Quint believed him.
“Did she talk about seeing anyone else that day?”
“Yeah, she had a boyfriend, Walter something. She was going out to dinner with him.”
“Why didn’t she have Walter take her to the race? Why did she call you?”
“Probably because I could get her a front row seat where she could hobnob with the pretty boys who had wads of cash in their pockets.”
“You didn’t like her very much, did you?”
“Hell, no. She had the kind of looks men killed for but she was also a manipulating bitch. She played Buster for a fool. She knew how to get men to do what she wanted. I wasn’t immune to it, but I never slept with her, and I didn’t kill her.”
“Do you have any thoughts on who did kill her?”
Charlie hesitated a second too long before he barked an adamant, “No!”
“Did you know about Jamie back then?”
“Yeah, I knew Katherine had a little girl. It pained me not to tell Buster, but it was none of my business and it would have created a screaming war between Buster and Katherine.”
As they continued to talk, Quint did a quick recap in his mind. Apparently Katherine had spurned Charlie in favor of better-looking, wealthier men. He doubted if that alone would have been enough for Charlie to kill Katherine. Besides, Quint believed Charlie when he said he hadn’t slept with her. That would rule out the possibility of him fathering a child with her. Buster had said Charlie would lay down his life for his friend, but would he kill for him?
Quint thanked Charlie for his time and went in search of Mitch Grady. From his notes, Quint knew that Grady was fifty-two years old, the oldest driver in the Nextell Cup race. He was ranked fourth in the cup challenge, had been married a little over twenty years, and had two teenage daughters. According to Jamie, Mitch was an all-around nice guy.
Quint found Mitch out in the stands talking to his spotter. He was well preserved for his age with broad shoulders, a narrow-waist, and had only a sprinkling of gray in his perfectly groomed hair.
When Quint introduced himself, Mitch greeted him with a friendly smile, a head-to-foot once over, and a firm handshake.
“You’re Jamie’s friend? I’ve been watching you from a distance. Glad we finally get a chance to meet. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a few words with you,” he glanced at the spotter, “alone if I could.”
“Sure thing,” Mitch said. “We’re finished here anyway.”
Mitch led Quint to an empty section of bleachers and sat down. He motioned Quint to sit beside him.
Mitch seemed to size Quint up for a moment before he asked, “What’s on your mind, my friend?”
Quint had no clue if this man knew Katherine so he decided to use a subtle approach.
“Well, Jamie doesn’t remember too much about her mother, so I’m trying to gather some information by talking to people who knew her.”
“What kind of information?”
“Anything you can tell me. Did you know her?”
Mitch’s face remained impassive as he shrugged. “Sure I knew her, everybody did. She was the kind of woman who demanded to be noticed.”
“Did you notice her?”
Mitch’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “That doesn’t sound like anything Jamie needs to know. Why are you asking?”
“Just curious, I guess.”
Mitch laughed. “Okay, I’ll humor you, Quint. I would have had to be blind not to notice her. I was a kid compared to the other guys. She didn’t give me a first look, much less a second one. Not that I didn’t try. Katherine Devon and her dizzy shadow were looking for men with potential. They concentrated on Buster and his good buddy network. Kent, Charlie, and Percy had all gone to high school with Buster. I was just a wet-nosed kid trying to get into the racing business by being a tire-loading grunt man. That’s the bottom of the totem pole, in case you didn’t know.”
“No, didn’t know. I still have a lot to learn about NASCAR. Who was the dizzy shadow you’re talking about?”
“Bitsy something or other, I think. They were quite a pair. Between the two of them they had more curves than Lombard Street, but Katherine had brains, and Bitsy, or Ditzy, as some of us called her, couldn’t tell up from down unless it was raining.”
Quint wondered why, with all the people he’d spoken to, no one ever mentioned a Bitsy. “Whatever happened to Bitsy?”
“Ask Kent Riker. He married the airhead when he couldn’t have Katherine.”
