June

June 5, Monday

Empty chairs, just sitting there.

Time to start. It was all that Randy could do to not stare at them.

Joe knocked his gavel, as if it were just the same as always. “Come to order.” Of course, Joe would be seeing the two empty chairs like everyone else. “Go ahead, Patsy,” he said.

It was like last December, when Mort’s chair had been empty and they’d all known why, or like last month, with the other empty chair. But now two empty chairs!

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Here.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Here.”

“Eliza?” Everybody looked around, even though they knew she wasn’t there. “Eliza Gulotsky?”

They waited a moment, but of course she wasn’t there.

Then Joe said, “And Wade’s not here, either.” Just like he had in December. That way Patsy didn’t have to call out the name, which would have been just terrible. “Mark that seat vacant.”

“All right, Joe,” she said. “Mr. McCoy?”

“Right here,” he said. Good gravy, where was Eliza? He was suddenly having real terrible feelings.

“Three members present, Eliza Gulotsky is absent, and one seat vacant, Joe.”

“Thank you, Patsy. Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors is now in session.”

“Joe?” Louise looked pretty upset. “Do we know where Eliza is?”

“Anybody know that?” Joe asked and waited.

“I thought she’d be here,” Louise said.

“We’ll just go on,” Joe said. “Motion to accept last month’s minutes?”

Randy looked at Louise. It was just the two of them to do it, and they did, like they always had. But then a voice interrupted them from the audience.

“Do you have a quorum?” It was Luke Goddard.

“Well, we don’t,” Randy said, “do we?”

“What is quorum?” Louise asked.

“Four of us,” Randy said.

“Two-thirds,” Joe said, thinking.

“Then we’re short,” Randy said, doing his math. Three out of five was less than two-thirds. “We’d need four members.”

Louise was doing math, too. “But is it two-thirds of five or two thirds of four?”

Joe had finished thinking. “Quorum is based on members, not seats. Three present is more than two-thirds of the members. We have a quorum.”

“Wait a minute,” Everett said. “This won’t stand. You’re short of quorum. You can’t vote.”

“No, he’s right.” That was the lawyer from Gold Valley, Jim Ross. “They do have a quorum.”

Bang! Joe was back in action.

“This board has four members, and more than two-thirds are present.”

“Have we declared the position vacant?” Randy said. “Officially? Because if it isn’t vacant yet, don’t we need a quorum to say that it is?”

“Of course it’s vacant.” Louise was looking at him like she might do some violence. “We don’t need to vote on that.”

“But that’s only because you said so.” Luke Goddard had jumped up again. “Is that all it takes to make it official that the seat is vacant? I’m just asking, Joe. Are you sure that’s all it takes?”

For the moment there was quiet, and everyone was watching Joe. And Joe stared back at them all.

“The man is dead,” he said. “His seat is vacant.”

The silence after that was like running into a wall. Randy leaned back in his chair, being real careful so it wouldn’t creak, just getting out of the way of the silence because otherwise he didn’t know what might happen.

The back door of the room opened.

Every eye turned to see who it was. Randy felt a sweat break out, just picturing the sheriff’s deputy coming in like last month.

It was Eliza Gulotsky. “I apologize,” she said. “I was delayed.”

“Mark that Eliza is present,” Joe said while everybody watched her glide up the aisle to her seat. “Point of order for the evening, as the board has an empty seat, vote of a tie on a motion is considered that the motion does not pass. Three votes majority is required for a motion to pass. “We have a motion and a second to accept last month’s minutes,” Joe said. “Go ahead, Patsy.”

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Gulotsky?”

“I vote no.” Well, that hadn’t changed.

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Yes.”

“Three in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.

“Motion carries,” Joe said. “Minutes are accepted.”

Just that little struggle had worn Randy out, and he was going to need all his energy for the meeting. He looked out at the room and tried to smile. Somebody needed to.

There weren’t many other empty chairs in the room, and Joe was glaring out at all the filled chairs in the audience. “Next is receiving public comment,” he said, “and I’ll make a few comments of my own first. Most of you are aware we’re likely to vote on appointing Mr. Stephen Carter to the board this evening. I’d prefer it as much as anyone that we had more time to consider the decision. However, state law requires that if the new member is going to vote on Gold River Highway in December, he has to be appointed at this meeting. It is also completely legal for us to appoint him, or anyone, by a simple motion tonight without any prior notification or waiting period.

“Now, we’ve heard from a number of you already on the subject and we’re real open to hearing your comments tonight. However, we would appreciate you keeping your comments short, and I will not allow personal attacks. And please state your name and address.”

“Everett Colony, 712 Hemlock Street in Wardsville.” And here it came. Randy felt his shoulder hunching up a bit, automatic.

“Everyone here knows I had my differences with Wade Harris,” Everett said. “However. I want to state here this evening that despite that, I always had the greatest respect for his work and dedication. I, for one, will miss him greatly, and I regret his loss as deeply as anyone here.”

Randy clamped his jaw. It was good to hear Everett’s real feelings about Wade, as Randy had somehow missed realizing them up to this point.

“To honor him properly, the decision to name his replacement should not be made in a reckless manner.” Everett’s manner changed a bit, from being reasonable to more of his normal tone. Randy found himself leaning forward to get a good hold on the table. “Frankly, I find this unseemly haste appalling. Are we taking his years of service on this board and discarding them in just a few short weeks?

“If you proceed with this vote, it will lack legitimacy. You will be tainting the whole Gold River Highway project even further.

“Therefore, I demand, out of respect for Wade Harris, that this vote be delayed for at least another month. It is the only proper and honorable thing to do.”

There was something of a murmur of agreement in the audience. The highway might be a consideration, that was for sure, but the more important issue was respect for Wade. It was a nice point, except for Everett Colony being the one making it.

There was the usual rustling and coughing as people were deciding if they’d go next.

