectar! These are not closet moths!”
“Haha, okay,” she said, trying to get into the spirit of the gathering. She stood on ground that was still about twenty feet away from the sheets.
“Come closer. I want to show you some of the specimens.”
“No,” Beryl replied. “I’m good right here.” She sipped her beer daintily. She really didn’t want to get too close to the sheets. There were just too many critters swarming around them. Then she noticed something on her shoulder. It was a horny beetle. “Get it off me,” she pleaded.
“It’s just a stag beetle!”
“I don’t care. Take. It. Off. My. Shoulder. Now.”
Kelso did as he was told. He gently gripped the beetle by its thorax and put it in his hand. He showed it to her as it crawled up his arm. “You notice his horns look like the antlers of a deer stag?”
“I do see a resemblance I guess.”
“That’s how he got his name.”
“Not quite as cute as a deer...”
“Let’s name this one Bambi!”
“Sure.”
“By the way, the males are known to fight over the females.”
“Boys will be boys,” she said as she looked around at the group gathered. There were other females here, but they were outnumbered three to one.
“I would lock horns over you,” he said.
***
The El Sol Motel was one of those Sunset Boulevard remnants of the 1960s, a mid-century motel with an Aztec motif, built for American families vacationing in station wagons, custom vans and VW buses. The place had seen better days. It now featured an algae-ridden pool, peeling paint and a host of illicit activities in its rooms. The limo pulled up outside and Albert Fossil and Valerie Wilder stepped out. They walked towards a room at the back of the parking lot overlooking the empty hot tub. The fiberglass insulation was ridden with holes. It was a rat’s nest for sure.
“Seems like a shame to have to park your beautiful limo here in this parking lot,” Valerie replied wryly. She was obviously not a big fan of the lodging facility.
“Yeah,” Fossil replied. “This was the only place available on such short notice. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’ll survive,” she said. She noted a cleaning lady pushing a cart with several bottles of germicidal soap and clean linens out of a neighboring room and it made her feel a little better.
Fossil put his key in the door and sure enough the room had just been turned over, so it was fairly tidy if you didn’t pay attention to the walls. They needed a coat of paint desperately. Valerie placed her purse on the table closest to the door. She sat down on the bed. “So what kind of thing are you looking for?” she asked.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Fossil replied.
“You know, what are you into? What do you want from me?”
Without missing a beat, Albert Fossil opened the bedside table drawer and pulled a beekeeper’s veil out. He placed it on his head.
***
The black-light party devolved from awe over the various specimens around the glowing white sheets to academic war stories of how graduate students had been overworked by their post-doctoral research professors. They droned on with complaints of how their thesis committees delayed graduation approval in order to keep low-cost student labor in the research labs. The professors could not afford to lose them.
“You want to get out of here?” Beryl asked Kelso.
He nodded and grabbed her hand. They made a graceful exit through some sagebrush back to the car. She started the engine and headed back down the fire road. “It wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked.
“I actually had a good time. Never thought I’d say that.” She turned her car onto the Angeles Crest Highway and headed back down towards the city lights.
As they descended into the foothills they spotted a roadhouse diner. “You hungry?” Kelso asked.
“Famished,” she said, as she pulled the car into the parking lot. The restaurant sported a mid-century décor, with red vinyl booths and Formica tables. They walked inside the front door and plopped into a window seat. A waitress offered some menus. “You have any wine?” Beryl asked.
“Red or white?” the waitress replied.
“Red, please,” they both replied in unison.
The waitress brought over two plastic tumblers and popped the cork on some cheap chianti. She poured the vino into the cups. Beryl raised her glass. “To the world of the tiny creatures.”
Kelso clicked his plastic cup to hers and they drank. “How did you end up teaching pre-school?”
“I kind of fell into it. For awhile I was going to go into the family business.”
“You? A cop?”
“Yeah. But dad was against it.”
“The pay is lousy.”
“I was at the Academy – almost halfway through. There was a daycare center there for the staff’s children and every day I would spend my lunch hour in there, chasing kindergartners.”
