Road to Nowhere
| Road to Nowhere | |
| Paul Robertson | |
| Baker Publishing Group (2008) | |
| Rating: | **** |
| Tags: | ebook, book |
### From Publishers Weekly
In his savvy sophomore suspense novel, former indie bookseller Robertson (*The Heir*) uses multiple points of view to set up a seemingly innocuous story line—the proposal to build a road—that will keep readers glued. Octogenarian Joe Esterhouse has served enough decades on the Jefferson County, NC., Board to smell a rat, and something disturbs him about a proposal to bring Gold River Highway over the mountain into tiny Wardsville. Board members are dying and nothing is what it seems on the surface. Self-interest threatens to override the common good, and what is truth and what is perceived to be truth become nebulous. Robertson creates some of the most engaging characters and relationships encountered in faith fiction: Joe is a genuine sage, and other characters are no less captivating. Although the rapid-fire point of view changes are reminiscent of a novice stick-shift driver (and threaten whiplashlike confusion early on), once readers get the rhythm they will be compelled along. This top-notch offering features genuine humor, clever writing, a surprise ending and a strong portrayal of evil's power that doesn't succumb to clichéd violence. It deserves a wide audience. *(Apr.)*
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
### Review
"Robertson's descriptions and dialogue speak with authority.... Road to Nowhere is a really well-written story." -- *Jae Anderson, 1340MagBooks.com*
"genuine humor, clever writing, a surprise ending and a strong portrayal of evil's power that doesn't succumb to clichéd violence." -- * Publishers Weekly*
"... a novel about a road--and murder, suspense, and intrigue--that is at turns funny, engaging, and thoroughly engrossing." -- 5MinutesforBooks.com
Road to Nowhere
ROAD TO
NOW HERE
Road to Nowhere
Copyright © 2008
Paul Robertson
Cover design by Paul Higdon
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-0658-0 (Trade Paper)
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Robertson, Paul J., 1957-
Road to nowhere / Paul Robertson.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7642-0325-1 (alk. paper)
1. Murder—Fiction. 2. North Carolina—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3618.O3173R6 2008
813’.6—dc22
2007036381
A community is a commonality—we are the people who know the same streets;
the rain falls and the sun shines on us all together; the decisions we each make
affect us all; and we believe and hope differently, but together.
When there is tragedy, we all feel it together. My prayers and blessings go out
over my home of Blacksburg, Virginia.
And Lisa, thank you. Only you know how much.
.
. . said to Him, “What is truth?”
. . . then handed Him over to them . . .
Table of Contents
January 2, Monday
Time to start. Bang the fool gavel.
“Come to order.” Dead quiet anyway. “Go ahead, Patsy.”
“Mrs. Brown?”
“Here.”
“Mr. Esterhouse?”
“Here,” Joe said, and he hated that he was. Wicked, evil business.
“Miss? . . . Gulotsky?”
“Please. Just Eliza. I am here.”
“Mr. Harris?”
“Here.”
“Mr. McCoy?”
“Right here.”
“Everyone’s here, Joe.”
“Thank you, Patsy,” he said. “Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors is now in session.”
So many names over the years. Thirty, maybe, or forty. It wouldn’t be easy to remember them all. “Motion to accept last month’s minutes?”
“I’ll move that we accept last month’s minutes.”
“I’ll second that.”
He didn’t even listen to who said which. It was usually Louise Brown, then Randy McCoy. Now that the meeting was started, he just wanted to be done.
“Motion and second,” he said. “Go ahead, Patsy.”
“Mrs. Brown?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Esterhouse?”
“Yes.”
“. . . Miss . . . Eliza?”
“Just Eliza. I vote no.”
“You what?” Wade Harris said, beside her. “You’re voting against the minutes?”
“Well, she wasn’t even here last month.” That was Louise, from the other end of the table. “It’s her first meeting.”
“Go on, Patsy,” Joe said.
“Mr. Harris?”
“I vote yes. For Pete’s sake.”
“Mr. McCoy?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“Four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.
“Motion carries,” Joe said. “Minutes are accepted.” Just be done, that was all. “Next is receiving public comment.” He raised his voice to talk to the audience. “Any of you have anything you’d like to say to us?”
Nothing. There were only three people sitting in the rows of chairs. The newspaper reporter was sleeping in his corner, and the two others were each there for a reason of their own, and not this.
Those three. Five board members. Patsy, the clerk, at her desk, and Lyle, the county manager, quivering beside her. Just ten people in the whole big fancy room.
And not Mort. Joe couldn’t bring himself to look to his left, past Wade Harris, where Mort Walker should have been. Where Mort had been for thirty-two years.
It didn’t seem worth it anymore and he was tired of it. There was no purpose to the bickering and anger. Tonight there’d be plenty of that. He looked down at the pages on the table in front of him, a letter as wicked and full of trouble as anything he’d ever seen.
