Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel)

by Tina Wainscott

“No,” he said harshly. “By this weekend. I can raise the whole amount by Sunday afternoon.”

  She knew she wasn’t going to like it. “A race?”

  “Yep. It’s up in Georgia. The qualifying starts Saturday, and the race is Sunday. First place is eight thousand dollars.”

  “No, Jesse. You can’t do it.”

  “I’ve got a ride.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Look at you; you’re still all banged up from the last race. What does your doctor say about this?”

  “She says it’s fine,” he said through tight lips.

  “You’re lying, Jesse James West. You haven’t even asked, have you?”

  “You’re right, I haven’t. She’s my doctor, not my mother.”

  Marti stood. “What does your mother say about it?”

  “She knows I’m going to do what I have to.”

  Her emotions warred. He was risking his health for her.

  “What do you mean you have a ride?”

  “A friend of Harry’s needs a driver. Chigger’s an independent in the ASA; the minor leagues, remember? He registered for the race, but he’s in the hospital. With pneumonia,” he added at Marti’s worried expression. “He’s seen me race, so he asked Harry if I could race for him. I think I could win you the hell out of here. The deal is, I take what I need from the prize money, and he gets the rest.”

  “Does he know you just wrecked?”

  “Yes, he knows. Harry and I are pulling the car to Georgia tonight.”

  She released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “So it’s a done deal, then?”

  “Yes. You gonna give me hell about it?”

  She sighed, leaning against the partition. “No. I learned a while back that it does no good.” For either of them.

  “Time’s up.”

  Carl’s presence behind Jesse startled her. He didn’t intrude noisily like Lyle did.

  Jesse turned to face him. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “As long as I want. This is my jail, isn’t it? I am the sheriff, am I not?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  Carl narrowed his eyes at Jesse, then turned and walked away. Jesse watched as Carl headed to Marti’s side of the room and led her away. She had a funny feeling about this race, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “I won’t wish you good luck!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty rooms.

  “Thanks,” he called back. “I won’t need it.”

  I love you! she wanted to shout, but caught herself short. No need to muddy the waters any more than they already were.

  Things were not working out as he’d planned. Since he couldn’t get Jesse out of the way by getting him jailed for Paul’s murder, he’d have to resort to a more permanent way. He didn’t want to kill Jesse. He dropped his head down on his desk. No, he had to do it. Just like he’d had to kill Paul.

  Once Jesse was gone, Marti would be putty in his hands as he comforted her. It was too bad she was so in love with Jesse. That would make it harder, but he could overcome that, like he’d overcome everything else.

  The question now was how to get rid of Jesse, who was stronger and smarter than Paul. He would definitely be harder to take down physically. Too bad the accident last Saturday wasn’t fatal.

  Yes, fatal. It happened all the time, racecar drivers losing control of their brakes or steering, whatever was convenient. Going round and round at over one hundred twenty miles per hour, and what if the steering cable snapped? And Jesse couldn’t make the turn? He’d smash into the wall but good. He’d need to weaken the safety bars around the driver, too.

  He took a deep breath, holding it in, letting it out as if it were cigarette smoke. It would be easy enough to find Chigger’s car at the track. He’d go up tomorrow morning, wait until Jesse was through qualifying. Then he would tinker with the cable, enough to make it last through some of the race on Sunday morning. Wouldn’t Jesse be pleased to die like his old man? By the same hand as his old man? Last time it didn’t get him what he wanted. This time it would.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lyle Thomas stopped in at the Someplace Else Cafe for a quick dinner before returning to the station. When Carl had asked him to cover the weekend shift so he could spend some time alone, Lyle breathed a sigh of relief that the sheriff was finally grieving.

  “Hey,” Lyle mumbled to Nolen Rivers as he headed to his favorite booth in the corner. He settled in and scanned the nightly specials. The place was busy for a Saturday night. Sunday was usually the big night in Chattaloo, when all the families went out for supper after evening church services.

