Читать книгу Murder on the Road Less Traveled - Robert W. Gregg - Страница 8

Carol had been surprised that Kevin had not kidded her about her willingness to help Connie Eakins.

“You’re almost too nice to be a sheriff, do you know that?” he had said after hearing about his wife’s response to the woman’s appeal for assistance in finding her husband’s body. “She needs help, and you came through for her.”

“I couldn’t say no,” Carol agreed.

“That’s what I mean.”

The early part of the next morning was spent in Joe Reiger’s office in the Chamber of Commerce. He had been more than willing to see her, and, as Carol quickly discovered, had much less on his plate than she did.

“You think you can find Eakins?” he asked.

“No, I don’t. But the woman’s having a breakdown, not that I blame her. At least I hope to discover what all the bikers were up to yesterday when they went on what you call the Gravel Grinder. What I need is a detailed map that shows where they went. I know most of the roads around here, but of course I don’t have a good picture of every route they followed. I assume that Gravel Grinder means the riders didn’t stay on paved roads. If you have a map left, perhaps you can let me have it. Or better yet, if you have the time, you could join me while I navigate the course they followed.”

Carol thought that Joe would plead a busy schedule and wish her luck, but she was right in her assumption that he really had time on his hands, if only he didn’t pretend that he didn’t. He didn’t.

“You’d get lost if you did what you propose to do on your own. Too many side roads, confusing intersections, places where nobody has ever heard of paving. I’ll go with you. Or better yet, unless you think you have to be in an official car, I’ll drive. Give you more of a chance to look around, see what you’re looking for.”

“I’m not really looking for anything in particular. I certainly don’t expect to see Ernie Eakins’ body lying in a roadside culvert. But if you could go with me, I’d be very grateful. And I like the idea of you doing the driving, if your schedule permits.”

Joe Reiger’s face lit up. In fact, Carol thought she saw his chest grow temporarily larger. He’s now part of an official investigation, and he’ll be pleased to tell people about it.

The trip itself turned out to be an eye opener, with beautiful views of two lakes, woods that Carol had never visited, and hills that were surprisingly steep. It was also, as Joe had suggested, confusing. It began on what passed in this area for main roads, easy to navigate. But once it had climbed a hill outside of Southport, it took the first of what would be half a dozen exits onto secondary roads. Tertiary might be a better term. Initially it looked as if they were headed north, but it wasn’t long before they were going east, then south, and, after awhile, in a direction that was hard to figure out under a cloudy, sunless sky.

“Who creates these routes?” Carol asked.

“Depends on who you ask,” Joe answered. “I’m technically in charge, so I suppose you could say I pick the course. But over the years quite a few people have had a say. The veteran cyclists, of course. There’ll be places where you’re confronted with options, like that place we passed through a couple of miles ago. They can be kind of fun. Go one way and you’re headed for a dead end, go another and first thing you know you’ll be facing another choice - a one lane dirt road to the left, a pot holed stretch to the right. We try to keep the riders on their toes.”

Joe stopped, mid-thought. Perhaps it had occurred to him that Ernie Eakins had, at just such a location, not been on his toes.

“Sort of like Frost’s ‘The Road Not Taken,” she said, only to realize seconds later that Reiger didn’t know what she was talking about. Neither did she, on second thought. Without thinking about it, she’d been showing off.

“Do you have the impression that your riders do get lost from time to time?”

“No question, it’s happened. Usually no problem. You discover that nothing looks right, so you turn around and retrace your steps. Or your wheels - you know what I mean.”

“I’ve seen signs here and there. It looks like you try to keep everyone on the straight and narrow.”

“We try to do that, but sign posts don’t last. People are always taking them down, complaining that they will mislead drivers other than those in a race or some other bike outing. See that corner up ahead, where there’s a switchback? No sign. I know there was one there yesterday.”

Carol gradually realized that the Gravel Grinder had been a long one. Not only did it frequently take her into territory with which she was unfamiliar; it also seemed to back track now and then, and, with the exception of the small town of Grovespring, managed to avoid paved roads.

But her purpose had been to see if anywhere along the way there was anything - a roadside house or barn, a hidden gully or debris field - which just might have something to do with Ernie’s disappearance.

“I’ve enjoyed the drive. Thanks for introducing me to no man’s land in upstate New York. But frankly I haven’t seen anything that’s likely to encourage Mrs. Eakins. You haven’t seen anything that looks unusual, have you?”

“No, but my assignment has to do with chauffeuring you around the county. I’ve always assumed that Ernie used the occasion to visit friends or relatives, but I don’t know the Eakins well enough to make that more than a guess. You aren’t really looking for his body, are you?”

“Yes and no. But between us, and please don’t discuss this with anyone else, Ernie’s wife is inclined to dismiss every ordinary explanation for his failure to make it home. Which has her worried that he’s dead. I hope to disabuse her of that view, which is why we’ve been doing what we’re doing today. So far I’ve seen nothing that gives me a clue that he’s either alive or dead, but I didn’t expect to. So back to my question about you seeing anything unusual. Forget about how things look - I’m sure they look like they do day in and day out. But what about side roads, roads that weren’t on the map the cyclists were following. You said that it was easy to get lost, make a wrong turn. Have we passed any side road that Ernie could have taken by mistake? I’m not suggesting anything, just trying to consider every possibility.”

“Oh, lord, that’s a tough one. We’ve probably passed three dozen or more dirt driveways to old trailers or barely habitable shacks. I can’t imagine why Ernie or anyone else would take one of those God forsaken roads. It’s pretty obvious that they aren’t a way to any place except somebody’s ramshackle home. Or an abandoned house that never got torn down. There are a lot of them around here, but you know that as well as I do.”

“I’m afraid so,” Carol said. Like Joe, she couldn’t imagine why Ernie would have taken any of these side roads to nowhere.

It had been a long and tiring morning when they got back to Southport. Carol knew nothing about Ernie Eakins that she hadn’t known before the drive. She knew a great deal more about what a Gravel Grinder was, including the fact that she was happy that she got her exercise in other less exhausting ways.