Chapter 8

I didn’t hear from Natalie on Tuesday, which disappointed me, but my offer was out there. I knew she was working and busy, and I had things to do as well. Well, sort of. But I didn’t text her. It wasn’t as though I was thinking about her all the time. Just…too much for my own good.

I also spoke to both ambulance companies. As with the hospital, it took a couple of transfers before I was able to reach someone who could help. Yes, I was told, there were records of pickup locations for patients who had been transported to the hospital; no, I was told, they didn’t have that information readily available. It would take them a few days to find it, maybe until the end of the week, and if I didn’t hear from them to call again.

Hurry up and wait.

Just like so many other things in life.

Hoping for a chance to speak with Claude’s father, I decided to visit the Trading Post for lunch. Pulling up, I spotted a bin offering bags of ice, firewood for sale, propane tank refills, an air compressor to fill tires, and an old-fashioned vending machine, which seemed redundant since people could purchase sodas inside. Unfortunately, there was no one out front in the rockers.

Inside, Claude was back at his usual spot behind the register and he raised a hand in greeting as I headed toward the grill. As usual, all the tables were occupied, so I found myself at the counter. A massive man—at least a head taller than me and twice as wide—nodded toward me before handing me a small bowl of boiled peanuts. I assumed this was Frank, the regular grill man. Unlike Claude, he said nothing. Not much of a chatter, which was fine with me.

In honor of my grandfather, I ordered a BLT with fries and a pickle. Behind me, I overheard two guys at one of the tables talking about their fishing trip the weekend before, lamenting their lack of luck, and debating better places to try the following weekend. I peeked over my shoulder. Both were wearing baseball caps; one had the sinewy arms associated with construction, while the other wore a uniform of one of the propane distributors. When one of them mentioned that he’d spotted an alligator recently, my ears perked up.

“Four of ’em actually,” he went on. “Sunnin’ right there on the bank between the trees.”

“Big ones?” his friend asked.

“Nah. Juveniles, probably.”

“Where?”

“You know where the boat launch is? A couple of bends in the river after that, on your right. You remember the bald eagle’s nest in the cypress tree? Right around there.”

“What eagle’s nest?”

“Same nest as last year.”

“I didn’t see it last year.”

“That’s because you never take the time to look around.”

“I’m fishing,” he answered, “not sightseeing.”

“You try the quarry? I’ve had some luck with bass there lately…”

The conversation returned to fishing again and I found myself tuning out. I was, however, interested in the alligators and the bald eagles and wondered if Natalie might want to join me.

By then, my meal was ready, and Frank placed the plate in front of me. I took a bite, confirming that it never tasted as good anywhere else. I finished the sandwich and the pickle, but had only a few of the fries. I could feel my arteries hardening as I sampled them, but my taste buds were happy.

As I was finishing up, I glanced through the windows toward the front of the store and saw a pair of elderly gentlemen sitting in the rockers on the porch. Just what I’d been hoping for. Rising from my seat, I approached the register. Claude, without the apron and shiny face, seemed far more content than he was the last time I’d been here.

“Hey, Claude,” I greeted him. “Is that your father out front?”

He leaned forward to peek over my shoulder. “Yeah, that’s him. The one with the overalls. The other guy is Jerrold.”

“Do you think your dad would mind if I spoke with him about my grandfather?”

“Feel free. Can’t guarantee he’ll know anything. Assuming he even hears what you’re asking.”

“Of course.”

“Word of advice? Watch out for Jerrold. Half the time, I have no idea what he’s talking about or what he finds so funny.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly but I nodded. “How long do you think your father will be here?”

“They haven’t eaten yet, so I reckon he’ll be here at least another hour.”

“What does he usually have for lunch?”

“The barbecue sandwich with slaw. And hush puppies.”

“How about I buy that for him?”

“Why? It’s not like I can charge him. He still owns a portion of the store.”

“I figure if I’m going to try to get some information from him, it’s the least I can do.”

“It’s your money.” He shrugged.

I pulled some cash from my wallet and handed it over, watching as he added it to the drawer. He cupped a hand at the corner of his mouth and called across the store. “Hey, Frank. Get Daddy the usual, okay? And hand it to Trevor here. He’ll bring it out.”

The meal didn’t take long to prepare and when it was ready, I ferried the plate to the front door. As I passed the register, Claude loosened the cap on a Yoo-hoo, then tightened it slightly before holding it out to me. “You’ll need this, too.”

“Yoo-hoo?”

“It’s his favorite. He’s been drinking it as long as I can remember.”

