Road to Nowhere (34 page)

“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.”