Honey for the Bears

by Gabrielle Demonico

  “u better be getting sum!!! T.”

  “That girl…” Honey muttered as shook her head.

  She placed her phone back on the nightstand, propped herself up on her elbows and looked around the room. She couldn’t see Brock anywhere but she thought she heard a sound coming from the living room.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  “Hey, you awake in there?” Brock replied.

  “Yeah…”

  A few seconds later, Brock walked into the room.

  “Well, good morning. How’d you sleep?”

  “Good.”

  He smiled, sat down on the bed next to her and began to stroke her hair.

  “Mmmm…” she moaned. “That feels good.”

  “I’m glad. I want to make you feel good, Honey. It makes me happy.”

  Honey looked up at him and smiled.

  “You, uhhm… want some breakfast?” he asked.

  “Oh my God, yes. I am starving.”

  “Okay, well, I am all out of food here. That was something I relied on Kristy for most of the time.” He said. A bit of sadness crept into his tone as his voice trailed off.

  “Oh, well I…” Honey began as she tried to take his mind off of his cousin. “We can go out, it’ll be my treat.”

  Brock chuckled. “And what would you know about the best places to eat breakfast in Troubled Fork?”

  A broad smile came over Honey’s face. “You let me worry about that, mister.”

  A half an hour later, Brock and Honey were sitting down in the Maple Mansion waiting for a serving of their famous huckleberry pancakes. As they waited, Brock said, “Are you busy today, Honey?”

  Honey shook her head. “No, actually I have today off. But, I do need to shower and change…”

  Brock stroked his chin and then looked out the window that bordered Pine Boulevard. “Okay. There’s someone I’d like to pay a visit to later on. I’ve got some paperwork to take care of first but I could take you home and then later, we can go…”

  Honey nodded. “Okay, well… who are we going to see?”

  “Gladys MacDonald.” He replied.

  “Really? Why?”

  Brock propped his elbows up on the table and interlocked his hands. “Just a hunch…”

  ***

  Right after midday, Brock swung by, picked up Honey and headed out to the old MacDonald place.

  After about a twenty minute trip, they turned onto the long, winding driveway that led up to the MacDonald homestead. As they drove along the tree-lined thoroughfare, Honey gazed out upon the property. It went on as far as the eye could see.

  “This place is huge…” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

  “Yeah, around here, there is nothing like it.” Brock replied.

  After about a minute more, the truck rounded a circular drive and parked under a large pillared overhang. Brock threw the vehicle into park and switched it off.

  “Ready?” he said as he turned towards Honey.

  “Mmm, hmm…” she replied.

  They walked up the stairway that led up to a set of stained glass entryway doors. Honey thought that the house was quite ornate for the area based on everything else she’d seen around Troubled Fork.

  “Wow…” she said as she took it all it in.

  “Yeah, this was really something back in the day.” Brock replied. “It’s fallen into a state of disrepair at the moment…”

  “Hmm…” Honey replied.

  At last they reached the double doors. Brock reached out and knocked as Honey stood beside him. After a few moments, a middle aged woman answered the door…

  “Mr. Walters?” the woman asked.

  Brock said, “Yes, are you Miss Hopkins?”

  “Yes. I am Mrs. MacDonald’s housekeeper.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Brock said.

  Miss Hopkins glanced towards Honey. Brock cleared his throat and said, “My apologies. Miss Hopkins, this is my associate, Miss Honey Thompson.”

  Miss Hopkins smiled and nodded towards Honey. “Nice to meet you.”

  Honey smiled and nodded in return.

  “Thank you for arranging for us to meet with Mrs. MacDonald. I know it was last minute.” Brock said.

  “It’s fine Mr. Walters… However, she’s not well and doesn’t have visitors often. Please try and keep the time as short as you possibly can.” Miss Hopkins said.

  “Yes ma’am…” Brock replied. “I will do my best.”

  “Please…” Miss Hopkins said as she stepped out of the way and invited them inside.

  The interior of the home was like a time capsule of life in Troubled Fork for the past two hundred years. Everywhere Honey looked were relics of bygone generations. Old photos of Indians and settlers dotted the walls and crowded rustic shelving. As they followed Miss Hopkins across the house, the old pine floor groaned underfoot until at last, they reached the entrance to the parlor room.

  Honey could see that Mrs. MacDonald was seated in an oversized chair and covered in a blanket as she watched television. Miss Hopkins walked in ahead of them and motioned for them to follow. As they entered, the maid spoke up a bit…

  “Ma’am… You have some visitors.”

  The old lady turned in their direction.

  Miss Hopkins gestured towards an old couch. “Please, have a seat.”