“I’m Fred Clairmont. 715 Washington Street in Wardsville. I’d like to say that I’m sure Mr. Carter is a wonderful man, probably just what this board needs, and what Gold Valley needs representing them. But I have to agree with Everett that this is just too fast. That’s my only concern, just that it’s only been a week that we even heard the name.”

“Richard Colony, 713 Hemlock in Wardsville. I agree with most of what has been said here so far, except I’m not as sure Mr. Carter is as qualified as has been suggested. He’s been a resident of the county for just five years and he’s quite a bit younger than most people who serve on this board. More importantly, he has his own business, I understand, and that could bring up some conflicts of interest if he were to be voting for the benefit of his own business over the interests of the county. In fact, it seems kind of callous of him to be pushing himself onto the board, and I’d have to wonder what his real motives were.

“I also want to point out that Steve Carter is on the Planning Commission. We’re supposed to have one person on the commission who’s on the Board of Supervisors, and that’s Randy. We’re not allowed to have two. So I don’t know if you even can appoint him.”

Louise had been looking pretty annoyed, and finally she just couldn’t hold it in.

“Poppycock,” Louise said. “If he’s appointed, he can resign from the Planning Commission. Or Randy can. That’s no reason. And Richard, I’ve got my own business, and so does Randy, and Joe runs his own farm. Do any of you have anyone better to suggest?”

“No, of course not,” Richard said. “But if there were more time, someone else might come up.”

“Does anybody have someone else better?”

In her own way, Louise could be almost as intimidating as Joe, especially as she wasn’t nearly as often. Richard sat down, and it was going to take a brave person to be the first to comment after that.

Then someone stood up, and the Mountain View people eased back in their chairs, away from the podium, as if they were afraid of catching the plague.

“My name is Jim Ross and I live at 4500 Eagle’s Rest Drive in Gold Valley.” The lawyer.

“I think we need to be very clear,” Mr. Ross said. “These objections aren’t about Mr. Carter, or even about honoring Mr. Harris’s memory. These objections are all about Gold River Highway, and trying to prevent a representative of Gold Valley from having a vote on that highway.

“I believe we need to consider Mr. Carter strictly on his merits. If he is qualified, then appoint him. There’s no need to delay. If he isn’t qualified, then wait to find someone who is. That’s the commonsense issue.

“Furthermore, I believe the record shows that Mr. Carter is qualified. Five years residency is far more than the six months required by state law, and is manifestly adequate to qualify him to represent Gold Valley. To be successful as a consulting civil engineer demonstrates the highest level of proficiency in the very fields of expertise necessary for service on this board. Finally, Mr. Carter has always demonstrated the highest integrity and character. Speaking personally, as a resident of Gold Valley, and as a friend of Mr. Carter who knows him well, I would be sincerely honored to have him representing me and my district on this board.”

It must have been an effort to not finish with, I rest my case. But before Mr. Ross would have even had a chance to, Everett was on his feet.

“He doesn’t mean a word of that. He doesn’t care who’s representing him, as long as they’ll vote for Gold River Highway.”

Crack, and everyone jumped. Joe was waving his gavel.

“That’ll be enough,” Joe said. “Dr. Colony, I believe you’ve already had your turn for this evening. I also won’t allow personal accusations. I’ll close the comment period if this continues, and require that people leave if they can’t maintain order.”

But Everett had made his point. And Mr. Ross had been right, too, of course. Nobody was saying anything they really meant. It was the highway over everything.

Steve Carter had moved up a row, to behind James Ross’s seat, and once Mr. Ross sat down, Steve leaned forward to speak to him, quietly. Mr. Ross didn’t seem to care at that point, though.

Another minute passed after that, and between Louise frowning and Joe staring and Everett scowling and Mr. Ross glaring, nobody else could make themselves stand up.

It might also have been because most of the people there were from Mountain View, and they’d been counting noses, which Randy could do just as well. Louise would vote yes, and Joe, too, and then Eliza would vote no, and it would come down to him, and all his neighbors in Mountain View probably were assuming they knew how he’d vote. That assumption would be that he’d vote no, and of course, that was the assumption he’d been making himself. Then that would most likely be the end of Gold River Highway.

“Then we’ll close public comment,” Joe said. “Now we have a number of other items on the agenda and we’ll cover those fast as we can, and then we’ll be open to new business, which this would be.”

Joe read the items one by one, and Randy hardly paid attention, which was what they deserved. It was the responsibility of the Board of Supervisors to treat each item with due consideration. About thirty seconds’ consideration for each item was plenty.

“Is it time now?” Louise asked.

They’d gotten to the end of the agenda items, where they could propose whatever motions they wanted.

“Go ahead,” Joe said.

“I’ll move that we appoint Stephen Carter to fill the empty seat.”

“There is a motion,” Joe said, “that Stephen Carter be appointed to the vacant seat on this board, representing the Gold Valley district. Is there a second?”

Silence. Now, that would be a problem right there. The rule was that the chairman could not make motions or second them. And as it was that no pigs had sprouted wings lately, Eliza did not appear to speak.

Louise was looking at him.

Now, a regular vote yes or no was one thing, but just letting the motion die was something else. And Louise was still looking at him.

“Well, I’ll second that,” he said.

Everett was on his feet, but Joe’s stare was enough.

“Just so there’ll at least be a vote,” Randy said.

“That’s a motion and a second. Any discussion?”

“Yes!” Everett said, about to walk up to the podium.

“I’m referring to board members,” Joe said. “We are not receiving public comment at this time.”

“I’ll discuss it,” Louise said, and she locked her eyes right onto Everett Colony. “I’m surprised at all of you.” She went right down the front row, one by one, giving each a good stiff look, for all the world lecturing them like they were misbehaving children and she was their own mother. “The things you all will say! Now, I don’t know what we’re going to do about that road, but Gold Valley should have a vote on it. This is a matter of plain right and wrong, and all of you know it.

