Braking Points (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-seven

Over dinner with Holly at a bar and grill along Old Winder Highway, I finally had a chance to talk about Felix. “Two questions. Why would someone kill him? And do we think his death is connected to Ellie's?”

“He was a jerk to you.” She waved a french fry to stop my protests. “You didn't kill him, but maybe someone did—like your stalker.”

“Can we not say ‘my stalker?' We don't know I have one. Anyway, being mean to me isn't much of a reason. Do we think Felix and Ellie's deaths are connected? Maybe it's a coincidence?”

“On one hand, deaths at two successive race weekends can't be coincidence—thank goodness this is the end of the season, because I'd hate to see what happened at the next race. On the other hand, I can't think what you and Felix have in common to make someone that angry at you both.”

“And Juliana. Someone's after her, too.”

“I know, maybe Felix killed Ellie and tried to run you and Juliana down, and someone killed him for revenge.”

“But who? Me? Juliana? Ellie's husband who's at home dealing with twins? None of it makes any sense.” I took a bite of my blackened salmon and thought about Felix. “I remember Felix saying he wasn't the only one after me. Plus he was acting secretive this week—but that's third-hand news. Maybe he knew something about Ellie's death—or who's after females at the track—and he was killed to keep him quiet.”

“That big watch was new this week.”

“Was it? A race-winner's watch. Did he ever win one?” The biggest Series sponsor, Kreisel Timepieces, was a luxury watch maker that handed out special watches to all race winners—a design that couldn't be purchased, only won.

“The company's only been giving them out for seven years. Felix hasn't raced in that time, so he couldn't have won it. To be fair, I've seen those watches in fundraising auctions before, donated by a driver. Or he could have been given one by the company.”

I set down my fork. “Or he could have blackmailed someone for it.”

“Maybe he saw something at the Tavern that night.” Holly paused, handing her empty plate over to the waiter. “I think the manager of the team next to ours was friends with Felix. I'll see if he knows anything.”

“Thanks. Did you find out anything about Colby and her brother?”

She nodded. “They were in Elkhart Lake that weekend, and even at Siebkens, but outside on the lawn eating ice cream. No one remembers seeing them inside the Tavern, which doesn't prove anything. You have to consider them.”

“She seemed so nice.”

“Everyone says she is. But her brother's a real hothead—loses his temper in and out of the car. Very protective of his baby sister.”

“By now, I shouldn't be surprised people who don't know me don't like me.” I looked at the time. “Now to meet some more.”

My final obligation that night was my father's bank party, and I'd roped Holly into joining me. I was going because I was curious about my father's life. His family. But I wished I could observe anonymously.

“Only the two cousins dislike you, right? Maybe they won't be there. Besides, you already decided to do this. Let's get it over with.”

We drove down the highway to the Chateau Élan Winery, where a couple hundred people filled its main room. Most wore suits or dresses—or all black, like Holly. I stood out in my khakis and white team polo shirt, though I recognized three other drivers in the crowd dressed as I was.

“I'm getting wine,” Holly announced, drifting to a table at the right of the room.

I clamped a hand on her arm. “Don't leave me.”

She looked past me, speaking quietly. “I need to get out of your way right now. I'll be here when you're ready.”

I turned to find my father, looking relieved and nervous. “Thank you for coming.”

“I can't stay long.”
Damn it, Kate, you didn't need to start off negative
.

“I know. Race day tomorrow. I'm glad you stopped in.” He took a deep breath. “Let me introduce you to my family.”

I wasn't sure what to say, but I followed him to the back left corner of the room where five people sat at a table littered with half-full glasses of wine and empty appetizer plates. My father walked directly to a petite, blonde woman and touched her shoulder.

“Amelia?” As he spoke—no, as we approached, the table fell silent, the relaxed, jovial atmosphere turned tense. Wondering.

Exactly how I felt.

Amelia stood, smiling and reaching out her hands for mine. She looked younger than the mid-forties she must be.