He set his other papers on top of it.
“We’ll get on with the agenda. Everyone’s got a copy?”
“Left mine at home.”
That was Wade Harris. The man could just barely be bothered to come to the meetings. And likely as not, he had some hand in the letter and its trouble.
Patsy handed Wade a copy of the agenda.
“First item,” Joe said. “Contract to pave five miles of Marker Highway. Winning bid was Smoky Mountain Paving. We need a motion to award the contract.”
“I’ll move.”
“Second.” Louise and Randy again.
“Motion and second. Any discussion?”
“Wait.” Wade again, of course. “Which road?”
“Marker Highway,” Randy McCoy said. “From Wardsville to past the interstate.”
“What happened to Gold River Highway? I thought that was next.”
“That’s next on the list. It’s not funded yet.”
“So when does Gold River Highway get paved?” Wade asked.
“Whenever it gets funded,” Randy said.
“Any more discussion?” Joe asked. The little there’d been had been more than enough. He didn’t know Wade enough to trust him, and he didn’t much care to know him better anyway. And tonight he was trusting him even less.
“Voting to award the contract,” he said. He wanted the meeting to be over, more than he ever had. “Go ahead, Patsy.”
“Mrs. Brown?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Esterhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Eliza?”
“I vote no.”
“Mr. Harris?”
“What if we all vote no?” Wade asked.
Randy answered, “I’ll be voting yes.”
“I mean, what if the board votes no?” Wade said. “The road doesn’t get paved?”
“Lyle,” Joe said, and Lyle startled. The poor county manager was as jumpy as a rabbit, anyway. “Explain what happens if we don’t award the contract.”
“Uh . . . Joe, when we sent out the request for bids, we said the contract would be awarded to the qualified low bidder. If you don’t award it, they could bring a lawsuit.”
“So why do we even vote?” Wade asked.
“The county can’t enter into a contract without the supervisors voting,” Lyle said.
“So we have to vote, but we have to vote yes. Whatever. I vote yes.”
“Mr. McCoy?” Patsy said.
“Yes,” Randy said.
“Four in favor, one opposed.”
“The motion passes,” Joe said.
Why was she voting that way? Every vote she’d be reminding him that Mort wasn’t here.
The reporter was awake and scribbling.
Keep going. “Next item.” There’d be more bickering about this one, too. “Nomination to a county board. Mr. Stephen Carter has agreed to serve on the Planning Commission, to fill the open seat.” Joe checked his watch again. He’d give them five minutes for their squabble. “You see his qualifications. Is there a motion to appoint him?”
Wade Harris stifled a yawn. “I move we appoint him.”
Louise. “I’ll second.”
“Motion and second,” Joe said. “Any discussion?”
“Joe.” Randy McCoy was shaking his head. “I’m not sure about it. Mr. Carter certainly seems to be a nice man, and real smart, and I appreciate his willingness. But I just think someone should live here in the county for a while before we appoint him to the Planning Commission.”
Carter himself was in the audience. “How long have you lived here, Mr. Carter?” Joe asked.
“Five years, sir.”
“How long do you think he should have to live here?” Wade asked.
Randy frowned. “Well, maybe longer than that. Especially if he doesn’t live right here in town.”
Wade frowned back at him. “Now, that’s your real problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t live right here in town. Your problem is that he lives in Gold Valley.” He held up five fingers. “We’ve got five places on the Planning Commission. One’s empty, that we’re filling, and one’s Duane Fowler, and he lives in Marker.” He folded down two fingers. “And the other three are Ed Fiddler, who’s your next-door neighbor, and Humphrey King, who’s your cousin, and you.” He pointed right at Randy. “Well, I think it’s about time there was someone from Gold Valley on the commission. It’s as much a part of the county as Wardsville.”
Joe just watched and waited.
With Mort and Louise on the board, there’d been three of them with a lick of sense and they’d get done what they needed. Without Mort it would be different. But even just the two of them would most often be enough. It would be tonight for appointing Carter.
“Now, Wade,” Randy was saying, “it’s not that he lives there in Gold Valley, which I know is part of the county, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m only worried that, if he hasn’t lived here but a couple years . . .”
“Five years.”
“. . . that he might not really have a good feel for how people do things here.”
Joe checked his watch. He knew Randy plenty well and didn’t trust him, either. Three more minutes.
And after this, they’d take up the letter.
Wade was getting hot. “And since I’ve only lived here four years, what’s that supposed to mean exactly? None of the rest of you has ever lived in Gold Valley for a week, and it’s as much a part of the county as Wardsville. In Raleigh the Planning Commission was divided by districts so everyone had a representative. . . .”
“You aren’t in Raleigh anymore, Wade,” Randy said.
“You don’t need to remind me. It is
really obvious
. . . .”
“And you really don’t need to remind us about Gold Valley being part of the county, because like I just said—”
“As long as we just pay our taxes and shut up—”