“And here’s Mr. Carter, who’s willing to give up his time to be on this board, which I doubt any of you would do. And the things that were said about him this evening.” She gave Richard Colony a specially withering look. “That’s terrible.”

Then she turned to the other board members, and particularly Randy. “Now. I’m expecting this board to be responsible and do what they know is right.”

And that about did it for discussion. Randy wasn’t about to say anything after Louise’s sermon, and Eliza didn’t look like she was ready to break her vow of silence, and Joe wasn’t much for discussing . . . well, he wasn’t looking real well, either. He’d been glum as usual through the evening, and maybe more so, but for the last few minutes he’d just had his own eyes on Stephen Carter there in the audience, and when Louise had said that about doing what they knew was right . . .

That was when Joe had just seemed to cave in.

He hadn’t moved except maybe his expression, and that only a tiny bit, and maybe Randy, being next to him, was the only one close enough to see it. But those words had meant something to him.

“Go ahead, Patsy,” Joe said.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“No.”

“Eli—sorry, Joe, what did you say?”

But he’d said it plain and clear. Randy felt his mouth hanging open. Then his brain caught up, at least enough to close his mouth, but not enough to even start trying to work out why in the world . . .

Of all things. What in the world was going through the man’s head? Louise was looking at Joe like he’d turned into a giant turnip.

Joe was looking down at Patsy. “You heard me.”

“Sure, Joe.”

Then Randy realized what it meant, at least as far as he himself was concerned. After Eliza’s no, his own vote wouldn’t matter. The motion was as good as defeated already, and so was Gold River Highway.

He let out a sigh.

“Eliza?” Patsy said.

“I vote yes.”

Randy rubbed his eyes, and looked again, close. He hadn’t got the two of them mixed up. That one was Joe, and that one was Eliza. And now it was Joe’s turn to stare at Eliza.

And Louise was looking at the two of them like she was about to burst out laughing. And then she did.

Randy could only imagine what he was looking like. What in the world? Of all things. It didn’t make a bit of sense. What in the world was going on?

And everyone was back to looking at him!

“Mr. McCoy?”

He was a little too stunned to remember what he was going to do.

“Just a second, there, Patsy,” he said. “I’m trying to work out what’s just happened here.”

The two of them, Joe and Eliza, were both as stock-still as they could be, which for both of them was close to being frozen. Eliza was peaceful and smiling a little, like she was seeing something the rest of them couldn’t.

Joe was haggard and hard and staring at something terrible the rest of them couldn’t see, either.

And then Randy finally looked back around toward the audience and saw Stephen Carter there with his head cocked over a little and looking somewhere between being amused and bewildered. A couple seats over was Everett, but Randy kept from looking there.

What in the world . . . Randy had found his thoughts again and got them back in some sort of order.

Gold River Highway. And that was the most important thing. He could stop it all right here and now.

Do the right thing. What was the right thing? Was there even right and wrong?

“I’ll vote yes,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“No!” That was Everett.

“Three in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.

“Motion carries,” Joe said. He looked like someone had just died. “Mr. Carter, congratulations on being appointed to this board. Patsy’ll get you up on things you’ll need to know. Is there anything else? Then this meeting is adjourned.”

And why had he done it? Now Everett and Fred and Richard and everyone were going to be on him. But he couldn’t help himself. It had just been too right a thing to do.

Everett was headed right for him, and several of the other neighbors, as well, and Randy knew what that meant. Real quick he turned to Louise, to try to be in a conversation before they reached him. But Louise was already running over to Eliza. Randy turned to Joe.

Joe still looked fully grieved and unlikely to talk. Randy was just getting ready for the onslaught, though, when Joe suddenly spoke up himself.

“Who owns the land where the road would be built?”

Randy had to think hard a minute, and he let it show. Everett did actually pause, not that Randy let on that he realized the crowd had gathered, just keeping his eyes on Joe.

“I noticed that, Joe, as a matter of fact, just a few weeks ago. It’s a trust, and it’s called—now, let me see—Warrior Land Trust. That’s it.”

Joe didn’t say another word.

“Let me even look that up, downstairs,” Randy said, standing. Joe wasn’t paying attention but Randy pretended he was and left through the side door as busy and official-looking as he could.

“What a night!” Louise didn’t usually keep Byron up after she got home, but this meeting was worth talking about. “That dear Eliza came through, though. I was so proud of her.”

“But Joe voted against the man?”

“He did, and Randy almost fell out of his chair from it.”

“Must have had a reason. You know this man Carter at all?”

“Just a little, but I’m sure he’s fine. I don’t think that was it.”

Byron shook his finger at her. “But he must have had a reason.”

“Well, maybe he did, but if he’s not going to tell anyone, then I’ll just ignore it. He came over to the salon that one day, but you know Joe. He wouldn’t say a thing.”

“If Joe Esterhouse votes against a man, I’d sit up and pay attention.”

“I didn’t even know he was going to. And I’d already voted. And Joe was the one who went out and asked him face-to-face.”

“Must have seen something out there.”

“But he didn’t tell me. Or anyone. I’ll talk to him.” But asking Joe Esterhouse a question like that on the telephone wasn’t going to get much of an answer at all. He’d be a hard enough nut to crack in person. And she was really more feeling excited than worried. “But Eliza came through. What a dear she is. And I’m glad for Steve, too. I’m looking forward to him being on the board.”

“Joe against the man, and that crazy woman for him. Some recommendation, if you ask me.”

“Fool business.”

“Joe.” Rose looked worried as he was. “Call the newspaper reporter and tell him you’ll vote against the new road. He can put it in the newspaper, and then people will know the road won’t get voted for.”

“It wouldn’t be true.”

“It could be. You could vote no.”

“It wouldn’t be right to.”

“Then how will you feel if Stephen Carter is killed?”

“You know how I’ll feel.”

“Is there a right thing to do?” she asked.

“There always is.”

She knew that as well as he did. “Will you talk to Gordon Hite?”

“I don’t think he’s up to this,” Joe said.