  “Any leads on Paul’s murder?” Nolen asked from the counter. “Newspapers ain’t partin’ with a word.”

  Lyle gave Nolen an official smile, tinged with smugness. “And neither am I.”

  Elwood Skoogs walked in and glanced at the busy counter, noting with chagrin that all the stools were taken. His short, squat frame and large belly made his arms look too small. They barely reached his thick waist. Lyle gave a thought to inviting him to join him, but having dinner with the Lee County medical examiner didn’t bode well with his appetite. Elwood had the annoying habit of sharing his day’s work over a meal.

  Elwood made the decision for him. “Hey there, Lyle. Mind if I join you?”

  Lyle waved for Elwood to take the seat across from him.

  “Busy tonight, ain’t it?” Elwood said absently, perusing the menu.

  “What brings you ‘round this end of town?”

  “Wife has her women friends over playing some fancy card game tonight, so I’m in no hurry to get home. She was pretty mad at having to cut our vacation short. So I visited a friend out this way until his wife gave me the old heave ho. And I remember this place having good food and the prettiest waitress in town,” he said as Rachel sauntered over to take his order.

  “Why, thank you,” she said, pink tinting her cheeks. She wrote their order on her pad as if she was signing an autograph, in big, loopy handwriting. Lyle thought she could easily be a movie star with those big, blue eyes and loopy blond hair that matched that writing of hers.

  “Thank ya, boys,” she said with a wink and departed with a swingy little step, moving in tune to the Alan Jackson song on the jukebox.

  “Sounds like you people have quite a case this way, what with the sheriff’s own son gettin’ killed.”

  Lyle glanced around for nosy eavesdroppers, then whispered, “Well, not to be pushy, but we’re anxious to get that autopsy report from you, I’ll tell you that.”

  Elwood straightened. “I delivered that report yesterday, right to your office.”

  Lyle leaned forward. “What do you mean? I didn’t hear about no report.”

  Elwood’s bushy brows furrowed. “You didn’t? That’s mighty strange. No one was up front, so I left it on the desk, but I called Carl to let him know. He said he’d take a look at it right away.”

  “What did it say? I never saw it.”

  “Pretty strange, if you ask me. Paul had been dead for hours before Marti found him, figure it happened around seven that morning. It wasn’t the knife that killed him, though. His heart wasn’t pumping anymore when that knife plunged into him. Broken neck did him in, poor kid. Then the sick bastard, whoever did it, stabbed him. Now, why do you think someone would go and do that?”

  Why hadn’t Carl released Marti? Maybe he had some other evidence to tie her to the murder. “Maybe there’s more to Marti’s involvement than that.”

  “Not with Marti. I saw her working the breakfast shift that morning at Bad Boys Diner. Paul was killed sometime during her shift, and the investigator’s already confirmed that she was there the whole morning.”

  Lyle stood and dumped some wadded up bills on the table. “I gotta let her out of jail. If I can’t find that report, I’ll need another copy.”

  “Sure. Look around, I’ll stop by before heading home.”

  Lyle rushed back to the station and searc
hed both his and Carl’s desk, but turned up nothing. Why would Carl keep it from him? Maybe he hadn’t read it yet. Yeah, that had to be it. After all, the man had just lost his son. His mind couldn’t be completely on his job.

  Lyle was still searching when Elwood walked in. “Did you find it?”

  “No. I’m afraid I’m going to need a copy.”

  “No problem. Wife’s playing cards tonight. Got nothing but time on my hands.”

  They drove over to the medical examiner’s office the next town over. While Elwood logged into the computer, Lyle wandered around out front, looking at the secretary’s picture collection. Couple of fat kids, fat husband, fat dog. Skinny secretary. Hm, figure that. Then he saw the scrawled note on top of her in-basket:

  Send Sheriff Paton another copy of coroner’s report on Paul (son). He lost it. (What a dip.)

  Lyle breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Carl had just misplaced it. He probably hadn’t even read it yet, maybe couldn’t bring himself to do it. Well, he’d be proud that Lyle put everything right. It was nearly ten o’clock, but at least Marti would spend the night in her own bed.

