Braking Points (25 page)

Chapter Forty-nine

By mid-afternoon, I was in heaven. Holly had booked the works for both of us at the Chateau Élan spa: massages first, then facials, then manicures and pedicures. All set up for maximum relaxation and prettification. We'd get ready for the championship banquet at the spa, then drive around the corner to the Chateau Élan hotel for the event. She was the mastermind. I went where pointed.

After our facials, we lounged in the wet eucalyptus steam room, which did a good job of clearing my sinuses, even if the rest of my body felt torpid.

“I can't remember feeling so relaxed, Holly.”

“It's about time. How are you feeling about Stuart?”

I'd filled Holly in on my conversation with Ethan during our drive to the spa, and she'd obviously spent time thinking about it. As had I.

I looked at the clock. “We've been in here five minutes.”

“Let's paddle in the whirlpool. You still have to answer.”

“I know.” I covered my bathing suit with a towel and followed her to the co-ed whirlpool, which was steamy and deserted.

I sank to my chin in the warm water and sighed. “Stuart and I need to talk, to spend time together when we're not in the middle of a race weekend. I'm going to stick around for a couple days in his guest room. Now that the drama has died down—”

“We still don't know who killed Ellie and Felix. Who tried to kill you and Juliana.”

“I know, but at least the world doesn't hate me anymore—even the Ringer thinks he might like me. With the racing season done, I'll have space to think.”

Holly moved to the other side of the pool. “You really need to figure out what you want from him.”

“I'm just so twisted up about him and Ellie. Do I know him if I didn't know about their relationship? Why didn't he tell me, and why is it so important to me? Is this just my excuse to push him away? On the other hand, even marriages I thought were perfect have turned shaky—who says a decision I make will last anyway?”

“Who's got you rattled?”

“Zeke and Rosalie. He says she's changed a bunch in the last year. He's pretty freaked out. Get this, she's even jealous of me.”

Holly shook her head. “She's not thinking straight.”

“There's more: she's Ellie's husband's estranged sister, and she's running Miles Hanson's fan club.”

“Maybe she tried to kill you.”

“You can't be serious.” I saw her shrug. “I don't believe it. She wouldn't do that. Besides, why would she want to kill Felix?”

“Blackmail. It's the only reason that makes sense for anyone killing him.”

“I'll probably burn in hell for this, but I don't miss Felix at all.”

Holly laughed. “Understandable. And a sad statement about him. He had his moments—he could be a nice guy and fun to be around. But I think there was pain underneath it all.”

“Who do you figure they'll replace him with?”

“Scott Brooklyn would be the frontrunner now, wouldn't he?”

“I still think it's suspicious he's Johnny-on-the-spot, ready to capitalize on the elimination of two pit reporters. But Jules isn't worried about him at all.”

Holly laughed harder this time, and I moved around, uncomfortable. I didn't think I'd said anything funny.

“Oh, sugar.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “Don't you remember? Last year at Lime Rock, when you took Wade Becker's seat, you bristled when everyone pointed at you with similar suspicions.”

I felt heat flood my face.

Holly chuckled at my expression. “I'm not saying you're wrong—I agree with you there's something not right with him. But the irony struck me as funny.”

“Sure. Great. Now I'm mortified.” I paused. “By the way, about possible suspects. Aside from the basics, the suspicious ones are Scott, Felix, George Ryan, Dominic and Colby Lascuola, and the cousins. Plus Nash Rawlings, the hateful fan club president. People who'd have access to a race-winner's watch are Zeke, Scott, and Dominic.”

“And Rosalie,” she added.

“Rosalie?”

“Sure, spouse or girlfriend would have access. Even sister, like Colby. And don't be so sure someone with money and connections in the Series couldn't get one—like your cousins.”

“I still think it's Scott.”

“Why would Scott be after you? Or after Juliana?”

I looked at her, my mind blank.

“I'm thinking about motives,” she said. “Zeke: none. Rosalie: jealousy, Miles, whatever—but weak. Dominic or Colby: Colby would take your place. Cousins: money. But Scott? You're not in his way. Assuming he gets the job next year, Felix was in his way. Ellie was in his way. Juliana might be. But the drink that killed Ellie was meant for you, right? Why would he be after you?”

“Miles is his cousin.”

“Revenge? Miles wasn't dead. A crazy fan I could see getting freaky and wanting revenge, but a family member? Another racer?”

“Jack said Scott might be someone he'd hire if I wasn't on the team. Or maybe Colby Lascuola. Or some others.”

“Maybe Scott tried to kill you for your seat—except there was no guarantee he'd get it. Colby now, she might have gotten your seat and your sponsorship.”

