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.

“Were they coming from Raleigh?” Louise said.

“They’d come from Asheville,” Steve said.

He hadn’t said it loud. It was just a reflex—he hadn’t even meant to say anything at all. But suddenly everyone was looking at him.

“It’s the local office. The local regional office.” It was still quiet and they were all still looking at him. “They have an engineering staff there.”

The side door opened and Patsy looked out. All eyes turned to her, to Steve’s relief.

“It’s his truck, but I don’t see him, or Lyle.”

Now Randy was the center. “Well . . . I hope nothing’s wrong.”

But something was wrong. And somehow, it would all be Steve’s fault. He knew it.

The sheriff had been wanting to arrest him since that first meeting.

Someone else was coming in the side door. It was. . . .

“Lyle!” Louise said. “Where is Joe?”

The little county manager looked at the room, one side to the other, his mouth wide open, and he started shaking. Physically shaking.

County manager, rushed to hospital from his last board meeting due to heart attack.

“Joe . . . he’s . . . he’s . . .”

“He’s what?” Randy said.

“He’s . . . he’s down in the basement. In the . . . the records room. With those roads people from Asheville. We’ve been down there all afternoon talking.”

Louise had stood up, like she would have gone racing down there. “Well, go tell him the meeting has started!” She plopped into her chair, quivering a little herself. But not from being nervous.

Lyle ran. Fast. They all heard his footsteps in the hall, and then on the steps, disappearing.

Finally, the slow, heavy tread of a group, and then Joe Esterhouse marched in and two men and a woman, and Lyle scampering last.

Joe took his chair, boiling mad, right beside Steve; and Lyle melted into his seat; and the DOT three sat in a little front row that Patsy had set for them. Their briefcase was now the center of all attention.

Bang!

Everyone in the room was glad he was not Joe Esterhouse’s gavel.

“Come to order. My apologies for the delay. Go ahead, Patsy.”

Steve was petrified.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Here.”

Pause.

“Mr. Carter?”

Another pause. But this one wasn’t ending.

Joe turned and looked right at him.

“Are you waiting for something?”

What . . . ?

“No! Here. I’m here. Sorry.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Here.” Then, that aged, cragged face leaned close to him. “I need to talk to you.”

“. . . any time.”

“Eliza?” Patsy said.

“I am here.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Here.”

“Everyone’s present, Joe,” Patsy said.

“Thank you, Patsy,” Joe said. “Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors is now in session.” Joe was still angry, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. “Motion to accept last month’s minutes?”

“I’ll move that we accept last month’s minutes.”

“I’ll second that.”

Was it some kind of seniority thing? Always Louise then Randy.

“Motion and second,” Joe said. “Any discussion? Go ahead, Patsy.”

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

He was next.

“Mr. C—”

“Yes.”

“—arter? Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Eliza?”

“I vote no.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Yes.”

“Four in favor,” Patsy said. “One opposed.”

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

The last chairs had filled up and there were a few people standing. Wardsville still had a big majority in the room, but most of the people who’d come in late were Gold Valley residents.

And front and center was the star attraction. The trio was wearing Department of Transportation polo shirts to seem friendly. In the middle lap was the closely guarded briefcase.

“Receiving public comment would be next,” Joe said. “I expect most of you are here to see these road plans. I’ll open the floor for comments after we’ve seen them.”

So they wouldn’t get to start with Everett Colony’s primal scream. Steve was remembering that he was supposed to get sworn in, or something, but he wasn’t about to interrupt Joe.

All right. Into the agenda. For these, he was ready.

First up: request for a special use permit for roadside lights.

He’d been through each item and checked the topographic maps and plat outlines and utility easements, and reviewed the zoning ordinance to make sure he had it all right. The roadside lights looked good.

“Mr. Carter?”

“Yes.”

Firm, authoritative. This was what he was here for.

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

“Motion carries. Next item.”

He knew what he was doing. If there were any questions, he was ready. Not that he really expected any questions. There probably had never been any questions, ever. But he was ready.

“Mr. Carter?”

“Yes.”

And then the next item, and the next, and the next. It was easy. This was how it was supposed to be. This was engineering.

“Next item, Fourth of July picnic,” Joe said. “The public is invited to Memorial Park in Wardsville tomorrow at noon for the annual county picnic sponsored by King Food.”

Finally, it was time for the fireworks.

“We will now have a presentation by Mr. Robert Jarvis of the North Carolina Department of Transportation.”

“Thank you, Joe.” Mr. Jarvis had a deep voice Joe pointed his gavel at the audience. “And I will not accept any interruption during the presentation. There will be adequate time afterward for comments.”

Jarvis had opened his briefcase.

“We can ask questions, can’t we, Joe?” Louise said.

“Board members may ask questions or make comments.”

“You can just jump in any time, Louisa,” Jarvis said. First names apparently went with the polo shirt friendliness policy. Although he should have tried to get the first names right.

But Steve was checking out the projector. Cool! He leaned closer to see. The thing popped right out of the briefcase.

And the lady was handing them each a notebook. Louise and Randy and Joe each set theirs on the table without opening them.

Steve got his. Just like Christmas! He started paging through.

The projector was on, pointed at the wall to their left. “Gold River Highway Extension,” in big letters. Patsy was closing blinds.

And Steve was cranking through the pages. Cross sections . . . elevations . . . proposed right-of-way acquisitions.

What a massive project.

He found the design criteria section. Only one page—this was a minimal summary. Real minimal. There was hardly any information. A few design assumptions . . . traffic projections . . . very strange.

“I think we’re ready,” said Mr. Jarvis. “I’m here this evening to present NCDOT’s plan for the completion of Gold River Highway in Jefferson County.”

And present he did.

Maps, pictures, lots of long sentences filled with long words. It did not take Steve long to realize something very strange was happening.

Was Mr. Jarvis really just caught up in the engineering of the whole thing? Somehow he wasn’t saying anything understandable. Randy and Louise looked completely confused. Joe had no expression. Eliza was staring at the notebook in front of her like it was a dirty diaper. Well, like he would stare at a dirty diaper. Like he usually did at two o’clock in the morning.

“Vertical change of altitude standards for limited access roadbeds will require an excavation as shown in this diagram.” The diagram projected on the wall showed a black line and a red line dropping down in a V shape under it. The scale was in meters, with nothing for comparison.

Steve felt words building up inside. He couldn’t let this get past.

“Mr. Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir.” Deep voice. Patronizing. Steve hated to be patronized.

“The North Carolina grade standard for vertical change in a limited access highway is only applicable when the limited access requirement is based on anticipated vehicle speed and traffic count, and I don’t see that either of those is pertinent here. In fact, there’s no assumption basis for a limited access design at all. Or am I missing something?”

Mr. Jarvis didn’t answer right away.

“You don’t have much in the way of design assumptions at all.”

Mr. Jarvis found his voice. “Those would be too technical for a presentation like this.”

“I think not.” Steve was feeling like his cookies were being stolen. “I sure want to see them. How are we supposed to evaluate these plans?”

“The engineering department has done a complete technical evaluation.”

“Then I want to see it. For instance, the cross-section on page thirty-two. A twenty-foot median? What’s up with that? Two-lane roadbeds on each side, median, shoulders—this thing is eighty feet across. The existing section in Gold Valley is thirty-five feet, and Hemlock is what, twenty-four feet? Who did the design work on this project? NASA? It looks more like a runway for the space shuttle.”

“You need to remember that this is a significant opportunity for Jefferson County,” Mr. Jarvis said. “I realize it may seem large . . .”

“Seem? It is! It is large. Look at this cut.” The diagram was still shining on the wall. “Is that really a thirty-five-meter notch? A hundred and ten feet?”