  Marti sat on the bottom bunk reading the magazine he’d given her earlier. She looked up when he stepped into the hallway.

  “Well, little lady, looks like you’re off the hook.”

  Her expression was a mixture of joy and disbelief. “You found the killer?”

  “I wish. But you’re cleared. I just got hold of the medical examiner’s report, and Paul had been dead for hours before you found him.”

  “I knew he had been dead for a while when I found him.” She shivered. “He was cold and stiff.” Then her expression changed to panic. “Lyle. I’ve got to get out of here and stop Jesse from racing!”

  Lyle quickly processed her paperwork, feeling guilty for Carl’s mistake in losing the report in the first place. Now she seemed frantic to get out and keep Jesse from doing further damage to his person. Lyle knew too well how painful broken ribs were.

  Getting her belongings back, she pulled out her cell phone. It was dead.

  “Why don’t you use the phone here?” he offered.

  “Thanks.” Marti called Jesse’s phone but obviously got his not-available recording. “Jesse, it’s me, Marti. I’ve been cleared. Don’t race. Please.” She hung up. “Maybe I can catch him at his hotel room.”

  She tried that, to no avail, and then tried Helen’s and Caty’s numbers. No luck. He wished he could help her, but he couldn’t leave the station. He’d tried the sheriff’s house earlier, but there’d been no answer. She grabbed her bag of possessions and headed to the door.

  “I’ve got to go to Georgia. If Jesse should call here for me, please tell him I’m out and not to race.”

  With that she was out the door, and Lyle realized he could help, even if in a small way. Marti was on her way back in.

  “My car isn’t here,” she said.

  He held up his police car keys. “I’ll get you to your car in a big hurry.”

  He found a spot on the bleachers amidst what looked to be a noisy crowd of racing enthusiasts who got there early like he did to get a good seat. Everything had gone as planned. And Jesse was pole position, primed for a quick start. Damn, the kid was good. Too bad he had to die.

  The accident should happen sometime after the tenth lap, maybe the twelfth. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten overzealous and cut too much. Then he could get back and console the widow, who would still be in jail. He had once loved somebody else, many years ago. Marti would take her place.

  “Jesse, are you sure you wanna do this?” Harry asked. “You looked like hell yesterday after qualifying.”

  Jesse leaned against the hood of the car, willing the blood to his face so Harry would shut up. “I got the pole position, didn’t I?”

  “I didn’t say you raced like hell, I said you looked like hell. And you don’t look so great now. How do you expect to get by with a lousy grapefruit for breakfast?”

  “I had toast. I always eat light on race days, you know that.”

  “It’s different this time. Did you take your meds?”

  “Of course not. I’ll get by, Harry. It’s painful right now, but it’ll pass.”

  “Pass my ass. You were like this all day yesterday. I should have the infirmary black-flag you.” At Jesse’s hostile expression, Harry raised his arms. “Okay, you wanna kill yourself, be my guest. I just gotta bad feeling that your judgment isn’t going to be so great out there today. I see the expression every time you climb in this car. But go right ahead and do your thing. I know you’re gonna anyway.”

  “Harry, can’t you see I don’t have any choice. I’ve got to get Marti out of jail, and this is the rest of the bail. I’ll be okay.”

  Harry leaned against the car and slid his hands in his pockets. “You gonna walk the track?”

  “Not today. I’ve been here before.”

  “You always walk the track, Jesse. No matter how many times you been at a place, you always walk it.”

  “Harry, are you going to fight me all morning? ‘Cause if you are, I’d rather you go hassle one of the other drivers.”

  Harry’s expression became stern, almost fatherly. “I don’t want to see you kill yourself out there. And I ain’t leaving. One of us has got to have sense, and it ain’t you. Just remember, you don’t have to. We can raise that money another way. I talked to Chigger yesterday, gave him an update. He says you won’t be letting him down if you don’t race. I’m just telling you what he told me.”