Quint tried to hide his surprise. “Riker wanted Katherine?”
Grady made an odd laughing noise in his throat. “Who didn’t? She was one hot chick.”
“I thought Riker’s ex-wife was Betsy.”
“Yeah, well, Betsy, Bitsy, Ditzy, one and the same.”
A mechanic called from across track. Mitch was needed down in the pit to test his audio equipment. Mitch stood up and slapped Quint on the shoulder. “Well, I gotta go. Good luck talking to Riker. Let’s chat again sometime. Maybe go out for a beer.”
Quint watched him jog down the stands, he pulled out his note pad and started to write. He was still puzzled that nobody had mentioned Katherine having a pal. He wondered if Jamie even knew that Riker’s ex-wife had been Katherine’s best friend. He was also curious about who else knew Kent had settled for Betsy when he couldn’t have the woman he really wanted.
Mitch Grady confused Quint. He certainly appeared to be an okay guy, as Jamie said. He talked freely about his infatuation with Katherine. Had it gone any further than that? Even at fifty-two, Mitch had the sort of looks that drew women. Katherine might have given him a second look. Grady could have been telling the truth about having no involvement with her, but he was a smooth talker; he could also be hiding something. One thing came through loud and clear; back when he was a grunt, Mitch Grady was extremely jealous of Buster and his schoolmates.
Quint ran a frustrated hand through his hair. It seemed like for every page he turned in Katherine’s life ten blank pages appeared. He went over his list of people to talk to. He’d already spoken briefly with Tim and Hal; neither one of them knew Jamie’s mother. They both joined the team when Buster became crew chief the year before he got Jamie. Bernie Yates, the other driver in question, was out of the picture too. He had been home with his leg in a cast at the time Katherine was killed, and since Jamie had already talked to Bentler and Clay, it wasn’t necessary to question either one of them. As far as Talon Davis was concerned, Quint had gathered all the information he needed for the time being.
That left Kent Riker. A conversation Quint was not looking forward to.
From his vantage point in the bleachers, Quint could see the Riker pit. Kent, a bear-sized man, was easy to spot. He had mammoth hands and wide shoulders. Not somebody Quint wanted to meet in a dark alley, particularly if the man was angry.
Quint glanced at his watch. It was twelve-thirty and he hadn’t had lunch yet. He wasn’t at his best when he was hungry.
There were only about ten crew members in the pit, and most of them didn’t seem to be too busy. Second round qualifiers had finished for the day, and most of the remaining preparations were in the hands of the inspectors.
He had to figure out a way to get Riker alone. Quint got to his feet, thinking about food. He was winding his way down the bleachers when the Riker pit suddenly came to life. He stopped and watched as the guys in the pit collectively ambled off across the track toward him, probably going to lunch, he surmised. Kent Riker stayed behind.
It was the opportunity he’d been hoping for. Quint took the rest of the steps two at a time and made his way out onto the track. It was broad daylight, but walking across the four-lane track, he had the eerie feeling he was heading toward a dark alley.
Kent was even bigger close up than he appeared at a distance. He was standing at a makeshift bench working on a fist-sized object that looked like a carburetor. The short stub of a burning cigarette hung from his mouth. He was wearing royal
blue grease-stained coveralls with the team’s, Royal Auto Parts, emblem on the back.
Riker glanced up, saw Quint coming, and turned his attention back to his work. Bad sign.
Quint walked up and leaned against the chest–high bench.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Riker, I’m Quint Doug—”
“I know who you are. What do you want?” Riker searched in his toolbox, selected a small open-end wrench, and began tightening bolts on the carburetor in swift jerking motions.
“I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“Katherine Devon.”
Riker shot Quint a murderous, but surprised look. He smashed his cigarette out on the scared bench and dropped it into a half empty grease can. “Why would I want to answer questions about her?”
“Courtesy?” Quint said
Quint thought Riker looked amused. “Do I look like a courteous sort to you?”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
Riker snorted. He set the carburetor aside and dipped a rag in cleaning solution before he started wiping his tool. “Are you planning to marry that girl?”