“Katherine.” Her voice was low and calm, her gaze direct. “I'm so glad to finally meet you.” She drew in breath, as if to say more, but pressed her lips together and smiled instead, squeezing my hands.

I was grateful for her welcome, but I still felt like turning and running. “It's nice to meet you, too.” I tried for a smile.

She released my hands as two others approached. The female was enough like her mother to have passed for twins: blond, slender, fine-boned, and the same couple inches taller than me. She'd also inherited our father's eyes. They were blue and wary, probably like mine.

“Lara,” she said, shaking my hand.

“Katherine.” I shrugged. “Kate. Whatever.”

“And I'm Edward, Eddie, whatever.” I heard laughter in the voice of my half-brother, as he stood beside his sister and offered his hand in turn. He took after my father in coloring, though he looked more like his mother around the mouth. He was six inches taller than everyone else and comfortable with his gangly limbs.

“Nice to meet you both.”

“Interesting, isn't it?” Eddie grinned.

I nodded. “It looks like a great party. Are you all here for the whole weekend or only tonight?”

Amelia spoke up first. “We'll all be at the race tomorrow, but these two head back to school on Sunday. I'll stay with James for the banquet Sunday night.”

“Good job on the pole position, by the way,” Eddie put in.

“Thanks. It's a nice boost after the last race.”

A new voice joined the group and finished my thought. “And everything since, no doubt.” One of the other men at the table had risen and joined us, standing to my left on the other side of my father. His words were neutral, but his face was cold.

My father shifted to include the newcomer in our small circle. “Katherine, this is my nephew, Holden Sherain.” My father gestured to the remaining man at the table, and at his approach, introduced me to another nephew, William Reilly-Stinson.

Great, both of the disgruntled cousins in one place.
They both looked familiar, but I figured a look in the mirror would explain why.

William Reilly-Stinson smiled and said, “Call me Billy,” reaching around Holden to shake my hand. I didn't trust his apparent friendliness.

Holden didn't bother to shake, simply nodded at me, a gesture I returned.

My father cleared his throat. “Katherine, are you ready for the race tomorrow?”

“As ready as we can be for a race this long. We've talked through contingency plans. A lot of it comes down to who's lucky and who's most prepared to deal with the unexpected.”

As my father, Billy, and Eddie peppered me with questions about my qualifying laps, the crash at Road America, and plans for the next day's race, I switched into “racecar driver entertaining sponsors” mode, trying not to think about the emotional complications of the group in front of me. But Holden, Lara, and Amelia didn't speak, only watched me intently. That was unnerving and exhausting. After a few minutes, I glanced desperately around the room for Holly. She was at my side moments later.

I introduced her and apologized for having to leave. I shook hands all around again—though not with Holden, whose expression never wavered from something close to contempt. And not with Amelia, who leaned over and pressed her cheek to mine instead, whispering, “I'm so glad to meet you, because you mean so much to him.”

I masked my surprise. “Thanks.”

My father walked us to the door and kissed my cheek once more. “Thank you again for coming. Good luck tomorrow, we'll all be rooting for you.”

I couldn't help myself. “All?”

“Most.” He sighed.

“Were you able to find out if they—my—your nephews could have been in Elkhart Lake or Atlanta the last couple weekends?”

“I only confirmed Holden in Boston for the first weekend and Billy for the second—strange in itself, since they're usually regular with schedules and activities. I made some inquiries…this might not be the time.”

Holly caught on faster than I did and excused herself with a wave, saying she'd meet me at the car.

“And?” I asked when she was out of earshot.

“I'm still digging into specifics, but it appears Holden and Billy have been quietly bankrolling a number of new businesses.”

“Like angel investors?”

“Perhaps that's the idea. But these are high-end restaurants and fashion or art boutiques—which carry an enormous risk factor as potential investments. And results have been poor so far.”

“Big points for style and power though.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, I'm beginning to suspect the role of provider is more important to them than a shrewd return on investment. I'm also concerned they may be spending beyond their current means—”

“And looking for other sources of income? The money they think I shouldn't inherit? Didn't you say there'd be no money for years?”

