The Bear, the Witch, and the Web: Stories from Bennett Bay, #2

By Stephen del Mar

A month has passed since the events in "Dark Love" and Max is preparing to deal with the passing of Flora May. What he isn't prepared for is entering the world of faeries and dragons. The Jumble, the ancient wood just beyond the family farm, is in crisis. The fae are missing and the Witch of the Wood is dead. Can the Circle move past their grief and defeat the menace in the depths of the Pit? Will the secret of the Water Stone be revealed? And most importantly, will there be tea? 

"The Bear, the Witch & the Web" is the second book in the Stories from Bennett Bay series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bennett Bay Press
• Release date: May 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386100768

Book preview

THE BEAR, THE WITCH & THE WEB

Stories from Bennett Bay: Book Two

Stephen del Mar

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Chapter I

Max’s phone dinged, indicating a text message. He stepped away from the sales counter. Britta could ring up the young woman at the register without his help. He walked over to the big window on the east end of the little wharf shack that served as the Bennett Bay Historical Society’s gift shop. He glanced out the window at the windjammer moored along the pier. It looked like a ghost ship. No one wanted to tour it in the rain and all of the young men dressed as sailors had retreated below decks.

He pulled out his phone, a text from Janos. Everything looks good for the memorial service. Innes has everything under control. Weather’s supposed to clear up. Do you need anything? He wasn’t sure why this pissed him off. He’d been pissed off a lot the last few weeks. He wanted to text back, Yeah, I want my aunt to not be dead. Or, I don’t want that fucking Innes on my farm. But that wasn’t fair. Janos had been a godsend, keeping the little goat dairy going and generally watching over things. And Innes knew his aunt’s final wishes. He tapped out on his phone, Thanks. I’m fine. He wasn’t fine, but he’d learned no one really cared. He thought, God, I really need to snap out of this.

A little boy came up and said, Hey mister, does that boat ever move? He pointed out the window at the Basil I.

Max smiled down at him. She’s a ship, not a boat. And yeah, she moves. She’s one of the fastest sailing ships ever built. We take her out in the winter and the summer.

The boy pressed his face against the glass. Was she a pirate ship?

He smiled to himself—at some point, every Florida boy wanted to be a pirate. No. She was a hero ship.

The boy looked up at him, his big, brown eyes growing wide. What’s a hero ship?

Well, you know how most super heroes start out as normal people then something happens to make them special?

Yeah. Like a spider bite.

Max smiled and nodded. "Well, the Basil was only a cargo ship, this was like a hundred years ago now, and people were starting to use steam. They didn’t think sails were good enough anymore. So she sat at a dock in a place called Turkey."

The kid grinned. Turkey. That’s funny. Like at Thanksgiving.

Max grinned. I don’t think it’s named after the bird, but it’s kind of a funny name, isn’t it? Anyway, she sat there waiting for something to do. Her owners were thinking about scrapping her. They didn’t want an old sailing ship anymore.

The little boy looked back out at the ship. That’s not right.

No, maybe it isn’t. Old things can have value.

So what happened to her? How’d she get here?

Max touched the cold glass. Through blood and love, he thought. He said, Greg Bennett—

The boy cut him off You mean like the name of the town?

Yes. Greg Bennett’s family helped start Bennett Bay. His friend Oscar Sterling’s family did too. They were very good friends and they were going to school in a place called England. Have you heard of England?

The boy thought for a moment. I think so. Isn’t that where Harry Potter lives?

Max bit his lip. Yes, that’s what I’ve heard. Well, Greg and Oscar had a really good friend named Armen. And he was from Turkey.

Where the ship was living!

That’s right. Well, Armen went back home to see his family over vacation, but some bad things started happening.

The boy looked back at Max. What kind of bad things?

Armen’s people had moved to Turkey a long time before he was born. They came from a place called Armenia. For years and years they and the Turkish people got along most of the time. But then, some of the Turkish leaders decided they didn’t like the way the Armenians talked or the churches they went to. So they started taking them away to kill them.

That’s real bad. The boy looked concerned. What happened to Armen?

