Road to Nowhere (29 page)

Suddenly Dave Brubeck was playing “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime” in his pocket. Cell phone, here? Actually . . . there was line of sight in every direction.

“This is Steve Carter.”

Clicks and crackles. Then a voice. “Hello? Hello? I want Steve Carter.”

“Yes. This is Steve Carter.”

“Steve. Great. My name’s Charlie Ryder.”

Bizarre.
Yes, Wade’s note really did say
Charlie.
“Yes, Mr. Ryder?”

“I called your house. Your wife gave me the number. I guess it was your wife. Anyway, you won’t know me, but I was a friend of Wade Harris. In fact, he worked for me. So I hear you’ve taken his place on the Board of Supervisors.”

“Yes, sir, I have.”

“Well, congratulations.” No mention of Wade’s death. “Now, I wanted to get you caught up on a few things Wade was working on for me, mainly the new road. Gold River Highway. You live there in Gold Valley, I hear?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Good. So you know how important that road is. Wade was working hard to get it built, and I wanted to make sure I could expect the same from you.”

“Do you live here in Jefferson County, Mr. Ryder?”

“What? Live there? Are you kidding? No. I’m in Raleigh.”

“Um . . . maybe you could tell me why you’re interested in Gold River Highway?”

“Why, I’m . . . well, why not? It’s obvious the county needs that road. We’ll never get Gold Valley developed the way it is now.”

“Oh. You’re a developer?” Steve asked.

“What do you think I am?”

So this was a game, and Steve was supposed to guess. Except that didn’t sound like what Mr. Ryder meant. “Go ahead and tell me, if you don’t mind.”

“Look, I want to get that road built.” So Mr. Ryder did mind telling him. “What do you do, anyway?”

Several witty retorts came to Steve’s mind, but they would have just prolonged this agony. “I’m an engineer. A civil engineer.”

“Well, how about that.” Suddenly the voice turned as sweet as a frosted chocolate chip cookie. “I’ve got civil engineers working for me. What are you making?”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Think about it. Roads and subdivisions, right? I’ve got seven projects up and down the mountains. But that Gold Valley, that’s the one. You could do real well just working on Gold Valley. How would you feel about sales? I’ve got an opening up there.”

Sales. That would have been Wade’s old job. . . . “Excuse me, Mr. Ryder. I’m not interested.”

“And you get that road built, I think I can make a real nice offer.”

“Mr. Ryder, I don’t work that way.”

“Look, Steve, this is too big a deal to get your feelings hurt. I own half that valley and you’re going to have to listen to what I say. And it’s better all around if we’re working together. You understand that?”

“I understand exactly.”

“And there’s something else, too. That grocery store they’re building in Wardsville where the factory is.”

“I don’t know about any grocery store.”

“Block it, okay? That’s important.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wade did. You will soon enough. And I’m going to be in touch.”

“I guess that’s your right.”

“You bet it’s my right. And you’ll pay attention if you know what’s good for you.”

“Mr. Ryder, that sure sounds like a threat.”

“Mr. Carter, I don’t care what it sounds like.”

What calm! What peace! Jeanie and Eliza in the rocking chairs and Zach sitting on the steps. Only the gentlest breeze flowed over them, and the creek whispered.

“Eliza,” he said. “I won’t be able to take you to your next meeting. I’ve got a group that’s camping overnight.”

“I’ll take her,” Jeanie said. “Maybe I’ll stay and watch.”

“Okay—but be careful. The cops are on to us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They stopped me last time.”

“Going to the meeting?”

Eliza smiled to herself. It had been an adventure, and she listened to Zach tell Jeanie the story of it.

“Two weeks ago. We’re just driving along, everything normal. Then here comes the cop car. Lights
and
music. So I pulled over to get out of the way, but he’s actually after me. ‘Out of the car. Driver’s license, registration.’ ”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, really. Then he was on his radio calling in my license plate, and I’m waiting for him to start a strip search. It took him five minutes. And then, finally he starts writing a ticket.”

“Zach! What for?”

“My brake light is out.”

“The police stopped you for that!” Jeanie’s anger was so sharp!

