Murder on the Road Less Traveled. Robert W. Gregg
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did. In our case, we settled here, a long way from our old home in Charlotte, to protect Martin. He was treated cruelly down there, taunted all the time because he was different. School was an awful ordeal for him. He didn’t know how to handle it. I’m not sure he really understood why he was treated like he was. Finally, Ruth and I figured we had to do something. I’m not sure why we picked a small town like the one up here.”
“Yes, we do know, Henry,” Ruth said. “We thought it would get us away from the kids that made his life hell. Sorry, I shouldn’t be using words like that. Anyway, we had the good fortune of meeting the Hacketts on that visit last fall.”
“The Hacketts?” Carol asked. “I believe I know a Rachel Hackett.”
“That’s the one. We met her at the school. She said they’d found the town of Southport - and the school - friendly. Well, maybe not exactly friendly, but live and let live. We’ve had no problems with neighbors and the school has worked hard to help Martin. The school counselor who really made our move possible is Francine Chartrell. She’d be glad to talk with you, I’m sure. But she can’t find Martin. That’s what we hope you can do.”
“If I’m to help, perhaps you can tell me a bit more abut him. Of course I’ll be talking to Mr. Slocomb, but you know your son better. How does he cope with his problems? I guess I’m asking whether he’s inclined to go wandering off, or does he normally stay around the house, close to you. I’m including Mr. Slocomb and his place. Did he talk much with you about what he does when he goes to work?”
“Frankly, he doesn’t talk much at all, and he’s hardly said anything about Mr. Slocomb and what his days up on the hill are like.”
“How long has he been with Mr. Slocomb?”
“Not long. Less than two weeks.”
“Has Mr. Slocomb talked with you about how things are working out?”
“We wish we had asked more questions,” Henry said. “We were always glad when he dropped Martin off, but we didn’t want to sound too much like - what is the expression they’re using today, helicopter parents? I suppose we worried that Mr. Slocomb might change his mind if we seemed to be second guessing him.”
Second guessing him? Asking questions about how a severely handicapped son was doing in a new relationship with a man he didn’t know? With a man that they couldn’t have known well either? Carol couldn’t imagine why the Kennedys were so reluctant to discuss their son with Slocomb. In the circumstances, to do so would have been both natural and wise. The more she heard about the arrangement they had struck with the man who needed a handyman, the more she found herself puzzling about that arrangement.
“Did you ever visit Mr. Slocomb’s home, the place where Martin was working?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ruth said, sounding guilty. “We should have, shouldn’t we? You’ll think we’re bad parents, just glad to have days when we could lead a normal life, without constant reminders of our sad problem.”
Yes, Carol thought, you should have. If it had been Kevin and me, we would certainly have been more involved in Martin’s daily life. But we have never walked in the Kennedys’ shoes. Now she was the one who was feeling guilty.
She chose to gather more information which could be useful by changing the subject.
“I hope you won’t mind a few more questions. Personal questions. What is it that you do here in Southport, beside taking care of Martin, which must be pretty much a full time job?”
Her question sought answers from both of them, but it was Henry who spoke up first.
“It’s a temporary appointment while I shop for something more challenging, but I work at Jefferson’s Hardware in Yates Center. I’ve been thinking -”
“Henry was the assistant manager of a computer service outlet in Charlotte,” Ruth interrupted, anxious to make the point that her husband moved in more prestigious commercial circles before moving to Southport.
“Sounds interesting, and I hope your plan for a more challenging position here works out for you,” Carol said, addressing Mr. Kennedy. “As for you, Mrs. Kennedy, I assume that of necessity you have the major responsibility for Martin.”
“That’s been true, but with Martin up at Mr. Slocomb’s during the week I’ve been working - well, volunteering is more like it - at the Southport library. It’s been a part time job since last winter, and I would like it to be permanent. Of course, everything depends on Martin.” She didn’t have to say that it depended on whether he could be found. Nor did she sound as if she were optimistic that a full time appointment was in the cards even if he returned to the family nest.
It wasn’t a promising situation, although it sounded as if both Kennedys possessed the skills necessary for good employment, at least by Crooked Lake standards. The more important issue at the moment was Martin’s whereabouts, and Carol realized that she felt very differently about it than she did the disappearance of Ernie Eakins. She had reluctantly assumed responsibility for finding Eakins, but Martin Kennedy was an altogether different story. Unlike Eakins, Martin was young, mentally disturbed, and unable to care for himself. It was not primarily as sheriff that she knew she must help the Kennedys. It was a moral obligation.
“I am really sorry that your son is missing. I shall look into the problem, beginning right away. I wish I could say that it’ll be an easy task, but we all know that it may not be. I don’t know this man Slocomb, but that’s where I’ll start. Miss Chartrell down at the school might also be helpful, or if not she may have some idea of how to better understand Martin. I’ll need to be able to talk with you again if I learn anything, so please give me your phone number and address.” She handed Ruth Kennedy a piece of paper. “And call me the minute you hear something about your son.”
Carol hoped that they would hear something, and that it would be good news. Instinct told her it would not be.
CHAPTER 7
There was nothing to tell Connie Eakins that would be encouraging. But at least she could let her know that she was doing what she had said she would do, hunting for clues that might account for Ernie’s disappearance.
“Hello, Mrs. Eakins. I wanted you to know that I’m doing what I can to find your husband. I rode the whole course of the Gravel Grinder with Joe Reiger earlier today, making a special effort to identify places where Ernie might have had trouble or gotten lost. I’m sorry to report that I discovered nothing which looks promising. On the other hand, I now have a much better sense of the route, and I expect to drive it again, taking a few detours which might be helpful. But please don’t get your hopes up. I wish I could be more optimistic, but given what little I know, I have trouble imagining that Ernie would have taken any of them.”
“I was afraid that this is what you would tell me,” Connie said. She was obviously disappointed, but she had gotten herself together and sounded less distraught than she had the day before.
“Are you, like Ernie, a cyclist?” Carol asked.
“Barely, and certainly not in his league.”
“So you’ve never ridden the course your husband was on this week?”
“Never. I’m not nearly as strong as he is, and I can’t remember when I last was on an unpaved road.”
Carol was pleased to hear her use the present tense, although she was sure that it was from force of habit rather than optimism that Ernie was still alive.
“That’s what I thought, but I suppose I was hoping that you might have accompanied him at some time or other on the Gravel Grinder route. Then you might be able to go there with me, maybe see something that looked familiar.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, that could be helpful. I’m sorry though. Ernie talks about where he goes on these local