The six o’clock news, aka the gossip hour, is aired on Hollow Creek’s local radio station. The station has a range of about five miles and plays only classic bluegrass, but every weekday at six o’clock, Cudder Ross gets on the airwaves and relays all the gossip. Who got in a fight at the bar, who got fired, who hit the stop sign on Saturday night, where the fish are biting, who fell asleep in church, who is courting, who is not, and…well, it’s like a bunch of busybody clucking hens on steroids.
“You should this time.” Diedre tugs a portable radio out of her purse and turns it on. The station crackles, buzzes, and then Cudder’s voice rings out, loud over the sizzling liver.
“That’s all the news folks. Again, if any of y’all have information on the unidentified man at Memorial Hospital in Brunswick, contact Dr. Lewis. For your listening pleasure, here’s that interview again.”
I frown at Diedre. “What is this?”
“Shhh. Listen.” She hushes me and holds up the radio. Granny crowds in closer.
“Cudder Ross here, for Radio Hollow Creek. I’m here at Memorial Hospital in Brunswick at the bedside of a man found yesterday morning at the edge of the river. Mister? Have you remembered your name? Do you know who you are?”
There’s a scuffling, grating noise on the mic, then, “Get that microphone away from me. What’s wrong with you?”
A chill runs down my spine. I know that voice. I know that voice.
“Has anything come back to you? Do you know where you’re from? Anything to identify yourself by?”
“I said get out.” It’s his voice again.
A scuffle ensues, the mic cuts off for a moment, then Cudder comes back on.
“And there you have it, folks. The man, approximately thirty years of age, six foot two, light brown hair, blue eyes, no tattoos or distinguishing marks, except that he’s meaner than a striped snake and tougher than a pine knot, was found two days ago at the river’s edge, with no identification or cellular phone. He’s lost his memory folks, but not his personality. If you have any information regarding his identity, the Memorial Hospital asks that you contact them immediately.”
Diedre clicks off the radio.
I stare at her as the liver and onions crackle.
“Onions are burning,” Gran says, reaching for the skillet.
“He…” I nod at the radio. “That’s…”
“Spit it out.” Gran pulls down six plates, even though Diedre definitely won’t be eating.
Diedre smirks. “I thought it might be him. He sounded just like that peckerwood you described.”
“Hold on. That man’s Wilbur?”
“Gavin Williams.”
Gran waves that away. Obviously his name isn’t the point.
I shrug. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go over after dinner and let them know.” Then I perk up. “Maybe he won’t remember that he didn’t like my work. Maybe I’ll convince him he loved it and he was going to pay me. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Gran sets the plates on the counter with a hard click. She looks at Diedre and Diedre nods.
“What?” I feel like I’m missing something.
“Me and the Lord had a long talk after that Gilbert hurt you.”
I shake my head, deciding that Gilbert is at least closer than Wilbur. “Thanks, Gran. I appreciate you praying for me.”
Her mouth stretches into a wide smile. She’s in a gray house dress and work boots. At my thanks she widens her stance and puts her hands on her hips.
“I already told you, Jamie Lynn. Me and the Lord are good friends, what d’ya think just happened?”
Diedre heads over to the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of iced tea. “I think Gavin Williams just got a biblical smack on the head.” Diedre grins at Gran.
“Not yet he didn’t.” Gran hands a glass to Diedre. “Pour me one too.”