“Sounds like a more dangerous job than police work.”
“Yeah. It was. They did potty training.”
“That didn’t phase you, huh?”
“No. By the time I was ready to graduate the Academy, the daycare center offered me a job. How about you?”
“I didn’t go into the family business either.”
“What was your family’s business?”
“My dad was a crop duster.”
“Wow. That’s a revelation.”
“Yeah. He taught me to fly in his Air Tractor.”
“An Air Tractor?”
“Yeah. That’s the name of the plane. It was an Air Tractor 502.”
“So what happened to change your course?”
“He died of cancer when I was nineteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I think it was the pesticide exposure that did it.”
The waitress came back and interrupted their conversation. “So what’ll it be?” Neither of them had looked at their menus.
***
In the confines of the seedy motel room closet, Albert Fossil revealed what looked like a fish tank for bees. It was a wooden cabinet with clear plexiglass front and back. Inside there were three hive frames with Africanized honeybees swarming over honeycombs, moving in and over the cells. He turned to Valerie and gazed through the mesh of his beekeeper’s veil.
“Did the service mention I don’t do role playing?” she asked. It was obvious that she was spooked although she maintained an air of nonchalance as she spoke.
“No, I want you,” Fossil replied.
“I know a great girl for you. She’s into bondage and the whole thing. Doesn’t even charge extra.”
Fossil ignored the offer. “These are Africanized honeybees. They are fiercely protective of their hive. I am going to ask you some questions and I suggest you tell me what I want to know.”
“What kind of questions?” she asked nervously.
“Tell me about your relationship with Howard Skulberry.”
“Never heard of him.”
He showed her a cap on the side of the observation hive. “You see this? All I have to do is unscrew this cover and the bees will swarm outside. They will consider you a threat due to your proximity to their young.”
“Okay, he’s a trick. We met at a hotel lounge during a pesticide convention.”
“Thank you. That’s going to make this much easier. Did he ever talk about his work?”
“Never,” she said. Instinctively she tried to protect the privacy of her clients. Fossil placed his hand on the escape valve for the bees.
“I don’t think that’s the truth.” He began to unscrew the cap and pointed to hundreds of bees hovering near the exit vent. “Watch them swarm in the escape tube here. They’re dying to get out and they’re not happy right now. I would think carefully about your answers.” She glimpsed a cluster of bees near the exit. They buzzed loudly.
“Yeah, okay. I know he was a college professor, but he had a side hustle working for a chemical company.”
“That’s better. We both worked for the same company. Howard took something from me. It looked like a small bee. Did you ever see it?”
“You mean like a queen bee or something? He didn’t do beekeeping.”
“No, this was not a live bee. It was more like...a replica.”
“No. I haven’t seen that. Can I go now? No charge for my time.”
Fossil kept his hand on the observation hive. “Are you allergic to bees?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. These bees, one sting won’t kill you, but the problem is there are several thousand in here. A hundred stings could easily do the job and once they locate you as a threat they don’t stop.” He attached the security chain to the door.
“He gave me a piece of jewelry that looked like a bee.”
“How sweet. Where is it? May I see it?”
“I don’t have it anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I gave it to some cops.”
“What would the cops want with you? What you do is victimless.”
“They were asking about Howard.”
“I see. In what capacity?”
“I don’t know. One of the cops is some kind of insect specialist. He thinks that Howard’s death was not an accident.” She stared at the observation hive.
“Of course it was. These bees are becoming more and more predominant in LA.”
“Right. Of course. I agree.” Valerie smiled. “I would never say anything different. I think I have his name.” She rustled through her purse and pulled out Kelso’s business card. He took it from her.
“Thank you.” Fossil fumed as he looked at it. U.S. Department of Fish and Wildlife? They were the last people he wanted to have the prototype.
“As far as I’m concerned this conversation never happened,” Valerie offered in a conciliatory tone. “Can I go now?”
“Not just yet,” Fossil said. He took his beekeeper’s veil off and sat next to her on the bed. He pulled some handcuffs out of his jacket. Then he placed one cuff on her wrist and the other on the bedpost.