“Compared to the mountain itself, that’s actually fairly small.”

“Fairly small? You name one other cut in North Carolina that’s that big. It’ll be visible for twenty miles, at least, and it’ll change the whole ridgeline. Where are you even going to get enough dynamite to blast it? Or put all the rock you blow out?”

“I’ll be glad to have the engineering staff answer your questions.”

“Good, I’ll expect them to. I want design assumptions, in detail, a geologic core sample analysis to see if that cut is even possible, the whole environmental impact statement, which only has a two-sentence summary in this binder, a much better set of images showing the scale and visual impact of that cut, and I mean with the cut superimposed on them.”

“We’ll certainly work on that. . . .”

“And next, do you have a slide of page forty-one? I think you need to put it up on the wall.”

“I don’t believe that was part of our presentation.”

“You’re kidding.”

“This is meant to be a general overview, we won’t get into details.”

“I think most of the people here came to see that one map.”

“We can make it available after the meeting tonight.”

“No, let’s see it now.” Steve held up his notebook. “You have this document on that computer, don’t you? You can get page forty-one displayed on the projector.”

“I don’t know. . . .”

Steve was out of his chair. “Here. I’ll do it.”

He leaned over the briefcase projector and got his hand on the mouse. A little searching—the hard drive was a mess. Dozens of presentations mixed together. Didn’t they ever put them in subfolders? Finally he had to search—he typed in some text off one of the pages. The document was buried in an e-mail. Open it, find the page, project it.

“There.”

He stood up from the computer to see the map on the wall better. He looked around to see what everyone would think.

They were all looking at him.

Randy had his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and his eyes narrow and his brow wrinkled—Louise was slumped in her chair with her eyes wide open—Eliza’s mouth was tightly closed, like she would start crying—Lyle was about to start screaming—Patsy was just blank—Mr. Jarvis was still startled and bent sideways from where he’d gotten out of Steve’s way at the computer—the rest of the audience members were in every other shade of confusion and bewilderment.

They were all frozen and staring right at him.

And Joe Esterhouse was smiling.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to hijack the meeting.”

“You just go right ahead,” Joe said. Smirking.

“Well—look at the detail map.” Steve pointed up at the wall.

“Maybe you could tell us what it is,” Joe said.

But it was obvious. “It’s Hemlock. This shows the project taking fifteen feet out of every yard on the street.”

“Sue Ann, you have never seen such a ruckus.” It was well after midnight. Randy sipped his iced tea, and he was mercifully glad for the peaceful and quiet living room and that comfortable chair. “I truly thought that Everett was having an attack. He couldn’t say a thing for at least five minutes, and you know how unusual that is for him.”

“It must have been such a shock,” Sue Ann said.

“It was that, let me tell you. Most of the people from Mountain View were having conniptions.”

“Now I don’t know what to think!” Louise said. “There was more shouting and name-calling than I’ve seen in eight years on that board.”

“Glad that road isn’t coming this way,” Byron said.

“I’m not sure it’s going to come any way, after tonight.”

“Mr. Coates is wanting it, I know that.”

“I don’t know why he would,” Louise said. “It couldn’t make as big a difference to him as it would to everyone in Mountain View.”

“But he does want it.”

“I spent the whole afternoon with those state people,” Joe said, “and I couldn’t get a single answer. Just, ‘We know what we’re doing and don’t you worry.’ In five minutes Steve Carter took them apart.”

“Wouldn’t he be on their side?” Rose asked.

“I’d have thought. But I’d say he might have about stopped that road. Those people are going to have a real job of it now.”

“You don’t seem worried about that.”

“I’d say anyone who was against that road would call Steve Carter their biggest friend.”

“Oh, Natalie.” Steve was drowning his sorrow in No Sugar Added SuperKids Apple Juice Made From Concentrate. “I made such a fool of myself.”

“You always say that. Everyone else says what a professional job you did.”

“Everyone on that board must hate me. Or at least think I’m an idiot.”

“Steve—they don’t. They’re glad you understand all those engineering plans. None of them do.”

He had to snicker, a little bit at least. “You should have seen the place blow up when they saw that map of Hemlock. Man. I’m glad no one had any weapons or those DOT guys would never have gotten out alive.”

“They would really have to tear up Hemlock?”

“The road comes over the mountains and hits that one narrow stretch of six blocks in Mountain View, then it widens out again down the hill to downtown Wardsville. Engineering-wise, it’s obvious. The point is, though, why does the whole thing have to be so big scale? It doesn’t make sense.”

“They must think there will be that many cars.”

“I don’t get that, either. The projections in the report look way too high.”

“They think there will be lots more houses?”

“Maybe. But a couple months ago, I got some projections from the office in Asheville. The board asked me to, the month before Wade Harris died. They’re completely different than the ones in the report tonight. If they’d used the projections I had, the road would be a nice wide two-lane with a couple switchbacks and no cut at the top.”

Tonight was a bright moon. There was no need for candles. Eliza sat by the window in the pure, thin light.

How terrible the meeting had been. Those people with their haughty smiles and deceiving words and papers. She had never touched the book offered to her. Patsy would have found it on the table after the meeting.

The Warrior would take retribution on those bringing this assault.

July 4, Tuesday

“I have no idea what to expect,” Steve said. They were turning onto Hemlock from Main Street.

“You’ve said that five times,” Natalie said.

“That means I’m nervous.”

“I know.”

“I figure, I’m new on the board, I should go to the picnic. I didn’t even know the county had a picnic until they invited us last night. What are we supposed to do at a county picnic?”

“Eat?”

“Yeah, I mean what else? Shake hands and kiss babies?”

“You aren’t running for president, Steve.”

“I really have no idea what to expect.”

The Fourth of July picnic was usually one of Randy’s favorite events, with lots of Wardsville neighbors and Humphrey King grilling hamburgers and hot-dogs by the dozen, and congenial conversation and watching the children play at the park, but this year the thought of lots of Wards-ville neighbors didn’t quite go with congenial conversation, especially with the board meeting just the night before still fresh in everyone’s mind. So he settled himself at a table near the grill and sent Sue Ann to get him a plate, and waited for the neighbors to find him.

Well, there were enough people, even if Byron had stayed home. Even Mr. Coates was there.

But Louise wasn’t worried about Mr. Coates. She put her cooler by the drinks. There was food to take care of.

“Randy!” It was Everett. Randy put on a big smile and leaned against the table. And Everett’s brother Richard was with him, and both wives, and they all sat right around Randy’s table. But they didn’t look like they were really enjoying the holiday.

“Look at him,” Steve said, pointing at Randy. Max and Josie were on the swings and Andy was asleep and he and Natalie were actually just sitting. In peace.

“He’s sure popular,” she said. Randy was surrounded by a dozen citizens.

“I’m not sure that’s the right word.”

“Do you know any of these people?”

“Uh—oh, come here. It is time for you to meet Louise.”

The baby was adorable! Louise couldn’t stand it. “Look at him!” And Steve and Natalie, what a nice couple they were. Andy was just sleeping away, dressed so cute, and their other two were precious, and playing so nice on the swings.

Louise was so glad to meet them all! She made sure they got plenty to eat.

“Let me get my breath,” Natalie said when they were sitting again. “How could anybody be so friendly? It would wear me out.”

“She’s like that continually. Except when somebody isn’t playing nice, and then it transforms into righteous fury.”

“I need to come to one of these board meetings. So, are there any fireworks tonight?”

“People go to Asheville. If you want fireworks, look at Randy.” The guy was engulfed. There were now twenty irate people around him.

“At least there are no Gold Valley people here,” Natalie said. “Nobody even knows you.”