Well, somehow he got word back to Greg and Oscar. They were able to get to Turkey and found him. His family and some others were hiding so they wouldn’t be killed. Greg and Oscar tried to find a way to get them away, but no one would help. Everyone was afraid of the government. No one wanted Armenians on their ships. And it was too dangerous to go on the trains. A war was going on in Europe, so things were pretty messed up.

Why didn’t they take planes? I flew up north to see my grandma for Christmas. It was cold. I don’t like snow.

Max laughed. "I don’t like snow either. But this was a long time ago. They didn’t have planes yet. So, they found the Basil and bought her. They had a lot of money. Then they snuck Armen and his people on board and brought them back to Bennett Bay. A lot of people that live here now had family that came over on that ship."

So they all got away? The Turkey people didn’t kill the Armenian people?

Max thought, how do you explain genocide to a seven year old? No, he said. Not all of them got away. Even heroes can’t save everyone.

The boy looked back out the window. But she saved some. That’s good, right?

Yes, that was very good.

A young woman at the checkout counter called across the shop, Billy, come here and stop bothering that man.

The boy frowned. He took one look back at the ship and then shuffled over to the woman. Ma, can’t we go on the ship? It’s a hero ship!

She pushed him toward the door. I told you, not in this weather. We’ve got to meet your father for lunch. Now move.

Max looked around the little gift shop. Other than Britta sitting behind the register, it was dead. He looked at the pier through the big bay windows at the front of the shop. Empty. A late summer rain just wasn’t good for business. But, Florida wasn’t always the sunshine state no matter what the Chamber of Commerce said.

Britta, can you do a quick inventory of the tee-shirts? I’ll be in the office.

She made a non-committal grunt and kept texting on her phone. Max sighed and thought, I’ll be so happy when Sharon gets back. I’m tired of playing shopkeeper.

He opened the little refrigerator in the office and took out his lunch; an apple and a cup of yogurt. He sighed. He lived above one if the best restaurants in the Spanish Quarter and he had an apple and yogurt for lunch. No wonder he was depressed. He was tired of dieting, but it didn’t seem to be bear season in Bennett Bay and being old and plump wasn’t helping to land a man.

He tried to remember why he cared. He kept telling himself he was over Rob. But when he said that, his friend, Marcus, would give him a little look, shake his head, and tell him to get out there. He needed the distraction. So, he had yogurt and an apple. He sat down on the office chair and started looking through the desk for a plastic spoon. A dreary lunch for a dreary day.

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Max flipped the foil top off the yogurt then set it down on his desk. He was hungry. He just wasn’t sure he was hungry enough to slurp down the slimy, fruit-filled goo. What he really wanted was a Barnacle Burger from the Jolly Roger, the bar over on Pier Five. A burger and a cold Guinness. He caught his reflection in the shiny surface of his laptop screen. Too much of him looked back. Maybe if I skip lunch I can have something more substantial for dinner? He jabbed at the power button on the computer and waited for it to boot. He took a bite of apple and a spoonful of goo anyway.

The shop’s door chimed. Britta’s voice drifted back to the office. Good maybe we’ll get another sale. The Historical Society was non-profit, but they still had to cover costs. It’d been a hard year.

Britta knocked on the door frame. Someone here to see you.

He spun around in his chair. Who is it?

The girl shrugged, Don’t know. An old lady—really old.

Great, Max thought. Some patron complaining about their membership. Or the weather. Or the color of the Gulf of Mexico on Mondays.

Max went out on the sales floor and saw the woman standing there. He stopped and seriously considered bolting back into the office and baring the door. The woman set the pirate coffee mug she’d been examining down and looked up at him. A look of disappointment spread across her face. Well, Maxwell, aren’t you going to say hello to your mother?

Hello Mother. Why are you here?

She looked around the little shop. A place as common as a gift shop was foreign to her. She didn’t like being out of her element; her element being the Country Club, cocktail parties, or other society functions. We need to talk. Berghuis is waiting for us at Russo’s.

This was so like Mother. He was sixty years old and she still made him feel like a child. A worthless child. And why is your lawyer in the bistro at the end of the pier?

She looked at him as if he’d asked the most idiotic question imaginable. Because it is lunch time and they have a passable wine list.

She looked around the shop again. Surely you can get away for lunch, don’t you run this place?

You know I’m the Executive Director for the Historical Society.

And you work here? I thought you had an office on that boat?