“Um, okay,” she said, resigning herself to what was going to take place.
He reached into his jacket again and pulled out a spray bottle. He sprayed a misty substance over her. She winced. “What is that? It smells like bananas.”
“It’s just a little perfume,” Fossil offered. But as soon as that smell was in the room the bees in the observation hive went wild. They buzzed at a higher volume and appeared very agitated.
***
The moonlight bathed the Carthay Circle neighborhood in a gentle incandescence as Beryl drove the Mustang down her street. She parked in the driveway behind Duke’s LeMans. Kelso got out and closed his door very lightly, not wanting to disturb Duke or any of the other neighbors. “You want to come in for a night cap?” Beryl asked.
Chapter Twelve
Valerie Wilder waited for her ride on a section of Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood, just east of several historic film studios. In the 1930s this area had been bustling and glamorous with tinsel town activity: costume shops, salons and other businesses that catered to stars and starlets and their industry. Now it was a street littered with cannabis shops, liquor stores and a few industrial carpet outlets. It was also a place frequented by prostitutes and their drive-by patrons.
Valerie did not like standing out on this street. It was not her territory. But this was where her john had insisted she be waiting for pickup. He was a new customer and for all she could tell he was a high roller. He had been vetted by a concierge friend at one of the better hotels. Upon seeing her picture, he left a large cash deposit of several hundred dollars. So she reluctantly waited for her ride at this street corner.
Valerie actually missed Howard Skulberry. Not in an affectionate way per se, although he had been kind to her. He frequently liked to talk the night away about his love of butterflies and other insects. She didn’t ask too many questions, she just listened. But he was an unhappy man in a job he hated, that was very clear to her. The loss of Howard as a regular client had also left a hole in her pocketbook. That was why she had to put out some feelers to her network of contacts. She didn’t like to take on new clients, but she had no choice.
A large black limousine pulled over just ahead of her and the door opened. It was a glamorous car fit for a movie star. At one point she had dreamed of riding in a car like this, dressed in a designer gown, pulling up at the red carpet of the Oscars and stepping out to the snaps and flashes of the press. That dream had died long ago. Now she was walking up to a random limo to spend the night with a person she did not know. She walked over and got a glimpse of Albert Fossil. His complexion was ruddy and pockmarked. She assumed it was acne that had scarred him, rather than the many bee stings which had done the damage. In any event, he was clean and well-dressed.
“Valerie?” he asked.
“Hi,” she said as she stepped into the vehicle.
***
Beryl drove her white Mustang up the Angeles Crest Highway above the twinkling lights of Los Angeles. The car was running well now that it was back from the shop. Kelso rode shotgun. He seemed more at ease now that they were out of the city limits. “The party is really way up here?” Beryl asked.
“Yeah, it is. It’s not at a house or anything. It’s just an outdoor party in the forest.”
“You’re not a raver, are you? Because that would blow my mind,” she responded.
“No, it’s not a rave. It’s something very different. Turn here!” he told her, pointing to a small fire road off the highway. Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued. She was not in the slightest spooked about driving up this dead-end fire road. She trusted Kelso implicitly.
Up ahead she noticed a clearing. There were quite a few cars parked under the moonlight. “This is it?” she asked.
Kelso noticed several large white sheets suspended between two trees. A series of black lights projected purple on the sheets, causing them to glow in the dark. “Yes, this is it!” Kelso said.
Beryl took in the scene. “It is a rave! You lied to me! If I had known, I would have brought my glow sticks!”
“No, it’s not a rave,” Kelso maintained.
“Kelso, I see the black lights. I know a rave when I see one.” She turned the car off and set the parking brake. They got out of the car.
Hector Sanchez, an entomology PhD candidate, stood in the back of his pickup truck, spinning tracks on a turntable. The black lights seemed to pulsate with the music. Beryl watched Hector as he squatted and shook his buttocks in the air. “Oh my, he’s twerking!”
