Braking Points (27 page)

Chapter Fifty-three

I rounded the corner to the long entry hall and discovered Juliana and Scott arguing.

“Why can't you—” Scott shouted, gripping her arm.

“I won't have it—let go of me.” Juliana couldn't pull away, but slapped him with her other hand.

Scott grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

“Jules!” I started forward, unsure what I could do, besides be a witness to prevent him from doing something else.

He looked at me, turned back to Juliana, and spoke quietly. I was still fifty yards away when Scott shoved her down into a chair against a window. He moved toward me, clenching his hands. His face murderous. One cheek red from her slap. I faltered mid-step, fingers on the clasp of my purse. Then he was past me, avoiding my eyes as he walked down the hall to the banquet.

I exhaled and hurried the rest of the way to Juliana. “Are you all right? What happened?”

She looked disgusted, not intimidated. “I'm fine. He's being a prima donna. If he can't stand the heat, he should get the hell out of the kitchen.”

My heart still pounded from observing their altercation, but Jules was cool as a cucumber. I sat down in the chair next to hers. “You're sure you're OK?”

“Takes more than that to rattle me. How about you? What a night!”

“It's been amazing. You were spectacular. Showing them what a pro can do. It's a shame Ellie wasn't here with us.”

“Yes.” She had an odd tone in her voice. “She wasn't perfect, you know.”

“I didn't mean that. I meant I wish she was still alive because then this evening would be pure joy, without the dark cloud over it.”

“You'd say the same about Felix, right?” She looked at me sideways, a twisted smile on her lips.

“I don't feel lingering grief about him, but I'm not
glad
he's dead. I know other people are sorry—”

“It's fine, Kate, I understand. Trust me.”

We sat in silence. “Jules, I talked with Ellie's husband. He told me about her.”

“Her alcoholism?”

“Did you know?”

“Not then.”

“Ethan said it was important for her to talk to us, but she never reached me. Did she talk with you?”

“The week before she died.” She stood up. “I need a trip to the ladies.”

“I could use that, too.” I followed her back toward the banquet hall, into a small women's restroom with two sinks in the front half and two stalls in the back. We passed a woman I didn't recognize coming out the door, otherwise we had the place to ourselves.

I refreshed my lipstick in the mirror as Juliana came around and washed her hands, then pulled a complete makeup kit from her purse—which explained why she carried a large leather handbag, instead of a small evening bag. I watched her expertly touch up her face.
I could learn to use those Beauté products from her, too.

I shook my head. “I'm still so surprised about Ellie. Did she tell you anything about her recovery or how she could function when she was drinking?”

“Not really.”

“What would she have to apologize to us for?”

Jules put her hands down on the counter and bent her head. “Lord have mercy, you won't let this go, will you? You always were a terrier.”

“I'm sorry, forget—”

“You asked, I'll tell you. She wanted to make amends for betraying me.”

“She—what? She wouldn't have—”

Juliana's face twisted. “She
did
. I never had the chance to handle things my own way, she saw to that. She went running straight to Robertson-Kennerly when she found out I'd been diagnosed with epilepsy.”

“The job I got that made you quit racing for pageants?”

She nodded and went back to applying mascara with choppy, angry strokes.

“Epilepsy? That was the health problem you had that year?”

She nodded again.

“You couldn't have raced anyway, could you?”

She rounded on me. “I should have been able to make that choice for myself. I'm fine now, it simply took some time to diagnose and balance out my medication.”

“So she told them about it and they gave the seat to me.”

She slammed the mascara into her purse. “And ruined my racing career.”

“But Jules, you couldn't have raced. Not if you were being diagnosed, right?”

“That's not the point!”

I thought it was entirely the point.

“She betrayed me. She kept me from winning that ride, from going on in racing. And then she had the nerve to come crawling to me asking for forgiveness.” Juliana faced me, waving her hands in the air as she ranted.

“I'm sure she was sorry—maybe she was drinking back then, and that was why she betrayed you.”

