by Chris Fabry
Tim figured the teacher would like this better, so he crumpled up the first one and tossed it. His cell phone rang, and he thought it was probably Mrs. Maxwell asking if he wanted something for dessert on their way home from the airport. Strange, because she usually called the house phone for stuff like that. Plus, the phone number showed up as “unknown number.”
“Hello?”
There was a fumbling with the phone, like someone was passing it to a different person.
“Hello?” Tim said again.
A pause. “Tim?” a female voice said.
“Yeah, this is Tim.”
“Timmy, I need to see you.”
A shiver went down his back. His dad said his mom used to call him Timmy, though he couldn’t remember much about that. “Who is this?”
“Son, I think you know, don’t you?” she said.
Tim sat up. “Mom?”
“I want you to write down this address, and I want you to meet me there in 20 minutes.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“It’s not that far away,” the woman said. “Do you have a bike?”
“I can borrow one,” Tim said.
She gave him the address, and he wrote it down. He thought the street sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“I’ll see you in 20 minutes,” she said. “Don’t be late.”
“Wait. I need to know—”
The line went dead, and Tim hung up and hurried to the computer. He plugged in the address and printed out a map, then headed outside to Kellen’s bike.
The air was brisk and chilly, but Tim didn’t care. He pedaled as fast as he could and raised a sweat as he rode past a main road. He cut across a dirt road, ducking low-hanging tree limbs, and steered his way through a field and onto pavement. He stopped under a streetlight to make sure he was on the right track, checking the location and starting again.
Over the years, Tim had thought he had seen his mom several times in crowds, at races, and even in restaurants. In fact, on the day his dad had died, he thought he saw her in the stands and had followed and found it was someone else. Each time he was disappointed. Now, at last, he hoped to see her and find out why she had left him and his dad.
He found the street and raced down it, clicking his stopwatch to see that it had taken exactly 18 minutes to get here. He slid to a stop in front of a large iron gate with the address over it, the same one the woman—was it his mom?—had given on the phone. He looked around and saw no one on the road, so he leaned the bike against the gate. He paced a few steps, then heard movement on gravel nearby.
“Hello?” he called. “Anybody in there?”
No answer.
Tim studied the gate. It didn’t look electrified, and there was no razor wire at the top. He didn’t hear any dogs inside, so he took a chance and scaled the gate, dropping to the other side. He tweaked his ankle coming down and hopped toward the building at the end of the driveway. In the dim light of the streetlamp he could see the black 13 on the front of the building. At that moment, something other than seeing his mother entered his mind—something scary that reminded him of a car pulling up behind him in Florida and people getting out and jumping him. His instincts told him he was in trouble.
He turned to run but caught sight of a flickering flame at the back of the building. Stopping, he squinted to see if the flicker was inside or outside the building. He moved to the side, walking gingerly on his ankle, and cupped his hands around his eyes so he could see inside the garage. The flames were inside!
Tim took out his cell phone and dialed 911, but just as he did, he heard a siren wailing and saw red lights flash in the distance. He clicked off his phone and hobbled back toward the gate, but before he reached it, an explosion rocked the area, smashing glass and sending it skittering on the concrete near him.
Tim hit the ground and stayed there until the shower of debris stopped. As the fire truck neared, he climbed over the fence, landed again on his hurt ankle, and headed back the way he had come. Behind him, he heard shouts of the firemen trying to get inside the gate. He didn’t stop pedaling until he pulled into the Maxwells’ garage and found Dale there.
“Where’ve you been so late?” Dale said.
“Just went for a ride,” Tim said. “Good job at the race.”
“Thanks.”
“If it’s okay with you, I got an early day tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”
“Okay, Tim. See you in the morning.”
Chapter 16
Officer Dunham
WHEN JAMIE DROVE Tim to school the next day, he was unusually quiet. Not that he was very talkative most of the time, but he just stared out the window. She turned up the radio as a news report about a fire the night before was coming on.
“. . . top story concerns a mysterious fire at the Butch Devalon Racing complex,” the reporter said. “An explosion there last night blew out some windows, but authorities say they were able to save the structure. The fire is suspicious in origin. It comes only a few hours after Devalon won a race in Dover, Delaware.”
Jamie reached for the volume knob and turned it down. “Wow, I hadn’t heard anything about—”
“No, listen,” Tim said, leaning over and turning up the radio.
“. . . and authorities say they have possible leads about the person or persons who may be involved. We’ll have more about that in our eight o’clock hour and an interview with Butch Devalon then as well.”
Jamie turned the radio off. “That’s weird. Who would want to burn down Devalon’s garage?”
Tim shrugged.
Jamie went from school to the gym. She only worked part-time at the auto parts store and her shift didn’t begin until six, so she wanted to get in a good workout beforehand.
When she got home, she was surprised to see a police car in the driveway. Her dad was on the front porch with the officer, and Kellen was talking to them.
“What’s up?” Jamie said as she walked over.