That was another problem, something about Gordon and all of this.

“Who, then?” Rose asked.

“State Police. That’s who to call outside of county jurisdiction. State law.”

“Then call them.”

That would be a terrible thing, letting loose a world of commotion, and no stopping it. No telling what would happen.

“I’ll call Marty Brannin in the morning.”

Randy was feeling just worn out. “I was as flabbergasted as I’ve been, and that’s for sure,” he said to Sue Ann over the kitchen table.

“Well, you did the right thing,” she said.

“I hope I did, if there even was a right thing. It seemed mostly like it was two wrong things to choose. Either be outright hateful to that poor Stephen Carter, and unfair to Gold Valley to boot, or else give up the best chance I might have to stop that road. And I dearly want to stop it, Sue Ann.”

“We all do.”

“I know Everett and all the rest are being just hateful themselves, and I think it’s wrong for them to be, but the facts are the facts. Bringing Gold River Highway down into Hemlock is going to ruin this neighborhood, and maybe the whole town.”

“I know it will, Randy.”

Or maybe not. That was part of the problem, really knowing anything for certain. “And I couldn’t vote no. It just wasn’t fair to him, or to Gold Valley. Oh, thank you, dear.”

Sue Ann handed him a nice tall glass of iced tea. She was always so considerate, and the children had learned that from her.

“You’ve got grown men and women,” he said, “standing there talking to the board and saying things they don’t believe for a minute, and we on the board don’t believe them, and everybody knows that nobody believes them.”

Randy leaned his head down and propped it on his hand. It was all so confusing, knowing what to think.

“Sue Ann, sometimes I wonder if anything is really true. Just by itself, not depending on what a person wants. Two plus two is four, and no one argues with that, but when you’re building a road, is there anything that’s true by itself? And is there anything that right or wrong?”

“That’s why they elected you, Randy. Because they trust you to make the right decision.”

“I wonder if I’m very good at that.” He hardly felt strong enough to hold his head back up. “And if I thought I knew anything about anything, I’d have thought Joe would vote for Stephen, and Eliza would vote no like she always does. Now, what do you make of that?”

“You could ask them.”

“I might. And besides Gold River Highway and whether he’s been here long enough and everything, there’s one objection I have against Steve Carter.”

“What, Randy?”

“I just wish his name was something that came after McCoy. Because I’m still in the hot seat casting the last vote on all these things.”

Beneath the stars. Eliza stood listening. Gentle rustling of the wind, furtive movements within the forest.

Deep silence from the mountain.

There was no anger from what had passed that evening. This new man had been brought into the council. The Warrior had allowed him to be; the Warrior would have a purpose.

And it had been strange, as well, that the sheriff had stopped them as they drove into town. Zach had spoken to him for a long time. She knew nothing about how to deal with such people.

“So three to one, and I’m in,” Steve said. “Meet Mr. Supervisor.” What a long, strange trip it had been. But kind of fun to watch.

“I wish I’d been there,” Natalie said.

“You could have brought the kids. That’s all we needed for it to be a complete circus. You could have enjoyed the slandering and maligning of your dear husband. Especially being as callous as I am to snatch Wade Harris’s seat just a month after he died.”

“You didn’t ask to be appointed. Joe Esterhouse asked you.”

“He did.” Steve shook his head. “He was right here, in this house, and he said, ‘I’m wondering if you’d be on the Board of Supervisors.’ Didn’t he? I don’t think I’m making it up.”

“That’s what you told me.”

“And then he votes no, which is bizarre. The one guy I figured was a sure vote, and he says no. Then Eliza Gulotsky, who won’t even vote for the minutes, she votes yes, which is highly bizarre. Then Randy McCoy, who treats me like some kind of trespassing space alien for even being there, he has the last vote, and he votes yes.”

Natalie pushed the cookie jar toward him. It was a very important member of the family, and it lived on the kitchen table, where it could participate fully in household affairs.

He looked inside. “Someday I hope we can get back to oatmeal cookies.”

“Raisins,” she said, “and therefore inedible.”

“But the kids like raisins.” Josie would eat a whole pound if they let her.

“A plain raisin and a raisin in a cookie are entirely different species.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“If you want logic,” Natalie said, “read a math book. Don’t ask a four-year-old about cookies.”

Life with preschoolers. “Way more logical than the vote tonight.”

“Are you sure you want to be on this board?” Natalie asked.

“Oh, I guess.” Politics was a whole different world. Life with preschoolers was good training for it. “Probably good experience.” He munched his iced chocolate chip cookie. “I think I want to meet this Jim Ross guy.”

“Have we ever met him?”

“No. But I’d say he knows me pretty well. Impressive experience and education. ‘Highest level of proficiency in the very fields of expertise necessary for service on this board. Highest integrity and character, too.”

Natalie smiled, her little mousy look. “I guess you’re going to believe everything anyone says at these meetings?”

“Sure. Why not? I’m sure that truthfulness and objectivity will be uppermost in every person’s mind.”

“And the common good.”

“Oh, right, I left that out. Truth, objectivity, and the common good. Yeah.” He rubbed his forehead. “What do you think Joe Esterhouse was thinking?”

“I don’t know. I only saw him ten seconds when he was here.”

“I’m just talking to myself. He didn’t say anything to me about why he’d vote no. So that’s going to bother me.”

“Ask him.”

“I will, I guess. Maybe when I get to know him a little better. He’s kind of intimidating at those meetings.”

June 6, Tuesday

“I’m trying to think. Did I forget to call you?” Marty sounded worried.

“You did call,” Joe said. “Afraid I didn’t call back.”

“I’m finding my notes. Okay . . . I should have called again. The man behind your road is Jack Royce.”

“I might have heard the name,” Joe said.

“Let’s just say I’m not surprised. He represents High Point and he’s kind of known around here for monkey business like that.”

“Do you have any thought why he’d be interested in Jefferson County?”

