Avoidable Contact (26 page)

Chapter Fifty

12:55 P.M. | 1:15 HOURS REMAINING

My next thought was to wonder if Lara could be in trouble. I also realized I'd forgotten to warn her about Tug. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my father asking for her cell number.

He responded almost immediately, and I typed a message to her:
Lara, it's Kate. What you said earlier, was that about the 77 car? Did you mean there really was no throttle problem?
I sent that and agonized over the five other questions I had. That was enough to start with.

I sent a second message:
Also, watch out for Tug. Big flirt, big player. Don't let him talk you into anything
.

Holly breezed in, full of congratulations, but bit them off as soon as she saw my face. “Now what, sugar?”

I explained to her what I'd figured out. Her face fell also.

She stood up from the cooler she was on, reached inside, and brought out a water bottle. She exchanged it for the empty one I held in my hand. “You need to get cleaned up.”

“I need to hear back from Lara. I may be spinning something simple into a big conspiracy theory. I'm not sure I understood her correctly.”

“Then let's take a golf cart for the run back to the motorhome. We could stop by Lara's team after that. I was just next door in CPG.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and dressed in jeans, a team polo shirt, and a light jacket. Aunt Tee played chauffeur and dropped us off at the top end of pit lane. I waved the radio at her. “Tell Jack I'm listening if he needs me. I'll be back for the end, for sure.”

She waved and glided off.

My cell phone finally buzzed with a return message from Lara.

Don't worry, I don't trust anything Tug says. Yes, 77 car. Overheard mechanic saying all systems were fine.

I tugged Holly out of the way of foot traffic and showed her the message.

You overheard? Does the whole team know?
I typed back.

Secret. Couple people talking. I think the mechanic likes me, so I might ask him about it
,
came her return.

Holly read over my shoulder. “She's certainly your sister.” I glared at her, and she added, “Sorry, half-sister.”

I didn't mind the association as much as I had before. I typed back:
Don't investigate, don't get in trouble. Leave it alone.

Lara's response:
Why not? You do. Besides, I'll be careful.

I groaned.

Holly laughed. “Related to you. Maybe it's not a problem. Maybe it's all the driver's doing and the mechanic is covering his own ass.”

“That might be easier to believe than a giant conspiracy.”

“On the other hand, that team might not be a good place for her to be.”

I typed back.
Can you get out of there? Meet me?

She replied:
Not now. Need to run some numbers. Maybe in a bit?

“I'm not sure what to do, Holly.” I slipped the phone in my pocket and looked around us. “That's got nothing to do with Stuart or Calhoun, right? She found out someone lied about the accident. Like you said, the team could feel badly about it and be fibbing to make their mistakes seem less awful.”

“My Spidey-sense tells me it's not as simple as all that. At least you should tell the cops and your father, don't you think?”

“Good idea.”

I sent quick texts to Latham and my father. Holly and I headed down the walkway. Two teams later, we ran into my grandfather's industry friend, Jimmy Baker.

I introduced him to Holly, and he joined us to walk down the lane, chatting to Holly about teams they'd both worked with. Holly ducked into the Western Racing tent. Jimmy and I stood to the side to wait for her.

Jimmy looked at me with concern. He lowered his voice to speak. “Kate, I hope you'll forgive my presumption. You look a touch frazzled.”

I touched a hand to my hair, then rubbed my forehead, imagining what he saw: three hours' sleep, no makeup or hair styling, radio headset slung around my neck. Jimmy, in contrast, looked like he'd gotten a good night's sleep. Today's bow tie was forest green with white polka dots.

He waved a hand. “It's not that you look unattractive, my dear. You look concerned. Upset. I merely wondered if there's anything I could help you with—in place of your grandfather. I'm sure he'd want me to offer. I'm at your disposal if there's anything at all.”

Can he help? Is it even wise to tell him anything?
“It's been a tough race,” I started, cautiously.

