Josiah’s phone won’t stop ringing. Both Hunter Wickliffe and Eli Bradley are vying for her attention. At first it was flattering and fun, but now she doesn’t have a moment’s peace. Meanwhile, Josiah and her dog, Baby, take their daily walk to give treats to the horses and llamas before checking the mailbox. Baby is occupied with sniffing out the scents left overnight by the rabbits, foxes and coyotes, as Josiah leafs through the bills and junk mail. A small blue envelope at the bottom of the stack catches her attention. It is just inscribed with JOSIAH above her address in crude block letters. There is no return address. She quickly tears it open, and a single sheet of paper falls on her gravel road to reveal one word – DEATH!
CHAPTER 1
Murder is never pleasant, even when it’s warranted. There are many kinds of murder. There is murder of the body. That’s the easiest type of murder to identify. Then there is murder of the spirit, which is a slow, insidious process often committed by a spouse. Finally, consider the murder that completely destroys a person’s life, from which they never recover, committed by someone unknown. Sometimes we call this type of murder—fate.
Let me explain. I was about to become a victim of fraud, which eventually would end with the murder of an innocent person. I was dragged into this poisonous affair through no fault of my own. Rotten business it was, too. Was it by evil human design or simply fate? I swear it was not my fault.
I was having a bad day. My left leg hurt like the dickens, which made me cranky, which caused the animals to sense my foul mood. The mama llama, who had never liked me in the first place, spat the apple so generously offered into my face. The sheep ran away, and even my horse, Morning Glory, refused to trot over to the fence, even when I offered a stick of peppermint. What horse doesn’t like peppermint?
“Traitors, all of you!” I yelled, feeling more out-of-sorts because of the animals’ rejection. “To think of all the money I’ve spent on vet bills, not to mention your feed. Ungrateful lot!”
Even Baby, my faithful two-hundred pound English Mastiff, was careful not to bump into or accidentally hit my aching leg with his massive wagging tail. Instead, he comforted by leaning into my bad leg, which was normal mastiff behavior when protecting. Yes, mastiffs like to lean into a person when they are not sleeping or eating or lying asleep in the doorway.
“Get away!” I snapped, pushing Baby off. When I saw the dog’s confused expression, I relented. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You were just trying to help.” I sank down in the golf cart, feeling despondent.
Baby jumped into the cart, heavily panting.
I gathered a towel and wiped the strands of drool hanging from his mouth. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Baby. I’m having a bad day.” I scratched behind his ears and gave him a doggy biscuit. To show no hard feelings, he licked my hand before inhaling his treat.
Seeing Baby had forgiven me, I suggested, “Let’s see if we got mail.”
I wasn’t expecting any actual letters, as all I’ve gotten for the past two years were bills and advertisements. Still, I was ever hopeful for real mail—a social invitation, a letter from an out-of-touch friend, or a funny card from a neighbor. A pen pal would be nice.
We rode down the gravel driveway, passed through the electronic gate, and pulled up to my bee-shaped mailbox. Not being able to reach it, I carefully got out of the golf cart, nursing my bad leg, and pulled out the mail. Leaning against the cart, I sorted through the post.
“Bills, bills, advertisement from a mortuary company.” I turned to Baby. “They’ve got my number,” I mumbled, referring to the funeral home. “Bills and more bills. Jeez.”
Unexpectedly, I came across a blue envelope with my first name written in neat print tucked between two catalogs. Hoping it might be an invitation from one of my neighbors, I tore it open. In my haste, a single piece of paper escaped and drifted onto the ground, landing upright. It had one word written in bold ink—DEATH!
Abigail Keam is an award-winning and Amazon best-selling author who writes the Josiah Reynolds Mystery Series about a Southern female beekeeper turned amateur sleuth living in the glamorous world of oak-cured bourbon, antebellum mansions, and Thoroughbred farms.Besides loving history, Kentucky bourbon and chocolate, Abigail loves honeybees and for many years made her living by selling honey at a farmers’ market like her protagonist, Josiah Reynolds. She is an award-winning beekeeper who has won many honey awards at the Kentucky State Fair including the Barbara Horn Award, which is given to beekeepers who rate a perfect 100 in a honey competition.
Miss Abigail has taken her knowledge of beekeeping to create a fictional beekeeping protagonist, Josiah Reynolds, who solves murder mysteries in the Bluegrass. While Miss Abigail’s novels are for enjoyment, she discusses the importance of a local sustainable food economy and land management for honeybees and other creatures.
She currently lives on the Kentucky River in a metal house with her husband and various critters. She still has honeybees.
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Ethel Bradley thinks someone is trying to kill her, but doesn’t know who or why. She enlists the help of her childhood friend, Lady Elsmere, but Lady Elsmere has troubles of her own in the form of a ne’er-do-well English nephew who’s trying to steal her estate. Both women turn to Josiah Reynolds.
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