Читать книгу Murder on the Road Less Traveled - Robert W. Gregg - Страница 5

The sheriff of Cumberland County was only mildly concerned about the annual Gravel Grinder. There were always a few complaints about cyclists clogging the roads, slowing down traffic. She always had to assign all of her officers to the narrow but more heavily travelled highways near the lake and in the local villages. But Kevin was not a biker, and Carol knew from experience that those who were would have had a good day and that a goodly sum would have been raised for whatever charity had been chosen as this year’s beneficiary.

Having taken the few precautions that she regularly took for events like this, she had put it out of her mind and turned her attention to more serious matters. It was 4:38 when JoAnne appeared at her door with the news that Joe Reiger from the Southport Chamber of Commerce was on the line.

“What seems to be on his mind?” Carol asked. She hadn’t seen or heard from Joe in close to a year.

“Something about one of the cyclists not getting back on time from today’s race.”

“I don’t think they had a race. Just one of those affairs where all the guys who ride a bike around here have themselves a workout on our roads, including those that never get paved.”

“I think it isn’t just men who do it,” JoAnne observed, a rare correction of her boss.

Too late Carol remembered that JoAnne was a serious cyclist.

“Sorry. I really do know better. But why do you suppose Reiger is calling me? It doesn’t sound like a law and order issue.”

“He didn’t say, just that one of the bikers is missing.”

“Okay. I’ll see what he thinks we should do.”

Carol got herself a cup of coffee and picked up he phone.

“Hello, Joe. You’ve had one of your big days, I’m sure. What’s this about a missing biker?”

“I’m not sure I should be bothering you, sheriff, but Ernie Eakins - you know Ernie? - he was one of our participants today and he never checked in after it was over. His wife is here with me, and she’s worried sick.”

“Why don’t you put her on the phone.”

“I’d be careful if I were you. She’s a nervous wreck.”

“It can’t be that bad. He’s probably at some friend’s place. Let me talk to her.”

Carol waited for what seemed like two or three minutes. Carol tried to imagine what was going on down in Southport. Was the young woman refusing to talk with the sheriff? When she finally said hello, it was obvious that she had been reluctant to do so.

“You’re the sheriff?”

“Yes I am. I understand that you want to talk about your husband. Mr. Reiger tells me that he was on the Lake’s annual ride, but that he didn’t meet you like you expected him to when it was over.”

“That’s true. Joe thought maybe you could help me.”

“You understand that this is out of my line. I mean it doesn’t sound like my job description. Isn’t it more likely that you could find your husband by calling your friends - his friends? There must have been a lot of them with him on the ride today. He probably stopped off at one of their homes.”

“But he was to meet me in the town square, and he didn’t show up. He didn’t call or anything. What am I going to do?”

“Like I said, I’d start calling friends. Or just go back home and wait for him. I’ll bet he called and left a message for you.”

“He could have called me on my cell. Besides, the ride ended a long time ago. Ernie’s never done something like this. What if he got killed and couldn’t call?”

Carol knew nothing about the relationship between the Eakins. What she did know was that the Gravel Grinder was an annual event, usually involving well over one hundred cyclists, and that no one had ever been injured, much less killed, on any of them. There had to be a simple explanation for today’s situation. But she knew that she couldn’t just give this woman, who was obviously panicked, her assurance that all would soon be well.

“Let’s assume that your husband might have had a fall and needed some help. Not likely, but I suppose it’s possible. Why don’t you let me call the hospitals in this area and see if your husband, by any chance, has been brought in. I’m sure the answer will be no, but it’ll put your mind at ease to know. You stay with Mr. Reiger - I’ll call back within fifteen minutes. Try to relax.”

“I’m scared to death. Ernie’s in trouble, I know. I hope he’s alive.”

Connie Eakins didn’t give the phone back to Joe Reiger. She hung up. The sheriff knew that she had been of no help to Mrs. Eakins, so she dutifully placed a few calls and quickly learned that her husband had not been admitted to any hospital. In all probability he was at that very minute enjoying a beer with a fellow biker somewhere in the vicinity of Crooked Lake, unaware that he had thoughtlessly alarmed his wife. Or that his worried wife knew less about the social pleasures of biking than her husband did.