A television commenter described the scene as it played over and over, periodically switching back live to await the news on Jamie LeCorre. Three men were working with pry bars attempting to extract her.
On top of the trailer the group collectively held their breaths as they watched her being lifted from the mangled vehicle. They all turned as one to the monitor where they could get a close-up view.
Her body was limp.
She was carefully loaded on the stretcher and taken to the ambulance. Buster climbed into the ambulance as the doors slammed shut. It left the track, siren screaming.
“Okay,” Hal said. “Let’s go! We have to get across the track before they restart the race. The hospital is only a few minutes from here.”
Tim Andrews met them as they were coming down from the trailer.
“We’re going to the hospital,” Hal told him without cutting his stride. “Do you know what happened?”
“Something with the steering,” Tim said. She yelled it into the microphone but all Buster heard before she hit Dunn was steering wheel. I’m coming with you.”
It took thirty minutes to get clearance to cross the track and reach the lot where Hal’s Ram Charger was parked, and another frustrating twenty minutes getting out of the congested lot.
Tim sat in the front with Hal with Hunter, Nicole, and Quint taking up the back seat. In the forty minutes it took to get to Loudon Community Hospital, few words were spoken, most of those by Hal as he swore at one driver or another, who, according to him, had no business on the road. At the hospital he swore again when he wasted several minutes looking for the right entrance.
All five burst through the emergency room doors, causing a stir among the nurses on duty.
“Jamie LeCorre?” Quint said. “She came in by ambulance a little over an hour ago. How is she? Where is she? Is she all right? Can I see her?”
“She’s still in emergency,” the head nurse said, pointing to a room off to the left. Quint rushed past her.
Hunter, directly behind Quint, stopped at the door. “Is it okay if we all go in?”
The nurse waved him on. “I don’t see why not, Most of whole staff is in there.”
Quint stopped in front of a closed curtain. From behind it he heard the sound of racing engines. His heart in his throat, he swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed the curtain aside.
Jamie lay reclined on a hospital exam bed, her left arm bandaged from wrist to elbow, and a contusion the size of a grapefruit on the upper arm. Another bruise on her right cheekbone made her look like she’d been in a barroom brawl. She looked up in surprise. “Quint. How did you get here so fast?”
Buster, his eyes red and weary-looking, sat in a chair beside the bed. Several nurses, doctors, and interns perched on stools and tables were crowded into the tiny cubicle. They were all watching the end of the race on a television in the corner.
For the space of a few seconds, Quint gaped at her with the peculiar sensation that he was in the middle of a nightmare.
“Quint?” Jamie called his name again. This time she held her hand out to him.
Two nurses moved aside for him as he covered the three steps to the edge of Jamie’s bed. He sat down beside her and gently put his arms around her. He kissed her bruised cheek and taped wrist with feathery touches, buried his face in her hair and choked on a sob.
“My God, I thought you were dead.”
“I’m fine,” Jamie said. “Just banged up a bit. They’re still waiting for the X-rays, but everything appears okay.”
Quint finally leaned back to study her, assuring himself that she really was okay.
She reached up and brushed the dampness from his misty blue eyes with her thumb.
“Until today,” she said, softly, “nobody has ever shed a tear when I got hurt. I am blessed.”
“I’ve shed more than tears, sweetheart. I think my heart bled itself dry on the drive over here.”
A loud noise from the television drew their attention. Clay Riker had just won the race; Mitch Grady came in a close second. That brought both cheers and groans from the group scattered around the room.
Jamie watched with mixed emotions as Clay took his victory spin around the track. He had been waiting six years for his first win. She remembered him saying he was going to run his own race. She wondered if that had anything to do with his winning. Her taking out a good share of his competition might have helped too. When Clay pulled into Victory Lane
the screen switched to a replay of Jamie’s crash.
“That looks worse every time I see it,” Hal said. “I don’t know how you came out of that with only a few scrapes and bruises.”
“I’ll second that,” Quint said, squeezing her hand.
