I smiled my thanks and pulled up a chair with the others.
Jack spoke first. “Just wanted to touch base quickly. First, Mike, Kate, any issues with the car—speed, handling, anything you could tell?”
I looked at Mike and Jack. “Nothing.”
Mike looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “No. It’s actually really great. I thought there might have been the slightest oversteer in one corner, but I think it was just the bumps. I wouldn’t want you to try to fix it at this point. Not with both of us comfortable with it.”
“Great. Bruce, anything you want to bring up?”
“Kate, tell me what you want during the race. Talk to you a lot? Don’t talk to you at all? What do you prefer?”
“Ask any questions you need answers to. I’ll ask any I’ve got. Otherwise, why don’t you check in with me every ten laps or so. Tell me how my lap times are doing.”
Bruce made a note on a folded piece of paper in his hand. “Sure. Anything else? This guy doesn’t want any of that stuff.” He jerked a thumb at Mike.
“Really? I like to hear it. I’d also like any change in our class position and how much faster the cars ahead are running than I am.”
“Can do.”
Jack leaned forward, hands on his knees, ready to stand up. “Then we’re all set? I’ll go talk to the other guys. Oh, timing. No autograph session. We’ll need to stay around here but mostly out of sight from noon to one. Cars and teams go to the grid at two. Be here and ready before then. Let me know if you need anything else.” He levered himself up and headed over to the garage, where I saw Lars, Seth, and Walter waiting for him.
Bruce got up and followed Jack, and Mike didn’t move at all. He looked a question at me when I stood up.
I gestured to the motorhome. “I want to look at a couple notes and straighten things.”
“OK. I’ll be here if anyone needs me. We’ll have sponsors arriving soon we’ll need to suck up to—I mean, entertain.” He winked.
I nodded, only then realizing how I was going to spend the next few hours. So much for quiet time to prepare.
Inside the motorhome, I fended off Aunt Tee’s invitations to eat the sandwiches she was readying for lunch and shut myself in the back room. I pulled out the photocopies.
I mumbled to myself as I read. “DH at Sebring last year. Shows lap time, ninth place, then HT, a check mark, and a date in July.” I scanned the pages and found the same date in July listed with more initials and lap times.
“Dave at Sebring last year. Wade said Dave hit him. ‘HT’…must mean ‘hit.’ Maybe the check marks are when he settled the score.” Sure enough, the July date was the Sonoma race, when Dave said Wade threatened him.
I was shocked by the complexity of Wade’s record-keeping and the anger behind it. I found the race at Road America last August. That row confirmed what Dave had said: “HT,” a checkmark, and a September date. September meant Petit Le Mans, when Dave reported receiving the next threat.
That meant the column with HT, RJ, AT, and TF didn’t contain a person’s initials, but what the initials at the beginning of the line had done to Wade. A check mark was Wade’s revenge, and a date, when he took it. I leafed through the pages again. Not every entry was tagged for offenses against him. But at each race, four to six people managed to piss Wade off enough to make it into his black book.
I returned to the page with last year’s Sebring race and my initials. The other night, Wade had raved at me in the bar about stealing his ride. I laughed out loud. Holly’s “Too Fast Reilly” might be on the money.
An entry for the same race listed PT, for Paul Trimble; RJ, for I didn’t know what; a check mark; and a date—the date of Petit Le Mans last year. Sebring was when Paul had turned Wade down for sponsorship, and Petit was when Wade and Paul had fought. The one piece that didn’t fit was that Stuart had said Paul approached Wade in that instance. I wondered if a few punches would have been payback enough for Wade.
Back to RJ. The other three RJs I’d seen had followed Stuart’s initials for last year’s Petit Le Mans and Monterey races and this year’s Sebring…and that was when Stuart stopped using Wade as a press representative for the Series. I put all of the “RJs” together: rejection.
One more: AT, most often next to the initials MM, JS, WB, BK, and AH. I thought those were members of our team: Mike, Jack, Walter, Bruce, and Alex Hanley. Sure enough, AH showed up under Petit last year, when Alex and Wade had gotten into a shouting match. People telling Wade things he didn’t want to hear would probably seem like attitude.
“Kate?” I heard Aunt Tee’s voice from the front room. I discovered I’d been absent nearly half an hour. Too long.
“One more sec, Aunt Tee.” I returned, then scrambled for my cell phone. Detective Jolley didn’t pick up, but I left a message telling him I’d cracked the code. I made sure my belongings were put away and rejoined the racing world.
Chapter Forty
Outside I found a good looking lunch spread and most of our sponsors. Filling a plate with a sandwich, fruit, and chips—I’d return later for the cookies—I sat down on top of a cooler and dug in.
“Were you napping in there, Kate?” Mike popped the last bite of a peanut butter cookie into his mouth.
“Looking over some notes. Getting things straight in my head.”
“Enough of that,” Jack commanded. “You’re prepared enough. Stick around here until the race.”
“You got it, boss.” Part of what sponsors got for their money was access to the team, especially the drivers, and I’d fallen down on the job. I didn’t mind hanging around the paddock, though I was on pins and needles waiting to hear if Stuart had caught Jim and Trent in the act.