“The ultimate crime. So I figured I’d try playing with the guy’s mind. It couldn’t be too hard, right? I said, ‘Excuse me, Officer. I’d be glad to stop in at the station later to finish this, but I’m actually on county business right now, and it’s kind of urgent. I’ve got a member of the Board of Supervisors with me and we’re trying to get to the meeting in Wardsville.’ So he stares at me, and his mouth drops open, and he squints. Like this.”

Eliza had to laugh—it had been just like he was saying.

“So he says, ‘Who do you have in there?’ Just like that. ‘Eliza Gulotsky,’ I said. He looks in. ‘Just a minute.’ And he’s back on the radio!”

“Was he calling the sheriff?” Jeanie asked.

“This guy
is
the sheriff! And then he finally comes back, and he says, ‘You can go on, Mr. Minor. But please get that light fixed.’ ”

“I was late to the meeting,” Eliza said, and she was still laughing. “So many strange things happen.”

Two weeks on the board and not even at a meeting yet. What was the record for fastest resignation?

Joe had been dealing with this for fifty years. No wonder he’d tried to keep Steve off the board.

He looked at the page again.
Charlie. That crook.
Maybe he should add his own underlines.

And this was the road Wade had been driving that night. So now, he was on Wade’s road. As if he wasn’t already being dangerously erratic in coming this far, he decided to keep going.

The road on this side was worse than the Gold Valley side. He found himself going very slow. It was almost hypnotizing, this dense green world and the road disappearing into it. And then he stopped again.

How long had it been—seven weeks? Almost two months. But this must have been the place. There were torn bushes and broken branches and a big gouge out of the side of the road. And one tree thirty feet from the road missing a lot of bark.

But this couldn’t have been the place. The road was curving to his left, going down toward Wardsville. The gouge and the tearing went off to his right, at a straight line tangent to the road coming up. Either he was coming down the hill and turned real hard, or he was coming up from Wardsville and just went straight over. Not that either of them really made sense.

June 23, Friday

Gordon was sitting at his desk. Joe sat himself across in the one other chair.

“What can I do for you, Joe?” Gordon said. He paid attention that Joe had closed the door.

“We have a problem.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I think Mort Walker and Wade Harris were both murdered.”

Gordon Hite squinted his eyes and dropped open his mouth some. The rest of his face just went slack.

“Now, what’s given you that idea?” Annoyance was about the main part of his voice.

“I’d say it was a reasonable thought.”

“That Roger.” Now he was just sounding mad. “That does it. How many people is he out talking to behind my back?”

“I went to him.” Joe let his anger show. “Because two supervisors are dead in six months, both set on voting for Gold River Highway.”

“Gold . . . Gold River Highway? What does that have to do with anything?” Gordon didn’t look to have any idea.

“You don’t know what a road will make people do.”

Gordon just shook his head. “Now you’re being crazy. Joe, you’ve got to stop listening to people like Roger Gallaudet. He’s out there telling everyone he sees that Wade Harris was killed, but for the life of me I don’t know how anybody could have while Wade was driving down that road.”

“Who else has Roger told that to?”

“Roland Coates, for one. He had me out at the furniture factory to arrest his son, Jeremy, for being the killer. And Randy McCoy, asking about bullets in that sneaky way of his.”

“Bullets?”

“Well . . .” Gordon scowled. “There’s business there between Randy and Jeremy that’s best not discussed. But Roger’s got it mixed up to think it’s with Wade. And then that new man on the board, Steve Carter, he was in here himself asking about Wade’s accident, and where else would he have heard it?”

“Then why haven’t you done anything?” How could the man be ignoring it after all that?

“I just said I was going to. I’m going down and have it out with Roger. What else would I do?”

No sense answering that. “I think we need the State Police in,” Joe said.

It was like a mule had kicked the man. “You
are
crazy! Nobody’s killed anybody. What would the State Police do here?”

“Gordon. I’m bringing in the State Police. Now, either we do it together, the sheriff and the Board of Supervisors, or I’ll do it myself over your head.”

“You can’t do that! Now, look. Let me get back with Everett. Give me a chance here to look into it myself.”

That was all he really wanted for now. “All right, then.”

“And it’ll take a few days. He’s out of town for the week.”

