Page 69 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

It only gets worse as the days that we’re apart turn into weeks. Thanksgiving is an over-the-top affair at the fire crew school house with a fried turkey, a roasted turkey, and a smoked turkey, plus all the fixings. However, someone forgot to add the marshmallows to the sweet potatoes. I think it’s a crime, and among the guys, a serious debate ensues. I’ll have to ask Honey her take, leaving me longing to be around the table in Hogwash with her and Leonie.

Leyton makes us go around and tell everyone something we’re thankful for. Following his cue, I keep it short and tell theguys I appreciate this opportunity to teach them and see them grow as firefighters.

The part I keep to myself is that I’m grateful that in the divorce settlement with my ex-wife, I inherited a town. I see so much potential there from the quaint main street to making everything at the end of Shady Lane into a home and a historic site where visitors can enjoy the old legends rather than leaving the place in ruin in search of treasure.

In my downtime, when I’m not connecting with Honey or hiking, I’ve been researching the history of Cameron Parish, Hogwash, and the Hunt in particular.

I wonder if there is a way to call it off while commemorating it at the same time. Then again, I don’t think anyone will give up hope on discovering Tickle’s Tokens until they’re all recovered.

Before I left, JQ confided in me. He said since I own the town, I ought to know. The Tokens are real. He and Lexi found one ... and some other stuff. I’m pretty sure they’re behind funding the refurbishment of the community center and swimming pool.

Teaching Leonie to swim—and water safety, of course, we deal with a lot of that in my profession—makes me grin. Also, I wouldn’t object to seeing Honey in a bathing suit.

My phone beeps as if she’s reading my mind, but it’s a message from one of the parish administrators about the updated plat for the estate property. Some years ago, someone petitioned for the land to be split, possibly for development. As it stands, the estate, cemetery, and another section which looks like it includes two other structures remain intact. The Fort is state property, but the Tickle Estate, which hadn’t been assigned to anyone until I came along, has access and other rights. However, numerous people over the years laid claim to being a descendent.

Thankfully, they were denied.

If we can find the tokens, we can turn the scavenger hunters into civilized guests. Maybe Hogwash could become a vacation destination—one of those quaint coastal towns featured on social media. I love the idea of Honey and Leonie—maybe more kids—someday filling those rooms, but it would also make a good boutique hotel. The Fort could be a point of interest and we could open the area up with a waterfront for airboat rides. I’m getting ahead of myself, but the idea and inspiration won’t quit.

When I get back to Hogwash, I plan to tell Honey. However, I haven’t figured out how to convince her the Tokens are real without betraying JQ.

Then again, she and I shouldn’t keep secrets. I know Honey still has a few.

It’s December first, and my countdown is officially on. I’ll be leaving here on December twenty-first and driving east each day until I run out of gas—figuratively speaking.

My phone beeps.

Honey: I have good news. Well, more of a surprise.

Before I can read the next message, Leyton and the others snag my attention. I have to get out to the field for the practical hands-on portion of the program. My phone vibrates a few more times while I review rangeland fire mitigation tactics with the students. I try not to let curiosity about the message distract me.

Maybe Leonie got her first tooth—Honey says she senses teething even though it’s a little on the early side. At night, I’ve been reading chapters in “It’s a Baby’s World: We Just Live inIt.” The inch-thick tome is about what to expect from conception to twenty-four months.

Or maybe Honey perfected the apple tart she’s been working on from Eloise Tickle’s cookbook. She’s mentioned updating the Laughing Gator Grille menu in the new year. Her pancakes are the best I’ve ever had even though I won’t give her the pleasure of calling them anything but flapjacks.

Could be that Mrs. Halfpenny realized her dog requires batteries or Molly is finally pronouncing crème brûlée properly.

When one of the students answers a question I pose about evergreen sap’s flammability, I realize Honey must’ve gotten a Christmas tree.

At lunchtime, I finally have a chance to see what Honey has to say and the message string is long on her side. The most recent one demands to know whether I considerDie Harda Christmas movie.

I go outside and call her directly.

“What’s going on?”

She answers on the second to last ring. “I can’t talk much right now. Jesse is here investigating. It doesn’t look like anything was taken except for a bunch of biscuits.”

“Slow down. Last I heard, you wanted to know my thoughts on Die Hard. Obviously, it’s a Christmas movie.”

“But since then, someone broke into the Laughing Gator Grille and made a mess of my Christmas decorations.” Her voice is strained.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. This is me we’re talking about.” True. Had she been at the restaurant, she’d have fought them off with a frying pan.

“Any idea who or why?”

“Swamp zombies?” she says thinly.

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