  She then turned back towards the old lady. “Ma’am, this is Mr. Brock Walters and Miss Honey Thompson. They are here to ask you a few questions…”

  “Ohhh… Thank you very much Miss Hopkins.” The old lady replied.

  As they sat, the maid said, “Remember, please try and keep your visit as short as possible.”

  “I will. Thank you, Miss Hopkins.” Brock replied.

  A few seconds later, the maid left the room. Brock sat forward on the couch and said, “We won’t keep you very long ma’am, were here to talk about the land.”

  The old lady replied, “You’re the young man from the television. I see you on there all the time.”

  Brock smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I…”

  “You are always interrupting my stories!” she exclaimed.

  Confused, Brock said, “Stories… ma’am?”

  Honey leaned in and said, “I think she’s talking about her soap operas. Your press conferences cut into them.”

  “Oh…” Brock muttered.

  “Always interrupting them…” the old lady grumbled.

  “Well, I do apologize for that Mrs. MacDonald. Now, ma’am, about the land…”

  “The land? What about it?” she asked.

  “Well…” he began.

  The old lady interrupted. “Oh, is this about him again? He’s been pestering me about it for years.”

  Brock and Honey looked at each other.

  Brock turned back toward Mrs. MacDonald. “He, who, Mrs. MacDonald?”

  “My son! He was always spoiled rotten. It was his father’s fault you know.” She sighed.

  “Ma’am? I’m sorry. Are you saying that your son wants the land?” Brock asked.

  “Yes, he has been trying to lease it out to a major developer to build hotels, golf courses or some other touristy nonsense. Oh, he’s been after me for years about this land…”

  “Where is your son Mrs. MacDonald?” Brock asked.

  The old lady didn’t reply but simply stared straight ahead.

  “The land is for everyone here in Troubled Fork, not just for those with the means Mr. Walters. My son never did understand that. The people and the animals… They are the ones that make the land what it is. Give it character, charm and romance. No amount of high rise condos or lakefront property will ever be able to equal it.”

  Brock nodded.

  She leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how much money I’ve been offered over the years Mr. Walters? Millions…” She sat back and as she did, she wagged her index finger. “But, I always turned it down. There are many things more important than money in life.”

&
nbsp; “I couldn’t agree more Mrs. MacDonald…” Brock replied.

  Her eyes began to well up with tears. “I love everything about this valley and the land, Mr. Walters. I know my time left here in this life is short, I’m no fool… But while I still have breath in me, this land will remain the way it has for generations – untouched and unspoiled.”

  She began to weep softly. Honey reached for a box of tissue nearby and then handed some of them to her.

  Hands trembling, the old lady dabbed at the tears. “Thank you my dear…” she said.

  Honey smiled softly. As she sat back down next to Brock, he said, “So, Mrs. MacDonald, do you think your son wants to sell the property ma’am?”

  As she sat in the chair, her head moved back and forth slowly. She suddenly seemed distant… lost in her thoughts. She didn’t reply to Brock’s question but instead muttered, “He’s always pestering me about it… he’s always pestering me about it…”

  Honey and Brock looked at one another.

  Brock leaned in and asked, “Where is your son, Mrs. MacDonald? Does he live here in the valley somewhere?”

  But, instead of responding to his question, she continued to just mutter to herself. “He’s always pestering me… always pestering me… always…”

  Brock reached out and touched the old lady on the forearm… “Mrs. MacDonald? Ma’am?”

  Within moments, the old lady drifted off to sleep.

  Brock hung his head for a moment. He then turned to Honey and said quietly, “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Go? But what about…” Honey whispered.

  “No, Honey. Leave her be. Let’s go.”

  Brock and Honey got up from the sofa, quietly slipped out of the parlor and made their way back down the long hallway towards the front door. On the way, they passed by the kitchen where they saw the maid preparing some food.

  Brock nodded in her direction. “Miss Hopkins. Thanks again.”

  “Did you get the information you hoped for Mr. Walters?”

  “Yes. Actually, do you have any idea how I could get in touch with Mrs. MacDonald’s son?”

  A look of bewilderment came over Miss Hopkins’ face.

  “Her son? Mr. Walters, Mrs. MacDonald’s son moved out of the valley nearly twenty five years ago. He was killed in a small plane crash ten years after that.”

  “Dead?” Honey asked.

  “Unfortunately, Mrs. MacDonald’s mind is not what it used to be. It’s very sad…” Miss Hopkins said.

  Brock exhaled. “Alright, well, thank you again Miss Hopkins.”

  “Oh you’re welcome, Mister Walters. Please feel free to stop by again should the need arise.”

