The Shadow Portrait (26 page)

“I’m not sure but what much of that is a state of mind. She’s been told so often that she’s an invalid, I think she believes it. There was a lady like that back home. Every time I’d go see her, she would open the door, and say, ‘Why, Phil, what’s wrong with you? You look sick.’ Before I left there, I’d actually
feel
sick.”

“I know. The power of suggestion, and Oliver Lanier makes some mighty strong suggestions. But we’ll pray for Cara, and God can do any miracle. . . .”

“I’m telling you, Peter, you’d better not let her get in that car!”

Easy Devlin waved the cast on his right arm before Peter Winslow’s face. He could not work yet with the hand, but he had stayed constantly beside Peter, who had spent hours working on the
Jolie Blonde,
and during most of that time, Easy had doggedly argued against letting Avis Warwick ride in the race.

“Sing another tune, Easy,” Peter said impatiently. He was wearing a pair of white coveralls stained with grease and was bending over the engine. “I’m tired of hearing about Avis and this race. She’ll be all right.”

“That’s what you think!” Easy grinned. “You know what happened this morning?”

“I don’t know. What?”

“A bird got in the room. Flew right in through my bedroom window.” Easy reached down with his left hand and pulled Peter out from under the hood. He was much shorter and had to look up at Peter as he demanded, “So what do you think about that?”

Peter was exhausted and could not think clearly. He rubbed his forehead with his sleeve, looked up at the sun which was very hot, and said wearily, “So a bird got in your room! So what?”

“Of all the ignorant people I ever heard! Don’t you know that’s the worst luck in the world, for a bird to get in a house? Why, back when I was a kid a bird got into our house, flew right in through the front window, and two days later my oldest brother got trampled by a wild horse. Broke both of his legs. Now, you see?”

“Easy, you are the most superstitious human being I’ve ever met!” Peter jerked his sleeve away from Devlin’s grasp and said, “Why don’t you go somewhere and do something else? The car’s in as good a shape as it’s going to be. We’ll win the race, and Avis will give up after one ride. You’ll see. The new thrill will wear off, and you’ll be all right soon, and it’ll all be over.”

Easy shook his head. “Well, I didn’t intend to tell you this, but now I see I’ve gotta.” Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Last week I was helping Jolie clean up—and I dropped the broom. And then before I could pick it up, why that girl
stepped right over it!
Now, that tears it, don’t it? Even
you
gotta know there ain’t nothing to bring bad luck more than doin’ a thing like that!”

Peter glared at Easy in disbelief and then shook his head. “Go away, Easy. I’ll see you later.”

Devlin stared as Peter turned and walked away to the house. He shouted after him, “All right, but you’ll see! You’ll see!”

Avis met Peter as he came out of the house the next morning. She was wearing a dashing new outfit: fawn-colored jodhpurs, black boots that sleekly followed the curves of her calves, a crimson silk blouse, and a dark blue corduroy jacket.

“How do you like my racing outfit, Peter?” she asked demurely. Her eyes were shining with excitement and she turned around once like a model, then waited for his admiration.

Peter stared at her, then grinned. “Well, you’ll be the best-looking woman in the race. I’ll say that, Avis.”

“I’m the
only
one. I guess that’s kind of a left-handed compliment.” Avis came forward, reached up, and threw her arms around Peter. “It’s going to be great! We’re going to win! I just know we are!” she whispered. She pulled his head down and kissed him. There was an abandon in her gesture, and she never seemed to care who was watching, for nothing she did ever embarrassed her.

It embarrassed Peter, however, and he pulled back, protesting, “Avis, for crying out loud! Don’t be kissing me in the streets!”

“Well, let’s go in the bedroom, then. Would that be better?”

Peter’s face reddened. He could never tell how serious Avis Warwick was. He did know she was the most forward and free-speaking woman he had ever met. Perhaps this accounted for the fascination he felt for her. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t do. Mrs. Mason is very strict about such things. And don’t say we can go to your bedroom, because I won’t do it.”

“My Puritan,” Avis smiled. She reached up and touched his cheek, then whispered, “I don’t know what I see in you. I’ve always liked dashing men. You’re nothing but a plodder, Peter Winslow.”

“You’re right about that, but that’s what it takes to get a racing car ready.”

Avis took his arm and said, “Come along. Let’s go for a trial run.”

“All right, but you’re going to get that pretty outfit dirty.”

“That’s all right. I’ll buy another one.” Avis laughed up at him. Her eyes were sparkling, and a vivacious smile lit up her face. “It’s going to be fun,” she said, “and we’re going to win.”