While I speculated on Stuart’s trap, I smiled and chatted with Mr. and Mrs. Active-Fit and the tan guy from Leninger’s Enduro Shine. After a while, I pulled up a chair next to the Purleys. I still had my doubts about Charles Purley. I didn’t trust him, and I wanted to know more.
“Mr. and Mrs. Purley, how are you both today?”
“Please, Kate,” the woman looked to her husband for confirmation. “It’s Susanah and Charles.”
I smiled, and it was Charles who answered the question. “We’re just fine. Enjoying ourselves at the races here. It’s been a lovely day so far.” He was right. After the dark clouds of previous days, we’d seen nothing but blue skies and white, puffy clouds.
“Let’s hope it holds for the race.” I squinted up at the sky, which, come to think of it, showed more cloud build-up.
Susanah leaned forward and spoke in a breathy voice. “Have you raced much in the rain, Kate?”
I felt nerves tickle my stomach. “Sure. Most series run their events rain or shine. But I haven’t driven this car in the rain. I’m focused on getting in tune with the car in dry conditions. If it rains, it’s all different, we’re all slower, and I’ll have another learning curve.”
Charles was nodding, and a slight frown marred Susanah’s forehead.
I summoned another smile. “I was wondering how long Racegear.com has been around. And how long you’ve sponsored the team here.”
Charles propped a foot on the opposite knee and put his arm on the back of his wife’s chair. “Some of the basics, sure. We founded Racegear.com about fifteen years ago, out of our garage, didn’t we Suz?” He looked to her.
“Yes. We were both working full-time jobs then—Charlie as an engineer and me as an office assistant. But we had this idea.”
Charles put his foot back down on the ground and leaned forward. “We were race crazy. Some people go for football. We went for racing. But there was nowhere to buy fan gear for all kinds of racing—let alone the basic clothing and accessories a novice racer needs. So we put one together.”
“The Internet was just becoming big,” put in Susanah.
“Right. It didn’t start as Racegear.com, just Race Gear. It started small, us buying t-shirts and ball caps, storing them in our basement, and shipping them off. Then we realized what the Internet could do—and never looked back. Quit our jobs a couple years later, expanded to real race-ready equipment, and here we are.”
“And when did you get involved with Sandham Swift?” I asked.
The muscles around Charles’ mouth tightened. “About five years ago.”
Susanah fluttered. “We were looking to get involved in some series or other, and we’d gone to see the race at Road America, in Wisconsin. Charlie got to talking with Wade at that race, and that’s how we met Jack. We started sponsoring the team in a small way at the next race, and as the major sponsor the next season. We’ve really enjoyed the Sandham Swift team and the ALMS.”
Charles watched her as she spoke, his face only relaxing when she finished.
“It must be a great relationship, to have lasted this long. Do you get to attend races together often?”
Charles chuckled. “There’s the irony. The company has become so successful we can’t get to as many races as we’d like. Susanah gets to more than I do. But we manage to both be at a race, oh, three or four times a year. Right, dear?”
Susanah bobbed her head at him.
“I’m glad this is one of them, so I have a chance to meet you both.” I felt like a fraud. “But you weren’t able to travel here together, were you?”
Charles looked puzzled. “No.”
“This is one of the tougher tracks to get to, by air at least. You know, far away from all airports, you’ve got to rent a car once you land, then drive a couple hours. Kind of a pain. Even driving in, like I did, is a challenge. You get through the metropolitan areas, which take all kinds of concentration, and then you just keep going out into the boonies for ages!” I was babbling, but they both had relaxed.
Susanah smiled. “You’re right, it would have been nicer to share the journey. But I came in on Wednesday and had to rent a car and drive myself out here. Thank goodness I got here in the daylight!”
“I know what you mean. I got here just at dusk on Wednesday myself, and I was worried I was going to miss any number of back road turns. When did you come in, Charles?” This was my point. I kept a phony smile on my face and tried not to vibrate with tension.
“Me?” He looked suspicious, and I felt someone move to stand beside me. Jack. Charles glanced at him and looked back at me. “I didn’t arrive until late Friday night—but fortunately, I had a driver, so I didn’t worry about losing my way.”
“How late does our reception area stay open, anyway? I always wonder about these small places. I mean, are you getting someone out of bed if you roll up at three in the morning?” I could tell this was the bridge too far, and I cringed inside.
Jack put a hand on my shoulder. Charles spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not sure I can answer that, Kate. There was someone at the desk when I arrived at midnight, after my plane landed in Hartford at ten. Is that what you wanted to know?”
I forced a chuckle. “Oh, I was just—”
“Kate, can I speak with you a moment? Over here?” Jack issued another command.
I excused myself and followed him to the rear of the garage behind some tire racks. He clutched my upper arm with one big hand and spoke quietly, which was worse than yelling. “What in God’s name are you doing, Kate? What explanation can you possibly have?”
“I was curious.”
He shook me. “You’re as good as accusing our main sponsor—with whom we’ve had a long, valuable, and trusted relationship—of murder. What are you thinking? Why aren’t you thinking about the race? Damn you! I hope your driving isn’t as clumsy as your snooping!”
