A Sticky Situation

By Lisa Timpf

I was about to flip the sign on the front door of my office from “Closed” to “Open” when I spotted a bulky black form on the sidewalk. My heart jumped.

Then I recognized my visitor and smiled.

“Papa Bear! You caught me by surprise.” I swung the door open. “Come in.”

Papa Bear stepped into the office and turned his battered fedora around and around in his front paws. “Is this Frank’s Detective Agency?”

Almost everyone asked that, even though the business name was scripted across the glass door in fancy gold letters, followed in smaller writing by “Fairyland’s Best.”

I nodded. “It is. I’m Frank the Pig.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Have a seat.” I gestured toward the couch. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to find some missing honey.”

“Are you certain it’s missing, and someone didn’t just—”

“I’m sure.” Papa Bear raised his right forepaw, as though about to make a solemn oath. “I mean, I may have stumbled over to the cupboard for a midnight snack, but I wouldn’t have eaten it all.”

“How much went missing?”

“Ten pots. Our whole supply.” Papa Bear lowered his voice. “I have a suspect.”

“Who?”

“Goldilocks.” Papa Bear began ticking off the points supporting his theory on his left paw. “For one thing, she was crashing at our place until a few months ago. We never did get the key back.”

I jotted a note. Rumor had it that after she landed a job on The Fairytale Network, Goldilocks got her own digs. But if she still had access to the house…

“Two—she always loved our honey. I believe the expression she used was ‘just right.’”

“And?”

“There was a chair in front of the cupboard. As though someone needed a boost to reach the top shelf.”

My shoulders slumped. This could be a sticky situation. Goldilocks and my brother Will had been friends ever since Will’s appearance on Fairyland’s Worst Builder. He wouldn’t be happy if I proved her guilty.

Then again, if Goldilocks committed a crime, that was on her. Besides, rent didn’t pay itself—not even in Fairyland. “I’ll take the case.”

***

As he often did, my brother Bob tagged along for the site visit. He freelanced as a builder, having bolstered his reputation through the Big Bad Wolf affair. Still, he enjoyed the challenge of detective work and joined me whenever his schedule permitted.

When we arrived at the Bears’ house, I saw a kitchen chair positioned in front of the cupboard. “Has anyone touched this?”

Papa Bear shook his head.

I pulled a bottle of talcum powder out of my pocket and sprinkled it on the chair.

“Hey!” Mama Bear scowled. “You’re making a mess!”

“I’m dusting for prints.” I studied the powder, looking for patterns.

I frowned. There were marks alright, but I couldn’t figure out who, or what, had left them. Roughly circular with fuzzy edges, the prints looked like an animal’s pawprints—without the pad-marks. “Were there signs of forced entry?”

Mama and Papa Bear exchanged looks. Papa cleared his throat. “They may have come in through one of the windows. We keep them open for fresh air.”

***

“Is Goldilocks our next stop?” Bob glanced back at the Bears’ house as we departed.

“I doubt it was her, but we’d better check.”

We found Goldilocks on the set of Fairyland’s Worst Builder. When she spotted us, she grinned and hustled over. “What brings you here?”

There was no point beating around the bush. “Hoping to talk to you, actually.”

“You’re in luck. Mary Quite Contrary put a garden spider in Miss Muffet’s toolbox, so we’re on hiatus while the producer plays peacemaker. What’s up?”

“Do you know anything about the Bear family’s missing honey?”

“Their honey’s missing? Too bad. I was planning to visit Mama Bear this evening to buy a jar. I’m fresh out.”

“Where were you last night, between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.?”

Goldilocks put her hands on her hips. “Why? Am I a suspect?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I was home. Alone.” Goldilocks held up a hand. “Look, I make good money. Why would I go through the trouble of stealing honey when I could just buy it?”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

***

Back at the office, I paced while Bob and I brainstormed possible suspects.

“So, who likes honey?” I shot a look at Bob.

He shrugged. “Lots of entities. Bears, especially. But why would they steal their own honey?”

I froze. Bears. That reminded me—

I strode over to the calendar and grunted. “It’s July 10, right?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“Let’s get to the Village Green. I want to check something.”

As we approached the Green, we caught the sound of voices raised in melody. The tune was catchy and undeniably familiar.

Bob tilted his head. “They’re singing ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’.”

“That fits. Today is National Teddy Bear Picnic Day.”

“Those marks on the chair—are you thinking they were left by teddy bears?”

“It’s the best theory we’ve come across so far.”

“We’d better hustle, before the evidence disappears.”

We picked up the pace.

Fortunately, we’d arrived early enough to catch the culprits red-handed—or yellow-pawed. A few snouts and appendages showed smears of honey, but most of the Bear family’s stash remained intact. In fact, when Papa Bear arrived, he offered to sell some of his supply to the teddy bears each year, provided they kept their pilfering paws to themselves.

“Another case solved,” I said to Bob as we headed home.

“Sweet. Hey, all that talk about honey has made me hungry. Is it too early for lunch?”

“It’s never too early for lunch.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa Timpf is a retired HR and communications professional who lives in Simcoe, Ontario, Canada. Her speculative fiction has appeared in a variety of venues, including NewMyths, Third Flatiron, and Acceptance: Stories at the Centre of Us. Lisa’s speculative haibun collection, In Days to Come, is available from Hiraeth Publishing.

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