“I doubt he’d tell me anything. But let me run this by you. Different representatives here get in kind of cozy with different special interests, and Jack’s got a couple specialties. First, he’s the man for the furniture industry, since he represents all those plants around High Point.”

“Furniture.”

“Is that important?”

“Might be.”

“And also he’s big friends with developers. That made me think of the man you told me about back in April. Charlie Ryder. So I looked him up, which wasn’t hard, and he and Jack are a perfect match. It looks like Ryder works more with representatives from the mountains, where his projects are, and I didn’t find a specific connection with him and Jack. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were in cahoots, though.

“But that’s as far as I’ll get without putting Jack in a headlock.”

“I appreciate your help,” Joe said.

“And what we talked about last time, there in your kitchen. I don’t know, Joe. Jack’s an oily snake—but I wouldn’t call him evil. There’s somebody pulling his strings, but Jack’s not the man you’re looking for. Oh—and now that I’m looking at my notes, sorry to hear about Wade Harris.”

“Appreciate that.”

“I never met him. Isn’t that the second board member you’ve lost out there?”

“It is.”

“Now wait—that was the member you said was working for Ryder.”

It was time. “Marty, when are you out this way again?”

“Every weekend.”

“If you would stop by, I’d appreciate it. Something to talk about in person.”

“Okay. This weekend’s busy. Friday night next week?”

“That would be fine.”

June 9, Friday

“And here’s the mail,” Kelly said. She always checked.

“Thank you, thank you,” Randy said. “Well, look.” It was a formal little invitation envelope.

“That’s a graduation announcement,” Kyle said.

“But they would have gone out a month ago,” Kelly said. “Who’s it from?”

“Let’s see,” Randy said, and opened the little envelope. “Well, well. Sue Ann?” She was in the kitchen, and she came out to see. “Look at that. It’s for Lauren Harris.”

June 12, Monday

This was a large sheriff.

“Hi. I’m Steve Carter.”

The eyes were pretty far back behind the puffy cheeks, but they narrowed even more.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Carter?”

A southern large sheriff. The Rod Steiger kind, not the Andy Griffith kind. Blue uniform, open collar, pink jowly face, topping out at maybe six foot four under thin gray and reddish hair. Not overweight—more of an overhang “I’m on the Board of Supervisors,” Steve said. “I took Wade Harris’s place.”

It had seemed like a good idea, meeting the sheriff, cultivating a professional working relationship.

“Now I remember you,” Mr. Hite said, but it didn’t make any difference in the way Steve was being inspected.

Stupid idea. Really stupid.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I was just stopping in to introduce myself. I guess I should have called.”

“No, that’s fine. Pleased to meet you.” Right in the middle between annoyance and outright hostility.

Now what? Uh . . . professional relationship. Right. “I don’t know if the Sheriff’s Department ever works with the Board. I was . . .”

“Not much. I’d probably call Joe if I needed anything.”

“Oh. Well, whatever.” He should probably just turn and run before he got arrested. What could he say? “Did you know Wade at all?”

“Never talked to him.”

Wade must have been too smart to tangle with Frankenstein. “I guess you handled his accident.” Steve was just blurting now. Just cut and run! Don’t chatter!

“Of course I did.” Something had hit a button. Pure hostility, and a whole lot more muscle behind the answer. “And I don’t prefer to be questioned about it.”

“Oh—I didn’t mean . . .”

“And if it’s Roger that’s been putting you up to it, tell him I’ve had enough.”

“No, um, really, I was just . . .”

The telephone was ringing. Oh, please, let it be for this gorilla.

“Sheriff’s Department,” the receptionist said. “Gordon? It’s for you.”

Hite was still breathing fire, but his attention was diverted.

“Who is it?” He took the phone.

Steve backed across the hall to the front door. Whoever it was would be reaping what they had not sown.

Out the door into the afternoon sunlight, with a little wave that nobody noticed. Fortunately.

Roger? Who was Roger?

June 16, Friday

Black night.

“There he is,” Rose said. Joe had seen the headlights himself.

“I’ll let him in,” he said. Almost eleven o’clock.

He had the door open when Marty got to it.

“Hi, Joe,” Marty said. “Finally made it.”

“Sorry you’re out late,” Joe said, and let him in to the hall.

“Things come up. Good evening, Miss Rose!”

“Good evening, Marty.” She had coffee and a plate of pie on the table for each of them.

“Thank you.”

They sat and Joe let him talk awhile, about Raleigh politics and people Joe didn’t know anymore. But then the pie was finished and it really was getting late.

“Marty. I appreciate that you’ve taken time to look into our road. It’s been a help.”

“Glad to, Joe. It’s part of the job. Especially for you.”

“Then tonight I’d like you to just listen. I’ll keep it short.”

“Go ahead.”

“Last November, Mort Walker died. He’d been on the Board of Supervisors for near thirty-two years. In May, Wade Harris died. He’d been on the board for two and a half years. They were both fairly strong in wanting Gold River Highway built.”

Marty was watching, nodding slow. “Okay.”

“The one was a heart attack, the other a car accident. The undertaker here in town thinks each of those might not be accurate.”

“What does the sheriff say . . . Hite, isn’t it?”

“Gordon Hite isn’t open to discussing it. Plain truth is, he doesn’t want trouble.”

“Okay. And that’s why you want to know who’s behind the road.”

“I do want to know.”

“Whew.” Marty was a smart boy, and he wouldn’t need any more said. Joe gave him a minute to think.

“I’d just as soon be wrong,” Joe said.

“Sure. Good grief, Joe. Do you think that’s all the sheriff is worried about? Just not wanting trouble?”

“I’ll hope so.”

“Yeah, I will, too. Is anybody else thinking along these lines?”

“Roger Gallaudet, the funeral director, for one.”

“Who around here’s against the road?”

“Fair number of people. One is the doctor who assigned the cause of death.”

“Oh.” It was more a groan than a word. “Joe. I hate roads.”

“There’s nothing that’s more trouble.”