My whole body tingled. I felt shame down to my toes. And fear. Not of Jack, not of Mr. Purley, but of screwing up my chance. I’d looked at the ground as he spoke, but now I stood straight and squared my shoulders. Looked Jack in the eye. “I apologize to you, and I’ll apologize to Mr. Purley, if you feel that’s appropriate. I didn’t mean to endanger the relationship. But I’m fighting for my life here, as much as I will be on the track.”
Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. His grip didn’t slacken.
“Jack, really. Have you heard the rumors? I’ve heard them. People think I did this to get ahead. Killed Wade, slept with you—and now, cheated by accessing Delray team info. That I’ve been causing the car problems around here lately. And who knows what else they think I did, all so I could get a seat in a car. If I can help figure out who really did it, maybe I’ll get a fair shake. Maybe I won’t be the scapegoat for everything. That’s all I’m looking for.”
Jack narrowed his eyes at me, but the anger in them had died down. He let go of my arm, and I spoke again. “I overheard Charles saying some pretty awful and suspicious stuff to his wife the other day. So I tried to ask some questions. Badly.” I shook my head. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to cause the team problems.”
Jack’s face was still grim, his voice still harsh. “Next time, ask me first. I’d have told you I saw Charles pull up in his chauffeured towncar around midnight. We sat on the porch, had a drink together, and talked for an hour. That’s when we settled the business Tom talked to you about. Since you’re so curious, here’s the back-story, but you are not to share this with anyone.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Charles was here early this weekend to surprise his wife. He was going to put his foot down and ensure she wouldn’t, ah, associate with Wade any longer. We agreed the Sandham Swift team would not discuss anything about the relationship. Wade was going to have to live with both decisions. We’re doing this out of kindness for a valued sponsor and for a continued racing partnership in the Series. Now, do you understand? Is that what you wanted to know?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
I felt awful, even though I’d gotten my answers. “I understand. Again, I’m very sorry to have let you down—and perhaps offended Mr. Purley. I’ll stay out of their way from now on.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll go back over there and make nice. Maybe apologize. Face them and deal with it, like I’ll have to.”
I agreed, miserable and certain I’d lost any chance at a permanent job with the Sandham Swift team.
Jack read me perfectly. “Kate, I’m pissed as hell at you. But unless we lose that sponsor entirely, I’m not going to fire you. I’m just going to watch to make sure you behave.”
My shoulders slumped in relief, and I offered him a tentative smile. “I can deal with that. I’ll probably deserve it, too.”
“Let’s go make sure this team is in one piece and that our sponsors are happy.” He pushed me ahead of him back to the sitting area.
Chapter Forty-one
Over the next couple hours, my interaction with the Purleys, especially Charles, was stilted. At the first opportunity, I’d apologized for sounding accusatory, assuring them it hadn’t been my intent. I joked that I’d been questioned so many times by the police myself that weekend that I’d picked up a bad habit. They didn’t laugh, just accepted my apology and drifted away.
Jack was too busy smiling at sponsors to focus disapproval on me. That was a relief, too. He smoothed things over with the Purleys by giving Charles the opportunity to “be the dead man” in the pits during the race. That’s the person—usually a crew member, but sometimes a VIP guest—who holds open the dead man switch on the fueling rig that allows racing fuel to flow during a pit stop. The switch is a basic safety mechanism, because when released, it springs closed, cutting off the fuel. It’s also an easy, non-critical job to hand over to a guest. Charles beamed with pleasure. and I swallowed my chagrin that he’d be in the pits for the entire race. He might not be a murderer, but I still didn’t care for him much.
But I behaved. I ate a cookie and chatted with other spon
sors and guests. I tried not to stare when Victor Delray and Trent Maeda arrived in the garage to talk with Jack. I was even glad to see Stuart show up, Paul and Marcus Trimble in tow. They represented fresh conversational blood. And appealing scenery.
Stuart approached me right away. “How are you doing today, Kate?”
“OK, thanks. How are you? How’s everything?” I flicked my eyes to the garage and back to Stuart.
“Fine.” He leaned over and breathed into my ear—barely audible, even that close. “Everything’s set for a trap. Just keep it to yourself. Regarding Wade, the police are checking on their alibis now.”
I blinked, disappointed. I’d accepted Jim was clear, but I’d held out hope for Trent. Despite my efforts to investigate other clues, I really wanted to pin murder on them in addition to sabotage.
He straightened and went on in a normal tone. “I thought it was kind of you to give your—Mr. Reilly a couple minutes of your time this morning.”
I frowned. I didn’t want to talk about my father. Here. At all. “I didn’t give him what he wants. But he has to give me time.” I surprised myself with that admission, discovering cracks in my indifference. I cleared my head with a quick shake. “I can’t think about that today. Too much else going on.”
Stuart patted my shoulder. “Understood and agreed. But given what you shared with me, I understand what it cost you. And it was kind.”
“Thanks—excuse me a moment, Stuart.” I dashed into the paddock lane after Marco, who’d just walked past.
Dead Man’s Switch Page 21