by Patricia Fry
Michael slapped his brother on the back playfully. “Good point. Come on, let’s go in.”
“Sit wherever you want,” a gum-chewing waitress of about sixty said. “Menus are on the tables.”
“Washroom?” Michael asked, gesturing as if washing his hands.
She nodded. “To your left there, next to the jukebox.”
Once the brothers were seated and had perused the menus, Michael looked around the interior. “Been here before?”
“Nope. I’ve driven past it on our way to a small town higher in the mountains. Holly and I went skiing up there a couple of times when we were first married.”
“It didn’t appear that there are any other places to eat between the main road and here,” Michael said. “Are there any on up the road?”
Keith shook his head. “No. None to speak of, as I recall.”
“Man, how did you survive such a long drive?”
“Holly packs food. Wherever we go, she carts food along.” He leaned forward. “Sometimes I’d just like to order a juicy cheeseburger at some dive while we’re traveling. Instead, I get an egg salad, fresh-baked turkey, or ham-and-cheese sandwich, homemade potato salad, fresh fruit, and some sort of baked goods.”
“You poor guy,” Michael teased. Just then someone caught his eye. “Hey,” he hissed, “look at that guy. He looks like he could be…”
“Who?” Keith asked. “Where? Which one?”
“Uh-oh,” Michael said more quietly, “the one that’s walking this way.” He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.
“Ain’t seen you two around here before, have I?” the stranger asked.
“No, probably not,” Keith said. He held out his hand. “I’m Keith Pettit; this is my brother, Michael Ivey.”
“Nice ta meet ya,” the man said. “I’m Buck Peters.” He leaned toward them and laughed, “I like ta introduce myself as Buck Rogers for those old enough to remember.” He stood back and peered at the brothers. “Do you know who Buck Rogers was?”
They nodded.
The man looked at Keith, then Michael. “Hey, you fellas aren’t just brothers, are ya? You’re twins.” He turned to the waitress and a couple of other men in the place. “Look at this!” he shouted. “They’re twins—grown-up-men twins.”
“Well, I’ll be,” the waitress said, walking closer. “I didn’t even notice.” She winked. “The fact that you’re handsome, I noticed that. But you’re dressed different, so I didn’t see that you look alike.”
“Put yer glasses on, Wanda!” someone in the back of the room yelled.
Ignoring the comment, Wanda pulled a pencil from her dyed-black hair. “What can I get for you?” She glanced toward the kitchen and said, “We’re outta blueberries—no one’s been picking, lately—and I just served the last slab of ham. So you can have breakfast or lunch, but no blueberries or ham.”
“I’ll have the juiciest hamburger you’ve got,” Keith said, grinning in anticipation.
Michael smiled at him.
“In fact, make it a cheeseburger. Medium-well, okay? With French fries and a soda.”
“And for you?” the waitress asked.
Michael replaced the menu in the holder. “A hamburger sounds good. … just like he ordered.”
After Wanda walked away, Keith acknowledged the man named Buck, who now leaned against a wall cleaning his fingernails with a blade on his Swiss army knife. “Do you happen to know Frank Bloom?”
“Can’t say as I do,” Buck said, moving closer to their table. “Should I? Does he come up here often?”
“We think he might live up here, actually. Here’s a picture of him, taken about twenty years ago. He probably has a gray beard now and maybe long hair.” He ran his eyes quickly over Buck’s face and said, “Kind of like you, I imagine.”
Buck glanced at Keith, then reached for the photo. “I can’t be sure, but…” he motioned for Keith to follow him. Approaching the table where he’d been sitting, he displayed the photo and asked, “Hey, Spike, Merle, do you know this guy?” He turned to Keith. “What did you say his name is?”
“Frank Bloom. Or maybe Scott Hanson.”
“Don’t ring a bell,” Spike said. “But I only come up here after the spring thaw to get away from my mother-in-law. She visits every summer.” He laughed an evil laugh. “She thinks I’m away on business.”