“No, he’s not twerking! He’s demonstrating the wooly aphid’s defensive stance. They lift their fuzzy posteriors high in the air and pulse them in unison as a warning to predators. He’s doing a thesis paper on them.”
Beryl rolled her eyes. “Right. Sure. Okay.”
Kelso took her hand and they walked towards the sheets. “The black lights attract night moths and other insects.” He pointed to the swarms of moths and some beetles and flies attracted to the purple light. A group of entomologists stood around watching the insects land and buzz against the white sheets. They took still pictures with macro-lensed cameras and videos with their phones.
Chris Helingdock, a skinny entomologist in an Indiana Jones-like fedora recognized Kelso and called him out. “Hey! There he is! The fearless protector of endangered butterflies!” This was an obvious reference to the collar that Kelso had made at LAX of the butterfly poacher.
Kelso approached Indian Jones wannabee-guy. “Long time no see Chris! This is my friend Beryl.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chris replied as he took her hand in his. Welcome to the party. There’s beer in the cooler. Please help yourself! Excuse me but I think we got an Annaphila in the house.”
“Who’s Annaphila?” Beryl asked. “That’s a really pretty name!”
“Annaphila is a moth,” Kelso replied, pointing out an orange moth with black specks on its wings hovering around the sheet. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Kelso went over to the snack table, manned by Laurel Deering, whose arms were covered with tattoo sleeves of various insects, including butterflies, beetles and some spiders too. Kelso high-fived her. “Hey Laurel! I see you got some new ink.”
Laurel smiled and showed off her latest tatt, a yellow glowing firefly on her wrist. “Who’s your date?” she asked with mild interest.
“She’s a civilian,” Kelso answered.
Laurel smiled. “Brave girl to come up here with you. Care for some of my party punch?” She mixed a frothy green concoction that looked almost radioactive.
“I better not,” Kelso answered. “Need to keep my wits tonight.” He dipped his hand into a cooler and fetched a couple of beers. He popped the cap off one, carefully placing it in a trash receptacle, and walked over to Beryl with the open bottle.
Beryl took a swig of her cold brew as Kelso opened his. “Who’s the tattoo girl?”
“Laurel Deering. Just a friend.”
“Could have fooled me. I sensed a little history there.”
“Purely work related. We’ve been to a couple of conferences and a field camp or two.” He took a draught of his lager.
“Uh-huh.” Beryl was not convinced.
Professor Crosby, a bespectacled man in khaki, clinked Kelso’s beer bottle. “Cheers to you! Very nice work on the Africanized honeybee case!”
“Thanks Professor,” Kelso replied. He didn’t want to get into his misgivings about the case, so he accepted the compliment graciously.
Beryl strolled towards the sheets that were the star attraction of this gathering. “So let me get this straight. You guys just watch the bugs that fly around these sheets?”
“Yeah,” Kelso replied. “You don’t see this variety in the city. In addition to the Annaphilas, we’ve got Palm Moths, Duskywings, Lichen Moths and the Edwards’ Glassywing!”
Since Kelso had a white shirt on several moths alighted on his shoulder. “They like you!” Beryl pointed out. “They’ll eat your nice shirt!”
“No, not here. There’s plenty of other things for them to eat in the wild.” Kelso pointed out some beautiful foxglove flowers. “For instance! Wildflower nectar! These are not closet moths!”
“Haha, okay,” she said, trying to get into the spirit of the gathering. She stood on ground that was still about twenty feet away from the sheets.
“Come closer. I want to show you some of the specimens.”
“No,” Beryl replied. “I’m good right here.” She sipped her beer daintily. She really didn’t want to get too close to the sheets. There were just too many critters swarming around them. Then she noticed something on her shoulder. It was a horny beetle. “Get it off me,” she pleaded.
“It’s just a stag beetle!”
“I don’t care. Take. It. Off. My. Shoulder. Now.”
Kelso did as he was told. He gently gripped the beetle by its thorax and put it in his hand. He showed it to her as it crawled up his arm. “You notice his horns look like the antlers of a deer stag?”