  Jesse turned away from Harry and stared hard at the red and yellow Thunderbird, wishing the pain would go away. Crawling in was the worst part. Once he was in, he was okay, after that moment where it hurt so bad he thought he was going to pass out. Once his vision cleared again.

  The excitement stirred through the crowd of drivers and mechanics as they readied their cars for the race. Almost time.

  Marti fought exhaustion throughout the night, stopping only twice to buy a super-duper coffee and get gas. She should have asked Dean to drive up with her. Billy, Caty, and Helen were already there. Now that the sun was coming up, she felt more awake. A glance at the rearview mirror showed bugged-out eyes and disheveled hair. No time to pretty up.

  She got off at the exit for the racetrack and immediately got stuck behind a stream of cars backed up for half a mile. She also knew she was running out of time. Once he was on the track, there would be no way to stop him, short of walking out on the racetrack and waving her arms. That wasn’t out of the question.

  When she neared the entrance, she realized how far away from the track the cars had to park. Too far for a pregnant woman to run. She raised an eyebrow as the idea popped into her head. Sure, she could pass for nine months. She felt big enough. Whipping the car to the shoulder, she sent rocks and dirt spinning as she raced alongside the waiting cars. They yelled and shook fists and fingers at her, but she was readying her speech for the attendants who were ready to turn her back.

  A man wearing a bright orange vest leaned down as she rolled down the window. “Ma’am, I’m afraid—”

  “I’ve got to get to one of the racers, my husband. I’m in labor. Is there a way I can get to the racers’ area fast?”

  His expression changed as he peered in at her belly. “Sure, ma’am. See that road there. It’ll take you ‘round to the pits. The guys at the fence will let you in. I’ll radio ahead.”

  “Thanks!” she yelled as he moved the gate so she could squeeze her car through.

  She felt like a racecar driver herself, beeping at people who were about to cross the roadway, tearing around the corner. A garbled voice on a loudspeaker made her heart beat faster, made her foot press harder on the gas pedal. Almost there.

  She pulled the car into a space and made her way to the gate. Gasping and in a panic, the guy at the pits entrance didn’t dare doubt she was a woman in labor. Her pelvic bone ached with the pressure of the baby, and running wasn’t helping.

 
“I’m looking for Jesse West. He’s one of the racers. Can somebody tell me where he is?”

  The skinny man shrugged, looking at her belly. “What’s the matter, honey? You in labor?”

  “Yes!” she shouted, drawing attention from nearby crewmembers. “I’ve got to find my husband!”

  “Never heard of him. What car is he driving?”

  “Uh, Skeeter’s car. No, that’s not it. Trigger’s. Chigger’s! He’s racing Chigger’s car.”

  “It’s the red and yellow T-bird moving into position now. You’d better hurry, young lady. We’re about to start.”

  She ran past dozens of people, around empty trailers and revving racecars. Number 72 pulled into the inside lane on the track and stopped; other cars followed suit. The drivers had on their helmets.

  “Harry!” she yelled when she saw the familiar face. “Is Jesse in the car already?”

  “Marti, what the he—wait a minute. You’re supposed to be in—”

  “I know. I’ve got to stop him from racing.”

  “He’s in the car, all right.”

  Before he could comment any more, she ran one more time. Two men started to caution her about going onto the track, but she paid no heed. Jesse was right there, across the track and grassy area.

  She wasn’t able to yell to him until she was nearly within touching distance of his car; she hardly had enough breath to compete with the roaring engines. He looked in her direction as she reached him and immediately yanked off his helmet and crawled out of the car.

  “Marti, what in—”

  She threw herself into his arms, leaning all her weight against him in exhaustion. His eyes widened, and he gave her a hug before pulling back in pain.

  “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

  “I… out… report… Jesse, don’t race. Don’t have to.”

  She leaned over, gasping for air. Harry ran to them, motioning for them to move off the track.

  “I told the officials you weren’t racing. Dan, one of the crew, is going to remove the car from the lineup.”