“Being weak is no excuse. She'd beaten me. Betrayed me. Then, of course, they were going to pair us in the pits next year. Fucking ‘pit princesses' idea. Assholes.”

I blinked as she turned back to the mirror and rummaged in her bag. “That would be hard to take.”

She applied lip liner, then dug out her lipstick. Our eyes met in the mirror. “You have no idea, little Miss Most Popular Driver, how it felt to be on the outside wanting in. To have lost like that.” Her face was bleak.

I reached to touch her. “Jules, I'm so—”

She swept her left hand out to stop me and caught the edge of her bag, sending the contents spilling onto the floor.

I gasped and crouched down to gather the items, glad to help her somehow.

It wasn't until I glanced at the box in my hand that I heard her saying, “No, don't,” and “Stop.”

A Kreisel watch case, with a clear cover to better display the large, men's watch inside. A race-winner's watch.

 

Chapter Fifty-four

“Shit,” she said. “I knew there was a reason to bring the other purse, not this one.”

I felt numb. “Where did you get this, Jules?”

“A boyfriend gave it to me years ago.”

I stared at it, pieces falling into place. Juliana was in every location. She knew stories about me from the past. She knew about the hospital visit. She had access to a watch. She was furious at Ellie.

“And then you gave it to Felix?” I lifted my head to look at her.

She nipped the watch out of my hand and tossed everything back in her purse. “He thought he was so clever. So I gave it to him. Then I took it back.”

“Jules.” I stood up. “What did your mother die of?”

“Heart problems.” She stood, thumping her purse on the counter.

“Did she have a prescription for nitroglycerin?”

She didn't respond, but leaned forward and applied lipstick, blotting it with a tissue.

I remembered Juliana speaking to the young pageant girl at the mall event: “Want it, and find a way to be on top.”

“This is about winning, Jules?”

“Be the best, that's my motto.”

Sorrow washed through me, weakening my knees. I braced myself on the counter. “Were you trying to kill me all along?”

“No, the car, the helmet and suit, the hospital—even all those lovely stories in the right blogging ears—were all diversions.” She stowed her lipstick away.

“The car that tried to run
you
down?”

“What car?” She barked out a laugh. “You're the easiest person to fool. All I had to do was sacrifice an old pair of pants and purse to the cause.”

“Did you really mean to kill Ellie and Felix?”

“That bitch deserved it. And honestly, what's one less misogynist in the world?” She eyed me. “I did womankind a favor with Felix. He would never let a woman get ahead if he could stop it, not on track, not in the pits. That's unacceptable. Plus he thought he'd try to blackmail me because he saw me put pills in her juice. Did you know nitroglycerin was terribly lethal with his little blue pills?”

“You
killed
him! Womankind doesn't want those kinds of favors.”

“Old goody two-shoes, Kate.”

I bolted for the door, but she was faster. She bumped me aside, pushing me into the wall, then flipped the lock on the door. I lunged at her, trying to force her out of the way, but she turned and used my momentum to carry us both to the sinks. I hit the counter with the point of my hip, and she slammed into me. I cried out and crumpled over. It hurt like hell.

“Nice try, Kate. But you're not going to beat me. I've come too far to lose now.” She kept me pressed against the counter as she reached over to her purse. I bucked against her, moving her back. I was free for a moment. Then she turned and shoved me with both hands.

I stumbled backward on those stupid heels, overbalancing and going down hard on my tailbone against the far wall. My head sounded like a melon thunking against the tiles as I fell. My vision swam, narrowed. I saw black at the edges, and I shouted silently at myself, like I did in the racecar.
Don't pass out, Kate. Focus. Stay awake. Get up and get past her.
My limbs were slow to respond, but I'd kept a death grip on my purse, and my fingers fumbled with the clasp.

Red in my narrowed vision. Then pain as Juliana knelt on my legs. She peered into my eyes, nodded. I got my hand in my purse. Juliana pinched my nostrils closed and raised a cupped hand to my open mouth. Small objects hit my tongue. Some part of my brain shrieked a warning.