But his phone was ringing. “Hi, Steve Carter.” Then he looked at her, and smiled, and listened. “Jim Ross,” he said after the first pause. “He’d like to discuss Gold River Highway with me. He doesn’t think I represented the district’s interests very well last night.”

July 6, Thursday

Gordon Hite looked up from his desk. “I’m kind of busy, Joe.”

“Have you talked with Everett Colony yet?”

Gordon shook his head, like he was tired. “Yes, I did, a couple days ago. We had a long talk. I think you need to just drop this whole idea you’ve got about Mort and Wade Harris.”

“What did Dr. Colony say?”

“He wrote Automobile accident on the death report and that’s what it was, and a person can read the report for himself if he has any questions.”

“And Mort Walker?”

“Heart attack, plain and simple.”

“Is that all he said?”

“We had a long talk, but that’s the main part of it.”

Fool business. Fool sheriff, fool doctor, the whole lot of them.

“What else did you talk about, Gordon?”

“Well—we weren’t just talking about this. Some other things, too, but they’re not part of this at all.”

“Because Everett Colony says so? That’s not good enough.”

“I’m making my own decisions, not what he tells me.”

It was time to make his own decision. “I want to know if you’re going to do your job or not.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Gordon looked as frustrated as Joe felt.

“Go to Asheville and get the State Police.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ll come up here and nose around and make all kinds of trouble and leave me looking a fool. And people’ll be asking why I need help to do my job, and I’m up for election again fall next year.”

And people would have a right to an answer. “There might be people from out of state involved in this,” Joe said. “You’d need the State Police to help with that.”

“Out of state? Of all things, Joe. What do you even think is happening here, anyway? Killings? Out of state people involved?”

“Because it’s a road.”

“I don’t believe it,” Gordon said. “There is nothing happening! Nothing! And you’ll be the one who’s left looking a fool if you bring in outsiders and there’s nothing to find.”

“I’ll go talk to Everett Colony.”

“Well, go right ahead, Joe, and don’t blame me for getting your head bit off.”

That’s what Gordon had got, and that’s all it would take for him.

“Did you search Wade Harris’s car for any bullets?”

“Of course not. In that wreck, there’s no chance you’d ever find something that small. And it’s never crossed my mind at all to look for a bullet, not until you came in a couple weeks ago.”

“Where’s the car now?”

“They towed it off from Gabe’s a month ago. Wasn’t even good for parts. Are you really going to see Everett?”

“I am.”

“Luke?” Louise frowned at the front of the salon. “What are you doing in here? And close the door.”

“I was just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

He looked back and forth. There was no one else in the shop. “Do you give haircuts?”

“I think I can,” Louise said. “You need one anyway.”

“The last girl I had for a secretary at the newspaper used to cut it for me,” Luke said, “but she’s gone.”

“Just sit there.”

She put him in the far back chair so he wouldn’t frighten off any real customers.

“Now, that meeting Monday night was a real whopper,” he said.

Louise was giving the mop a critical look. “Everybody should just calm down.”

“Careful about those ears!”

“Well, you never use them.”

“Of course I do,” Luke said.

“From what you write, I don’t think you do.”

Luke was moving his head too much, and Louise finally put her hand down on the top and pushed, to hold it still.

“Speaking of listening,” he said. “What do you think about this road?”

“That I don’t want to ever hear about it again.”

“I think you will. I don’t think it’s very popular.”

“In some neighborhoods it isn’t. In some it is.”

“Gold Valley, sure, but they’ve got along forever without it. Have you thought about what it would do to your shop here?”

“What would it do?” Louise said. “New customers, if anything.”

“Roads go both ways, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some old customers might go the other way.”

“There’s nothing in Gold Valley.”

“Not now, but there’s no road to it, either.”

“McCoy? This is where you work?”

Randy jerked his head up, part because he recognized the voice and part because he didn’t believe his ears.

“Mr. Coates? Well, come on in. Come right in! Have a seat.”

Roland Coates stared around first, as if he still didn’t believe he had the correct place, and then as if he didn’t trust the chair Randy was offering him.

“You can’t afford any better than this?”

Randy thought about Roland’s own threadbare office. “I don’t like to waste money, to tell the truth, and this old desk has stood the test of time.”

That was an answer Roland would appreciate, even if it wasn’t exactly accurate, as Randy wouldn’t mind at all a fancy new office set.

“For all the money I send you, I’d have expected something frivolous. Anyway, I’m not here for that. I want my zoning changed.”

“Your zoning . . . you mean, for the furniture factory?”

“Of course that’s what I mean.”

“Now, that land’s zoned special for the factory just the way it is.”

“I don’t want it for the way the factory is. I want it so I can do anything I want.”

A vision of a shopping center appeared before Randy’s eyes.

“What do you have in mind?”

But Roland’s mouth clapped shut and then only opened enough to say, “Just anything.”

“You’d have to give us some idea.”

“I won’t. Now, what do I have to do to fix the zoning?”

“Well, you’d fill out the forms for the Planning Commission, and they’d look it all over and vote on a recommendation to the supervisors, and then we’d vote.”

“You’re on the Planning Commission, aren’t you?”

“I am. But we’ll need to know what you want to do.”

“Just give me the forms.”

“Patsy has them down at the courthouse.”

Roland remained planted in the doorway. “What about the road? Would it make a difference if it gets built?”

“The road? Well, it might, and I’m almost afraid to say anything for fear of it coming back around at me. But my guess is that if the road does get built, and the factory has a big highway out to the interstate, then the zoning would be a completely different kettle of fish. And without the road, the chances of a zoning change would be a kettle with no fish.”

“Mr. Esterhouse? Dr. Colony can see you, back in his office.”

Thirty-minute wait. “Thank you.”

Joe followed the woman down the hall, and Everett Colony was sitting at his desk.

“Sit down,” Everett said. “You have a question?”

“I do.” Joe sat in a padded chair. “About Wade Harris.”

“That’s what I thought.” At least the man wasn’t having a fit yet. “He died of massive trauma due to an automobile accident.”

“Could he have been shot first?”

Colony set his jaw, like he’d bite through a fence post. “Sure he could have. He might have been poisoned, too, and clubbed on the head and stabbed. I’m not going to look for all those things when he’s in a car that’s wrapped around a tree.”

“What if you’d known someone had been wanting him dead?”

“I’d have expected Gordon Hite to tell me.”

“I’ll tell you a few things, then.”

“What Roger Gallaudet’s told you? That’s the real problem. It’s what he’s telling everyone. It amounts to slander.”

“I went to Roger first, and not the other way.”

“I know what he’s been saying. He’s wrong.”

“I don’t think he’s been talking to people like you claim he has anyway.”

“When people start asking questions about Wade Harris being shot, I’ll have to assume Roger’s been pushing them. Not that Harris didn’t have it coming, the way he made enemies around here.

“Last February, Roger Gallaudet came to my house to talk about the new road. He wants it and tried his hardest to convince me to side with him.”

“He was arguing for it?”

“More than arguing. Roger threatened me.”

“How?”

“It wasn’t outright.” Dr. Colony pointed his finger. “But I could tell. He said if I fought that road, there’d be people fighting me. And after he left, I realized it was a threat.”

“What was he threatening?”

“I didn’t know then, but I took measures to protect myself. And now I’ve found out what he meant. He’s slandering me and trying to ruin my reputation. He’s telling people I covered up a murder.”

“It might be a murder anyway.”

Colony frowned. Then he was real angry. “What are you saying, Ester-house? You’re accusing me of killing those two, and over this road?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“That will be worth a lawsuit.”

“Don’t waste your time, Dr. Colony. I’d tell you straight out if I really thought it. But if they had been killed, it was your job to realize it when you looked at them. Now, did you give either of them the time you should have?”