This time it was Quint’s brow that shot up. “I’m assuming you mean Jamie.”
Riker ignored that as he continued to clean his wrenches. “It’s time that girl got married and had a batch of kids.”
“Why do you say that?” Quint asked.
“Women have no place in this business. It’s a man’s sport. It’s dangerous.”
“Isn’t it just as dangerous for men?”
“If they don’t know what they’re doing, yes.”
Quint knew better than to argue with a bigot, besides, Jamie and the dangers of racing wasn’t the subject he wanted to be on. “So what can you tell me about Katherine?”
“She was Buster’s wife.”
“What about after she divorced Buster?”
“Then she was Buster’s ex-wife.”
This was going nowhere fast.
Quint was surprised that Riker was talking at all, but he also had the distinct feeling that the man wasn’t going to say anything.
Quint’s stomach growled. “At the time she left Buster, did you know she was pregnant?”
“Now how the hell would I know that, if Buster didn’t even know? What I want to know is are you planning to marry her?”
Quint suppressed the urge to grit his teeth, but he couldn’t ignore Riker’s question a second time and expect him to keep talking. “I don’t know yet. It’s a little early in the relationship.”
“Do you like the idea of her racing?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, at least we agree on that.”
Quint took a deep, slow breath. Keeping his temper in check was difficult with no food in his belly. “I’d like to know a little more about her mother. Like what kind of a person she was.”
“Jamie is nothing like her mother, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s a terrific kid. I wanted her to marry my son. You think I’d choose just anybody for a daughter-in-law? That should tell you something.”
Quint wasn’t aware the practice of fathers choosing their son’s wives was still done in this century. But it did tell him one thing; Kent Riker was not Jamie’s father. Thank the Lord for that. Just the thought made Quint irritable. “My guess is you like Jamie but you don’t like the idea that she can out-drive your son.”
Riker’s left eye twitched as he glowered at Quint. “Like you said, Mr. Douglas, you don’t know shit about racing. Take my advice, keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.”
Riker slammed his toolbox shut with unnecessary force, turned his back on Quint, and stomped away.
* * * *
Sunday dawned a clear, cool fall day. By race time, the stands were packed to capacity.
Jamie was in good spirits as she left to get in her car. Aside from spending a marvelous night and day with Quint, her relationship with Buster was progressing better than she’d ever thought possible. She was becoming aware of a new side to him. That of a caring, concerned parent.
The last thing he’d done on their Friday night date was warn her that one thing hadn’t changed. “When you’re driving, I’m not your father, I’m your crew chief, so don’t get take it personal when I raise my voice, telling you what to do.”
“Understood,” Jamie said, adding, “as long as you understand that I won’t always listen.”
Now, as she strapped into her Monte Carlo, he patted her on the shoulder.
“Remember, kid, this track has low banks. The flat corners scuff off speed and rubber. Don’t waste time, shift gears and get back on the straightaway quickly to save your tires.” He smiled. “Good luck and watch yourself. Err to the safe side.”
As she left the pit to take her place behind the pacer car, Jamie saw worry lines around his eyes. Had they always been there?
Two minutes later she jammed her foot on the accelerator and shifted into high gear. The roar of forty-two exhausts bellowing cleared her mind of all thought except gripping the steering wheel, gaining speed, and avoiding metal-on-metal contact with the car next to her.
Quint, watching from the van with Nicole and Hunter, felt his entire body tense up. The scream of the 770 horsepower engines, along with a hundred thousand cheering fans, tightened his muscles, doubled his heart rate, and constricted his breathing. The smell of fuel and oil, mixed with burning rubber, brought on a premonition of death. He jumped when a firm hand clamped on his shoulder.
It was Hunter.
“Quint. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Quint forced himself to swallow. “I just get a little overwhelmed when they start.”
Hunter pulled a chair up beside Quint and sat down. “You’re not handling Jamie being out there too well, are you?”