“Indeed.” He paused. “Perhaps it would help to let you know that over the years, your grandfather confided in me about your father's family. I'm aware some of them are here and that your grandparents would prefer you not interact with them. However, I know how to be discreet.”

I was rattled to hear this near-stranger knew all about me. But he reminded me of Gramps. And I could easily imagine Gramps asking one of his pals to help me out on the sly. “Thank you. I'm not sure if I'll need anything, but I'll keep it in mind.” I took a deep breath. “I think my father is working on keeping the idiots in his family in line. Though perhaps you could keep an eye out for my—” I faltered. I'd always drawn the line at saying the term aloud. I sighed, wondering why it mattered anymore. Wondering what good the privacy and independence I'd hugged to myself so fiercely had done for me.

I cleared my throat. “Keep an eye out for my half-sister in the tent next to yours. The little blonde. Lara.”

“It would be my pleasure. It must be difficult to compete and do your job while dealing with family interactions, drama, concerns.”

A short laugh popped out of me. “You're not kidding.”

“Even though you see it so often in the racing world.”

“It's really a family sport.”

“I've always thought it's harder to treat racing like a business if your son—or daughter—is driving for you. If your brother is a car chief or marketing executive. If your cousin is your accountant. Or worse yet—if your close relation is giving you the money to race.”

Yes, like my father and his brother or nephews.
And wait, didn't Holly also say…
“Jimmy, whose cousin is an accountant?”

He smiled at Holly, who emerged from the Western tent and crossed the lane to join us. “I believe Richard Arena and Monica Frank are cousins. Holly, how're they doing in there?”

She held her hand flat and wiggled it back and forth. “Coping, but strange. There's something going on, and they won't tell me what it is. Greg isn't blaming everyone as much as before, though he's still plenty angry at the Series.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I'm worried he's going to go out in some big blaze of glory.”

I glanced back at the tent. “Did you get confirmation?”

She nodded, a sad look in her eyes, as Jimmy gestured us on down the lane. My heart sank.
Greg was missing during the time of Stuart's attack. Could he really be capable of it?

I wanted to ask Holly if she'd sent word of our suspicions to the police, but I didn't want to do it while Jimmy was with us. Instead, I listened with only half my attention as Holly and Jimmy talked about the race. I chewed on the idea of Greg as a killer.

It all comes back to family. Greg's family, whether it's the racing world or Ian. My family, causing problems. Other family…

Something nagged at me about family connections. I was worried about Lara, and my cousins could be in big trouble, but those issues weren't what my subconscious was stuck on.

We were steps away from Jimmy's destination, the CPG tent, when a stirring around us indicated something happening on track. We hurried into CPG and found the monitors in time to see the double-yellow thrown for a battered BMW that had given up the ghost and was stopped in the runoff area at the exit of Turn 3.

Something about cousins? Was that it?
What cousins?
I knew of my own. Arena and Monica. Thomas Kendall, aka Tommy Fantastic, and Chris Syfert, drivers in the Sandham Swift 30 car. Whoever Monica had referenced as her cousin in the video recording.

Holly nudged me, and we said goodbye to Jimmy. As we turned to leave, Jason Carnegie caught my eye. I returned his wave.

Was the issue other relations? Like Jason, younger brother of Daniel Carnegie?
Certainly there was a younger brother out there, the missing Julio Arena.

We walked past the opening of Benchmark Racing's tent, and I spied Lara twisted around in her seat on the pit cart, smiling down at a crew member. She saw me and raised her hand in a subtle wave. Vinny, three seats down from her on the same bench, glanced over at Lara and scowled at her and the crew member.

A dozen details rearranged themselves into a new pattern in my mind. I gasped. Fortunately, only Holly heard me over the noise from the track.

“What?” She grabbed my arm.

I darted a glance into the tent again. Vinny still watched Lara and the crew member, who I suspected was the mechanic from the 77 car. Then Vinny turned and saw us.

I pasted on my brightest smile and waved at a man I thought was a killer.