“You are,” Buck said, laughing loudly, “…monkey business.” He handed Keith the photo. “Hey, ask Wanda. She sees more people come and go all year ’round than we do.”
Overhearing this, Wanda sashayed toward the table and asked, “What do you have there, honey?”
“Is this guy familiar?” Keith asked, showing her the picture. “He may go by the name of Frank Bloom or possibly Scott Hanson.”As she studied the photograph, Keith said, “Imagine him maybe twenty years older with a white or gray beard.”
She held the photo up next to Buck. “Well, he has a gray beard—could be Buck, here.” Everyone laughed, then Wanda shook her head. “Doesn’t look familiar to me.” Before handing the photo back to Keith, she turned and briskly walked away, saying, “Let me go ask Al. He’s in the kitchen.”
Within a couple of minutes, Wanda returned with the cook. “This is Al,” she said. “He wants to show you something.”
Keith acknowledged the heavyset man and asked, “Do you know him?”
After studying the picture for a few moments, Al said, “I took a body-language course once.” He cringed. “My wife made me do it. Thought it would open my eyes to the world around me.” He flashed a sideways grin. “I guess it did, ’cause now I seem to have this gift, you might say.” He placed the photo on the table in front of Keith. “See the way this guy stands—shoulders rounded, like he’s ashamed of something he’s done, and his arms kinda hang odd. Notice that, boys?” he asked, turning the picture for the others to see. “Who do you know with that sort of posture?”
“The old hermit!” Wanda shouted. She snatched up the photo again and slipped on a pair of eyeglasses she’d pulled from her apron pocket. “Could this be him?” She glanced at the others. “I’ve never seen him shaven. Have any of you?”
“No, never.”
“Not me.”
“That guy don’t own no razor, you can be sure of it.” Buck picked up the photo again. “Naw, I don’t see it. The old hermit’s more stooped and angry. This guy don’t look so angry. He looks kinda calm-like.”
“Well,” Al said, “the old hermit looks more like that guy than anyone I ever seen around here.” Suddenly, he darted toward the kitchen, calling out, “Don’t want to burn your burgers.”
“Do you know where the… um… hermit lives?” Keith asked the men at the table.
By this time, Michael had joined them. “When’s the last time you saw him around here?” he asked.
“He comes in for supplies once in a blue moon,” Wanda said. “In fact, he’s due. It’s been weeks since he picked up food or matches or anything.” She repeated Keith’s question, “Where does he live?” She made a sweeping motion with her arms. “Out there.” When she noticed the two brothers were waiting for more, she said, “No one knows where he lays his head down at night. Probably never in the same place twice.” She narrowed her eyes and said, “Hey, if you find him, you can remind him that he still owes me ten bucks. He was short on money last time and I let it ride. He said he’d come in and pay me the next time he got to the bank.”
“Bank?” Michael questioned. “What bank? Does he have transportation?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he hitches a ride with someone down to the village. There’s a bank down there. There’s also a shuttle bus part of the year that shuttles tourists back and forth. He might take that down to do his banking. Sometimes he trades fish he’s caught or venison for supplies.” She looked at the picture again. “Yeah, that could be your guy. What do you want with him, anyway—did he trespass or steal from you or something?”
Keith shook his head. “No. We’d just like to talk to him, that’s all.” When the others continued to stare inquisitively, he said, “We think he’s a relative of ours and we’d like to check into that possibility.”
Merle let out a guffaw. “I doubt you’ll want him to be part of your family tree.”
The other men and Wanda joined Merle in laughter.
“Order’s up!” came the call from the kitchen.
Keith thought about asking the men more questions, but decided to return to the table with Michael instead. They were both eager to dive into their burgers.
After taking several bites of his meal, Michael asked, “Did you learn anything useful from those guys?”
Keith shook his head. “No. But I know a little about this region and I have some ideas about where we might find him.” When he saw Michael waiting for more, he said, “I’m thinking he might seek out areas that are somewhat desirable, in that they have what you’d need to survive, but they’re not easily accessible. I remember places like that from when I was a Boy Scout.” He grinned across the table at his brother. “Did I ever tell you I was an Eagle Scout?”
