Road to Nowhere Read online

  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

  February

  March

  April

  May

  June

  July

  August

  September

  October

  November

  December

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  January

  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 h
ere.

  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—”

  That was enough. Joe tapped his gavel. “As there is no further discussion, I think we’re ready to vote.” He’d have given them two more minutes if they’d stayed civil.

  Louise patted Randy’s arm. “It’s only fair,” she said.

  The reporter wasn’t even looking up, just writing. He’d have his article finished before the meeting was. Always sat in the back corner.

  “Go ahead, Patsy,” Joe said.

  “Mrs. Brown?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Esterhouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eliza?”

  “I vote no.”

  “Mr. Harris?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. Yes!”

  “Mr. McCoy?”

  “Well . . . yes. But I still don’t think he’s necessarily the best person.”

  “We couldn’t find anyone else, anyway,” Louise said. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. We really do appreciate that you’re willing.”

  “I’m glad to, Mrs. Brown.”

  “That’s four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.

  “Motion carries,” Joe said. Louise was right. Taken two months to find someone willing. “Next item.”

  This was the one.

  If he’d felt like it, and if he’d had time, he’d have called someone in Raleigh to ask a couple of questions. Or he might have just ignored the letter and never said a thing about it. But there was a chance good might come of it. It was likely evil already had.

  He took the letter out from his pile, as wicked evil as anything he’d ever seen.

  It was about a road.

  There was no trouble like there was with a road. A whole year of strife in one letter from Raleigh, and that would be for any road. This one would be worse.

  “ ‘North Carolina Department of Transportation has announced a limited one-time grant program to complete highway projects meeting certain criteria.’ ” He was reading the first page. “ ‘The program is intended for high-priority projects of long standing.’ ” He glanced at Wade, but the man looked as ignorant as ever. “We would need to vote to apply.”

  “I’ll move,” Louise said.

  Randy was frowning. “What project would we be applying for?”

  “I’m sorry,” Louise said. “Does that have to be in the motion?”

  “It does,” Joe said. “There’s a pile of rules. We only have one project on the county plan that qualifies.”

  “What would that be?” Wade asked.

  Joe leaned back and said the words. “To bring Gold River Highway over the mountain into Wardsville.”

  And that did it.

  Everyone acted up together, even Louise. Even Patsy and Lyle. Right away there was a hubbub and people sitting up straight and the few of them in the room sounding more like twenty, like a chicken coop with a snake at the door. And that’s what it was, anyway.

  “Where did you get that?”

  It was the reporter, from the audience, shouting over everyone else. Joe tapped his gavel. “We need that road,” Wade said.

  “Read it again,” the reporter called.

  “Patsy will make copies after the meeting,” Joe said.

  “Good gravy,” Randy said. “You don’t mean they actually might build it?”

  “Why not?” Wade said, turning on Randy.

  “Well, that’s not what I’m saying,” Randy was saying, “not that it shouldn’t, it’s just that I don’t think we’ve ever really expected it. Joe, wasn’t that on the plan even before you were on the board?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Even Gold River Highway wasn’t that old. He could remember the hand-drawn maps and the engineer up from Asheville presenting them. “It was added in 1967.”

  “Lot has changed in thirty-nine years,” Randy said.

  “You bet it has,” Wade said. “Like four hundred houses built in Gold Valley. I’ll second that motion.”

  “Her motion didn’t count,” the reporter said.

  “I don’t think it did,” Louise said.

  “Then I’ll do it,” Wade said. “I move that we apply for this grant, whatever it is, to get Gold River Highway put over the mountain.”

  “Second?” Joe said.

  “I’ll second,” Louise said.

  “Now we can discuss it.”

  The reporter had moved up to the front row.

  “What’s to discuss?” Wade said. “That road is the most important project in Jefferson County.”

  “Well, now, I think we should discuss it,” Randy said. “Like I said, a lot has changed in thirty-nine years. You know, that road would come over Ayawisgi Mountain right into Hemlock Street, and there’s a lot of houses in there, too.”

  “Does it have to come in right there?” Louise asked.

  “We’ve been over it on the Pla
nning Commission a dozen times. The only place it can get over the mountain is through the gap, along where the dirt road is now, and right into Hemlock. The high school’s on one side and the furniture factory’s on the other side. That’s the only place it can go.”

  “That’s where it should go,” Wade said.

  “That is a residential neighborhood,” Randy said, “and it’s no place for a big highway.”

  “But that’s where the road needs to go, for Pete’s sake.” Wade was practically yelling. “That’s the point! So people in Gold Valley can get to the school and the factory and into town at all without having to go all the way out to the interstate.”

  “I don’t think any of the city people with their vacation houses in Gold Valley are wanting to get to the furniture factory, or even the high school,” Randy said.

  “The furniture trucks might want a better way out to the interstate than right through Wardsville.” If Wade had been surprised by all this, he was sure recovering fast. “And I’ve got a daughter at the high school who rides a bus forty minutes each way. Look, this has been the plan all along. And all that development in Gold Valley has been based on the plan.”

  “Maybe it’s the plan, but nobody ever expected it to happen.”

  “That’s what a plan is, Randy.” Wade was about as exasperated as a man could be. “A plan is what you’re expecting to happen. Everybody in Gold Valley sure has been expecting it.”

  “Joe,” Louise said, giving people a chance to calm down, “I thought the state didn’t have any money for new roads this year.”

  “It says there’s twenty-five million dollars here in this program.”

  “Twenty-five million?” Randy said. “That’s nothing.”

  “It’s enough to build Gold River Highway,” Wade said.

  “But every county in the state is competing for it. Our share wouldn’t be enough to put in a traffic light.”

  “We can still apply,” Wade said.

  “Is there a deadline, Joe?”

  “February first.”

  “That’s three weeks,” Randy said. “We don’t even have time.”

  “Four weeks,” Wade said. “And how long does it take to vote on a resolution? Two minutes?”