The Honeypot Trap II The Village

 Chapter I is here. 

The sign said Pilsudski’s hotel, bar and café. Mrs. Pidsulski met me at the door, She was about 5 ft in any direction you wanted to measure her, with a friendly but no-nonsense smile. She sat me at a table in the middle of the room, no booths, poured me a cup of coffee and then said hello. She’d take me order after the morning coffee rush.  The coffee was as it should be, as my Peruvian friend once said, “Hot as hell, black as pitch, and bitter as marriage”.

By 9:45 the morning coffee crowd was gathering. Several men, with white, grey, or no hair, piled in and sat at their habitual places. I worried I was in someone’s spot, but no one made a fuss. They were pleasant enough, said hello, and three sat at my table, making no effort to include or exclude me from the conversation. I listened.

Nothing new or exciting, farm prices, weather forecasts, sports scores, the usual. No one asked my business, just assuming I was passing through. Then one of them ordered toast, “And bring some of that good honey from the Widow Jenkins”. I’d hit the pay dirt. The only beehive I’d seen was behind the house with all the flowers.

The honey was light caramel and flowed easily from the container. “What’s so special about this honey?” I asked. “Oh”, the man exclaimed, “the Widow Jenkins has all these flowering trees in her backyard, and a beehive. Occasionally she will sell a pail of honey to the café. It tastes different from canola or buckwheat honey. It is sort of a seasonal treat for us old timers”.

I drank my coffee. In 20 minutes, the men had all cleared out and I caught Mrs. Pilsudski’s eye for another cup. She poured the mug full to the brim, “Breakfast?” “Please.” And off she went. . . OoooKay?. In 10 minutes, she was back, two eggs over easy, four slices of bacon, hash browns, brown toast, and a side of cold beans. Poured herself a coffee and sat.

I introduced myself, “Hi, I’m Mike Malone, insurance, property and life”, one name being as good as another.  “Uh Huh, I saw you come off the rim this morning. And my rooms are clean”, she looked at me in disgust, “You needn’t have slept in your car. Who or what are you looking for?”.

I handed her my business car. “Rick O’Shea, Private Investigator. . . I thought you were a cop”.  “No, Ma’am, cops have to follow the law”, I smiled. She smiled back, “I hear ya.”

“I’m sort of scouting this community for a client who is looking for a nice place to settle down. He doesn’t trust real estate agents to give him an honest answer.” She nodded, “Smart move. Lost my husband in the war and been here 30 years. I know most everyone here and can give you a run down if it will help”.  She laughed, “How old’s your client?. . . Never mind, I ‘m too old to start that again”.

“My client is early 70s, just retired, comfortable but not rich by any stretch. So tell me about Lakeview.”

“Quiet, mostly retired, several younger couples with families that work here. Husband runs my bar, wife teaches at the school. Family runs the service station-confectionary. Two families own the grocery store and wife/husband teach at the school.”

“Tell me about the honey from The Widow Jenkins that one of your customers raved about.”

To be continued.