“Do you know where Tim is?” her dad said, his face grim.
“No. He takes the bus home.”
The officer tipped his hat and crossed his arms in front of him. “Jamie, I’ve admired your driving. Think I’ll be admiring it even more in the years to come.”
“Thanks,” she said. “What’s this all about?”
The officer took a deep breath. “Did Tim seem himself this morning when you drove to school?”
Jamie pursed her lips. “He was pretty quiet. Of course, he doesn’t say much to begin with. . . .” She thought a moment. “He did get squirrelly about the news report we heard on the radio.”
“What report was that?” her dad said.
“The Devalon garage fire. He seemed really interested in it.”
The reaction of all three was immediate. Her dad shook his head, the officer nodded, and Kellen closed his eyes and tipped his head back, like his favorite team had just lost the Super Bowl by a last-second field goal.
“What?” Jamie said.
“They think Tim might have been involved in the fire,” her dad said.
“That’s crazy!” Jamie said. “Tim wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“That’s not what your brother says,” the officer said.
“Tell her,” her dad said to Kellen.
Kellen looked like he had sold his favorite horse to a dog food factory. “Tim was talking during the race about Devalon, saying some wild stuff. I don’t think he’s capable of hurting a flea—”
“What did he say?” Jamie said.
“Something about making sure Devalon didn’t win and getting stuck in his car or something dumb like that. He was just kidding around—he didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Yeah, well, here he comes,” Jamie’s dad said.
Tim walked past the squad car, taking a good look at the exhaust and (Jamie thought) imagining what the engine looked like. He walked tentatively, like an animal going to slaughter.
“Tim, this is Officer Dunham,�
� her dad said. “You have any idea why he’s here?”
“Should I?” Tim said.
“Were you at the Devalon racing complex last night?” the officer said.
Tim hesitated. “I might have driven Kellen’s bike over that way.” He glanced at Kellen. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“No problem,” Kellen said.
“Did you go on their property?”
Tim looked away and put his hands in his pockets.
“Maybe we should get legal counsel on this,” Jamie’s dad said.
“No, it’s okay,” Tim said. “I’ll tell you what happened. I went over there and climbed the fence. That’s when I saw the fire inside, and as I was about to call 911, the fire trucks got there and I took off. I was scared somebody would pin the thing on me.”
Officer Dunham stared at him. “And you expect us to believe you didn’t start the fire.”
“It was burning when I got there, sir.”
“Why did you go there?” the officer said.
Tim put his toe in the dust, and he looked to Jamie like a little kid who had forgotten his fishing pole at the Boy Scout campout. He looked at Jamie’s dad and searched for words. “It’s kind of personal.”
“Trying to burn down a garage complex is kind of personal—don’t you think?” the officer said.
“I didn’t burn anything,” Tim said.
Jamie’s dad searched Tim’s face. “Son, I think we’re going to need more than that. There must have been some reason you went over there that late. Why can’t you tell us?”
“I got a phone call,” Tim said haltingly. “I don’t know who it was. They just gave me the address, and I rode over there.”
“Must’ve been someone pretty important,” Officer Dunham said.
“Yeah,” Tim said.
“A girlfriend of yours?” the officer said.
Jamie studied her dad, who studied Tim. It was almost like he could see right through him.
“Officer, let me talk with Tim,” her dad said. “You want us to come down to the station with you?”
The officer took off his hat, showing a huge bald spot, and scratched the top of his head. He walked over to the squad car, opened it, and pulled something off the front seat. “You’ll probably want to explain this when you get there,” he said, holding up a hat inside a plastic bag.
“That’s mine,” Tim said. “My dad gave it to me. Where’d you find it?”
Officer Dunham put the bag back into the car. “Inside the building. Near where the explosion happened.”
Tim’s mouth dropped open, and he looked like he was computing things in his head. Jamie felt bad for him. All the evidence pointed to his guilt, but she couldn’t imagine him setting fire to Butch Devalon’s palace of a garage.
“Oh,” the officer said as he got inside his car, “you’ll want to explain the surveillance video we have of you there too.” He drove away.
Kellen came up beside Tim and put an arm on his shoulder. “They’re not sending him to prison, are they, Dad?”
“Nobody’s going to prison. There’s a good explanation for this. I just don’t know what it is.”
Chapter 17
Dale and Tim
TIM SAT ON HIS BED and stared at the ceiling. Dale leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.
“So this is basically you being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Dale said.
“Big-time,” Tim said.
Dale scratched the back of his neck. “I want to believe you. And I think you told the truth to that officer, and that must have been hard. But I also think you’re holding back something important. Is there anything you want to tell me about what happened?”
“Like what?”
“Like, I don’t know, that you just got so mad at the whole Devalon thing and you went into a rage and . . .”
“How would I have gotten into that locked building?” Tim said. “Wouldn’t they have found a broken window or something?”
“There was a broken window,” Dale said. “On the other side of the garage. That set off an alarm, and a company called the building manager, who lives across the street. He saw the fire and called the fire department.”
