The Telephone Man and the Widow's Fortune

Below is a taste of The Telephone Man and the Widow’s Fortune — a story set in a town where everyone’s talking, but one man’s always listening. In this scene, Dan Palmer, needs his car repaired. He’s been pointed toward a backyard mechanic with low rates, a short fuse, and a reputation that precedes him.

The road ended at a sagging clapboard house perched on stacked stone columns. Its roof was a patchwork of rust and decay. The wraparound porch had lost most of its railing, and two open doors gaped like missing teeth, inviting in the breeze—and whatever else wandered by.

The dirt drive hugged the porch and led to a sprawling oak tree that cast shade over a graveyard of old cars, stacked like forgotten relics. More rusted vehicles and discarded appliances littered the yard, their hollow frames sheltering chickens that scratched and clucked with chaotic purpose.

A massive man hunched over the hood of a battered tan GMC, his bulk nearly swallowing the truck’s front end.

Dan stepped out of his car, fine red dust rising from his steps. “Hello,” he called, voice steady but cautious. “I’m looking for Uriah Sherman.”

The man didn’t move or speak.

Dan raised his voice. “Are you Uriah Sherman?”

A metallic clang echoed from under the hood. “Yep, that’s me,” the man grunted, still buried in the engine.

Dan waited, unsure whether to approach or retreat. Uriah’s bulk made the truck look like a toy. His clothes were stiff with grease, the shirt riding up just enough to expose a freckled, hairy crescent of skin above his sagging pants—waxing toward a first quarter moon.

Dan glanced around, trying not to stare. Nothing Harman had said had prepared him for this. It was hard to tell where the house ended and the barn began, and harder still to say where the junkyard fit in—except that nature was quietly reclaiming all three.

Off to the left, a one-legged chicken pogoed after a grasshopper with surprising speed.

The house, perched on stacked stones, had no skirting—just open air beneath.

Dan crouched and peered under. Chickens scratched in the dirt like stubborn prospectors, convinced there was still gold in the dust if they just pecked hard enough. He knelt lower and spotted a cast-iron bathtub on the far side, half-swallowed by weeds, its porcelain chipped but still faintly gleaming in the morning light—less treasure than a memorial to a time long forgotten.

Dan peered through one of the open doorways into the shadowy interior. A row of chickens perched on the back of a sagging couch. Scooby Doo flickered on a black-and-white TV, its theme song barely audible over the squawking. On the floor, two roosters squared off, puffing their chests and circling—feathered gladiators with spurs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dan caught movement—an enormous white hog stepped through the other doorway, its pink nose lifted as it sniffed the air and gave him a long, appraising look. Apparently satisfied that Dan wasn’t a threat, the hog turned and waddled back inside.
Dan then turned his attention back to Uriah. He’d been here ten minutes, and all he’d seen of the man was the upper end of his south side.

A yellow jacket appeared out of nowhere, zipping around Dan’s face. He swatted and missed. It vanished—then returned, more determined.
Another swat, another miss. This time, the yellow jacket, using all the gray matter in its itty-bitty brain, reconsidered its options and drifted toward a quieter landing zone: Uriah’s exposed backside.

Just as Dan opened his mouth to warn Uriah, the yellow jacket dove and touched down just above the pants line.

The big man huffed. “Is there something on my hind end?”

“A yellow jacket,” Dan said. “It was buzzing you and just landed.”

Uriah twisted slightly and grunted, “And you just watched?”

“It happened fast,” Dan replied, trying not to sound guilty—or amused.

“It’s crawling down my pants!” Uriah hollered. “Help! I’m holding this engine up with a crowbar, and that darn thing’s doing laps back there. Get it out!”

Dan edged closer, peering down where the yellow jacket had vanished. “Uriah, if I reach down there, it’s going to sting you.”
Uriah snapped back. “You got a better idea?”