Plan Bee by Hannah Reed Page B

ground and use some amazing pinning techniques and brute force against said perpetrator, leaned heavily on Ford’s truck and said, “I feel faint.”
    I ignored her, since obviously I was the one who should pass out, not her. “Did Stanley call the cops like I asked?”
    She nodded.
    “Well, where are they?” I didn’t hear a single siren. “You’d think they would respond pronto. They’re right down the street.”
    “It’s gridlock. All the parade vehicles and floats are jammed up and cars are trying to get out. Nothing’s moving.”
    Figures. In our small town we joke among ourselves that none of us better have an emergency during certain times. Like opening day of hunting season. Or St. Patrick’s day, which we consider a national holiday worth closing our businesses for. Now, we’ll have to add the Harmony Festival to the list of do-not-bother-calling-cuz-nobody’s-
going-to-respond days.
    About the same time, Tom Stocke, Mom’s new “friend,” showed up. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Stanley lit out like his pants were on fire. One minute, we’re talking about bees, the next he’s gone.”
    “Dead body,” Holly said, muffled since by now she was sitting on the ground with her head between her legs. I knew what she was saying, but it sounded like “
debitty
.” Tom looked confused.
    “Stanley’s checking something out inside. We’re waiting for the police,” I said. “I don’t know what’s taking them so long.”
    “I saw a squad car with its lights on trying to get through traffic,” Tom said. “They’ll be here soon.”
    “Maybe they should get smart and leave their vehicles behind. Walking a few blocks wouldn’t kill them. They could have been here a long time ago,” I groused.
    Tom glanced at Holly before saying to me, “Is your sister okay?”
    “Nothing to worry about.”
    “I’ll go in and help Stanley,” Tom offered, and went inside the house before I could warn him.
    Then Holly had a text-speak setback, starting with an easy one, OMG! (
Oh My God!
), and ending with some acronyms I’ve never heard before, which surprised me since I’d really studied up when Holly was flinging them around left and right.
    “Take it easy,” I said, which she probably interpreted as EZ. “You don’t want to have a relapse.”
    “Why? Why? Why?” my melodramatic sister said, lifting her head long enough to give me grief. “Do you have to get involved in every single crime in this town?”
    God, she sounded just like Mom! Like I could help it that I tripped over a body in the cemetery and discovered it later in a fireplace! Sometimes my family wasn’t one bit supportive. I expected it from Mom, but Holly?
    “The only thing I’m guilty of is finding the body,” I said defensively. “I didn’t kill him.”
    “Is it really that Ford guy?”
    “It’s him.”
    “Gad!”
    Patti appeared on the scene. I was surprised it took her so long. This time she didn’t sneak up. She barreled into our group. I brought her up to speed on events. Patti didn’t ask a single question, which was good because I only had abbreviated sentences left in me.
    “Has anybody seen Lori?” I asked.
    “I did,” Patti said. “She came through the crowd like a rocket launching. Highly suspicious behavior, so I got a picture of her, see?” Patti held up a small camera and showed me a photograph of Lori looking wigged out—big round eyes to go with her pumpkin head.
    “That’s exactly how she looked when she left the scene,” I said. “Fleeing the scene of a crime is illegal, isn’t it?”
    “Only if you’re the one who committed the crime,” Patti said authoritatively, like she knew everything regarding a citizen’s legal responsibilities. I was pretty sure nobody could walk away from a crime scene without getting into some kind of trouble.
    “Hang on to that picture anyway,” I advised. “You never know.” Then I added, “Maybe she did something bad.”
    I ought to let Lori hang