“It’s just a road! No one’s going to kill a man over a road.”

“You’ve been making threats yourself.”

“Not to kill anyone! I’ll get a lawyer! This is going too far.”

“Do what you have to,” Joe said, “but I want an answer.”

Colony took his time. “All right. I understand. But you still haven’t given me any reason why someone would want to kill either Wade Harris or Mort Walker. Besides Gold River Highway.”

“That’s enough of a reason.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is. With this road, it is. There’s people behind it and money enough involved. I’ll ask you again. Could Mort Walker have been killed by the blow to his head? Could Wade Harris have been killed by a gun?”

He was still thinking his answers through.

“If I say yes, what are you going to do?”

“Bring in the State Police.”

“Then I’ll say no.” He said it right away. “They couldn’t either have been killed any other way than I said in the first place. That’s final.”

“Then I’ll bring in the State Police anyway, and their own doctors.”

That made the man think even more than he had before.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Why not?” Joe asked.

“There’s more to it than you know,” Colony said. “And I won’t say what. I’ll tell you this: nothing happened to Wade Harris and nothing happened to Mort Walker. But if you bring in the State Police, they’ll think they have to find something, and they’ll look until they do.”

“You’re saying there’s something they’d find?”

“Yes. It’s nothing to do with Wade Harris, but they’ll think it is.”

Fool business. “I’m not much satisfied with that, Dr. Colony. You’re hiding something.”

“I don’t care whether you’re satisfied or not. You’d do better to just stay out of it. If you don’t, you’ll wish you had. I’m warning you.”

Wicked, evil business. “I’ll consider that,” Joe said.

“Consider it, Esterhouse. Then don’t make the wrong decision. And don’t listen to Roger Gallaudet.”

Time for a little telephone call to Asheville.

“Department of Transportation, Mike Fletcher.”

“Mikey! It’s Steve Carter.”

“No one else calls me Mikey.”

“Somebody needs to. I got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Remember back in April? You gave me some traffic estimates for the proposed Gold River Highway.”

“I remember.”

“Good. So, I finally saw the plans, and they’re out of whack. NCDOT wants to build an interstate over our mountain.”

“That doesn’t sound right. It was only a couple thousand cars a day.”

“Right. But the twenty-year estimates they used were fifteen thousand.”

“There aren’t that many cars in Jefferson County.”

“So—what kind of funny business is somebody up to?” Steve asked.

“Well, the usual kind, I guess. I’ll try to find out.”

“Sit down, Joe. You look beat.”

“Thank you, Roger.” The funeral home had nice soft chairs, and anymore Joe was appreciating an occasional rest.

“How’s Rose?”

“Well as I am.”

“That doesn’t tell me a thing.”

“I suppose.” He was tired, now that he’d sat. “I’m here to have a talk, and after Gordon Hite and Everett Colony, it’s a relief to not be contending and adverse.”

Roger laughed at that. “I can’t promise I won’t be.”

“Don’t think you’ll match those two. And I suppose you know what we’ve been talking about.”

“I suppose!” Roger looked as tired as Joe felt. “It’s enough to make me retire. Maybe I’d open a restaurant. Tell me what they said, Joe, if you want, but you know I don’t really want to hear it.”

“You don’t need to, except a couple things. Gordon says you’ve talked about Wade Harris to Roland Coates and Randy McCoy and Steve Carter.”

“He said what? I know Roland and Randy, but who’s the other one?”

“Steve took Wade’s place on the Board of Supervisors.”

“I’ve never met him, much less talked to any of them about anything.”

“That’s what I thought. But they’ve all been asking Gordon questions about Wade, so he’s blaming you for stirring them up.”

“I’ve only talked to you, Joe, and to Gordon himself. What questions were they asking?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to find out.” Too much to think about. “Roger. You’ve said that you and Everett Colony have tangled before. Now Gordon’s told him you’re spreading rumors about him.”

“Sounds like they’re the ones spreading rumors about me.”

“Any other reason Everett Colony would be set against you?”

“I don’t know, Joe. Can’t think of anything else.”

“Any other reason you’d be set against him?”

Roger thought about that question. “What do you mean?”

“He’s against Gold River Highway. You tried to change his mind.”

“That was months ago.” Roger was showing his own temper. “I talked with him as a neighbor just to be cooperative, but it turned out we didn’t see eye to eye. Grace said I should.”

“How do you feel about the road?”

“I don’t know.” The man was frustrated, too. “I suppose I’m for it, but it’s more a nuisance than anything else.” Then he shook his head. “And it’s not any reason for me to say that I’m worried about what happened to Wade Harris. I’m saying that on my own, and I’m saying again I don’t know anything for certain anyway. Talking to Everett Colony was my mistake, and I should have known not to bother.”

July 10, Monday

“Stevie. It’s Mike Fletcher.”

“No one else calls me Stevie.”

“Somebody needs to. You asked about traffic estimates?”

“I did.”

“When I did those for you, I just used standard linear assumptions. We guess what the development will be based on the population, and then we guess what the population will be based on the development. Basic circular reasoning. You know.”

“Right.”

“Well, your highway has something bigger planned.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. This is one of those special jobs where we use confidential plans from a developer. Only the team engineering that highway has access to the information, and I’m not on that team. You’d have to talk to Bob Jarvis.”

“I don’t want to. I’ve met him. So there is something, you just can’t tell me what.”

“That’s it. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Don’t worry, there are people here that might do that anyway.”

“But here’s a clue. When I was talking to Jarvis, I just said a friend of mine had called to ask. Apparently, someone’s been bugging him, and he wondered if it was the same person. He asked me if it was some lady with the Warrior Land Trust.”

“Never heard of it. Was there a name?”

“Yeah. It was the owner of the trust. Um—some weird last name. Started with Gul- or Gel-something.”

“I have no idea who that might be,” Steve said. “Uh—well, the one lady I can think of doesn’t even own a telephone.”

“Then that’s all I know.”

“Well, then thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” Mike said.

“Randy McCoy, can I help you?”

“This is Joe Esterhouse.”

Randy had to swallow down his surprise at that, because he hadn’t got more than two telephone calls from Joe in his whole life, and maybe not that many, and surely it wasn’t just his imagination right now.

“What can I do for you, Joe?”

“I heard you talked to Gordon Hite. About bullets.”

It must be his imagination, because it was impossible that Joe could have heard about that.

“Well, I did, I guess, but it wasn’t anything particular or serious.”

“What did you ask him?”

“I’d found a bullet and I just happened to be going by the sheriff’s office, and I stopped in to ask if he knew where it might have come from.” And if that wasn’t about the silliest answer he’d ever given, he didn’t know what was.

“You found a bullet and you asked him where it came from.”

“Now, Joe, there’s more to it, but that’s all I said to Gordon.”

“Where’d you find the bullet?”

He didn’t have much chance of putting off Joe when Joe wasn’t wanting to be put off, and Joe Esterhouse usually had a reason for asking a question, and there wasn’t really any reason not to tell him anything anyway. And Joe calling Randy on the telephone was almost as much a show of respect as Randy driving down to Marker for breakfast to meet Joe.

“Well, I found it in my car. Now, this has been months ago.”

“Just laying there?”

“No, down in the seat. Inside the seat, where I dug it out.”

“Did somebody shoot at your car?”

“I can’t believe they would, Joe, and that’s the truth. It wouldn’t make sense. And I’d be all the more sure they hadn’t except that the windshield got broken to pieces around the same time, and I thought it was just a rock because it happened just as one of Roland Coates’ furniture trucks went by, and I’m still sure that’s what it must have been, but I decided to just see what Gordon might say, even though it ended up not being much.”