“No. That’s quite an achievement. So have you spent a lot of time up here?”
Keith nodded and took another bite of his sandwich. He wiped his face with his napkin. “Mmm. This is one juicy burger.” He then said, “Yeah, I spent quite a bit of time up here in my younger years. We had an active troop. Dad was the leader. We came up here as a family too. Dad was an avid outdoorsman—still is, to a degree. So, yeah, I might have some techniques that will help us to find Scott Hanson. What about you? Any scouting background?”
Michael thought for a moment, then said, “Everything I’ve learned about wilderness survival came from watching Westerns on TV. I used to practice some of the tracking techniques I saw in the movies.” He placed his hamburger on his plate and became more animated. “Like the time I wanted to find out who was sneaking into my hideout and stealing my contraband of Mom’s homemade cookies.” He lifted his eyebrows. “I suspected my best friend at the time; he loved Mom’s cookies. We’d made a pact that either both of us went to the hideout or neither of us did. We couldn’t go alone without the other one.” Michael grinned sheepishly. “At least that’s what he thought. It was my hideout, after all—such as it was.”
Keith chuckled. “A hideout, huh? So you were a bad guy?” Before Michael could respond, Keith asked, “What was it like—I mean, your hideout?”
“Well, it only lasted for one summer, because I’d made it out of a big appliance box I’d found. I stuffed it in among some sort of gnarly, stickery shrubs. I’d always wanted to dig underneath that brushy stuff and create a clubhouse or fort, but it was just too treacherous. So I pushed that box into the brush as far as I could and that became my hideout.” He grimaced. “Well, until the rains came, that is.”
“And you broke your own pact and went there by yourself, did you?”
“It was mine, wasn’t it?”
Keith grinned. “So did you catch the culprit? Was it your friend who was taking your cookies?”
Michael shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Jonathan. It was Boomer—a neglected neighborhood dog that spent a lot of time roaming around, looking for handouts.”
Both men laughed.
“I also learned some tracking techniques from my grandfather.” Michael looked across the table at Keith, adding, “I mean our grandfather. He and I used to hike in the foothills near his little ranch. I loved finding animal tracks and scat and trying to identify them.”
Keith smiled across the table at his brother. He took his last swig of soda, laid a tip on the table, and stood.
“Thanks,” Michael called out as they left the café. Once inside the car, he asked, “So, Kemosabe, where to? What’s our plan?”
Keith chuckled. “You did dig old Westerns, didn’t you?”
Michael winked. “Still do.”
****
An hour later, after driving several miles along a dirt road, Keith parked the Jeep. “What do you say we check out this area?” He turned to Michael. “Got your water, hat, binoculars, jacket?”
He nodded. “I think I have everything.”
The men hiked mostly uphill for a couple of hours, stopping only now and then. “Looks like your movie-watching has benefited you,” Keith remarked.
“How’s that?” Michael asked.
“I can tell by the way you study the trail for signs of foot traffic and check for campfires.”
“And creek crossings,” Michael said.
“Yes, for recent entry or exit.”
“Right.”
“See anything?” Keith asked.
“Just wild animal tracks and scat. How about you?”
“Same.” Keith pointed out a large rock overlooking a meadow below. “Want to rest here? We might see something or someone down there with the glasses.”
“Sure. I guess tracks aren’t going to tell us anything until we know what type of shoes Scott’s wearing,” Michael said.
The brothers searched the area below with binoculars until they were convinced that Scott Hanson was not going to miraculously appear. Keith looked at his brother. “Well, what do you say we head back down and see what the gals have fixed for supper? I understand Savannah and Gladys are cooking up some lasagna. We can start early and fresh tomorrow…”
“…and maybe gather more details from that journal this evening to help in our search,” Michael added.