I lurched forward. Spit the pills out. Raised my right hand from my purse and shot hairspray point-blank into Juliana's eyes. She fell back with a shriek, rubbing her eyes. Swearing at me. I scooted forward and grabbed, untying the long, black ribbon from her waist. She struck out at me with hands and feet, blind, tears streaming down her face. I stole her trick and sat on her legs. Grabbed one arm. Wrapped the ribbon tight around it and tied a knot.

I scooted two feet away to the metal dividers separating the toilet stalls and wrapped the ribbon around the pillar secured to the floor. Pulled. Juliana's arm was reeled in toward the divider, and she flopped over onto her side on the floor. When she reached her other arm to her bound wrist, I wrapped the ribbon around both wrists together and knotted it again.

She was furious, crying, eyes closed. Stretched out on the floor, kicking. But immobilized. “Don't think this means you're better than me, Kate Reilly.”

I slowly got to my feet. My head spun as I stood upright, and I braced myself on the wall until I felt steady.

She kept talking. “You have no talent or style. I will always be better than you. Prettier than you.”

I sighed and looked down at my one-time friend. “Give it up, Jules. It's over.”

I got past her and wobbled out into the hallway, sinking into a chair across from the bathroom just as Holly and a hotel worker brandishing a large bunch of keys rounded the corner. Three men from hotel security were only steps behind, and I waved them into the bathroom to take charge of Juliana. They also called the cops. I sat with my head in my hands until the police arrived.

As an officer asked me questions to fill in the gaps of my story, Juliana was escorted out of the bathroom, hands cuffed behind her back.

“You might think you've won,” she called to me. “But I'll be back.”

I marveled at how well she'd hidden her twisted nature under surface charm. “Get some help, Juliana.”

“I should have slipped some revenge in your orange juice, too. Maybe next time.” She was led away down the hall.

Holly sighed. “She still walks like a pageant queen.”

“Thanks for riding to the rescue.”

“Not that you needed it, Supergirl. You saved your own skin just fine.”

“I guess I did.”

Holly raised an eyebrow. “Hairspray, not just for updos anymore?”

I felt a chuckle bubble through the grief and shock. It felt good.

 

Chapter Fifty-five

I ended up back at the Sandham Swift table in the banquet area. Before I left the hallway, Holly found the Chief Medical Officer for the Series and had him check out my injuries. The doctor confirmed what the paramedics suggested and I knew. I was possibly concussed and definitely banged up, but otherwise fine. I refused all invitations to go to the hospital, and no one insisted.

I was astonished to find, even after spending half an hour with the police—giving them a statement and promising to go to the station to sign it in the morning—I'd only been away from the party forty-five minutes. Our episode in the bathroom lasted a lifetime to me, but only four or five minutes to the rest of the world.

More than one well-meaning person, Stuart included, suggested I might prefer to go home and rest in peace and quiet after the trauma. I told them all the same thing: “I'll be damned if she's going to wreck my celebration.” Besides, while I might physically crash from adrenaline, my mind was wired. Sleep wouldn't come soon due to the near-death experience playing on repeat in my head. I might as well be with friends.

I had one other reason for sticking around. I knew the story would sweep through the party and the racing world like wildfire, and I wanted everyone to see I was the last man standing. That was good for public perception of me. It also meant nails in Juliana's coffin.
Petty? Probably. But that meant I won.

Fortunately the dining area was subdued. We heard music from the dance floor, as well as the hoots and hollers of the dancers, but it wasn't overwhelming. I held court at our table, an icepack on my head, telling the story over and over.

Zeke must have been in the far reaches of the dance floor, because I'd been sitting there fifteen minutes before he came tearing around the stage.

“You're all right! The story that's making the rounds in there—”

“Believe it,” Jack said, as Tom and Leon nodded.