  He opened the front door and as he did Honey passed by him on the way out. “Will do…” he replied as he closed it.

  Brock and Honey headed back towards his truck.

  ***

  “What now?” Honey asked.

  “Hmmm, I’m not sure. I need to head back into town for a minute. I’ll drop you at home on the way of you like.”

  “I’m fine either way…” she replied.

  “Okay.” He said.

  They climbed in the vehicle and drove off. They had just about gotten back into town when Brock got a call on his cell.

  “Hello?” he answered. “Hey, Leo… What’s up? Wait… what? Are you sure…? When…?”

  Brock turned to look at Honey. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

  “What?” Honey mouthed.

  Just then, he made the next possible right and pulled off the side of the road. The next thing Honey knew, he’d turned the truck around and was on the way back to the MacDonald homestead.

  “Okay, thanks Leo.” Brock said as he hung up.

  “What is it?” Honey asked.

  “It Shaman Powekah… His truck was just spotted.”

  “Where? By who?”

  “Just south of the MacDonald homestead. By one of her neighbors…”

  Honey’s mind raced to make sense of it but the dots just weren’t connecting. “Brock, I don’t understand, why would the shaman being going to the MacDonald homestead?”

  As he drove, he glanced in Honey’s direction. “Don’t you see, Honey? Mrs. MacDonald, she’s behind it all…”

  “What… but how?”

  “That I don’t know yet. It’s the only reason the shaman would be going there. That is one crafty old broad…”

  Brock’s mind seemed made up. Now, it was only a matter of time until they found out if he was right or not. In no time flat, they’d made it all the way back out to the house. As they pulled into the driveway of the MacDonald homestead, Brock said, “Hmmm… That’s strange.”

  “What is?”

  “Well, I don’t see the shaman’s truck anywhere.” He said as he pulled up the drive.

  Honey looked around the property. “Do you suppose it was a case of mistaken identity?”

  Brock switched off the vehicle. “Could be. There’s just one way to know for sure…”

  They got out of the truck and headed towards the house.

  ***

  Brock rapped on the stained glass of the old front door. Through the shadows, they could see Miss Hopkins approaching.

  She opened the door with a look of surprise on her face. “Why, Mr. Walters, Miss Thompson. What are you doing back here so soon?”

  “We need to speak with Mrs. MacDonald… At once!” Brock demanded.

  “No, she cannot be disturbed. She’s asleep. It’s getting to be late in the day for a woman of her age.”

  “Move out of the way Miss Hopkins…” Brock warned.

  “No, Mister Walters, I will do no such thing!”

  Without a word, Brock brushed her aside and headed into the house.

  As they walked down the hallway, the maid yelled from behind, “Just who do you think you are sir!? You cannot just push your way in here. I demand you leave at once!”

  Ignoring her, Brock patted his front jeans pocket and said, “Shit…”

  “What?” Honey asked as she hurried along next to him.

  “I don’t have my cell. I must have left it back in the truck next to my gun.”

  “I have mine. Do you need me to call someone?”

  “No? Can you record on it?”

  “Yes… I think so.”

  “Good. I’m not letting whatever it is she is going to confess escape me this time.”

  Just then, they turned the corner into the old lady’s bedroom.

  “Mister Walters!” the maid yelled from behind one last time.

  The two of them entered the room ahead of her and as they did, Honey located and switched on the voice recorder app on her phone. One it was running, she glanced sideways at Brock and nodded.

  “Mrs. MacDonald!” Brock bellowed.

  She seemed to be half asleep when they entered the room. Groggily, she looked up towards them and said to the maid, “Miss Hopkins. Who are these people?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Mrs. MacDonald, you know damn well who I am.” Brock replied.

  “Mr. Walters! Please!” shrieked Miss Hopkins.

  “Ohhh, yes… Mr. Walters… and… Miss Thompson? Is that correct? Yes, I remember you from the lovely visit we had just the other day.”

  “Cut the senile old lady bit Mrs. MacDonald. We were here not two hours ago and you sure as hell know it…”

  The old lady turned to her housekeeper and said, “Miss Hopkins, what is he talking about?”

  “What am I talking about?” Brock said. “I am talking about you trying to eliminate all the wildlife from your land, turning people against one another, I’m talking about you killing people Mrs. MacDonald and all so that your precious land stays in your family making you and yours rich beyond imagination.”

  Mrs. MacDonald just sat there looking stunned and confused but did not speak.

  “I believed you Mrs. MacDonald. I bought into your whole charade – hook, line and sinker. Pretending to be senile, neglected and alo
ne up in here in this giant empty home.” He said as he waved his arm around the room. “But it was you all along, wasn’t it, orchestrating everything…”