“Not until I'm gone, correct, though they may be borrowing against future expectations, in addition to spending their own money. Listen, let me pursue the question of what they might be involved in. I guarantee you if they're at all involved in what's been going on around you, the authorities will know immediately.”

I nodded. “I won't spread it around. But I'm not going to shield them if the police ask me something.”

“That's all I ask. I'll let you know what else I uncover.”

It took until Holly and I drove through the main gates of Chateau Élan for me to release the breath I felt I'd been holding for the past half an hour.

Holly nodded. “Kate with family, that's something different.”

“I can't see them as family. They're a mixed up collection of people—some may be supportive, but some have motive.” I related what my father had told me about the cousins. “I'm not sure I trust
any
of them.”

Holly laughed. “Sugar, dysfunctional is the definition of family. Get used to it. You're the long-lost daughter.”

“Not dealing with that. Not until after this weekend. Maybe not ever.”

She studied me. “You're angry.”

“I can't deal with these emotions on top of everything else.” I hit the steering wheel with my hand. “Everyone wants more than I can give. My father, Stuart, fans, the Ringer. And maybe those cousins are trying to kill me to get something I don't want anyway? It's too much. I can't do it. What energy I have, I'm focusing on the race. No one gets anything until after that.”

As if on cue, my cell phone rang. I nodded to Holly, who picked it up from the center console. “Stuart,” she said.

I shook my head. The only way to hold myself together was to shut everyone out.

“Do what you gotta do.” Holly set my ringing phone back in the console and turned up the radio.

 

Chapter Thirty-eight

My resolve to focus on racing was tested twice the next morning before I reached my team paddock. First, my father cruised past me in a golf cart, as I walked down the hill from the field I'd parked in. He thanked me again for attending the party, but stopped talking when I held up a hand.

“After the race. Tomorrow. But not now, OK? It's too much.”

He nodded, though his expression signaled he struggled with some emotion. “All right. Have a good race.”

Was that anger? Disappointment?
I squelched my guilt. I heard an engine fire up in a garage below, and my blood hummed in response. Race day.

My second hurdle was Stuart, stopping in front of me in the paddock, looking concerned and frustrated.
Focus on the race, Kate! The race. Cope with this later.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Did you get my message?”

“I haven't listened to it yet.” I raised my hands. “I feel like a jerk, but I'm on overload. It's all I can do to hold myself together. I'm sorry.”

“The message tells you Miles Hanson will be here today on the pre-race grid. He specifically requested a photo with you, to quell dissent in his fan club. Be prepared for that.” He paused, his face stony. “I suppose you'll let me know when you can
deal
with me. Have a good race.” He turned and walked away.

I stood with my eyes closed for a moment, not liking myself much. I shook my head and continued on to the Sandham Swift paddock. Two men stood at our rope barrier, and I nodded to them as I reached out to unhook the line, my mind preoccupied with the schedule of events for the morning, which would unfold at breakneck pace.

Movement to my left. A snarl. “Bitch!” Someone shoved me.

I stumbled sideways from the impact. Caught myself on the rope, pulling the stanchion over so it hit the ground with a clang. People rushed from all directions. A crew member shouted. I heard a scuffle. A punch landing on flesh.

I staggered into the garage and leaned against the Corvette abandoned by the five crew members now in the paddock lane. Tried to make sense of what I saw. Four Sandham Swift mechanics had subdued the two men I'd passed—one of whom pushed me. Another, Alex Handy, led a third guy into our paddock. I recognized him as one of the winning bidders from the auction the night before, now sporting a split lip and a half-wet t-shirt.

I crossed to him. “Jeff Morgan, right?”

He nodded and tried to smile. “Ouch.”

Aunt Tee handed him ice wrapped in a towel for his lip. Tom ran up with a security guard who asked what happened.

“Someone shoved me and then there were people everywhere,” I said.

