Page 67 of Forgotten Path

“I’m here. Hi, Uncle Fred.”

Fred snickered softly.

“Great, then I’m going to drop off now. Oh, after you’re finished with this call, you should probably call Ralph. He came flying into the trailer looking for you a little bit ago even though he saw you leaving,” his harried-sounding secretary announced.

“Ralph can wait until Monday.”

“Suit yourself.”

He waited until a second click sounded, and she left the call.

“What’ve you got?” he demanded.

“Uh, hello, Mr. Glazier,” Lowell stammered. “Is it okay to talk on the phone or should we meet in person?”

Fred knew that the safest way to meet would be face-to-face. But the truth was, he didn’t feel like dealing with Lowell. He was still pissed at Chad, and he needed time to decompress, drink a beer, and watch whatever midday sports ESPN saw fit to air.

“The phone is fine.”

“Okay, because you had said that I should—”

“Cut to the chase, son. Time is money.”

“Right. Sorry. So Bodhi King came into St. Lou’s looking for my gran today.”

Fred pushed out his lower lip. “He came to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Easy game. What did he want?”

“Well,” Lowell hedged, “she sent me out to run an errand, so …”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, no, wait! Listen, she wouldn’t tell me what they talked about, but I found out anyway.”

“Cripes, kid, you didn’t have to lead with your chin.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. So what did he want.”

“Well, see, I came back from the pharmacy to pick Gran up, and she and Dr. King had finished their conversation. I could have sworn I heard her saying something about Mr. Hornbill from the paper company and maybe hush money, but I wasn’t sure. But then, the lady doctor from Panama City—the medical examiner—came rushing in looking for Dr. King, and we left.”

Fred scratched his neck behind his right ear. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“No, there’s more. We’re at the food bank distribution site now, and—”

“Food bank?”

“Oh, yeah. The second Friday of every month, the food ministry at the Baptist Church passes out groceries to, well, anyone who needs them.”

“And people show up for these handouts?”

“I mean, yeah. Pretty much the whole town comes out. Lots of folks are there to volunteer, but then, too, after all the recipients have gotten their food bags, the volunteers take home what’s left. You know, money’s tight for everyone.”

A wave of disgust rolled over Fred. This right here was the problem with society. He’d have to remember to include a chapter about the benefits of going to bed with an empty stomach in his memoir.