“That’s the thing!” Marty was getting mad, now he’d had a chance to think. “Because this could be for real. I’ll tell you, there are people who would kill over a road. Either way. If they want it and they’re greedy enough, or they don’t want it and they hate enough. Okay. Let’s talk about the State Police.”

“That’s what I was thinking about,” Joe said.

“There are two ways we can get them involved: either lack of local resources and expertise, or else suspicion of complicity.”

“Don’t have many resources here.”

“But then it can’t be kept secret. You or Hite would have to request help, and it would be public. You could make the request over the sheriff’s objection, but then there’d be a hearing with a judge.”

“I’d hate to do that.”

“How sure are you, Joe?”

“Plenty sure. But not sure enough to turn the county upside down.”

“Right. Exactly. So what are you supposed to do? Have you even discussed it with him at all?”

“I haven’t.”

“Because the other way is for you to make a confidential request for help against the sheriff, where you’d testify to a grand jury, and then a judge would authorize a secret investigation.”

“I’d hate to do that, either.”

“You’d be accusing your sheriff of murder, Joe. But here you are, telling me all this, and you haven’t talked to him. Would you?”

“I haven’t wanted to, but it’s time. But I don’t know what I want to happen, and so I don’t know what I want to do.”

“I can only help if you ask me to do something. I can’t make up your mind for you. How sure are you that Mort Walker would have been for the road?”

“Anyone could tell you he’d have been for it. He was for roads. He knew what changes they made and he was for it all. When they built the interstate, he fought to have it come through the county and have the exits it did.”

“Did he know about the funding? He got that letter from Raleigh?”

“The envelope was already opened when his wife brought it to me.”

“And I guess he would have smelled the same rats you did.”

“He would have.”

“Would he have maybe even owned a few of them? I mean, could he have been behind the deal somehow?”

“No.”

“How do you feel, Joe? Do you even want a road that’s this corrupt?”

“Wouldn’t be any roads at all otherwise.”

“Okay. Too bad that you’re exactly right.”

“It’s late and you need to get yourself home,” Joe said. “I’ll give you a call in a few days.”

“Okay. And if I think of anything else, or I find out anything else about the road, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you. The best help would be to know what’s happened in Raleigh.”

June 19, Monday

Eliza watched as the car came slowly through the trees, some moments visible, mostly a slight clouding of dust. But on it came and she sat on her porch to wait.

The car could also be heard, and she soon knew, from its sound and from the glimpses she had of it, that it was not a car that she knew.

It reached the edge of the trees and entered the open space, and the stream. There it stopped. Its door opened and out of it came a man.

All around him the life of the mountainside shuddered. The birds became quiet, the smaller creatures fled. She could hear them escaping. Even the trees, even the grasses held back from him.

He stomped toward her. He was plump and short and carried much. His light was dark red, the color of harshness and ignorance. And pain.

He looked quickly around at her quiet place and she saw him condemn it in his mind. Then he stood at the porch steps and spoke.

“Are you Eliza Gulotsky?”

“I am.” She felt peace. She was protected here. It would take a strong power indeed to bring her harm in this shelter.

“Glad to meet you. Roland Coates.” He looked around again. “This is where you live?”

“This is where I live,” she answered. “Come, join me.”

He did not. His choices were full of hardness. “What a heap. Anyway. You’re on the Board of Supervisors?”

“Yes, I am.” She was watching the pain in him. The coarse stone of his hardness caused it. “Please, join me.”

“Might as well.” He crossed the steps and came beside her and sat on the other rocking chair, and a softening had taken place. “I came to find out what you’re voting on the road. Gold River Highway. I want that road.”

“The road.” Hard stone hammering against hard powers. Pain, indeed. “It is important to you?”

“Of course it is. Why shouldn’t it be? I’ve got a lot depending on that road.”

“There is great anger about this road.”

He laughed, abruptly, and it was filled with the anger. “Oh, you’ve picked that up, have you? Those boneheads on Hemlock. Sure, they’re squealing at every meeting, but most people would be glad for the road. Jobs, development, all that. The county needs that road.”

Eliza had heard these words before. She knew of the Warrior’s scorn for them. But Roland Coates spoke them weakly, without force.

“But what is your desire?” she said.

“My—my what?”

“What is important to you, Mr. Coates?”

“Well, getting the road built. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anyone would see the cloud all about him. But piercing it only needed a light breeze. “What are you talking about?”

“There is sorrow in you.”

He didn’t speak. He stared at her, pulling away in his chair. Then he looked again at the porch and cabin, and his eyes narrowed from their wide openness. “They’re right. You are crazy.”

She laughed, and she saw another softening in him. “I suppose I am, if so many people think it.”

“You don’t look dangerous, though.”

“Oh my!” She had to laugh again, longer. “No, not at all!”

“Most people are crazy, now I think about it.”

“Then I hope you won’t mind it in me.”

At this, he laughed. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Except for this road. How’re you going to vote on it?”

“Vote,” she said.

“What’s it going to be, yes or no?” He had already gained some peace, just being in this place, but not any wisdom.

“Yes or no.” She rocked slowly, summoning peace herself. Yes or no. A hard line between yes and no, as if it were just one or just the other. “There are many more than two colors.”

“Colors . . . what’s that? I’m talking about the road.”

Anger and hardness, like rocks beneath the surface of the water. But sorrow, too. “You fight many battles, Mr. Coates.”

“Of course I do, that’s business.” He wasn’t angry as he had been before, but confusion swirled around him like leaves in a whirlwind. “But I’m talking about the road.”

“Yes, the road.” She held up her finger to keep him from answering. “It is more than your business, or the road.” Something deeper. “Tell me about your family, Mr. Coates.”

“What’s that got to do with this?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking.”

She waited.

“My family?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got a wife.”

“What is her name?”

“Miranda.”

“And do you have a son?” Eliza asked.

All of the softening was gone. The anger and the hardness had returned.

“What is his name?”