“
Someone
had a reason to try to kill me—twice—and kill Ellie by mistake.”

“Scott trying to salvage the second career he sees slipping through his fingers is more logical than because you gave his best friend a concussion.”

I worked it out. “If that's true, I wasn't the target. Ellie was.”

“Could be.”

“Does the whole thing make any more sense if she was the target? There's still the car in Atlanta and the damage to my suit and helmet. And the hospital press setup.”

“None of those killed you, unlike the stuff in Ellie's drink.”

Did I see a new pattern?
“Like the guys shoving me yesterday, maybe the car and the rest of it was someone taking any opportunity for mischief? Then it's not about who benefits with me out of the way, but who benefits with Ellie gone.”

“Scott for sure, at least if SGTV hires him next year. Probably not Dominic or Colby. Rosalie? Don't know. Zeke, probably not.”

“Except he was someone Ellie was going to make amends to. I can ask him, and about Rosalie.” I sighed. “This is still confusing. Does this mean I don't need to watch my food and drink tonight?”

“Get your own drinks, just in case. Now, enough. It's time to clean up before our manis and pedis. Then we'll get fabulous.”

“You'll get fabulous. I'll get decent.”

“In that dress? Sugar, you'll be phenomenal. Eyes will bug out of heads tonight.”

I'd rather have that effect from inside a car than a too-tight dress. I didn't care what Holly said, I still wasn't good at the girly thing.

 

Chapter Fifty

“@katereilly28: Heading for #ALMS Night of Champions. Looking forward to celebrating with Sandham Swift and sponsors. Thanks to all for a great year.”

I tugged my skirt down as Holly and I stepped away from the car.

“Stop that,” she hissed.

I stopped, because tugging didn't help when the issue was cling. I wore a “bandage dress,” which Holly had forced me to buy earlier in the year. Royal blue, knee-length, square neckline that wasn't too low cut, cap sleeves. Tight. Tighter than the fit of my seat and belts in the Corvette. I had the same issues breathing in this dress.

Holly told me that was nerves. Fear was another possibility, as I maneuvered on four-inch, glittery platform heels. Between the shoes and the dress, I had to slow my usual quick, heel-first stride. I had to mince. I felt like an idiot.

The expression on Tom's face changed my mind. He was the first person we saw, as we wove our way through class champion racecars on display to reach the grand entrance. His jaw actually dropped open in shock. “Holy shit, Kate, you look amazing.”

Once again, Holly was right. Damn her.

I heard a whistle behind me and turned to see Mike wiggling his eyebrows. “You look like a dirty old man, Mike.”

He laughed and pointed to my chest. “Where'd you get those?”

I looked down at my breasts, squeezed into view by the dress and the well-padded bra underneath. “Smoke and mirrors, my friend.”

“Reilly, you look like a girl,” Mike said. “This is strange for me.”

I understood. Holly had done big things to my hair and used nine makeup products to give me huge, smoky eyes. “For me, too.”

I looked at Holly, smug in her little black dress with a blousy top and a teeny, tiny, sequined skirt. “She looks great too, don't you think, guys? Fawn all over her a minute.”

“She always looks like a girl. That's not a shock,” Mike said, but they dutifully admired her before turning back to ogle me.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” I asked her.

“Absolutely.”

I squared my shoulders. “Fine, let's do it.” The four of us went in together.

We were looking at photo displays of great moments in ALMS history in the long entry hall when Stuart walked by with the president of Kreisel Timepieces. Stuart went from walking, talking, and collected to stock-still and dumbfounded in the space of a heartbeat. The sponsor looked over, checked out Holly and me from head to toe, and put his hand to his heart. He was French.

Stuart continued to look poleaxed.
Worth the price of the dress right there.
I waved at him as we made our way to the banquet hall.

“Banquet hall” wasn't quite correct, since the ALMS had taken over the Chateau Élan Inn for the night. On the ground floor of the three-story, glass-roofed atrium sat a stage, surrounded by more than fifty tables of ten. Each round table was dressed out in black linens, gold chargers under white plates, three sets of crystal glassware at every place, and glimmering candles.

We dropped Holly off at her table, nearer the entry-hall side of the room, then made our way to the other side of the stage. We saw evidence of three seats claimed at a table marked for Sandham Swift, and we pulled napkins out of glasses to reserve our own spaces. Mindful of the eager fans who'd be joining us, I put myself between Mike and Tom. We headed for the nearest bar, where we found Jack talking to Steve and Vicki Royal from Active-Fit.

Vicki and I stood back to admire the men in our group and around the room. “There's something about a man in a suit and tie, isn't there?” she mused.