Quint’s gaze was fastened on the bright pink car leading the colorful speeding snake.
“No.”
“I’ve been a little out of touch. How serious is this thing between you and Jamie?”
“Except for me turning into a pathetic wimp every time she straps herself into that damn car, very serious.”
“Quint, I know better than anyone why you feel that way about her racing. Remember I was in that car with you that day.”
“So, why am I the one screwed up?”
Hunter glanced back at his wife, and lowered his voice so she couldn’t hear him. “What do you think I’d be doing if Nicole was out there?”
Quint managed a smile. “I guess you’d be in as bad a shape as I am.”
“And I guess you, little cuz, are in love. Maybe you should walk around and ask the other drivers wives how they handle it?”
“I already know. Some of them can’t even come to the races, but I’m a man—”
“What the hell difference does that make?”
Quint shrugged. He watched Jamie fly by the start line for the tenth time. She was still leading with Clay drafting ten feet from her bumper. “So what do I do? Not come to the race? I’d be a bigger wreck if I couldn’t watch.”
“I guess you come, you watch, you pray, you cheer her on, hold her hand when she loses, celebrate when she wins. Just don’t let it ruin a good thing for you.”
Nicole walked up behind Hunter and tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips.
“I’m feeling a little left out here. What are you two talking about?”
Hunter chuckled and turned around to pull his wife down on his lap. “Man talk.”
Nicole laughed. “That would be either sports or sex.”
Quint grinned. He enjoyed watching the two of them interact. They were so perfectly suited. “In this case,” he said, “It’s both at the same time.”
“You really like Jamie, don’t you?” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t understand how you can handle her being out there driving.”
Quint exchanged a quick look with his cousin and they b
oth burst out laughing. Their laughter did wonders for Quint’s tension.
On the twenty-fifth lap, Dunn overtook both Jamie and Clay.
Twenty minutes later, Grady eased ahead of her when she was slow coming out of the pit. By the end of the second hour Jamie had been in and out of the lead position five times. Grady and Jackson had collided when another driver hit the wall and all three were out of the race.
On the two hundred and fiftieth lap she was in third, running close behind Dunn with Clay in the lead for the first time in his career. Davis was following her holding tenaciously to fourth.
She was coming into the fourth turn at full speed when she applied her brakes to ease up for the curve. She was halfway into the turn when the steering wheel suddenly came loose in her hands. She had a split second to yell into her headphones before she rammed Dunn in the rear right fender. Simultaneously, both cars went into a slide. Davis plowed unavoidably into her sending her car airborne over Dunn. Her Monte Carlo slammed with metal bending force into the wall before twisting end over end three times and coming to a grating halt on its side.
The commentator’s excited voice described the scene as the crowd watched in stunned horror. “The red flag is out. I can’t figure out what went wrong, but for whatever reason, Jamie LeCorre slammed straight into Tomas Dunn on the turn. Talon Davis hit her on the side and tossed her over Dunn’s car. It looked like she flipped over several time before the wall stopped her. That car is one twisted hunk of steel. I don’t know what happened out there but it seems like Jamie’s string of bad luck continues. Let’s hope she’s okay. Here’s the replay coming up.”
A team of rescue workers and clean-up crew surged onto the field. A total of six cars had piled into the wreckage; spreading debris across the entire width of track.
On top of the Pink Mink trailer, Hunter and Hal Waller were restraining Quint. He struggled fruitlessly, demanding to be set free.
“You can’t go out there,” Hal shouted, throwing his weight on Quint’s equally husky arm. “You have to wait here.”
Quint finally quit struggling and nodded his understanding. His breath came in short gasps as he watched helplessly while an ambulance pull up beside Jamie’s mangled car. Paramedics in white coveralls pulled a stretcher from the back. Both Dunn and Davis were out of their cars, surrounded by crew members. Dunn hurried around the wreckage toward Jamie’s car.
Secret Sacrifices Page 28
