“A fire?” Aunt Mags pressed a hand to her chest. “No. Oh no. Where?”
“The Knudsons’.” Astrid glanced her way. “It spread so quickly. It was terrifying.”
More than terrifying. Tansy hugged herself.
“But no one was hurt?” Aunt Camellia grabbed her hand. “Everyone made out just fine?”
Tansy nodded. “I think smoke inhalation was the worst of it.” She hadn’t liked Dane’s blisters, the way he had coughed or how raspy and thick his voice had sounded. She knew he was okay, but it didn’t stop her from worrying about Dane. She didn’t have a choice. He was there, in her mind and her heart—he always would be.
“Do they suspect foul play?” Aunt Mags asked. “Fire doesn’t spontaneously occur.”
Tansy felt Astrid’s eyes on her but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s too early to say.” It was a far safer answer than sharing Harald Knudson’s accusations. “At least two beeyards were lost—several hundred hives.”
“Such a shame.” Aunt Camellia shook her head. “How is Leif?”
“He was upset.” Tansy eyed the tabletop. “Like you two were when we came in. What’s going on?”
Aunt Camellia burst into tears. “I’ve lost it.” She used the corner of her apron to wipe her face. “After all our hard work, I’ve lost it. Witheverythingresting on it. I can’t believe it.”
“Lost what?” Astrid asked.
Aunt Mags pinched the bridge of her nose—never a good sign.
But Tansy knew. Deep in her stomach, she knew before Aunt Camellia said, “The recipe for the Honey Hill Farms Blue-Ribbon Honey.” She drew in a deep breath, sputtering. “And without the recipe, we can’t enter the contest. Every jar has to have an accompanying original recipe.” She sobbed.
“It can’t be lost.” Astrid gave Aunt Camellia’s hand a pat. “I’m sure it’s here—”
“I’ve looked.” Aunt Camellia shook her head. “I’ve looked in every book, every drawer, every one of Lord Byron’s hidey-holes.”
“How long has it been missing?” Tansy reached up, smoothed her hair back and tied it into a knot. “We will retrace your steps.” Giving up wasn’t an option.
“Sunday.” Camellia wiped away more tears. “It was there.” She pointed to the corkboard on the far wall. “Saturday it was there.” She walked over to it, patted the cork matting and turned. “But Sunday morning I went to check it—remember the last-minute changes we made—and it was gone.”
“From the corkboard?” Tansy tried not to panic. “We didn’t use a shiny tack.” Lord Byron couldn’t resist shiny tacks.
“I’m telling you, it wasn’thim.” Aunt Camellia’s back stiffened. “I’ve ransacked every one of his hiding places—and then some. Look around you, the house is a disaster.”
“There is another possibility.” Aunt Mags began sorting through the stacks on the table, like with like. “We had company Saturday.”
The Junior Beekeepers? “Those are good kids.” Tansy shook her head. Had any of them come into the house? “None of them would do such a thing.”
“I wasn’t referring to the students, Tansy.” Aunt Mags wasn’t angry or accusing. If anything, she sounded apologetic. “You had a guest stay over.”
Dane?Tansy glanced at Astrid, her lungs deflating. “He—”
“He was in your room for quite some time,” Aunt Mags went on. “And when he left, I didn’t hear you creeping back upstairs so I’m assuming you didn’t walk him out?”
Tansy shook her head. “I was asleep.” She sank into one of the kitchen chairs. Dane wouldn’t have taken it.
“He was in an awfully good mood when he left.” Aunt Mags glanced at her.
“That doesn’t mean he stole it.” Aunt Camellia patted Tansy’s back. “It means he and Tansy enjoyed one another’s company.”
Tansy’s cheeks were burning. “Watching a movie...and cuddling. That’s all.”
“You don’t have to tell us a thing.” Aunt Camellia waved her hand dismissively. “This is your home. What activities you choose to do in your room—”
Tansy covered her face with her hands. “We watched a movie.Say Anything—”