“Did you tell him it was in your car?”

“No, I didn’t, just that I’d found it, as I didn’t really want him to be jumping to any conclusions.”

That got a pause out of the telephone.

“What conclusion did you think he might jump to, Randy?”

“I don’t know.” Why did Joe always have to cut through everything to the bone? “I don’t know. Oh, Joe, it was right there, at the same time as Wade’s accident, and I just wasn’t thinking straight. Because if someone shot at my car, they could have done the same to Wade, and I know that’s just too ridiculous and terrible to be the least bit true, but I just wasn’t thinking straight to even have the thought in my head.”

“So it was all just your own ideas?”

“Well, sure, and not for more then a few days at that. Why are you asking all this, Joe?”

“Because there’s no trouble like there is with a road.”

“You say that a lot, Joe, and I wonder what you mean by it.”

Joe’s voice out of the telephone was dry as an August creek bed. “Roads mean change, like nothing else. Building the interstate, building the first part of Gold River Highway, even the new bridge in Wardsville. They were all fights.”

“Before my time, I suppose,” Randy said. “But it’s true that I’ve never seen trouble like with this road.”

July 19, Wednesday

“You know, it’s nice out here. Peaceful.” Roland Coates rocked back and forth like a machine, and Eliza just listened. “Good to get away once in a while. Not that the business doesn’t need constant watching. But I’m getting old.”

“Not old at all,” Eliza said. “But sometimes in need of rest.”

“I am that. I could use a lot more than I get, but somebody has to keep things running. Anyway, that’s why I’m out here. I need the board to fix my zoning.”

Another of those words! Zoning! What things people worried about.

“What is broken?”

“Broken? Oh . . . well, the zoning. If anybody’s going to build on to the factory, the county needs to change the zoning. I don’t know what it all means.”

Perhaps no one did! “I don’t either!”

“At least we agree on that. You see, I’m worrying that the road might not happen. So I’m going to try for the zoning anyway. Maybe that’ll do it, and I can get that factory sold without the road.”

“You wouldn’t need the road?” This thought seemed to step out from the forest of his words.

“I don’t know how likely I am to get it. Everett Colony and his crew are squeaking louder than all the other wheels put together.”

“Squeaking?”

“But there’s more. Eliza, I can talk to you. Now, this is just between you and me, you know. You wouldn’t go telling anybody else any of this.”

“I don’t think I could!”

“Good. It’s Jeremy. I don’t know what he’s up to, but it’s no good. He’s going to break this deal one way or the other, if he can. Shooting out car windows! As if that would change a person’s mind. More like to get the boy sent to jail. I had him tell that fool of a sheriff what he’d done, and he said he’d let it by. But he’ll do more, I know it.”

“What will he do?”

“We’ll find out. I’ve got my suspicions. But it all comes down to the board. When you vote on the zoning, there’s nothing he can do about it. And more than anything, when you vote on that road. That’s the only thing that counts anyway.”

July 20, Thursday

“Over here.”

Now, where was that voice coming from? Steve was around somewhere. Randy could hear him. There was Grace Gallaudet across the street by the funeral home . . . Ed Fiddler just coming out of the bank . . .

“Randy! Over here!”

There he was. Way out on the middle of the bridge. Randy waved and jogged across Main Street and over onto the bridge, where Steve was waiting for him.

“There you are,” Randy said. “I was starting to wonder where you’d gotten to.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I was looking at the flood plain.”

“I guess we can see it all from here.”

Randy looked at it. Along here, with the far side of the river being that sharp bank, the flood plain was basically downtown Wardsville. The first row of buildings backed against the river, then Main Street, and then the second row of buildings across from the first, with the courthouse right facing the bridge and the Episcopal Church next to it, and the drugstore on its other side, and more stretching out either way from there. King Food down at the end, and the stoplight for Hemlock, and Gabe’s garage down at the other end. Then Ashe Street parallel to Main Street and its buildings, with Randy’s own office in there. Then all the houses of River View scratched into the hillside where the land started rising up, and Mountain View up and out of sight.

“What was the flood like, back in ’77?” Steve asked.

“It was a mess, let me tell you. We lost the bridge, and I guess to kind of make it up to us, the river left a foot or two of mud everywhere.”

“What did people do without the bridge?”

“We went down to the bridge at Coble. It seemed like forever getting this new bridge built, but I think it was just about eight months.”

“That was fast.”

“Even for back then, it was fast. Looking back, I think Joe Esterhouse must have had something to do with it. But Steve, this bridge doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere. That old one was a pretty rickety affair and it was no surprise it washed out. I don’t think we need be worrying about it now.”

“Okay.” Steve was looking down at the Fort Ashe River. “I’ve been through the engineering drawings. I agree with you, it would be one massive flood to take this bridge out. But it’s still the only way into town, except Coble Highway and Ayawisgi Road. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“It would,” Randy said. “It would, maybe, but I’ve lived here my whole life, and except for that one time, it just hasn’t been a problem, and it might be years and years before anything like that happens again. And if there was a big road up to Gold Valley, now, what is that going to do? It won’t go anywhere. It’d be twenty miles out of the way for anyone to get into or out of Wardsville.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I’m getting real familiar with that twenty miles.”

“So I’d just say we won’t worry about the bridge washing out. Then we wouldn’t have to bring up Gold River Highway at all.”

“Come on, Randy,” Steve said. “If it wasn’t for all the business about Mountain View and Hemlock, wouldn’t you say the road was important for the county?”

“You can’t break it apart like that. That’s why the Board of Supervisors has the last word, so they can look at everything, not just maps and plans. And that brings up a point about the Planning Commission.”

“What?”

“Well, the rule is that there’s supposed to be one member of the Board of Supervisors who’s also on the Planning Commission, to help them work together. But the other four planning commissioners are supposed to be independent.”

“Right,” Steve said. “I remember how that was commented on. So one of us has to quit one of our boards.”

“And I’d like to suggest that you stay on the commission, and I’d step down.”

“Uh—sure. Is that what you want? I remember you weren’t real keen on me being on the commission.”

“Well . . . I think we’ve all seen that you know the business a lot better than the rest of us.”

“Whatever. That’s fine.”

“And while we’re talking about that, let me tell you about one zoning request that’s just come up, and that’s from Roland Coates.”

“I’ve heard of him . . .”

“He wants to get his zoning changed on his factory.”

“That’s a special-use permit for light industrial.”

“I think that’s what it is. But he’s filling in forms now to hand in for the next commission meeting.”

“What zoning does he want?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t expect that he does, either.”

“Uh . . . so what are we supposed to do?”

“That’ll be up to you.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll look at his forms.”

“They might not tell you much.”

“I’ll go see him. Um—I might have a guess. I heard about a grocery store.”

“Oh no!” That was completely unexpected, as Steve wasn’t likely to be hearing rumors from the likes of Luke Goddard. “Where has that idea come from? Because I’ve heard it, too.”

“A developer called me. But he wanted to kill it. Don’t ask me, Randy. I don’t have a clue what he was talking about. But I have another question. When I was reading about the 1977 flood, it mentioned the mayor a lot. What happened to Wardsville’s mayor?”

“You might say the whole town was canceled due to lack of interest. It was, let’s see, about 1983 when the people in town decided there wasn’t any point in paying taxes for two governments, town and county, so they just sent their charter back to Raleigh and dissolved the municipal council and mayor.”

“And the county just took over.”

“That’s right. And that was about the time the town started fading, you might say, and there were the first empty windows on Main Street, and they stopped putting up any new houses in Mountain View, and since then we’ve been holding on at best, or maybe slipping a little.”