Chapter Fifty-one

1:20 P.M. | 0:50 HOURS REMAINING

I shoved Holly farther down the pit lane.

“What's going on, Kate?”

I tugged her into the back of the next team tent, the factory Corvette group, wanting to be out of sight of Benchmark Racing, but desperate to tell Holly what I'd put together. If it made sense to her, maybe it was true.

Duncan Forsyth, one of the Corvette drivers, turned from his position in front of their monitors and walked over. “Ladies. Anything we can help you with?”

“Space for a quick conversation,” I told him.

He raised his eyebrows. “Help yourself.” He returned to the elaborate bank of screens mounted on the back of a pit cart even larger than ours.

Holly looked worried. “What on—”

“Everything we keep hearing is about family, right?” I spoke close to her ear, in a low tone I knew couldn't be overheard.

She nodded, and I went on. “Cousins and brothers. Half-sisters. All over the place. Mine, other people's. Plus people who aren't who they say they are.”

“Joe Smith?” She whispered back.

“And maybe others. The point is, that was rattling around in my head. Arena and Monica are cousins. Monica talked about ‘her cousin' to him, in a way that didn't seem like she was referring to him. Monica walking with Vinny. Someone saying they look related. People aren't who they say they are. The Arena and Benchmark teams connected, but it's supposed to be a secret. A missing brother known to have killed someone via a hit-and-run.”

I could see the moment she added everything up and got the same number I had. “You think Vinny Cruise is Julio Arena?” She barely breathed it.

My knees shook as I added another piece of the puzzle. “Calhoun saw Julio Friday night—had to be at the restaurant with Stuart. Stuart saw Vinny and Arena together there—he said so to Vinny.”

“Vinny thought he was going to be exposed as Julio,” Holly added.

“Right. Vinny thought Stuart knew who he was, like Calhoun did.” I considered. “Does it make sense? Too out there?”

She was silent a full minute. “I think you're right. I'm not sure we can prove it, but it makes sense. Tell the cops.”

I yanked my cell phone out of my pocket and took twice as long as usual to type a message to Detective Latham, because my fingers trembled.
We think Vinny Cruise of Benchmark Racing is really Julio Arena, RA's brother. That he hurt Stuart and killed Calhoun to keep it secret.

I also sent a frantic text message to my father warning him that Vinny might be dangerous and to get Lara out of there immediately.

Latham responded:
We're on top of it. Stay with your team and keep quiet. Don't get in our way. We'll take care of it.

My sister's in that tent!
I returned.

Latham's reply:
We'll take care of it and her.

I realized my heart was pounding. I tried to calm down by taking deep breaths—which didn't help the way it usually did. With no better idea of what to do, we set off back down the pit lane.

A minute later, we ducked into the empty tent on the other side of the Redemption team—abandoned by another team whose race ended early—so I could read a fresh text message from Lara.
Tino, the mechanic, was paid to lie about the throttle. He heard someone paid team owner to reduce car count in the class. Tino's having a hard time keeping quiet given what happened.

I covered my mouth with my hand, horrified someone would do such a thing. Tino was covering up after the fact. But the team owner, driver, and sources of the bribe…I couldn't believe they'd willfully damage a competitor.
What are you thinking? Of course you can believe that of Vinny Cruise. You think worse.

I responded to Lara.
Can you get out of there? Come see me? Let me meet you? Worried about you knowing that information. Worried about you in that team tent. Please, meet me?

It took a long time, but I finally got a return, a strange one.

Holly looked up from the screen. “‘Not now sister'? That doesn't seem like Lara.”

“It doesn't. It sounds like someone telling her what to say or responding for her. What if Vinny figured out she knows something?”

“Have you heard more from the cops? Your father?”

I shook my head. I paced back to the entryway of the tent and out into the walkway. Then I walked to the entryway of the Redemption tent where I could see their bank of monitors. I felt restless, unsettled. Helpless and irritated. I couldn't rush into the Benchmark tent on a rescue mission. I couldn't go meekly back to my own team pits.

