My third list was the victims to date, a few personal details about them, and the name for the full moons each of those months. I had another list of three of the six Deborah Ryder beehive ladies I’d recognized and question marks for the other three bumbling bees. I made a list of scavenger insects, including the blowfly, flying cockroach, and deathhead moth for my own edification.
So I went back to the borrowed bee books from the library and filled several legal pad pages with notes. With any luck, I’d find her at the cordoned off carcass. I was within my rights to check her passport and get the address where she was staying. Top item on my list was bringing our resident bee expert Cerrie to the station for a nice, long chat. This was my new nighttime routine since I’ve had to haul myself out of bed as early as 4 am to investigate domestic altercations, local break-ins, or our now infamous monthly murders. I talked with Rob Three Feathers and a few hired hands about volunteering for patrol duty the next full moon and did a quick shower and shave before hitting the books. It was 10’something when I left the station and made the rounds downtown, serpentin’ing through outlying neighborhoods. I was in hog heaven and made a note to thank her with a side of prime ranch beef for her next Barbacoa. Instead, I got a not too shabby bag of melt in your mouth Polvorones, some Leche Frita, and cinnamon Churros with buttery caramel dipping sauce. For dessert, I was hoping for a slice of her world famous five layer Mexican choco-loaded tarta.
I sopped it up with her feather light tortillas.
#Inbetween land cinnamon plus
That’s fried pork belly, plus she added a dollop of guac and fixings, with extra cotija cheese, and a squeeze of lime. Ramos brought me a mighty fine dinner from her cantina: a bowl of carnitas topped with chicarron. The parents of Jesse Miller, our resident 15 going on 30 delinquent, decided he’d spent enough time cooling his heels in jail, and paid his fine. I hoped milking was all those cows needed and they’d stop sounding like badly played tubas. There were noisy cows to milk, critters to feed, and a pile of police paperwork to attend to. Like I said, it was near midnight before I got round to skimming, annotating, and bookmarking the books that pretty near emptied my wallet. “Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip’s bell I lie There I couch when owls do cry” Shakespeare, The Tempest
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