I took the bottle and with my hands full, I used my hips to push open the door. As I approached, Jim looked up, his face as gnarled and wrinkled as his hands, all bone and skin and liver spots. He wore glasses and a few of his teeth were missing, but I thought I saw a spark of curiosity in his expression that made me believe he was sharper, and more aware, than Claude’s description of him might indicate. Then again, maybe I was just being optimistic.

“Hi, Jim. I thought I’d bring out your lunch,” I started. “I was hoping to talk to you for a few minutes.”

Jim squinted up at me. “Huh?”

Jerrold leaned toward Jim. “Boy here wants to talk to you,” Jerrold shouted.

“Talk about what?” Jim asked.

“How the hell should I know? He just walked out here.”

“Who is he?” Jim asked.

Jerrold swiveled his gaze toward me. He was younger than Jim, but still well past retirement age. I noticed a hearing aid, which might—or might not—make things easier.

He leaned toward Jim again. “I’m figurin’ he’s a salesman,” Jerrold shouted. “Maybe selling them women’s panties.”

I blinked, unsure whether to be offended, and suddenly remembered what Claude had told me.

“Tell him to talk to Claude,” Jim said with a wave. “I’m retired. I don’t need nothing from any salesman.”

“The hell you don’t,” Jerrold said to him. “You need a woman and one of them winning lotto tickets, if you ask me.”

“Huh?”

Jerrold leaned back in his seat with mirth in his eyes. “Women’s panties.” He cackled, clearly pleased with himself. “You sellin’ women’s panties?”

“No,” I said, “I’m not a salesman. I just wanted to speak with Jim.”

“About what?”

“About my grandfather,” I said. “And I brought Jim his lunch.”

“Then don’t just stand there.” He waved a bony hand at me. “Give it to him. Don’t be slow, now.”

I leaned down and handed Jim his lunch. As I did, Jerrold frowned, the grooves in his forehead so deep they could hold a pencil.

“Where’s my lunch?” Jerrold demanded.

I hadn’t expected the question but realized that I probably should have considered the idea they’d want to eat together. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. What would you like? I’d be happy to get you something.”

“Hmmmm,” Jerrold said, bringing a hand to his chin. “How about filet mignon with a lobster tail and lots of butter, with some of that rice pilaf?”

He’d pronounced it pea-laff.

“Do they serve that here?” I asked.

“Of course they don’t. You need to order it special, from one of them fancy places.”

I assumed he meant a different restaurant—a real restaurant—and I was caught off guard.

“Where would I order that?” I asked.

“What’s he saying?” Jim asked.

Jerrold leaned toward Jim again. “He’s saying he won’t buy me lunch,” Jerrold shouted. “And he says he’ll buy you a Cadillac if you’ll talk to him.”

I blinked, wondering how I’d lost control of the conversation. A Cadillac? Where did that come from? “I didn’t say that,” I protested. “And I’d be glad to get you anything the grill offers…”

Jerrold slapped his thigh, not letting me finish before suddenly locking eyes with me again. “Boy, you is dumb as dirt. A Cadillac! What on earth would he do with a Cadillac? He can barely drive as it is.” He shook his head, cackling. “A Cadillac!” he shouted to Jim.

Standing in place, I could think of nothing to say. Jerrold didn’t seem to need me to say anything; he was too happy with himself to care what I might be thinking. Jim, meanwhile, struck me as oblivious. I decided to seize the initiative.

“I was hoping to ask Jim about my grandfather, Carl Haverson.”

Jerrold reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of snuff. After opening the package, he pinched a few of the leaves together before placing them between his lip and gum. His mouth made a few contortions and he settled back in the chair, looking like he had a tumorous growth in his jaw. “You’re telling me that you’re kin to Carl?”

“He was my grandfather,” I said again. “I’m trying to learn what he was doing in South Carolina. Claude said Jim and my grandfather were close and I was hoping he could answer some questions.”

“Might be hard,” Jerrold said. “Jim here, he don’t hear too well. And he wanders when he talks. Half the time, you don’t know what he means.”

I could say the same about you, I thought. “It’s important,” I said instead. “Maybe you can help?”

“Don’t know how.”

“Did you know my grandfather? Did you speak with him before he left?”

“Sure,” he drawled. “I got out here now and then and we’d talk. Not as much as Jim here, though. But then, one week, he wasn’t around, so it was just me and Jim. I was as surprised as anyone when I found out what happened to him. Carl was in good health as far as I knew.”

“How about the trip to South Carolina? Did you know anything about that?”

“He never mentioned anything about it to me.”

“Was he acting differently? Anything like that?”

Jerrold shook his head. “Not that I could tell.”