Murder on the Road Less Traveled. Robert W. Gregg
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streets, with their shops, more opportunities to meet up with people I know and enjoy.”
“Don’t worry. Back roads aren’t everybody’s thing. Not even mine.” It wasn’t true. Carol’s job put her on many of Cumberland County’s back roads. Unfortunately, as her trip with Joe Reiger had made clear, not all of them.
She assured Connie that she would continue to work at finding Ernie and that she hoped he would turn up soon with a convincing explanation for his unexpected disappearance. But she was increasingly of the opinion that Ernie would not resurface, and that if he did she would have nothing to do with it. For all she knew, the Eakins’ marriage had been a failure, at least for Ernie, and that it was entirely possible that he had used the occasion of the Gravel Grinder to walk away from it. No, she corrected herself, he might have used the Gravel Grinder to ride away from it. Whatever had happened, she would only be going through the motions of finding Ernie. A sad but hardly a dramatic episode in the history of Crooked Lake.
When she hung up the phone, her thoughts immediately turned to what she believed to be a much more important disappearance than that of Ernie Eakins. What had become of Martin Luther Kennedy? She knew logically that the Eakins case was just as important as the Kennedy case. But she was much more troubled by the latter. Perhaps she shouldn’t be, but that’s the way it was. She hoped that Kevin would understand.
“Kevin, hi, it’s me.” Carol’s call to the cottage came at 2:50 that afternoon. “I know we have plans to go out to dinner, but I’m going to ask you to indulge me and whip up something for supper at home.”
“Are you all right?” Kevin sounded worried. Rarely did Carol pass up an opportunity to enjoy a change of pace at the Cedar Post.
“I guess so, but I’m not sure. Trouble is, I’d be celebrating, and for some reason I don’t feel like celebrating.”
“A bad day? All the more reason to take a break. What’s the problem?”
“It’s too complicated to tell you over the phone. To be honest, I need your input. Don’t worry, it’s nothing personal, nothing about you and me. Let’s just say it’s about my moral compass, and that’s probably the wrong way to put it. Anyhow, is there enough in the fridge for a light last minute snack? And for what it’s worth, I’m not going on the wagon, so put a bottle of wine on ice.”
Kevin was still worried, but this was no time to argue about dining at the Cedar Post.
“Okay, no problem. The usual time?”
“Yes. I’ll be there. It’ll be all right.”
When Carol arrived home, Kevin knew better than to greet her by reopening the ‘cancel the Cedar Post discussion.’ He gave her a big hug and proceeded to pour two glasses of Chardonnay.
“The deck all right, or would you rather the couch?”
“No matter the circumstances, I’m always in favor of the deck when the sun shines and the temperature is above 75.”
“At your service,” Kevin said, obviously anxious to tread lightly in what might be a difficult evening.
Five minutes later, wine in hand, they settled into their favorite deck chairs.
“I can tell that you’re walking on eggs,” Carol said, “so let me put your mind at rest. I love you and I need you. Nothing’s the matter except that two people have disappeared and I’m expected to find them. But the cases are quite different, or so they appear to me, and I’m having trouble dealing with the way I’m treating them.”
“Another missing person? And it’s the moral compass issue you mentioned.”
“That’s probably rather a melodramatic way of putting it, so let me back off and give you the whole story.”
CHAPTER 8
Carol had always been comfortable with her evening discussions with Kevin about the day’s developments in her profession. He was a good listener and, in spite of an occasionally misplaced sense of humor, frequently quite useful in helping her put a problem in its proper context. But she was still feeling somewhat uncomfortable about the fact that she was approaching the Eakins and Kennedy situations, her two missing persons problems, so differently. Would Kevin see them as she did? And what if he didn’t?
Two glasses of wine and a light supper later, Carol had filled Kevin in on her dilemma. Why the view that Ernie Eakins’ disappearance was none of the sheriff’s business, that it had much to do with the relationship between Ernie and Connie or at the least was something for which there was a solution that didn’t involve her? Why the view that Martin Kennedy’s disappearance was a problem for the sheriff’s department, that finding Martin was her responsibility and an urgent one?
“To be honest,” Carol said, “I have the feeling that I’m not being fair to the Eakins, but that it’s my heart not my head that’s controlling my response to the Kennedy’s appeal for help.”
“In the first place, you are helping both families. You’ve just spent the better part of a day driving the route Ernie Eakins rode when he got lost. It’s not your fault that you didn’t find him. Maybe you feel a greater empathy for the Kennedys, but that doesn’t mean that their missing son is your problem and Mrs. Eakins’ missing husband is not. In the second place, the heart and the head play very different roles in this body of ours, mine as much as yours. I’ve never met these people, but I can easily imagine empathizing more with the Kennedys. They’ve just moved here, they have a sick, retarded child, and to top it all off they’re part of a very small minority culture around the lake. They need help in a way that Connie Eakins doesn’t.”
“That’s what I’m afraid I’m thinking. Particularly the cultural thing. I don’t want it to look as if I’m patronizing the Kennedys, or maybe that they will think that’s what I’m doing. You know, the white authority figure being especially nice to the African-American family out of a sense of white guilt.”
“I wouldn’t go there, if I were you, Carol. You don’t know whether either of these disappearances will turn out to be a criminal matter. It’s possible that one of them will be the result of a criminal act. Not likely, but possible. I think you’re going to have to investigate both cases. But don’t confuse your duty as the sheriff with a conviction that we may also have a problem with racism up here in Cumberland County. I know as well as you do that some of the people we know are closet racists, even if they insist they’re not. We’re not perfect either, and I understand where you’re coming from. But my suggestion is that you treat Eakins’ disappearance like you’re treating Kennedy’s. What does it cost you to approach both cases as potential crimes?”
Carol considered her husband’s argument. He was right, of course. She might feel better helping the Kennedys solve their problem, but she’d never forgive herself if Ernie Eakins had in fact been the victim of foul play and she had dismissed the possibility.
“I’m persuaded,” she said. “Frankly I was pretty sure we’d be on the same page. But it’s interesting how the Kennedy story grabbed my attention in a way the Eakins’ matter didn’t. I guess I’ve subconsciously thought a lot about the fact that we’re living in a white world up here on the lake. And wondering how the few people who come from other cultures are coping. The recent debate about immigration has surely had something to do with it.”
“In other words, the US of A is more and more a multicultural society, but Crooked Lake isn’t.”
“Let’s change the subject, okay? We both believe that, all in all, people are decent and caring. I’m making a bet that both Connie Eakins and Martin Kennedy’s parents are in the prayers of everyone around the lake.”
“I hope you’re right. And I’ll resist the temptation to mention that we have known some people who aren’t decent and caring. You don’t need to