“I do see a resemblance I guess.”
“That’s how he got his name.”
“Not quite as cute as a deer...”
“Let’s name this one Bambi!”
“Sure.”
“By the way, the males are known to fight over the females.”
“Boys will be boys,” she said as she looked around at the group gathered. There were other females here, but they were outnumbered three to one.
“I would lock horns over you,” he said.
***
The El Sol Motel was one of those Sunset Boulevard remnants of the 1960s, a mid-century motel with an Aztec motif, built for American families vacationing in station wagons, custom vans and VW buses. The place had seen better days. It now featured an algae-ridden pool, peeling paint and a host of illicit activities in its rooms. The limo pulled up outside and Albert Fossil and Valerie Wilder stepped out. They walked towards a room at the back of the parking lot overlooking the empty hot tub. The fiberglass insulation was ridden with holes. It was a rat’s nest for sure.
“Seems like a shame to have to park your beautiful limo here in this parking lot,” Valerie replied wryly. She was obviously not a big fan of the lodging facility.
“Yeah,” Fossil replied. “This was the only place available on such short notice. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’ll survive,” she said. She noted a cleaning lady pushing a cart with several bottles of germicidal soap and clean linens out of a neighboring room and it made her feel a little better.
Fossil put his key in the door and sure enough the room had just been turned over, so it was fairly tidy if you didn’t pay attention to the walls. They needed a coat of paint desperately. Valerie placed her purse on the table closest to the door. She sat down on the bed. “So what kind of thing are you looking for?” she asked.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Fossil replied.
“You know, what are you into? What do you want from me?”
Without missing a beat, Albert Fossil opened the bedside table drawer and pulled a beekeeper’s veil out. He placed it on his head.
***
The black-light party devolved from awe over the various specimens around the glowing white sheets to academic war stories of how graduate students had been overworked by their post-doctoral research professors. They droned on with complaints of how their thesis committees delayed graduation approval in order to keep low-cost student labor in the research labs. The professors could not afford to lose them.
“You want to get out of here?” Beryl asked Kelso.
He nodded and grabbed her hand. They made a graceful exit through some sagebrush back to the car. She started the engine and headed back down the fire road. “It wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked.
“I actually had a good time. Never thought I’d say that.” She turned her car onto the Angeles Crest Highway and headed back down towards the city lights.
As they descended into the foothills they spotted a roadhouse diner. “You hungry?” Kelso asked.
“Famished,” she said, as she pulled the car into the parking lot. The restaurant sported a mid-century décor, with red vinyl booths and Formica tables. They walked inside the front door and plopped into a window seat. A waitress offered some menus. “You have any wine?” Beryl asked.
“Red or white?” the waitress replied.
“Red, please,” they both replied in unison.
The waitress brought over two plastic tumblers and popped the cork on some cheap chianti. She poured the vino into the cups. Beryl raised her glass. “To the world of the tiny creatures.”
Kelso clicked his plastic cup to hers and they drank. “How did you end up teaching pre-school?”
“I kind of fell into it. For awhile I was going to go into the family business.”
“You? A cop?”
“Yeah. But dad was against it.”
“The pay is lousy.”
“I was at the Academy – almost halfway through. There was a daycare center there for the staff’s children and every day I would spend my lunch hour in there, chasing kindergartners.”
“Sounds like a more dangerous job than police work.”
“Yeah. It was. They did potty training.”
“That didn’t phase you, huh?”
“No. By the time I was ready to graduate the Academy, the daycare center offered me a job. How about you?”
“I didn’t go into the family business either.”
“What was your family’s business?”
“My dad was a crop duster.”
“Wow. That’s a revelation.”
“Yeah. He taught me to fly in his Air Tractor.”
“An Air Tractor?”
“Yeah. That’s the name of the plane. It was an Air Tractor 502.”
“So what happened to change your course?”
“He died of cancer when I was nineteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I think it was the pesticide exposure that did it.”
The waitress came back and interrupted their conversation. “So what’ll it be?” Neither of them had looked at their menus.