“Jeremy.” He put all of the anger and hardness into the name, but he was suddenly emptied, rocking slowly in the chair on her porch, with the stream speaking comfort, and the breezes peace.

Eliza waited.

“His name is Jeremy,” Mr. Coates said again, but there was no anger left. Just pain.

“Joe, I have been wanting to see you.” Louise smiled her biggest smile.

“Then I guess you are.”

She ignored his silly old scowl. “I guess I am.” And when he turned to look at Patsy, she didn’t let him get away with it. “And don’t you fuss at her. I told her that she had to call me the next time you set foot in the courthouse, so it’s not her fault.”

“Then what’s on your mind?”

“Just this mop of old white hair.” She couldn’t help saying it. And he just stared, annoyed with her as ever. “Let’s find a room,” she said, when she thought they’d both had enough. “I want to ask you something.”

“Tell me about him,” Eliza said.

“Well, what’s there to tell? The boy’s a hotheaded fool.”

“What has he done?”

“I don’t know why I’m saying all this.”

“But I want to know.” Eliza made her voice as peaceful as the calming water. “Please tell me.”

“He’s always been impatient. Never would listen, never would be satisfied. Finally just walked out.”

“Walked out . . . of where?”

“The business. Hasn’t hardly been back since. Even left town.”

“He moved away?”

“Far as I hear, anyway. Asheville.”

“Now, Joe.” They were in the county records room at the end of the hall. She wasn’t about to sit in one of the chairs around that old wood table, covered with a lot more dust than Patsy should have let accumulate, so they were standing by the door among the filing cabinets and boxes of copying machine paper, and a bucket and mop, and an old typewriter, and a shelf of staples and paper clips and such.

“I know you make your own decisions and let the rest of us make ours.” She folded her arms and looked him right straight on. “But you have some explaining to do.”

“Jeremy . . . you wanted him to be with you at your business.”

“It’s natural, isn’t it? Thought we’d work together, and he’d take over after me. But he was too impatient. Always wanting to have his own way. Thinks he knows everything.

“So now he’s on his own, and I’d say good riddance. But he’s not letting go! He’s threatened me, and worse, acting the fool. I had to call the sheriff. Gordon Hite says he didn’t have anything to do with Wade Harris, but I still wouldn’t put it past him, not after what he did to Randy’s car, and to mine. So then he said he’d burn my factory down. My own son.”

Eliza waited.

“But that’s not the concern here,” Roland Coates said. He had closed the door. “And you don’t know what I’m talking about anyway. It’s the road.” He leaned toward her, and the peace between them was forced back. “Now, I guess you’ve heard, too, about selling the factory. Everybody’s heard. Well, I’m going to. Not for what it’s worth, but it’s enough.”

“Yes. I’ve heard this said.”

“And I need that road.”

Joe just waited. Louise was thinking she’d need pliers. “I want to know why you voted against Steve Carter.”

Nothing.

“When you came to the salon that day,” she said, “I should have known you had something you were chewing on. So now we’ve got him voted on, thanks to dear Eliza, and Randy, too, which proves he’s not as bad as you think. But I cannot make sense of you.”

Not a peep out of him.

“And I have all day.” She was right between him and the door. “And you’re too much of a gentleman to push me out of the way.”

Roads and factories and “development.” They didn’t matter to her, or even have meaning. She only knew that those who spoke of them spoke with the voice of her enemy.

Her enemy. This power from outside that was contending with the Warrior. Even now the Warrior was speaking.

“The road,” she said to Mr. Coates, “and your factory. They are together.”

“Together?” He pulled back away from her. “Together? Now, who told you that?”

“You speak of them in the same way, as if they are the same.”

He was watching her as a dog would watch an unfamiliar animal— suspicious, alert, but not fearful. “Well, maybe I was.”

Then he made his decision, and came back close. “All right. Tell you what. I’ll level with you, but I don’t want this getting out. You probably don’t talk with anybody anyway. Sure the road’s important.” His voice got quieter but still was noisy and harsh. “It’s part of the deal.”

“Fool business.”

He still had a voice. Louise waited. She had him over a barrel.

“No, I’m not talking to you about it,” he said.

“That just makes me all the more determined. There is something going on here.”

“There is,” he said. “And you should just let it be.”

“Well, I’m not going to, Joe.”

“Fool business.” He was spitting the words out. Then he finally decided to let out another few words. “This fool road.”

“The deal?”

“Yeah. You see, the people that want to buy the factory. They say they’ll only do it if they can add on another set of saws and lathes. Too small as it is now. That’ll mean building another room—it’ll about double the place. But they won’t do any of that if there isn’t a road out to the interstate. Big plans, big changes, lots of hiring and jobs, lots of good for Jefferson County. More than anyone has a right to expect. We just need the road. You understand?”

Eliza didn’t understand.

“The road and the zoning,” he said. “That’s the other rub. Can’t do it the way the place is zoned now, so I’ll need that changed. Once we get the road. That’s why it’s important.”

But it was strange. She saw this man’s pain and disappointment, and she wanted to bring him healing and peace.

Yet she felt anger against him, not her own. The Warrior was against him and his road. She was saddened for him, but the great forces could not be turned back.

“Gold River Highway?” Louise said.

“I’d just as soon he didn’t get tangled in it.”

“Now, Joe, we talked about all of that. It was just the fair thing to do. Without Steve on the board, Gold Valley doesn’t have any say about the road.”

Joe fixed his stare on her like he would have melted her. “It would have been for the better.”

And that was that. Louise knew she’d pushed him as far as she could. And that last thing he’d said, somehow it made her . . . well, scared. Just from the way he’d said it.

“I don’t understand,” she said. But then she just turned and marched out the door into the hallway. She didn’t want to be there with him anymore.

She didn’t even say good-bye to Patsy. She just walked out into the sun and the hot day. And she didn’t understand.

All the families filing into the auditorium, and the band on stage playing, and everyone dressed up so nicely, and still seats left but filling up quick.