Jeff lowered the ice and spoke carefully. “I saw the whole thing. She walked past them and one guy called her a bitch and shoved her. I went to stop him, but the second guy punched me. Then the crew tackled them both.” He turned to me. “I tried, but I couldn't stop them alone.”

“Of course you couldn't,” Aunt Tee soothed. “There were two of them.”

I shook my head. “It's not your fight, but it was nice of you to help. Thank you.”

“What kind of fan or friend would I be if I didn't stand up for my favorite driver? I'm glad I was here.”

The security guard spoke again. “Any idea why that happened?”

“They were wearing Miles Hanson gear,” I pointed out. “Miles Hanson plus beer is my guess.”

Jeff lowered the ice pack again. “I can confirm the beer because most of it ended up on me. I'm going to smell like a brewery today.”

Aunt Tee patted his shoulder. “No, you won't. The least we can do is give you a fresh shirt. And you can clean up in our motorhome.”

She led him inside when the security guard left. As I thanked the crew who'd come rushing to my aid, Mike and Leon arrived, allowing the mechanics to recount the incident blow-by-blow. I saw the door of the motorhome start to open, and I scurried into the transport trailer's office, hissing at Mike and Leon to come with me.

“You hiding from someone then, Kate?” Leon pulled down two of the slats on the blinds to look out.

“Stop that, or they'll see.”

Mike flopped onto a couch. “Sounds like this guy was a hero. Shouldn't you be thanking him?”

“I did, but he acts like he's got a crush on me, and it's better to keep my distance from those. Besides, he'll get more attention tomorrow night at the banquet.”

Leon cocked his head. “What's that?”

“He's one of the two guys who won our banquet tickets in the auction last night.”

I wasn't able to avoid Jeff Morgan entirely, because Leon and I passed him on our way to the pits less than an hour later. Jeff waved to catch my eye, and raised his camera for a photo. I poked Leon and we both smiled and waved. But we kept walking.

“He wanted you to stop,” Leon murmured.

“Keep moving.”

Mike followed us some minutes later, still in street clothes. The warm-up session was only twenty-five minutes, and only Leon and I would get behind the wheel—Leon, since he had less experience here, and me, because I'd be starting the race.

Jack instructed us to take only as many laps as we needed to get comfortable, repeating an oft-heard mantra in racing: “Nothing good ever happens in warm-up.” We each took three or four laps and kept our noses clean. Overnight showers had washed away a lot of the rubber laid down the past two days of practice, which meant less grip for our tires. I was glad to know the current condition of the course.

After warm-up, the car stayed in the pits with the crew while the drivers went back to the paddock with Jack and our crew chiefs for a five-minute check-in and some quiet moments before the race countdown began. Jack made last-minute points—primarily to me, along the lines of “Pole position is great, but don't throw the race away trying to stay in front.”

“I gotcha, boss. ‘To finish first, first you have to finish.'” Another racing maxim. “I'll hand the car to Mike in pristine condition, if it's the last thing I do.”

I left the paddock for pit lane before Mike and Leon, because, as starting driver, I'd drive the car out of the pits, around the track, and into grid position on the front straight, where the others would meet me. I was thinking about the upcoming photo opp with Miles Hanson when a well-tailored suit got in my way.

Holden Sherain stood in front of me, his expression saying I was a bug he wanted to squash.

I sighed. “Hi, nice to see you. I have to be going now.” I moved to step around him, but he grabbed my arm and leaned in close.

“Busy Ms. Racecar Driver, aren't we? Watch your step, because I'm on to you.”

He'd have made more sense speaking Greek. “What?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I'm keeping an eye on you—everywhere you go, I'm watching. Don't think you can waltz in, pretend to be part of the family, and scoop up some money without any questions being asked. Without proof. You little nobody—”

I wrenched my arm from his grasp and stepped closer, invading his personal space and making him flinch. “Listen, asshole. I don't have time for this shit. I didn't ask for family, money—or
you
—and I don't want any of it. Stay the hell away from me.”

I didn't look back as I entered the safety of pit lane.