“We can’t use our funds.”
“I don’t mean that. We can do what Shirley doesn’t want the police to do — investigate.”
“How?” Gaye asked, turning pale. Investigating crime wasn’t in the charter of the guild.
“By asking around. There’s a beekeepers’ club in the village. Shirley doesn’t belong to it, but they ought to know something. They should be pleased to help, if only so it doesn’t happen to one of them.”
“One of them may be the rustler, going by what you said.”
“Quite possibly,” Helen said, as if it was of less importance than what she was about to ask. “If I went along to meet them, would you come with me?”
There was a pause for thought.
“As our president,” Helen added.
“What can we say to them?”
“Appeal to their better nature.”
“I can’t see the thief tamely handing back the hives.”
“Well, no. Get the word around that all Shirley wants is her bees returned and whoever is responsible might come to his senses and leave them in a field somewhere where they’ll be found.”
Gaye had learned to be wary of Helen’s scheming, but this seemed reasonable. “All right. If that’s all it is, spreading the word, I’ll join you. Where do they meet?”
First, Gaye insisted Shirley must be told what they were planning. They needed her agreement.
“Is this the turn coming up?” Helen asked, at the wheel of her Range Rover.
“Not yet. Haven’t you been here before?”
“Between ourselves, I keep my distance. I can’t tell you why, but she makes me feel inferior.”
Gaye was surprised. Helen wasn’t the sort to feel inferior to anyone. “I’ve known her a long time and always found her friendly. My boys were at school with hers. We agreed to take it in turns to drive them to football training,”
“I bet you ended up doing most of it.”
Gaye laughed. “Now you mention it, yes, but she’s terribly busy running the farm.”
“She makes that very clear. The queen bee, I call her. If she has sons, you’d think they’d help in a crisis like this.”
“They live miles away. Three of them went abroad.”
“How many did she have?”
“Five, and two daughters.”
“Quite a brood.”
“With the bloke she’s got, it’s a miracle she didn’t have twice that number.”
“Oh, Gaye, you break me up.”
The farmhouse came up on the right. After they had parked in the yard, Gaye pointed to the place beyond the kitchen garden where the beehives had been sited. A stack of plastic sacks containing fertiliser now occupied the area.
“Doesn’t look as if she’s expecting to get her bees back,” Helen said.
“Do they have a homing instinct?”
“Not as you mean it,” a voice broke in from behind them. Shirley Littledale had come unseen from the back of the farmhouse, a tall, regal-looking woman in her fifties with silver hair coiled and held in place with combs. “It’s a nice idea, but their home is the hive. They won’t leave it unless the queen takes flight and she won’t budge unless the rest of them choose to evict her in favour of a new queen. How nice to see you both. Obviously you’ve heard about my loss.”
“That’s why we came,” Gaye said.
Presently they were seated at the square wooden table in the farmhouse kitchen drinking coffee. Helen explained their plan.
“The beekeepers’ club?” Shirley said. “Some of them know me, but I’m not a member. I don’t want them to think I’m accusing any of them of stealing my bees.”
“That’s why it’s better coming from us,” Helen said. “Well, we wouldn’t point the finger at anybody, nothing as crude as that. We’d gently but firmly make it clear that all you want is your bees back. We’d ask them to spread the word among the beekeeping community. Then, when the rustler gets to hear and understands that beekeepers everywhere are on the lookout for your hives, he’ll want to be shot of them. If he’s got any sense, he’ll leave them out one night for you to find.”
Shirley looked wistful. “It’s a nice idea.”
“Speaking for the guild, it’s in all our interests,” Gaye said. “Your delicious honey is the most popular item on the market stall.”
“You won’t tell the police? Promise me that. I don’t want them involved.”
“Absolutely not,” Helen said. “We’re giving the rustler a chance to put things right.”
“I’m glad Ben didn’t put in an appearance,” Helen said on the drive back. “I’ve never liked the way he looks at me in the pub. He’s probably spent the night with some little tart from the rough end of the village.”
“I doubt it,” Gaye said. “Shirley keeps him in check. He does a lot of ogling, and that’s all.”
Helen wasn’t so sure. “It only wants one woman to give him the come-on. He wouldn’t hesitate, an oversexed man like that.”
“I bet he would. Remember the Australian barmaid at the Plough?”
“That Raelene with the bright blue hair and the cleavage? She didn’t last five minutes.”
“This is the point. She made a play for Ben one evening in the pub and Shirley got to hear about it from one of her scouts straightaway. You know how it is with texting. Raelene was gone the same week and Ben didn’t show his face in the pub for weeks after.”
“Nice work. I remember — and we’ve had men running the bar ever since. See what I mean about the queen bee? Don’t underestimate Shirley.”
“Does she choose the pub staff, then?”
“Haven’t you noticed? The Littledales have been running the village since the year dot.”
“In that case I’m surprised they aren’t doing something about the missing hives.”
“Shirley’s decision. She wants it handled sensitively, like we’re doing.”
“Are we? Let’s hope so.”
The beekeepers’ club met on the first Tuesday of each month in the function room at the Plough. Most members bought a drink first and took it upstairs with them. Helen and Gaye managed to take Ian Davis, the chairman, into the snug for a few private words before the meeting started. He didn’t need telling about Shirley’s missing hives.
“Shocking. We’ve heard stories about bee rustling, but I never expected it to happen so close to home. Are the police investigating?”
“This is the problem,” Helen said. “They aren’t. Shirley told us she’d rather give the culprit the chance to put things right and return the hives before it gets to that stage.”
“How restrained. That’s kinder than I would be.”
“The main thing for Shirley is to get her bees back unharmed. She’s very attached to them.”
“I can well understand that. Bees are charming creatures, endlessly fascinating.”
Unseen by the chairman, Gaye raised an eyebrow at Helen, the despiser of bees.
Ian Davis added, “They could teach us a lot about making our own lives more productive.”
“Why would anyone do a thing like this?” Gaye asked him.
“Occasionally things go wrong in this hobby,” he said. “You find your colony is underproducing, or affected by some disease, or suffers an attack from a predator like a woodpecker. Then you may well look with envy at someone else’s healthy bees. It would be a temptation.”
“I can understand.”
“Why don’t you come into the meeting and speak to the members?” he suggested. “Somebody may know more about this than I do. We’ll make it clear you’re not accusing anyone. This is a crime that concerns us all.”
When they went upstairs Gaye was introduced as the president of the guild, so it fell to her to do the talking. Helen, after putting her up to this, was notably silent. The members listened politely, even though they could offer little in the way of suggestions, except for installing surveillance cameras.