Some of her excitement seemed to pass on to Peter, and he grinned. “We’d better. If we don’t, I’m out of the racing business, it looks like.” He put his arm around her and they walked away, speaking of the upcoming race. Looking down at her, he was thinking,
What an exciting woman she is.
But even as he thought this, he had a quick vision of Jolie’s face as she had warned him not to let Avis ride. Quickly he shook off the memory, saying, “It’ll just be for this one race. It’ll be all right. . . .”

The air was filled with the thunder of racing engines, and Avis Warwick, goggles in place, suddenly turned to Peter and shouted, “Beat them all, Peter! Step on the gas and never let off!”

“Right!” Peter grinned back at her, then gripped the wheel, his knuckles white as he waited for the starter’s gun. As always in a race, his nerves were strung tight, and now he forgot everything except the stretch of track that lay ahead of him.

He had come early, along with Easy, Jolie, and Avis, to study the competition. He and Easy knew which machines were the ones to beat, and the two had carefully planned their strategy.

Jolie was at the track, too. She had said nothing about Avis, merely, “Good luck, Peter.”

“Thanks, Jolie.” He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t worry. The
Jolie Blonde
will be a winner. Always friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, always friends.”

Now as Peter sat there, tense as a coiled spring, waiting for the gun, he saw a look in Jolie’s eyes that he could not
understand, but there was no time to think of that now. He felt the pressure of Avis’s shoulder against him, and then the crack of the starter’s pistol sounded out over the engines’ roar. He floored the accelerator and felt the
Jolie Blonde
lunge forward with a surge of power. The air was filled with screaming engines and tires keening against the track, and then all was speed and blur and motion!

Peter never could remember very clearly the first three laps of the race. He remembered only that the Dusenburg kept crowding him against the rail. The driver, a big German with a heavy mustache, was laughing, and Peter knew it was because he had a woman riding in his car. There had been much attention paid to Avis before the race, as all the photographers had crowded around the
Jolie Blonde
snapping pictures. Now Peter tried to maneuver ahead of the Dusenburg but had trouble getting by. The driver, Max Mueller, grinned in delight as he continued pushing Peter over to the rail.

Anger surged through Peter, and Avis screamed, “Don’t let him get by with that, Peter! Knock him over!”

Peter waited until there was a clear space, then he swung the
Jolie Blonde
to the right. The front of his car caught the back of Mueller’s Dusenburg and knocked him almost into a spin.

“That’s the way! Give it to him!” Avis screamed. She had pulled her helmet off, and her hair was flying in the wind. Her face was shining with excitement, and Peter knew she did not realize the danger in what they were doing.

Three times they circled the track, and on the next lap, Mueller came up beside them again. His face was scowling now, and suddenly Peter grew wary. He slammed on the brakes to let Mueller pass, but Mueller suddenly swung over and the back of his car snagged the front of the
Jolie Blonde.

The wheel was wrenched from Peter’s hands, and although he grabbed for it wildly, the car fishtailed and went out of control.

As the
Jolie Blonde
went careening down the track,
changing and swapping ends, Peter could see nothing as he tried to fight the spin. Then he felt the rear of the car rise up and his heart leaped, for he knew they were going over.

“Avis—” He yelled and reached over to put his arms around her, but even as he did, the car flew up, then came down on its side with a thunderous crash. Peter’s grip was torn loose from Avis, and he felt himself spinning and rolling in the dirt. He heard the crash as the
Jolie Blonde
smashed into the railing, but he could not see.

When he finally stopped rolling, he felt blood inside of his mouth. The roaring of the cars sounded like thunder, and he staggered to his feet. One car was weaving madly to avoid him and passed by so close he thought he felt it touch his leg. He did not stop though, for his eyes were riveted on Avis Warwick, whose body lay crumpled against the barricade. Staggering forward, he reached her and fell down beside her. He rolled her over and saw that her eyes were closed and she was limp.

“Avis,” he shouted, “are you all right? Can you hear me?” But no answer came. He picked her up and turned, carrying her down the track to where an ambulance he had never thought he would need was waiting.

Peter, Easy, and Jolie sat together in the hospital waiting room. A large clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, and for a long time no one said anything. They had been there now for over an hour, and finally Easy jumped up and growled, “Why don’t they tell us
something!
”

“Sit down, Easy. They’ll let us know as soon as they can.” Jolie reached up and pulled Easy down. Her own face was pale, and she turned to study Peter, who had not said a word since they had followed the ambulance in. Peter had ridden with Avis in the ambulance, and now his face was pale as wallpaper paste. His lips were drawn so tightly together they seemed bloodless, and his eyes were in a trancelike stare.