Joe left him stewing and went out to the street. Plenty to think about. Roger Gallaudet talking to Roland Coates or Randy or Steve Carter. Must be a reason for that.

If Roger really had. And that look in Gordon’s eyes, right at first, in that squint. Something in there.

July

July 3, Monday

Okay. Just walk right in. Pretend like it’s nothing. Steve checked his watch. Ten minutes to go.

It was going to be a big night. Supposedly they’d see the plans for the highway. There was going to be a huge crowd, and comments till midnight, and everyone blowing his top.

Take a deep breath. There was the door. Just open it and walk right in.

He put his hand on the knob. And turned it. And walked in.

No one else was in the room.

Empty room. Okay, no problem. Should he be sitting at the table when the others came in? That would look stupid, like he’d been waiting for an hour. Just kind of standing there? More stupid. Or . . . he could go back outside a minute, and then come back, after other people had come in. But what if he met Louise or Randy in the hall? They’d wonder why he was leaving. Real stupid.

Just stand over by the table. Hand on the chair. No, back off. A couple feet away.

“It won’t bite you.”

Steve Carter, rushed to the hospital from his first board meeting due to heart attack. “Oh. I didn’t see you.”

A man back in the dark corner. The newspaper guy.

“I guess not. First meeting, right?” the guy said. “They’ll all be here in a minute. Just take it easy.”

Steve wandered toward the voice. He could be talking to someone while everyone else came in. That would look okay. Luke Goddard was the guy’s name.

“Real show there last month,” Luke said. “Shameless bunch, aren’t they? And pulling those tricks to get you voted in. Are you worried about whether you’re even on the board legal or not?”

“I think it’s legal.”

“When that Gold River Highway vote comes up, there’ll be people wondering if you should really be there. You think it’ll pass?”

“I don’t know.”

But then the door by the table opened and Patsy, the clerk lady, stomped in. The lights came on. The main door flew open and a row of citizens swarmed the front row of chairs, with Randy McCoy nodding and laughing in the middle of them. Patsy left. More citizens. Eliza Gulotsky swept down the aisle and enthroned herself. Patsy returned, Louise Brown beside her, and then Louise sat down beside Eliza and those two mouths started flapping. Jim Ross, the lawyer, rode in, and a whole new posse of supporters with him. Randy extricated himself from his admirers and sat in his chair, leaning forward, still holding three conversations. Chairs scraped, and Wardsville and Gold Valley citizens split to separate sides like the Red Sea parting. Louise scooted over to her own chair.

And Luke’s attention had drifted away.

Steve took a deep breath. Check the watch. One minute fifteen seconds to go.

Now the place was noisy and full, and he was getting squeezed tighter back into the corner. He was a spectator, almost as if he didn’t even exist. His attention drifted away.

The whole ceiling was painted, but he’d never really looked at it. Sort of the Sistine Chapel of Jefferson County—signing the Declaration of Independence—the pilgrims landing at Plymouth Rock—a Civil War battle—what was maybe some pioneers founding Wardsville?—and a big portrait of Thomas Jefferson. Of course. But the corner up above him was covered with ancient plywood painted the same color as the walls.

“Aren’t you going up there?”

Steve jumped. “Oh, right,” he said to the reporter. They were deep in the Wardsville side, but no one had noticed them.

He scooted up to his own chair.

“Welcome to the board,” Randy said, standing to shake his hand. Louise was right behind him and he got a hug. He turned and nodded to Eliza.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening,” she said. Sepulchral. But a friendly sepulchral.

The room was getting quiet. Something was supposed to happen, and people were waiting.

“For goodness’ sakes,” Louise said. “Where’s Joe?”

Check the watch. Twenty seconds late.

“I haven’t seen him,” Randy said, “or Lyle either.” He looked worried. “I guess we’ll just give him a couple minutes. I can’t hardly remember him ever being late before.”

“Well, he’s so absentminded,” Louise said. “He probably just forgot.”

Everyone knew that was a joke, and they laughed and started talking again. Randy leaned over toward Patsy.

“Why don’t you go check if his truck is out back.” Patsy left. “And I was sort of expecting someone from the Department of Transportation this evening,” he said to Louise.