He thought, Why does she do this to me? He told her, It’s a ship, and yes, my Executive Suite is on board. But I’m filling in while an employee’s on vacation.

She nodded with understanding. So you fill in for people when they are gone? That’s nice. She looked over at Britta sitting on the stool behind the register. Surly this girl is capable of handling the crowds while I have lunch with my son?

He recognized the look on Britta’s face and mouthed the words, Don’t say it!

She looked at him and said, I’ll be fine.

He said, Text me if you need anything. He wanted to add, Text me even if you don’t.

His mother was already outside opening her umbrella. He took his jacket off the coat rack and headed after her. His mother and the lawyer. This couldn’t be good.

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Max followed his mother along the pier. A dutiful son would walk beside her. Hold her arm or the umbrella. She was eighty after all. But they hadn’t touched in forty-eight years. The last time was at the hospital sitting next to his father’s dead body. She squeezed his shoulder and said, Well, that’s that, and walked out of his life. It was ten years before he saw her again. No, he didn’t want to touch her. He kept expecting her to melt in the rain.

Russo’s occupied a converted fishing wharf on the very end of the pier. The interior of the wharf was stuccoed a dark, creamy color. Murals of Italian fishing villages covered several walls. The fragrance of garlic and seafood fill the air.

A waiter showed them to a table next to a window overlooking the bay where whitecaps foamed on the sharp, dark waves kicked up by the storm. Berghuis, the lawyer, shifted papers on the table oblivious to the scene beyond the window. A bottle of red wine sat on the table with three glasses. Good, Max thought. Maybe I should order another bottle right away.

Berghuis saw them and stood. He embraced Max’s mother and kissed her on the cheek. Max wasn’t sure he liked that. Berghuis said, Anastasia, so good of you to come.

Max sat down next to the window. He looked from his mother to the lawyer, trying to discern why they were all here. He poured himself a glass of wine and asked them, Why am I here?

Berghuis looked surprised. Didn’t your mother tell you?

Max shook his head and took a gulp of wine. This was not the day for sipping.

The lawyer looked a little uncomfortable. It’s about the will.

Will? Max knew none of the massive Sterling trust would come his way. He hadn’t talked to that part of his family in years. He looked at her.

She set her glass down. Oh, it’s not mine. Your crazy Aunt Flora May passed and left that wreck of a farm to you.

Max set his wine glass down. It seemed the safest thing to do. The urge to crush it or throw it was warring in him. He looked out the window. Lightning cracked from the steel-gray sky and hit the shore near North Point Lighthouse. I’m very aware Flora May died and the farm passes to me. I am the last Crawford after all. He turned back to them. What I don’t understand is why you two are here?

The man looked uncomfortable. He shifted some papers around on the table. Well… Well, my firm represents the Crawford estate as well.

Max laid his hands flat on the table, took a deep breath, and then said, Ms. Alvarez is my attorney.

Yes, of course, but as I’ve represented the Sterlings for so many years… I thought I’d take a look at it.

Max closed his eyes. I’m not a Sterling. He opened his eyes and looked at him. Anastasia Sterling stopped being my mother a long time ago. I’m gonna take a piss. I don’t want to see her when I get back. And if you’re gone, I’ll consider it a good day.

He stood up and headed for the men’s room.

Anastasia called out, Maxwell Crawford, don’t you walk out on me.

Max thought, Really? She has the nerve to say that? He kept his back straight and continued on.

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Max pushed his way into the john and kicked open the first stall he came to. Then sat down on the toilet and started crying. Auntie Flora May. Oh Flora May, I’m so sorry. They’d had a fight over something so stupid the last time he saw her. Then he got busy and never made it back out to Live Oak and the farm. His stomach churned. He knelt down and vomited wine, bits of apple and some yogurt into the bowl. The woman that took him in when he was alone in the world had died alone. The guilt tore at his guts.

Max swished more cold water around in his mouth and spit in the sink. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone from the table. His face was red and puffy. Maybe they’d both be gone. Maybe Russo’s made a bacon cheeseburger. Maybe.

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Berghuis was alone at the table sipping wine. As Max took his seat he said, Mister Crawford, I know it’s none of my business, but—

Max cut him off, "No. It isn’t. Tell me—did you know that woman