Page 30 of His Wounded Heart

“Need to make up for my deficiencies somehow,” I grin.

I watch as the two ladies walk out of the diner, then sit back down to finish the best breakfast I have ever eaten.

Chapter Eight

I look up from the kitchen table as I hear the rumble of a large engine. I might have gone a little over the top, but what the hell; if you’re going to have a mid-life-crisis, you might as well go all out. Fred drives the Silver Dodge RAM 3500 to the front, right beside my GTO, his son Arnold pulls up behind him in his red Dodge RAM 1500. I’m happy to see that he’s gotten rid of the bronze nut sack off the trailer hitch like I had requested. I go out and greet them.

Fred works for the county utility company and his son is still in high school. He’s selling his truck because he needs something smaller since he isn’t hauling horses anymore, and what’s more, he wants to buy Arnold and his daughter used cars when they graduate high school.

“Simon, here she is. Arnold detailed her for you.”

I shake Ned’s hand, then turn to the young man. “Thank you, Arnold.” The kid stands up straighter.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Clark.”

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” I ask.

“Nope, we want to get home and make sure everything is hauled inside the barn and that the barn is closed up tight,” Ned says.

“Why?”

“Don’t trust the weatherman. He’s saying we’re in for a snowstorm, but I think we’re in for an ice and windstorm like the one we got a couple of years back. It took out more than few roofs, and it decimated the trailer park.”

I look up at the sky. The clouds look dark, but I’ve just put it down to the predicted snowstorm. After they leave, I go inside and call up NOAA on my computer; damned if Ned isn’t right. It looks like there’s an ice storm that is going to hit eastern Tennessee tomorrow. They’re predicting high winds and freezing rain.

It doesn’t seem that cold outside. Maybe forty-five degrees, not enough to put on a coat. Well, NOAA usually didn’t steer me wrong, so I better get my ass up to Bernie’s and arrange supplies for everybody today.

My truck isn’t exactly quiet so I would have thought that the old man would be bundled up and out on the deck to greet me. I jump out of the truck, climb the stairs, and knock on his sliding glass window. Nothing. Of course, his door isn’t locked. Trenda had mentioned how nobody in this town locked their doors. If you ask me that was plain stupid, but what did I know about small town life?

I step inside.

“Bernie?” I call out. Still nothing.

I do a quick search of all of his rooms. His bedroom is a mess, which I really didn’t expect. Things are knocked over, his bed isn’t made. That isn’t what I’m expecting of this man. I’m surprised to find a walker.

You mean to tell me in just a week his gout had deteriorated that badly?

Then I see it, a damn satellite phone is peeking out from under a sheet on the floor. I pick it up to see who his last call was to, but his phone is locked.

Great, he didn’t lock his doors, but he locks his phone.

I pull out my satellite phone, which is going to come in handy up in these hills. I always keep one with me for emergencies. I’ve memorized Trenda’s number, so I call her, since she seems to have a handle on what goes on in this town. Once again I get her business voice answering the phone. I head outside.

“Hello, Trenda, it’s me, Simon.”

“Hey. How can I help you?” I am halfway around his house.

“I’m up here at Bernie’s house and he’s not here. His satellite phone is here, but it’s locked so I can find out his last call.”

“That’s really odd, that thing is glued to his hip. Not that he actually answers many calls,” she laughs softly. Even as I worry about Bernie, I still find her laugh smooth as honey.

“His truck is still here, but I see recent tracks of a big vehicle out front.”

“Let me call you right back. He might have called someone from the fire department if he was hurt or really sick. Zarek and his team have been up to Bernie’s house a few times. They’ve been trying to get him to reveal where everybody lives up in the mountains, but he hasn’t. I’m going to give them a call. Hang on while I put you on hold.”

I jog back to my truck, waiting for Trenda to get back to me.

“I’ve got it,” she says as she gets back on the line. “It was the fire department that got up to Bernie’s place yesterday. Turns out that his foot was turning gangrene, and he realized he was in trouble, so he called. They took him to the hospital in Pigeon Forge, then he was transferred to Knoxville. According to my brother-in-law, Zarek, they’re not sure if he’ll be able to save his foot.”