Vicki waved Zeke to an empty chair. “You're going to want wine for this.” She nodded at Steve, who poured some and handed it to him.

Zeke sat with a thump, looking from me to Stuart and Mike on either side of me. “It's true? Juliana?”

“Sugar, I'm not sure exactly what you heard.” Holly took a slug of wine. “But it would be hard to make something up that would sound more crazy.”

“What in hell happened?”

“I have an idea Tom will like,” I said. “Zeke, how about an exclusive interview with Juliana's latest—and last—victim? On record, right now.”

Tom nodded. “Get your version out first.”

“If there's one thing I've learned this last two weeks, it's to control the message. Which reminds me I'll need to call my PR team tomorrow about this.”

Zeke was ready with a mini tape recorder. “You talk, Katie-Q, and I'll strike anything you don't want later—you all didn't hear that from a reporter, mind you.”

I saw Scott Brooklyn approach and stop two tables away. I stood up. “Hang on, sorry. I owe someone an apology.”

I walked over to him. “Are you OK?”

He nodded, his face grim. “I had no idea. She was bossy and demanding, but…”

“But who knew she was psycho? I sure didn't. What were you arguing about?”

“She'd promised to talk to the SGTV producers for me. But she reneged. Laughed at me. I was angry.” He raised eyes to mine. “I thought we had a future.”

I shook my head. “I need to apologize to you. I thought you were up to no good with her, were trying to use her to get a job. Turns out I had that backward.”

He came up with a smile and offered a hand. “How about a truce?”

“A truce.” I shook. “Apology accepted?”

“Sure thing. We'll wipe the slate clean, make a fresh start from here.”

“You going to be all right?”

He stood and put his hands in his pockets. “I'll be fine. Thanks for asking. I'll see you around, Kate.”

I went back to my seat at the table. “I wanted to apologize for thinking he was behind it all. But we've called a truce.”

“Good thing, too,” Mike said. “Given how our pit reporters are dropping like flies, he might be their senior guy.”

“Tell the story, Kate,” Zeke prompted.

“After the awards, I headed over to the entry hallway—”

Holly interrupted me. “Shouldn't it start with Ellie two weeks ago?”

“Honestly,” I said, “it should start with Juliana's awful mother who drilled into her head she had to win at all costs. To be better than everyone else. That if you didn't win, you hadn't wanted it enough or worked hard enough.”

“I've met that mother,” Vicki put in, “or her clone, on the pageant circuit.”

“There we were, the three of us racing against each other seven years ago, and at the end of the year Juliana and I were up for the same seat. I got it, and she left racing for pageants. I found out tonight that Juliana experienced health issues that year—which turned out to be epilepsy—and Ellie found out and told the team owner.”

“Naturally, he gave you the job,” Stuart commented.

“Right, but Juliana never knew Ellie told him. Neither did I. But then Ellie found Juliana a couple weeks ago—Zeke, don't print this. Apparently Ellie was an alcoholic for a lot of years, maybe even back to our racing days, I don't know. As part of her recovery, she went to Juliana to apologize for, as Juliana put it, betraying her to the team owner.”

I set the icepack down on the table. “I think that tipped Juliana over the edge. She had nitroglycerin from her mother's illness and she spiked Ellie's juice—not mine—at the Tavern.”

“She did still try to run you down in Atlanta,” Holly reminded me.

“That was a diversion, along with the helmet strap, firesuit, press at the hospital—she must have borrowed Felix's phone for that call. All to make everyone think I was the target, not Ellie.”

Zeke looked up from a notepad he'd started scribbling on. “Because there was no ‘why kill Kate' that pointed to her.”

“Just to other people. But who tried to run her down?” Holly asked.

I shook my head. “No one. She faked that.”

Tom spoke. “You can't blame all the stress of the past two weeks on her. I mean, the Ringer, NASCAR fans, that Nash Rawlings guy. Right?”