***
In the confines of the seedy motel room closet, Albert Fossil revealed what looked like a fish tank for bees. It was a wooden cabinet with clear plexiglass front and back. Inside there were three hive frames with Africanized honeybees swarming over honeycombs, moving in and over the cells. He turned to Valerie and gazed through the mesh of his beekeeper’s veil.
“Did the service mention I don’t do role playing?” she asked. It was obvious that she was spooked although she maintained an air of nonchalance as she spoke.
“No, I want you,” Fossil replied.
“I know a great girl for you. She’s into bondage and the whole thing. Doesn’t even charge extra.”
Fossil ignored the offer. “These are Africanized honeybees. They are fiercely protective of their hive. I am going to ask you some questions and I suggest you tell me what I want to know.”
“What kind of questions?” she asked nervously.
“Tell me about your relationship with Howard Skulberry.”
“Never heard of him.”
He showed her a cap on the side of the observation hive. “You see this? All I have to do is unscrew this cover and the bees will swarm outside. They will consider you a threat due to your proximity to their young.”
“Okay, he’s a trick. We met at a hotel lounge during a pesticide convention.”
“Thank you. That’s going to make this much easier. Did he ever talk about his work?”
“Never,” she said. Instinctively she tried to protect the privacy of her clients. Fossil placed his hand on the escape valve for the bees.
“I don’t think that’s the truth.” He began to unscrew the cap and pointed to hundreds of bees hovering near the exit vent. “Watch them swarm in the escape tube here. They’re dying to get out and they’re not happy right now. I would think carefully about your answers.” She glimpsed a cluster of bees near the exit. They buzzed loudly.
“Yeah, okay. I know he was a college professor, but he had a side hustle working for a chemical company.”
“That’s better. We both worked for the same company. Howard took something from me. It looked like a small bee. Did you ever see it?”
“You mean like a queen bee or something? He didn’t do beekeeping.”
“No, this was not a live bee. It was more like...a replica.”
“No. I haven’t seen that. Can I go now? No charge for my time.”
Fossil kept his hand on the observation hive. “Are you allergic to bees?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. These bees, one sting won’t kill you, but the problem is there are several thousand in here. A hundred stings could easily do the job and once they locate you as a threat they don’t stop.” He attached the security chain to the door.
“He gave me a piece of jewelry that looked like a bee.”
“How sweet. Where is it? May I see it?”
“I don’t have it anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I gave it to some cops.”
“What would the cops want with you? What you do is victimless.”
“They were asking about Howard.”
“I see. In what capacity?”
“I don’t know. One of the cops is some kind of insect specialist. He thinks that Howard’s death was not an accident.” She stared at the observation hive.
“Of course it was. These bees are becoming more and more predominant in LA.”
“Right. Of course. I agree.” Valerie smiled. “I would never say anything different. I think I have his name.” She rustled through her purse and pulled out Kelso’s business card. He took it from her.
“Thank you.” Fossil fumed as he looked at it. U.S. Department of Fish and Wildlife? They were the last people he wanted to have the prototype.
“As far as I’m concerned this conversation never happened,” Valerie offered in a conciliatory tone. “Can I go now?”
“Not just yet,” Fossil said. He took his beekeeper’s veil off and sat next to her on the bed. He pulled some handcuffs out of his jacket. Then he placed one cuff on her wrist and the other on the bedpost.
“Um, okay,” she said, resigning herself to what was going to take place.
He reached into his jacket again and pulled out a spray bottle. He sprayed a misty substance over her. She winced. “What is that? It smells like bananas.”
“It’s just a little perfume,” Fossil offered. But as soon as that smell was in the room the bees in the observation hive went wild. They buzzed at a higher volume and appeared very agitated.
***
The moonlight bathed the Carthay Circle neighborhood in a gentle incandescence as Beryl drove the Mustang down her street. She parked in the driveway behind Duke’s LeMans. Kelso got out and closed his door very lightly, not wanting to disturb Duke or any of the other neighbors. “You want to come in for a night cap?” Beryl asked.