Holly joined me. “You're not planning anything, are you, sugar?”

I kept looking around, searching for any sign of Lara, my father, or the cops. “Why am I worried about her, Holly? Why do I care?” I paused. “When did I start thinking of her as my sister?”

“For one thing, you'd care about anyone in the same situation. For another, she
is
your half-sister, and she seems nice. Nothing wrong with being interested in a family connection.” She turned to glance toward the Arena tent. “Unless it's
that
family connection. But your father seems like a decent guy. Your half-sister's probably the same.”

“When did I start caring about family?”

Holly sighed. “You've always cared about family. You simply didn't have much of it. You want what family's supposed to give you. Unquestioning acceptance and support.” She held up a hand to stop my response. “I know you get that from your grandparents, but who doesn't want more? Also you want a sense of where you come from. Heritage. History. We all do. You've only had half the story so far.”

I felt the familiar tightness in my chest at the idea of being sucked into my father's family.
I never wanted the burden—so many people, so many emotions and needs. Isn't it simpler and easier with only my grandparents?

I followed the 28 Corvette through a full loop of the track on the monitors as I considered different scenarios. One, ignore my father and his family and have only my grandparents in my life. That gave me an itch between my shoulder blades.
Because what happens when your grandparents are gone?
I frowned. Fear of being alone was a stupid reason to open myself up to anyone. But the thought of never knowing where I came from made me feel…adrift.

Scenario two, I let my father's family in. At best, I might really like my father and his wife and kids.
Grandmother might never forgive me.
I shook my head. I couldn't let her feelings dictate my actions. If she had good reasons, she needed to share them with me, not darkly hint at evil.

At worst, I might be exposing myself to a hateful group of people—like Ed Grant, his son Billy, and Holden Sherain. I didn't know what emotional currents ran through that family. I didn't want to know. But I already had a champion and a defender in my father.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
What do I want?
I exhaled and shook my head. I'd run from the decision long enough. My life with my grandparents might be simpler, but it was also incomplete. I wanted to know my father and his wife and children. I wanted to believe I could be part of his family.

I looked around, thinking it a strange time and place for such a momentous decision. The final hour of a grueling endurance race. The final push for weary, grieving teams. Culprits still un-caught. Stuart's condition still unresolved. And I was making life-changing decisions.

I still wasn't sure it would work. That any part of the Reilly family wanted me, that we'd find a connection. That I'd trust them completely—since I knew I didn't trust Ed, Billy, or Holden. But my half-sister? I instinctively trusted her, even if I didn't fully trust our father.

You can't trust him until you know what happened when you were born.
I closed my eyes. I might never feel ready for it, but it was time for that information.

I looked at Holly, who'd turned her attention to the monitors while I wrestled with my thoughts. “All right, I'm interested in some of the family. The bigger issue is Lara could be sitting next to a killer.”

“The cops told you they'd handle it.”

“I hate feeling helpless. I'm not going to go barging in there, but maybe there's something we can do. I'd feel better at least if I heard from my father.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. No messages. “I can't believe he's not responding—now, when it's
his daughter
in trouble.”

I stopped finally, because Holly wasn't listening. Something big was happening, that was clear from the shocked postures of the team in front of us and the stunned silence up and down pit lane. I followed Holly's shaking finger as she pointed to the monitors. It took me a few seconds to understand what I was seeing.

Greg Davenport was behind the wheel of his Western Racing Porsche wearing neither firesuit nor helmet. He drove down pit lane, waving out the window to the people he passed. Hand-painted signs festooned both sides of the car, the roof, and the hood, with messages proclaiming “Greed KILLS Teams and People,” “Shame on USCC,” and a much smaller “RIP Ian.”

Greg ignored the madly waving red flag at the end of pit lane, warning him to stop. Instead, he exited, headed for the racetrack.