“She said something about ‘stories in the right bloggers' ears,' so I wouldn't be surprised if she planted stories of my early days in racing. But you're right, Tom, I brought most of that on myself.”

“Only some,” Jack put in. “You brought some on yourself—and learned a damned good lesson. The rest of it was rabid fans and stupid blogs. Everything gets spun out of control too quickly these days.”

“It's not hard for someone in the media to drop a word in the right ear, you know.” Zeke tapped his pencil on his notebook. “It'd be an easy way for her to try to discredit you—fan those flames.”

“Pretty sure she did that. She wasn't after me—not before the end, anyway—in the same way she was after Ellie and Felix, but I don't think she was happy with me achieving more than she did.”

“So what about Felix?” Steve Royal spoke for the first time. “I liked that guy.”

Vicki punched his arm, and he turned to her. “What? I did.”

I laughed. “He didn't like women, Steve. He hated me in particular.”

“I didn't know that. Um, what a jerk.”

Holly, Vicki, and I burst out laughing.

“He's a keeper,” Holly declared. “And so are you.” The latter was to Leon, who was refilling her glass of wine.

I went on. “Felix was blackmailing her. Plus, he was in her way. He'd never let her get anywhere, because he didn't think women belonged anywhere in racing—except maybe wearing spandex and holding an umbrella.”

“You figured all of this out, how?” Stuart asked.

“I wish I could claim because I'm brilliant. I thought about Juliana…I mean, Felix's father had made him so bitter and I heard other stories of other children warped by their parents' beliefs. But Jules seemed normal, even though stories of her mother were awful. So I wondered—but it was hard to believe she was a killer. I suspected Felix or those bank guys or Scott more than her.”

I sighed. “I asked Juliana what Ellie wanted to talk to her about, and learned about the betrayal and the epilepsy—which got Juliana upset. While she ranted, she knocked her purse off the counter, and I picked up a box with a race-winner's watch in it. Everything clicked. She was on the spot, had a watch—from a boyfriend, she said—and she'd just told me about a motive for Ellie. She admitted it all when I asked. Then she locked the door and tried to kill me.”

Holly put her hand on my shoulder. “I'd gone looking for Kate, and I could hear her voice, but the bathroom door was locked. I was on the way with keys and help when we found Kate had saved herself with hairspray.”

Zeke looked up from his notes. “Hairspray? Are you kidding me?”

“Haven't you taken any self-defense classes, Zeke?” I smiled. “Cops will tell you it's as effective as pepper spray, but legal. I had it with me on purpose.”

“A question for the victim then,” Zeke said. “How are you feeling?”

I smiled at him. “I'm glad to be alive and glad we all know the truth.”

He turned the recorder off with a snap and got up to give me a gentle hug. “I'm glad you're all right, Katie-Q. Take care of yourself, would you?”

“Working on it. Where's Rosalie, anyway?”

He frowned. “Back in our room here. I'll talk to you next week sometime.”

“Oy,” Leon shouted. “The Ringer. Kate, look.”

Five of us pulled out smartphones and called up the site to see a minutes-old post titled “New Beginnings,” with a photo of me receiving the Most Popular Driver award.

Tom read it aloud for the rest of the table:

“It's been a crazy night, Readers. I'll pass along details as they become available the next few days, but the bottom line is our assumptions have been turned upside down. Up is down, right is left, and the Ringer is pretty confused. But one thing is clear, we owe Kate Reilly an apology for the harsh things we've said about her in recent weeks. Sure, she's young and still learning, but it's time to admit she's never acted maliciously. Time to admit maybe the Ringer's been a bit of a bully where she's concerned.

“So here's my public apology to Kate—just Kate, not Calamity or Violent—congratulations on your awards and success this year, and good luck in the next season. I hope you're willing to let bygones be bygones with the Ringer, and wipe the slate clean, make a fresh start from here. Signed, the Ringer. P.S. Your dress was fabulous.”

Everyone at the table made astonished and gratified noises. I looked across the room and smiled. I'd met the Ringer.