“Dad,” Kyle said, “over there.”

“Let’s sit by them,” Randy said.

The four of them edged down the row to the empty seats near the end, and there wasn’t anyone else sitting close.

“Good evening, Cornelia,” he said.

“Good evening!” She smiled at him, a real smile, but also forced. “I’m so glad to see you. Sue Ann. And these are . . . Kelly and Kyle?”

“Well, yes, they are.” So now he had to remember. “You’ve got Lauren graduating, and this is Meredith, isn’t it?” They looked so much better than at the funeral.

“Mr. McCoy was on the Board of Supervisors with your dad,” Cornelia said to the beautiful young lady next to her.

They went on a little, as was proper, and Randy did his best to make them all feel welcome, because even though the Harrises had lived in the county for four years, it was mostly Wardsville and Coble and Marker families in the auditorium that Cornelia might not know well. And then they stood with the band playing “Pomp and Circumstance” while the seniors wearing their blue gowns marched in, and listened to Stephanie Balt give her valedictory speech, and to other appropriate comments from the school officials, and then listened to names of each of the hundred forty-three seniors as they walked across the stage. There was even a special extra applause for Lauren Harris, and she waved at her mother and sister.

Then afterward out in the foyer with the lemonade there were quite a few parents who came up to Cornelia to wish her and Lauren well, and Randy stepped out of the way and talked with his own neighbors and friends.

“Randy—you know most of the people in Wardsville. Do you know Jeremy Coates?”

“Well, yes, I sure do, and I’ve known him for years, since he and I graduated together right up on that same stage, and I know his family real well, too.”

“It’s his family that owns the factory?”

“Yes, it is, although he and his father are not on good terms right at the moment. In fact, I understand he’s down in Asheville these days, last I talked to him. Now, where have you come across Jeremy?”

“I talked with him the night before Wade’s accident. He made an appointment for the next evening, before the board meeting. I believe he would have been the last one to see Wade.”

“Jeremy? Of all people. You’ve never talked to him?”

“No. I will sometime, but I’m not ready yet.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“The sheriff asked. He was filling in his forms, that was all. And— you must know Everett Colony, also.”

“Oh yes. And Wade was getting to know him, too.”

“We’ve talked about him. He came out to Wade’s office that Sunday night.”

“Everett Colony?” He didn’t say it, but that must have been some fireworks.

“Wade didn’t get to tell me what they talked about. He wasn’t talkative at all when he came home that night, and then we didn’t have a chance the next day.”

June 20, Tuesday

Steve was staring at the green binder. Charlton Heston on Mount Sinai staring at the stone tablets.

“I haven’t looked through it,” Mrs. Harris said.

He touched the thing. It felt like any other big heavy notebook.

“Well—thanks. I’m sure this’ll help.” Short pause. He’d have to force himself to pick it up.

“Do you have children, Mr. Carter?”

“Three little peanuts. Max was six last week, he’s the oldest.”

“He was in kindergarten?” She was being friendly. It made him feel a lot better.

“Natalie kept him home. It’s such a long way to the school, and we didn’t want to throw him on a bus. She’s been teaching him.”

“It was hard for Meredith and Lauren to adjust. We moved here in the middle of the school year. Meredith was in eleventh grade.”

“Will you go back to Raleigh?”

“Sometime. It’s too hard to think about.”

She looked like a faded Hollywood starlet, old and tired, a washed-out Lauren Bacall.

“If there’s ever anything we can do, we’ll be glad to,” Steve said.

He said good-bye, and then thanks, again, then another whatever we can do, and then he finally got himself to shut up and leave the poor woman alone.

Not fun. He backed out of the Harrises’ driveway.

What would Natalie do if he died? Time to check the life insurance.

The binder was beside him on the car seat. Now he was kind of looking forward to going through it.

No, really, he was. Somebody had to be a geek.

He came to Gold River Highway and turned south, up the mountain. Just for fun.

Half a mile to the end of the road. The barricade was getting kind of rusty after whatever it was, seven or eight years, since the road had been built this far. And just before the Road Closed sign, the old dirt road branched off. He’d driven that thing maybe twice. When did they ever go into Wardsville, anyway, besides him for the meetings?

But he felt like trying it. Trust your feelings. Off road, here we go!

Stupid feelings. After the first quarter mile, he was ready to go back to being rational. This road was wretched. The vertical distance to the top was maybe six-hundred feet, but bouncing up and down out of ruts and holes probably doubled that. And the winding—the horizontal distance was at least tripled.

He’d have turned around if there’d been a place to.

But somehow he got to the top, and stopped.

Wow.

It was a whole new definition for vast. Two huge valleys, Gold River on one side and Fort Ashe River on the other. Still more of Ayawisgi towering above the gap. Fiddler Mountain etched by streams and shrouded in green. The bridge in Wardsville a little Tinkertoy, and the town itself a pile of building blocks. A couple of mottled flat spaces, way off. And mountains everywhere. Everywhere.

Who’d have ever thought the world was flat?

And it seemed like a good place to look through Wade Harris’ papers.

Two and a half years of agendas and minutes and . . . stuff. What a tiny, mundane little world it described. Enough to drive most people off a cliff.

Scratch that. Bad thought.

But Steve himself actually found it all sort of interesting. There was the civil engineering involved. But something else. He’d seen plenty of counties where the board of supervisors was trench warfare. Every vote would be three to two, two to three. Here, it was as close to unanimous as any board with an Eliza Gulotsky on it could be.

It must be Joe. Actual leadership. How rare.

Wait, here was Wade voting no. Parking meters? Oh, right, he remembered that meeting. Everett Colony’s first appearance. Wade had lost his temper.

And here was April, Wade’s last meeting. The night the funding had been announced.

An actual handwritten note. The first one in the whole notebook. Right beside the agenda item about the road. And all it said was, “Charlie. That crook.” Crook underlined three times.

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.