Good leaves. Heavy, thick, good smell to them. Joe got down on his hands and knees to look under them, to look for worms, for beetles, anything. Not a one.

He stood up. Not as easy to stand up as it was even last year.

He got back down so he could stand up again.

Walk back to the house. Rose was in the garden weeding, on her own knees.

“I’ll do some of that,” he said, and he knelt next to her, over a row, in the beans and tomatoes. She’d planted those two together since he’d known her, a stake of one, then of the other, back and forth. They’d always been beside each other.

“Thank you, Joe,” she said. Then they were quiet. They worked down the row together, side by side. Pulling the weeds, pinching off the weak branches, straightening the stakes.

They came to the end of the row. Once again Joe stood up. He took Rose’s hand and lifted, to bring her up beside him.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“We could do a walk,” he said.

“We could.”

He took her hand again. Her step was stiff at first and he went slow, but when they’d passed the chicken coop and come to the lane, she had her usual stride, and he did, too.

He kept her hand and walked the dirt of the road together, past the field and down. Past the line of trees at the creek and up beyond it, past the pasture. The neighbors had their cows in it. Joe had sold his own cattle when it had got to where he wasn’t strong enough to handle them. That had been four years ago.

Then they were to where the creek bent around again and the pond was, where they’d skate in the winter if there was enough ice. He’d done it as a boy, and the children had, and the grandchildren.

Woods on the other side of the lane. They stopped and he let go of Rose’s hand, and she pulled a few of the weeds from around an old thorny bush, one of a line along the roadside. There’d been her grandmother’s house where the trees were now, and a yard and garden along the roses. It was where he’d known her as a girl. Just the bushes now and they didn’t bloom.

There was that telephone ringing. Louise had just that moment put the last plates back up in the cupboard, and she hadn’t even had a chance to breathe and there was the telephone.

“Byron? Could you get that?” It was right beside his elbow.

“It’ll be for you.”

It always was. She got her apron off and ran across the hall.

“Hello?”

There wasn’t anybody there, just some scratchy sounds. “Hello?” she said again.

“Hello?” It was man, talking loud. “Anybody there?”

“This is Louise. Who are you?”

“Louise Brown?”

“Yes. This is Louise.”

“Good.” There was a loud clank and then the voice sounded a little bit better. “Getting off that speaker phone. The Louise Brown on the Board of Supervisors?”

“Yes!” It was starting to get just too silly.

“Good. Finally. That last one wasn’t. Can’t tell a thing from those addresses. I’m Charlie Ryder. I want to talk to you.”

Louise had finally settled down in her chair. It was silly, but it was a little bit fun, too. “Well, then talk, Mr. Ryder.” Who in the world was Charlie Ryder?

“It’s about this road. Gold River Highway. Now, look, I want to know what it’s going to take to get you to vote for it.”

Charlie Ryder. She just couldn’t remember knowing a single Charlie. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t know you. You are supposed to vote on the road, right?”

“Of course I am.”

“Good. That’s why I’m calling. I want to get that road built, so I’m calling to see what it’s going to take.”

“Well, it’s going to take us voting for it,” she said. She couldn’t help but giggle.

“Great. Great. That’s what I wanted to hear. We’re communicating. Now, we’re two against two, and you’re in the middle. You get my point?”

“I think so.”

“So that’s why I’m calling, to see what it’ll take.”

“What it will take?” What in the world was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“What it would be worth to you. There’s a lot involved here, and I can be generous.”

“That’s very nice, Mr. Ryder, but I still don’t really understand.”

“Okay, I see. You don’t know me, and you’re being cautious. That’s good. You’re smarter than some people I deal with. Just think about it and I’ll get back to you. Now, here’s another thing. About some new grocery store. Do you all have to approve that, too?”

“What?” Louise was enjoying herself, but she was starting to get dizzy. It was like talking to Eliza. “What new grocery store?”

“A guy told me they were going to tear down some factory. Somebody was buying an old factory in Wardsville and they were going to use the land for a shopping center.”

“Who told you that?”

Pause. “A guy who used to work for me.”

“Mr. Ryder, that couldn’t be right. In Wardsville?”

“Yeah. Where the road was coming in.”

“I think you’re mixed up,” she said. “There’s only one factory in town, and that’s the furniture factory.”

Byron looked up from his television program.

“Right, that’s it,” Charlie Ryder said.

“No! I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t want it, believe me. You’ve got to make sure that thing doesn’t get approved.”

“That won’t ever happen.”

“Good, good, we’re communicating on that, too. That can be part of the deal, and like I said, I can afford to be generous.”

Louise was not enjoying the conversation anymore. At all.

“Mr. Ryder, I’m starting to wish you had never called.”

“Then I never did. I like working with you, Louise. And that’s just right, I never called. And I’ll be in touch.”

The telephone went dead, and Louise wasn’t feeling much better herself.

“What’s all that about the furniture factory?”

“I don’t know, Byron,” she said. “I have to think. That man must have thought he was talking to someone else.”

And then the telephone rang again.

“Hello? This is Louise.”

“Hi—this is Steve Carter.”

“Oh good! That’s so much better! How are you, dear?”

“Oh, um, fine. Do you have a minute for a question?”

“Go right ahead, Steve. I’m just sitting here answering the phone.”

“Okay. Um, it’s about the factory in town? The furniture factory?”

For goodness’ sakes. “Not you, too?” she said.

“Me, too?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. This isn’t really official, but maybe you can help me figure this out. I’ve got these forms that Mr. Coates has just submitted to the Planning Commission. He wants to rezone his land.”

Louise put her hand up to her cheek. Goodness, goodness, goodness!

It was true! Byron was back to watching the television.

“It’s Steve Carter,” she said to him, “and he’s asking about the factory.” She talked into the telephone. “Does it say what he wants to do?”

“That’s the thing. He hardly filled anything in. It just says to zone it for general use.”

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. There isn’t any general use category. I’ll go talk to him. But do you have any clue, Louise?”

“Oh, Steve. I think I do, and I hate the thought!” She was watching Byron, and he had his eyes right on her. “I just talked to a man who said they want to tear down the factory and build a shopping center.”

“A shopping center!” Steve said. “I still can’t believe it.”

“You’ve heard that, too? Mr. Coates said he was selling the factory, but we all thought that meant someone else would be running it.”

Byron was just staring at her.

“Maybe the new owners just want the land,” Steve said.

“It’s terrible, Steve! We can’t let that happen.”

“Well, I really don’t know anything. Let’s just wait, Louise, and I’ll talk to Roland Coates.”

“You won’t be the only one!”

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! Goodness, goodness! Oh dear!

“What’s this?” Byron said as soon as she had the telephone put down.

“I don’t know!” She was almost crying. “Would they do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just tear it down?”

“Tear down the factory?” Byron’s mouth was hanging open. “What? Why?”

“To build a shopping center with a grocery store!”

“That’s crazy!”

“Oh, Byron! Would Mr. Coates do such a thing?”

“Maybe it’s the people buying the factory.”

“But he’s the one who wants the zoning changed.”

“Let me talk to the man,” Byron said. “Don’t go and have a fit, Louise.”

“I will if I want to.”

“Then do it in the kitchen so I can think.”

And then the silly telephone rang again!

“This is Louise.” She was almost crying.

There was a little pause and a click or two.

“Hello?” said a voice, and it sounded far away.

“Hello. This is Louise!” Now she might get mad. Everyone calling her was saying terrible things.

“Grandma? It’s Matt.” She could hardly think what that meant. “Are you okay?”

“Matt? Matt!” Matt! It was Matt! “It’s Matt, Byron. Go get on the other telephone, quick. It’s Matt!”

“Grandma?”