I nudged her and nodded at Marco Orfanelli, the gorgeous, playboy Italian driver in the Series. “Or without a tie.” Marco's dark suit matched his lush black hair, and his white shirt, unbuttoned to mid-tanned-chest, set off the blinding white of his perfect teeth. He saw us and smoldered, pressing a hand to his heart and blowing a kiss.

“Yum.”

I laughed. “Stay away, trust me.”

“Only looking. Two more handsome boys over there. Too young for me though.”

I turned in the direction of her gaze and was startled to see the cousins, Holden Sherain and William Reilly-Stinson, holding drinks and watching us. They did look good, Holden dark and brooding, Billy fair and sunny. Both in the best-cut suits money could buy.

They headed our direction. I told Vicki I'd be back and took off toward the stage, hoping to avoid them. They changed course and intercepted me.

“We'd like to apologize for yesterday.” Billy smiled at me.

Was he serious? Or worried I'd tell someone he was at Siebkens?

“Can we offer you a glass of champagne?” He held a flute in each hand and offered me one.

You've got to be kidding me.
“No thanks, I'm good right now.”

He looked disappointed, but regrouped. “What do you say to a cease-fire?”

“I say I wasn't shooting. But you're welcome to stop glowering at me.” I looked at Holden, whose face had returned to that state. “Or making threats.”

Billy elbowed Holden, then spoke again. “I'm sure you can understand, we're protective of our family.”

“Because I'm such a menace.” I looked at Billy, then Holden, then back to Billy. “Does he speak?” I jerked a thumb at Holden.

Billy's laugh sounded genuine. “Sometimes. Damn, if I don't like you.”

“Then my work here is done. If you'll excuse me?”

They didn't move. In fact, Holden stepped closer. “What do you want?”

I met him glare for glare. “What do you think I want? More important, what are you willing to do to keep me from getting it?”

“I knew that was your style.” He nodded. “I'll do whatever it takes to keep you from getting your hands on—”

I held up those hands. “You make nasty assumptions, and you're wrong. I'll tell you what I want: nothing. I want nothing of yours. Nothing from your precious family.” I stepped closer to him and shoved my face toward his, my hands on my hips. “Get that? Now stay the hell out of my life.”

I spun around and discovered my father.

“Katherine. Is everything all right here?”

“Fine. We're done.”

Billy spoke behind me. “James, maybe you can help Kate understand—”

I turned and cut him off with a look. “We're done here. Would you
gentlemen
please excuse us?” I watched as they left, trapped by good manners. I saw Amelia watching us from the table they headed to, and I nodded to her in greeting.

“Is everything really all right, Kate?”

I turned back to my father. “I told them I don't want anything from the family, and they don't believe me. I don't like them. Or trust them.”

“I can't argue or blame you.” He frowned. “Holden is the oldest of his generation, and he's actively involved in the bank. Billy isn't, but they've been best friends forever.”

“Thick as thieves.”

“Yes. Holden…his mother is my younger sister, and I think she and my brother passed along their fears to Holden—meaning his life has been one big competition for his birthright. He's territorial.”

“Is that why Billy called me an imposter yesterday?”

“That goes back to mistakes I made when you were born.” He sighed. “Mistakes my father compounded, allowing himself to be influenced by various family members.”

I remembered Grandmother's caution: “Someone you can trust who won't bow to other pressures.”

My father started to speak again and I stopped him. “This isn't the place or the time.”
Not to mention I'm not ready for this story yet.

“You're right. Later. Short answer: Holden and Billy are parroting Billy's father's opinions—and they're wrong.”

I thought of the stories I'd heard of Felix's father. Of Juliana's mother. “Parents can really warp their children's minds, can't they?”

“Much as we try not to, I'm afraid so.” He smiled and caught my hands in his. “You look lovely tonight, by the way. Stuart can't tear his eyes away.”

I turned and caught Stuart staring, as advertised. I looked back at my father. “We're good? I need to get back to my team.”

“We're good. Congratulations on the season, Kate. Would you respond if I e-mailed you during the off-season to stay in touch?”

“Sure, we'll e-mail.” I got out of there before he asked for anything more.

I rejoined Vicki in time to catch the fresh wave of gossip sweeping the room.

“It's about Felix,” she whispered in my ear. “Died because of something or other combined with his little blue pills. I can't decide if the men are going to start cracking jokes about boners or take up a collection in sympathy.”

“An erection killed him?”

“Something like that. Isn't that just—I mean, it's terribly sad.” She held her composure for two seconds, before we both snickered.

“It's like men who die in the middle of having sex. Sad, but hilarious.”

Vicki linked her arm through mine. “I think that's how they all want to go.”

We looked at each other and started giggling again.