It’s the hat, Tim thought. If I can figure out who got my hat . . .
“What are you thinking, Tim? I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”
Tim had been in this situation a few times before when he’d had problems with the authorities. Once a police officer came to Tyson’s place after Tim had smashed the mailbox of some people who were giving him trouble. Tim finally admitted he did it and agreed to buy and install a new mailbox after school the next day. He had done it, though he hadn’t liked standing in front of the other trailer, listening to the people inside say mean things about him. And then there was his run-in with Jeff and the slashing of tires in the church parking lot that turned out to be the pastor’s car.
Now Tim had to make a choice. Either let Dale inside or try to handle the whole thing himself. Tim could tell there was a part of Dale that didn’t believe him, but it seemed like there was a part of him that did.
“You’ve got enough on your mind with the Chase,” Tim said. “I don’t want to drag you into this.”
“You’re not dragging me into anything. I’m already in. And I want to be in. There’s nothing more important than helping you get on the right track. Talk to me.”
Tim wished Mrs. Maxwell were here. He could make a face and she would just melt. She always felt so sorry for him, but Dale was a lot stronger and wouldn’t be moved by a whimper or hangdog look. The guy had a lot of compassion, but he had backbone too.
“Who called you on your cell?” Dale said.
“I don’t know who it was, but I thought it was . . . somebody else.”
“Male? Female?”
“Female. Kind of older sounding. Or somebody trying to sound older.”
“What did she say?”
“That I was supposed to come over to that address and meet her.”
Dale thought a minute and squatted next to the wall. “This isn’t about your mother, is it?”
Tim was surprised he’d put it together so fast. He nodded.
Dale’s face scrunched up so much that Tim thought he wouldn’t have been more surprised if Tim had said it was the Queen of England asking him for a date. At a truck and tractor pull.
Tim sighed and spilled the story about Calvin Shoverton and what he had learned about his mom. “I’ve been thinking a lot about her lately, so when that lady called on the phone, I kind of bit like a hungry fish.”
Dale stood and leaned against the wall. His muscles tensed and he shook his head. “I can’t believe anybody would do that to you.”
“What do you mean?” Tim said.
“Set you up like that. Draw you over there that way.”
“You believe me?”
“When did you lose your hat?”
“The race at Hickory. I set it down on a table so I could adjust my headset, and after the race it was gone.”
“Who was on that grandstand?”
Tim told him some of the people. “But those are only the ones I can remember. A lot of people were up there.”
Dale thought a moment.
Tim sat up. “No fair not telling me what’s going on in your head.”
Dale smiled, and Tim thought it was funny how much a smile could say. This one said, Okay, you rascal, you got me on that one.
“All right,” Dale said. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened from the minute you got the call. And give me your cell phone.”
Chapter 18
Kansas Speedway
JAMIE FLEW with her dad to Kansas and took a couple of days off from school. She could tell the situation with Tim was weighing on him and she didn’t want to pry, but when she asked a question, he told her a lot about what was going on with the police and their investigation.
“The surveillance video inside the building cuts out,” her dad said.
“The police said it had been tampered with. But the video of Tim as he comes up to the building . . .” He choked up.
“What?”
He turned his head, then looked at her with misty eyes. “The video was blurry, but you could see the hope on that kid’s face. He actually thought he was going to see his mom. He goes to the side of the building for a few seconds and runs by—then there’s the explosion. He never sets foot in the building. The whole thing was a setup. It had to be.”
“But the police don’t believe that?”
“They’re not saying much about it. It’s clear they’re looking for the person who set the fire.”
“Who called Tim?”
“They couldn’t trace the cell call, and for the life of me I can’t think why anyone would want to hurt a kid that way. Tim mentioned some guy in Florida he had trouble with, but that doesn’t seem very likely.”
“Maybe it’s somebody who hates both you and Devalon,” Jamie said. “I can think of a lot of people who don’t like Butch, but the list is a little shorter when it comes to you. They could say you put Tim up to it and take both you and Devalon out with one fire.”
“They didn’t do a very good job of it. I’m going to have a talk with Devalon when we get to the race. He wouldn’t return my phone call.”
“What are you going to say?”
“The truth. That Tim wasn’t involved. The police have spoken to him, but I want him to hear it from me. Plus, Talladega’s coming up next week and I want Tim there. It’s not fair to keep him away because he made a mistake back at Indy.”
“Does Tim even want to go to Talladega?”
“Yeah, he said he’d like to honor his dad. Said it would feel good to be back.”
“That takes some guts. If anything ever happened to you, I don’t know if . . .”
“Nothing’s gonna happen.”
Jamie turned, deep in thought, and grabbed a magazine from the pouch in front of her. She flipped through the pages, unable to concentrate on any articles, and came upon an advertisement for a natural supplement that was “guaranteed” to help you focus and stay on task. Just one pill would help a person get more done in a day than most people do in a week.