“Yes, dear. Oh, where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” he said, but he sounded worried. “Everything’s okay. Are you okay, Grandma?”

“Oh, Matt, I’m just fine. It’s so wonderful to hear you! Where are you?”

“At the base. In Baghdad. Mom said I should call you to say hi. I’ll be home the last week of August, and I’ll be right up to see you.”

It was dark when they ate. That didn’t happen often in the summer. He and Rose both were early to bed most nights. But their walk had brought them back late.

The phone rang, loud and harsh.

“Joe Esterhouse.”

“Joe. Marty Brannin here. Just checking on you.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Marty.”

“It’s been a few weeks since we talked. I was sort of expecting to see something happen pretty quick. Have you talked to the State Police?”

“Not yet.”

“But what about the road?”

“It’s not looking real likely that the board will vote it in.”

“What do you mean? Does that make a difference?”

“If somebody’s trying to stop the road, they might have done it. So there might not be a reason for them to do anything else.”

Long pause. “So you aren’t pushing it because you don’t think anyone’s in danger?”

“Something like that.”

“Joe! What about two murders?”

“I know, Marty.”

“We have to do something.”

“I know.”

Another pause. “I can call the State Police.”

“I can, too. But I’m not sure that’s the best thing just now.”

“There might be a murderer on the loose. Now. In Jefferson County. And whatever you think, he could kill someone else any day.”

“He might. I don’t know as much as I thought I did, Marty. Bringing the police in from outside might even be worse.”

“Okay. Who on the board is the next most likely to vote for the road?”

“Hard to tell. I’m not sure there are many votes for the road.”

“The new person, from Gold Valley?”

“He’s doing more to shoot it down than anyone.”

“Louise Brown?”

“She didn’t seem too pleased by it, either. I think what I need is to know more.”

“I’ll keep trying. The police could do a lot better job.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think I should just let you run your own show on this.”

“You do what you think is best, Marty.”

“Did you drive my daddy crazy like this?”

“Maybe once in a while.”

Pause. “Then keep in touch.”

“I will. Thank you for calling.”

Joe put the phone down and looked up at Rose.

“Thank you for our walk this evening,” she said.

“We should do that more often,” he said.

July 21, Friday

So this was the infamous furniture factory. Steve sat in his car for a minute in the lot, checking it out. An actual brick factory. Hadn’t they heard of corrugated steel?

Twelve acres, according to the plat maps. But only seven flat acres, and the rest was going up the mountainside. Not real promising for retail development, but it would be okay for a small strip center.

He looked back at Hemlock through Mountain View. It was too easy for him to picture what the road would look like through those houses and yards, or what would be left of them. Ouch.

Then the other way, up the mountain. Four lanes, divided, slicing though that mountain like a Barbie through warm Play-Doh—a picture fresh in his mind from breakfast that very morning.

It was crazy.

So could a retail development right here generate fifteen thousand cars a day? No way. Not big enough, and not enough customers anyway.

Oh well. Time to meet Mr. Roland Coates. Into the building.

And into the nineteenth century. The industrial revolution, phase one, brought to life!

“May I help you?”

“Steve Carter. I’m here to see Roland Coates.”

“Just a minute.”

At least she looked modern. Wood floors. Plaster walls. The building itself was museum quality.

“Come in!”

Thick, squat nasal voice, and person to match.

“Hello, Mr. Coates. It’s good to meet you.”

“Where’s Randy McCoy?”

Huh? “Um, I don’t know . . .”

“Why isn’t Randy McCoy here? They told me someone from the Planning Commission would be here.”

“I’m on the Planning Commission.”

“I thought Randy McCoy was.”

“Actually, he isn’t, now . . .”

“He said he was.”

“He just stepped down a couple days ago.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Coates’ eyes narrowed—Edward G. Robinson. You dirty rat . . .

“He had to. There were two of us on the board and the commission . . . it’s complicated.”

“Complicated? Sounds pretty simple to me. That man will do anything to squeeze out of making a decision.”

Roland might just have a point there. “Anyway,” Steve said, “maybe you could tell me about what you’re trying to do here?”

“I want this zoning changed.”

“Right. You want it general use, but there isn’t a category with that name. Maybe if you could tell me what you want to do.”

“I won’t tell you.”

Steve thought about that. They hadn’t covered this kind of thing in any of his engineering classes.

“Um, that makes it kind of hard. Can you tell me just generally whether it’s commercial or industrial or residential?”

“Doesn’t industrial mean the same as commercial?”

“Commercial is, um, stores and stuff. Retail, like a grocery store or shopping center, or maybe offices.”

Mr. Coates growled. “Who says it’s going to be a grocery store?”

“I meant that as an example. You see, Mr. Coates, the road and the neighboring areas aren’t really compatible with lots of traffic.”

“What if the new road gets built?”

“Gold River Highway. That would change a lot.”

“But we won’t know till December. Well, I don’t want to wait. And I don’t want to count on it.”

“You’ll probably have to.”

Mr. Coates did not choose to hear that. “This is what I want. You fill those forms in however they need to be for me to do whatever I want here. It’s the supervisors that vote on it, isn’t it?”

“The more specific it is, the more chance they’d vote yes.”

“Well, I’ll get them to vote for it anyway. It’s not about roads and traffic and being compatible and all that talk. I know how it works now. It’s about getting three votes out of five.”

“Mr. Coates, let me ask you one thing. I had a call from somebody a month ago, from Raleigh, about a shopping center where the factory is now. Is that what this is about?”

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

“Okay. Okay, Mr. Coates, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Did you talk to him?” Louise felt like a moth fluttering around a candle.

“I talked to him. Let me get in the door.” Byron wasn’t much of a flame. She let him get to his chair, and she was right behind him.

“Did you go up to the office?”

“That’s where he was, so that’s where I went. He’d been with some young man all morning, so it was almost lunch before I got up there. And he said, ‘Come on in, Byron.’ So I came in, and I said, ‘I have a question, Mr. Coates, if you don’t mind.’ And he said, ‘Go ahead.’ And I said, ‘I’ve been hearing a rumor, and I hope it’s not true.’ ”

“That’s right,” Louise said. “It is only a rumor.”

“So he said, ‘What is it, Byron?’ So I told him.”

“You told him about tearing down the factory?”

“More or less. I said, ‘We all know you’re selling the factory here, and I guess you’ll let us know when it happens. But there’ve been a couple people calling Louise because she’s on the Board of Supervisors, and they’re asking about some kind of shopping stores to get built here.’ ”

“What did he say?”

“He looked at me like he might have blown his top. But then he said,

‘Sit down, Byron. Let’s talk.’ ”

“Oh my! Is it really going to happen?”

“Now, let me tell you just the way he said it. Because he started out saying, ‘I’ll tell you but I can’t let people be knowing this. Not anybody. Understand?’ And I said, ‘What about Louise?’ And he thought, and then he said, ‘Byron, I want you to tell Louise. But nobody else.’ So I said, ‘We won’t say a word, either of us.’ Then this is what he said. ‘The people buying the factory want to expand it. The only way they’ll buy it is if they can add on another row of saws. And they want a road out to the interstate. A real road. They wouldn’t even talk to me until last February when I told them we’d be getting one.’ ”

Byron started talking quieter. “Then he got real serious. ‘But this is important,’ he said. ‘They say if the word gets out, the deal is off. They don’t want it getting out! So don’t tell anybody.’ Then he looked at me, and he said, real firm, ‘But you make sure your Louise knows all that.’ So I’m telling you everything he said.”

“And not anything about grocery stores?”

“No.”

“Byron, do you see what this means? More people working at the factory.”

“I see it plain. Lots of changes, but maybe for the good. Just don’t let it get out. I’m telling you because Mr. Coates said to.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Women never could keep a secret.”