****
The brothers stayed on task, scouring the mountain roads and trails by day and studying the journal at night. Three days later when they stepped into the Ridgecrest Inn, Wanda called out, “Hi guys. Did you find that dude yet?”
“Not yet,” Keith said. “He hasn’t been in here, has he?”
She walked closer to them and shook her head. “Sure would like to get my ten bucks back.” She smiled and asked, “What do you want for lunch today, the usual?”
Keith grinned. “We have a usual already?”
“Well, yeah. You’ve been in here twice and ordered it twice.”
He winked. “Okay then. Yeah, I’ll have my usual.”
Wanda addressed Michael. “And you? Do you want a cheeseburger?”
“Naw. Your burgers are good, but I’m ready to try something different.” He grabbed a menu from a nearby table and studied it briefly. “I’ll have a steak sandwich with onion rings.”
“Coming right up.”
“Hey, Michael,” Keith said after they’d sat down at a table, “I was thinking we might save time by renting a cabin up here. Then we’d have a closer home base. What do you think?”
“Yeah, that ninety-minute-plus drive up and back every day kind of cuts into our search time. Do you know of anyone who rents cabins?”
“Yeah, I did some checking; there are some for rent on the other side of the ridge. We haven’t ventured over there yet, but it’s not too far away. We’re still close enough to this area where we think Scott’s hiding out… or… er… um… living. Shall we go check them out?”
“Sounds good to me.” When Michael noticed Buck, Spike, and Merle playing cards at their usual table, he motioned in their direction. “I want to ask them a couple of questions.”
Keith pushed his chair away from the table and followed his brother.
“How’s it going?” Michael asked the men.
“Well, howdy, fellas,” Buck said. “Have you found the hermit?”
The fourth man at the table looked up at the brothers and asked, “You’re looking for the hermit?”
Michael nodded. “Do you know where he’s hanging out these days?”
The man adjusted his blue bucket hat and peered at him. “What do you want with the hermit?”
“Hey, Roy,” Buck said, “this here’s Michael and Keith…” He laughed. “I can’t tell ya which one is which. But they think the hermit’s a long-lost relative.”
Roy remained
unsmiling. “Well, if he wants to be found, you’ll find him. But if not, forget it. No way. He’s too slick—had way too much mountain experience.” He sat back in his chair and looked up at the brothers. “I hear tell he catches game with his bare hands and eats the meat raw like a bear or something.”
Michael rolled his eyes for Keith’s benefit, then asked, “Can you tell us what the hermit wears? What type of clothes does he generally dress in?”
Roy looked at his tablemates, and Spike said, “I’ve seen him in this sort of lightweight shirt and khakis.”
“Yeah,” Buck said, “I think that shirt’s cotton. My wife wears one.” He put his hands against his belly. “It has pockets right here.” He looked beyond Michael and called, “Hey, Wanda. Come here and tell these fellas about that shirt the hermit wears this time of year.”
She appeared to be confused for a moment, then said, “Oh, that tunic thing? Yeah, it’s kind of like a sweatshirt with pockets across the front, only lightweight. Sometimes he wears a tan windbreaker.”
“What color is the… um… tunic?” Keith asked.
Wanda creased her brow and looked at the others. “Mostly white or beige, I guess, with a little design of black or gray going through it.” She leaned toward the brothers. “Frankly, I think it looks pretty stupid on him. And it sure doesn’t seem very practical for his lifestyle, except that it is cool, keeps the sun off him, and it’s easy to pack.”
“Does he wear a hat?”
“Yeah,” Wanda said. She nodded toward Roy. “One of those bucket hats. Dark brown, I think.”
“And his boots…?” Michael asked. “Do any of you know the brand or style?”
After thinking about it, Buck said, “Wait, I do know that. I noticed once that they’re just like some my cousin bought and my cousin really likes his. I think they’re the Field and Stream brand. I’m seeing my cousin this evening. If ya give me your number, I’ll text that information to ya.”
“Hey, that would be great. Thank you,” Michael said, jotting down his cell phone number and handing it to Buck.