Page 3 of Honey Mead Murder

Bumble wiggled a little and snuffled up at him. Murphy and Teagan were both favourites of his pug. They were also some of the rare people that George didn’t mind spending his day around.

His cousin often teased him about being a hermit. He wasn’t. There was just a massive limit to his ability to deal with people.

Part of it came from finding noise, people, and many other things overwhelming. It wasn’t until he’d been in his midtwenties that George discovered the reason for what his family often referred to as his “quirks.” He’d eventually been diagnosed as autistic, late in life, partly owing to a biased belief that autistics tended to be young white men. The world was slowly changing. But it had been a struggle to get the diagnosis even after years of research had made him almost more informed on the issue than the first doctor he’d seen.

It had been a relief to have a name for all the questions that plagued him. He wasn’t sick or dying of some mysterious illness. In fact, he was perfectly normal for an autistic.

With actual answers in hand, George’s confidence had grown. He’d decided to move from his family home in Edinburgh to Dufftown, where his cousin Margo lived. A cottage had become available, and thus had begun his obsession with creating the perfect wild garden to encourage bees.

The garden had turned into an obsession with hives and bees. His friendship with Murphy had led to him experimenting further with types of flowers in his garden to see how they affected the yield and flavour. It had become a labour of love for him.

And allowed him to spend increasing amounts of time with Murphy.

Murphy.

Murphy had begun to be a problem for George. His crush on the man had only increased over the years. At this point, it was almost painfully embarrassing that he could never gather the courage to ask him out.

Ready and dressed for the day, George decided to do the mature adult thing. He’d put the problem off for another time. Bumble bumped into the back of his leg in an attempt to herd him towards the bedroom door.

“Are we hungry?” George chuckled when Bumble headbutted his leg a second time. “I’ll take that as a yes. No need for violence this early in the morning.”

With Bumble ambling along beside him, George made his way into the kitchen. He grabbed one of the dog food packets out of the fridge and emptied it into a clean bowl. There was much snuffling and grunting from below when he took time to flick on the coffee maker before placing the dish on the floor.

“Here’s your brekkie. I’m going to have a quick check on my darlings.” George left Bumble to his breakfast and went out the back door into the garden. He paused to run a hand gently over some of the phacelias growing close to the cottage. “Hello, lovelies.”

A winding path led through his wild, secret garden. When George had moved into the cottage, he’d immediately set up a somewhat chaotic masterpiece with the sole purpose of providing for his bees. He kept most of the lawn un-mowed during summer and only did it once a month for the rest of the year.

It was wild and beautiful. Everything smelled lovely so early in the morning. The calming hum of insects was periodically disturbed by birdsong or an errant car horn in the distance.

There were times when his garden reminded him of his mind. Calm and chaotic. Wild and organised. A perfect dichotomy that confused those who didn’t care to understand the purpose.

The cottage itself was nondescript. A small, old stone structure. It was charming in a fairy-tale way, especially with vines trailing up the outer walls.

It had been renovated ten years earlier by the previous owner, and George was grateful. The more modern appliances and the open floor plan suited his needs perfectly. He didn’t need more than a single bedroom, ensuite, and a small kitchen and living room.

He lived alone with a dog. What more did he need? The garden had been what drew him to the property, after all.

It was larger than most in the area, and much of the garden had been untouched. So George had quickly gotten to work creating his perfect outdoor space. The only structure he’d added aside from beehives was a little shed for a workshop to keep his tools safe, dry, and out of the cottage.

After a quick inspection of the various sections of the garden, George continued down the path to where it opened out into a field with several rows of beehives. He preferred the British National style for the ease of maintenance and how efficient they tended to be.

Everything looked fine from a distance. Unfortunately, George didn’t have the time to do a closer inspection, since Murphy was expecting him to pop by the brewery. It would take far too much time to don his beekeeping garb and thoroughly check each of his hives.

“I’ll be back, darlings.” George spent a fair amount of time in the garden or with his bees. There was always something to do.

To some, his family included, it likely seemed as if he preferred the company of bees, flowers, and his dog to humans. They weren’t wrong. But he had a select few people who didn’t aggravate him.

A very small, select few.

Returning to the cottage, George found Bumble snoozing contentedly on the rug in front of the range. His bowl had been licked completely clean. The coffee maker gave a beep, interrupting him when he went to take yet another photo of his pug.

His phone had nothing but images of either Bumble, the bees, or flowers. The latter two he often sent to his online group of beekeeper friends across Scotland that shared advice on maintaining the hives, particularly during the difficult winter months. They’d been crucial to his success.

Summer was really his favourite time of year. Everything came alive, and he had honey to harvest. It often felt like he was living in a magical fantasy world.

While bees had been his obsession since childhood, George’s practical knowledge had been severely lacking until he’d moved into the cottage. His parents had allowed him to help a neighbour with their hive but he had never had one of his own. However, he’d more than made up for the lack now.

His friends in the online forum had filled in all the gaps in his knowledge. They were a great resource. He’d felt so much less alone in his love of bees when he’d realised they were all equally keen.

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