“Well, I will.” Finally, some good news. After all these years, she was sure they could trust Roland Coates. As long as he wasn’t being lied to by whoever was buying his factory.

Oh dear. That was a terrible thought, but anymore she was starting to not trust people like she should.

July 24, Monday

Oh, weeds! They didn’t mean to offend, but they did! And in her garden, Eliza would not allow them.

She was on her knees, uprooting each bold, shameless stem. Anywhere else on the mountain they would be welcome to any spot or soil they could find, but not here!

Being intent, she was startled when a car tumbled out of the forest into her clearing. And she was not in a peaceful mind.

The man who stepped into the tall grass was familiar from the council meetings. She stood to see him.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Afternoon. Luke Goddard, Wardsville Guardian.”

“Welcome, Mr. Goddard.” He didn’t seem like a guardian.

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions, Ms. Gulotsky.”

“Please. Just call me Eliza.”

“Sure, glad to. Can we sit down?”

The first question was simple! “Please.”

They sat on the porch. “Eliza, I’m here to ask you about Gold River Highway,” he said. “My readers are plenty interested in your opinions.”

Why would his readers be interested in her? “What do they read?”

“Everything I write, especially about the new road.”

“What do you write?”

“The truth. Now, I think most people in the county expect you’ll be voting against the road. I’d like to hear what you think, though.”

“I don’t know what they’re expecting.”

“Oh . . . well, what I meant was how you’ll be voting on the road.”

Eliza was still thinking of weeds. She might have been friendlier if he had interrupted something else. “I don’t know.”

“So that’s undecided?” He was writing what she said! “Waiting for more information? Or just not committing yourself?”

“I’m waiting,” she said. She felt herself bewildered, listening to him. Was it the way he spoke? Or his eyes? His gaze was like mist.

“What might push you one way or the other?”

“I’ll know at the right time.”

“So why do you vote no for everything?” he asked. “Even the minutes?”

“I haven’t any reason to vote yes.”

“So will you have any reason in December?”

“I don’t know.” This was too confusing! He was harrying her, like a raccoon after a bird nest. “Please. You’re asking about things to come, and we don’t have answers. We have to wait.”

“Now, that’s a new one. You know, Eliza, that’s a good quote. I think I’ll use it.”

“Come along back here,” Joe Esterhouse said.

Steve nodded and came. Walk this way . . .

He’d never been in this part of the courthouse. What a labyrinth, and it didn’t look this big outside. Maybe they were sliding into a different dimension.

Or maybe there was a white rabbit in front of them, that only Joe could see, looking at its pocket watch.

Get the imagination under control, here.

“Appreciate your coming,” Joe said, opening a door.

“No problem. It’s fun to drive into Wardsville all the time.”

No reaction.

It was a big room, dusty, old file cabinets and . . . wow. A typewriter. A real Woodstock! Five hundred bucks on eBay. Did it work?

Joe closed the door. There was an old wood table with chairs, and Joe sat in one of them. Joe’s work pants might not care about dust, but Steve’s nice tan pants were screaming, No! No! Their voice sounded oddly like Natalie’s.

But he couldn’t stay standing. Oh well.

“Some things you need to know,” Joe said. “And some questions I have.”

“Sure.”

This guy was eighty years old and he still worked his own farm. Good grief.

“Fool business.”

Steve was not sure exactly what that meant. Just hoped real hard that he was not in trouble somehow.

“Fool business. It’s this road.”

“Gold River Highway.”

“You know much about roads?”

“There are some things I know real well about roads,” Steve said. “I’m finding out there are some things I don’t know about at all.”

“I’ll tell you a couple.” There were pauses every couple sentences. “There’s no trouble like a road. Bad trouble, I mean. And I’m afraid you’re part of it now.”

He was in trouble. Bad trouble.

“Did I do something?”

“Not you, except to let us put you on this board.”

“Okay. I guess you’ve been through this before?”

“The interstate. The first part of Gold River Highway. The new bridge in Wardsville. Those were the big ones. Do you know how this new road money got to us in the first place?”

“Sort of. I read the papers from Raleigh. I know there’s something screwy about it.”

“What do you know?”

“I called my friend in Asheville about the traffic estimates, because the ones that Bob Jarvis used were real different than the ones I got back in April, and he couldn’t tell me much except that there’s some big development planned.”

“Do you know what that is?”

“It might be something in town, where the furniture factory is.”

“You know that for sure?”

“There is a development. I don’t know if that’s where it’ll be.”

“Did your friend mention Jack Royce?”

“I don’t think so.”

“In the state assembly. He’s the one who snuck it all through. Likely he’s the one giving Jarvis his orders.”

“So, this is all his idea?”

“Likely there’s someone behind him.”

“Joe—have you heard of Warrior Land Trust?”

Steve waited. Was the guy still alive?

“What about it?”

“I just wondered if you knew anything about it. Because I think they, or it, or whoever, is involved, but I don’t know why. There’s a person who owns it, a woman named Gul-something. I was wondering if it was Eliza.”

Rose was at the stove when he came in, but she sat with him at the table. “Did you talk to Steve Carter?”

“Some. Not much,” Joe said.

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know what it means.”

She waited for him.

“I don’t know if there’s any truth.”

“There’s always truth.”

“I don’t know if there’s any I can find.”

“There is something going on,” Steve said. “Something strange.”

“Like what?” Natalie asked. The kids were in bed wide awake, and she was half asleep.

“Joe was about to tell me. We were in the secret chamber, we’d checked for listening devices, I was about to hear the plans for the new nuclear power ray he’d just invented, and then I opened my big mouth.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him about this land trust that Mike told me about on the phone. And Joe just froze. Then he said, ‘I think that’s all we need to say now,’ and we were done.”

“He left you there?”

“I followed him out. I’d never have found the way myself.”

“Do you have any idea what it was about?”

“Gold River Highway, and I think Eliza Gulotsky. That’s all I know. And there’s trouble. Bad trouble.”

July 27, Thursday

“Now look what Luke’s gone and done,” Randy said to Sue Ann, the newspaper spread out on his knee, and Gold River Highway spread out all over the page. “ ‘In an abrupt change of direction,’ ” he read, “ ‘Eliza Gulotsky held out the possibility of voting for the road if certain conditions were met. She would not, however, elaborate on what those conditions might be. That information, she said, would come at the right time. “The answers to these questions will have to wait,” she said in an interview exclusive to the Wardsville Guardian.’ Well, now, who else would interview her, anyway? Sue Ann, all our neighbors are counting on her to vote no, and now they’ll be all the more agitated, and we both know full well that she probably didn’t say anything like any of this.”

July 31, Monday

“Joe Esterhouse.”

Woman’s voice on the other end. “Mr. Esterhouse? Good afternoon! How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good! Mr. Esterhouse, my name is Sandy Lockwood, and I’m with Regency Atlantic Associates in Atlanta. The nice lady in the office at the county government gave me your number.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Lockwood?”

“Sandy. And can I call you Joe? I’d like to come up to Wardsville next week for your Board of Supervisors meeting and present some exciting new plans to you and your board.”

“What would those be?”

“I can’t say very much yet, Joe. Just that Regency Atlantic is so excited about Jefferson County! And we’re looking forward so much to working with you!”

“Who is Regency Atlantic?”

“We’ll tell you all about us when we come.”

“Why don’t you tell me now.”

“Sure, Joe. Regency Atlantic is the premier developer of new retail centers in underserved and growing small communities in the Southeast and Mid-Atlantic. We operate more than sixty grocery store–anchored strip shopping centers in seven states. We’ll be working very closely with your board, so that’s why I want all of you to be the first to hear our news!”