Murder at The Hive (Jack Larson Mysteries Book 1) - Rômulo Silva

Murder at The Hive (Jack Larson Mysteries Book 1) by Rômulo Silva

Book excerpt

The Ranch

Jack Larson, head of the Detective Bureau at Fargo Police Department, had just arrived at the ranch to investigate the death of the beekeeper. He stepped out of his car and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the scene settling on his shoulders. Standing at six foot one with broad shoulders and athletic build, Jack was an imposing figure with his dark hair and striking gray eyes.

As Jack closed the vehicle’s door, his thoughts drifted to the reason why he was drawn to investigations. It wasn’t just the thrill of the chase, but rather the idea of piecing together a puzzle and uncovering the truth. It was a way for him to forget, even if only for a moment, the tragic death of his wife. An accident, they said, but Jack couldn’t rid himself of the feeling of responsibility that lingered within him. The weight of her loss was always there, a constant reminder of what he no longer had and what he could never have again. But when he was on a case, it was like a welcome distraction, a way for him to channel his emotions and bring justice for those who couldn’t speak for themselves.

With a deep sigh, he took a sip from the cup of coffee in his hand, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He cast his gaze over the sign with the name of the ranch.

“The Hive. What an original name,” Jack muttered under his breath, unable to resist letting out a sarcastic chuckle. Despite the grim situation the detective was there to investigate, he was a master of wit and irony, and it helped keep him sharp and focused, even in the face of tragedy.

As the investigator approached the ranch, he saw his personal friend and colleague, Officer Edward “Ned” Green, waiting for him. A tall man with dark skin and shaved head, Ned had an easy smile and a reputation for unwavering loyalty. Jack greeted him with a nod and took a sip from his coffee, savoring the warm and comforting taste.

“Jack, I got the call about the beekeeper this morning,” Ned said, breaking the silence. “George Williams, male, Caucasian, estimated to be sixty years of age, sole resident of the ranch. Sad case. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Jack took another sip of his coffee and nodded. A forty-five-year-old detective with more than twenty years of police experience, he was well aware of his reputation as a first-rate investigator, able to connect seemingly unrelated pieces of evidence to crack a case.

“Thanks, Ned,” Jack said, looking towards the place where the body was found. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

As both of them approached the body of George Williams, they couldn’t fail to notice the sheer number of bee stings covering his skin. The bright sun made the stings look almost iridescent, creating a gruesome image that Jack had never encountered before. He was taken aback by the astonishing quantity of stings. He looked at Ned and noticed the same shock on his face.

“Ned,” Jack started, his voice low and measured, “there’s something fishy about this."

Ned looked up at Jack, his expression grim.

“Yeah, that’s what most of the officers on the scene believe. Take a look at the stings on the body. It’s just not right. They seem to form a pattern that’s almost… intentional.”

“Intentional? What are you suggesting?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“To be honest, I don’t know for sure. It’s just that the whole situation looks kinda absurd to me.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Ned. But let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

“Yeah, we need to investigate this thoroughly.”

“So who found the body?” Jack asked, his voice steady but curious.

Ned pointed to a rugged and weathered man with a strong build who was talking to a few officers at the side of the road.

“His name is Tim Watley. He’s George’s neighbor and a beekeeper as well.”

Jack nodded, his eyes never leaving Tim. “I’m going to talk to him.”

As Jack approached Tim Watley, he could feel the weight of the investigation already beginning to press down on him. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the approaching challenge.

“Mr. Watley,” Jack said, his voice friendly but professional. “I’m Jack Larson, head detective of Fargo Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Tim Watley was the picture of a rugged outdoorsman, clad in a faded flannel shirt that hugged his muscular frame. His well-worn jeans were tucked into a pair of scuffed work boots, and a cap with the emblem of his farm was pulled low over his brow, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Despite the rough exterior, there was a kindness in his eyes, a softness that spoke of a gentle soul at odds with his hardened appearance.

“Nice to meet you, Detective,” Tim said with a friendly smile, his eyes showing a willingness to help in any way he could.

“Likewise,” Jack replied, his deep voice carrying a hint of authority. “So, how well did you know George?”

“Well, George bought this ranch five years ago,” Tim explained, gesturing towards the vast expanse of land around them. “He was also a member of the Buzzing Bees Cooperative.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked, his eyebrow raised in interest.

“It’s a group of beekeepers who work together to produce and market honey and beeswax products. By the way, I’m the current president,” Tim replied, his voice betraying a touch of pride. “George was a member, but I didn’t know much about him, despite the group meetings that we held at least twice a month. He was a very reclusive man with few, if any, real friends.”

A caffeine addict, Jack took another sip of coffee as he looked around the sprawling ranch, taking in the sound of buzzing bees and the sweet scent of honey in the air.

“You know, it’s incredible,” the detective remarked, “that a state like North Dakota can produce so much honey.”

Tim nodded, a proud gleam in his eye. “Honey production has grown in popularity here in North Dakota in the past decade,” he explained. “Our climate is just right, especially in summertime. The weather is conducive to flower production, which the bees of course use to make honey.”

“Yeah, that’s truly fascinating. But, returning to the subject of George, when and how did you find his body?”

“I found him this morning, laid out on the porch of his home, but there wasn’t a single bee in sight around the body at the time. The whole scene was horrendous. He kinda looked like a sieve with so many stings,” Tim replied, his voice tight with the memory of the horror he had witnessed.

“And what were you doing on George’s property?” Jack asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I was going to show him a list of some potential buyers for the honey our cooperative produces,” Tim explained. “But now, I just can’t believe this has happened.”

“Did George have any enemies that you know of?” Jack pressed, searching for any clues.

“I really don’t know.” Tim shook his head. “As I said, he kept to himself and was very reclusive.”

Jack gazed at Tim for a moment longer, nodding his head.

“That’s all for now,” the detective said, his voice firm. “I’ll be in touch if I need any more information from you.”

Tim nodded, his expression serious. “Of course,” he said. “‘I’m here to help in any way I can.” He extended his hand to Jack, and the two men shook hands. “Goodbye, Detective.”

Jack turned around, finding his partner Ned waiting for him. Ned’s usually calm demeanor was now replaced with a look of concern.