Switching back to live action, a cheer went up from the stands when the commentator reported that Jamie was doing fine.
Nicole walked up to Jamie’s bed. Her eyes were glistening. “Are you really okay?” she asked.
Jamie nodded. “I think so. Except for every inch of my body aching, I don’t feel too bad. It’ll probably be worse tomorrow.”
One of the doctors stood up. “Those X-rays should be ready by now; I’ll go take a look.”
“I guess it’s time we all went back to work,” one of the nurses said. “Good luck, Jamie. Next time you come to visit us, please don’t do it in an ambulance.”
Jamie grimaced. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good luck,” she said. “I hope you win next week.”
“You aren’t going to race next week?” Nicole said, incredulously.
Jamie glanced at Quint before she answered. “I have to, it’s Talladega.”
“I’ve already tried to talk her out of it,” Buster said. “Talladega is the longest, fastest track on the circuit. She’s good at high speeds, so the long track is her best chance of winning.”
“Lord almighty,” Quint said, under his breath. “How fast do they go?”
“The best qualifying run was at 212 miles per hour back in 1978,” Tim said. “But that was before restrictor plates were required on the high-speed tracks. That’s a metal plate installed in front of the carburetor; it cuts the horsepower from 770 to 390. They rarely get over 200 miles an hour anymore.”
Quint pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Oh, that’s a huge relief.”
Tim stepped over to the foot of her bed. “Are you sure you should be racing at Talladega? You look like hell ran you over.”
Jamie’s face settled into a determined, stubborn line. “I’m going to race.”
Tim scrutinized her with a long searching look. “What happened out there, Jamie? Buster said you mentioned the steering.”
Jamie shook her head. “It came off. The steering wheel came off in my hands when I tried to turn. There wasn’t a thing I could do.”
“Now that’s really peculiar,” Tim said, looking at Hal. “I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
“I think I did once a few years back,” Hal said. “If I remember right, the pin came loose. Caused a nasty crash then, too.”
“Could someone have tampered with it?” Quint asked.
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m going to take a serious look at her steering system and see what went wrong.”
Buster shot to his feet. “Goddamn it! Who would do something like that?”
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not suggesting it was tampered with. All I’m saying is, it’s damn odd and I think we should look into it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jamie slept most of the way on the drive back to New York. She was still aching but the X-rays had shown no broken bones. When Quint had asked if she still wanted to come to New York with him, she saw no reason to change their plans. However, since the doctor had strongly urged her to spend the night in the hospital under observation, they didn’t leave until Monday morning. She had a plastic brace on her left wrist, held in place with elastic binding, with strict orders from the doctor to
leave it on until the end of the week, longer if possible.
While Jamie rested, Quint mentally reviewed his meeting with Hunter.
Hunter had gone to Duluth to visit with Betsy Riker. He was quick to notice that Betsy had rightfully earned the nickname Ditzy. She was more than anxious to talk. It seemed Betsy had married Kent when she lost Buster to Katherine. Odd twist of fate, Quint thought. Both women wanted Buster; both men wanted Katherine. Kent and Betsy married on the rebound.
When Katherine disappeared, Betsy and Kent mutually agreed on a divorce. They had a loveless marriage for the five years they were married, and the only thing holding them together for that long was Clay. In the end, Betsy had no qualms about giving up her son. She was unable to deal with a rambunctious four-year-old. Though she called Clay regularly, she never saw or heard from Katherine again.
When asked what kind of a man her husband was, Betsy replied, “A cold, bitter son of a bitch. Fortunately, he ignored me unless he wanted sex. That’s all I was to him, sex.”
When asked if Kent was unfaithful, Betsy shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t care, except if he wanted to do it with Katherine.”
Did Kent do it with Katherine? She didn’t think so because Buster was his friend. However, the four of them did get together socially quite often.
Did she know who might have killed Katherine? Betsy had replied, adamantly, “I would have, if I’d known where she was. I loved Buster. First she stole him from me, when he couldn’t race any more, she threw him away like yesterday’s leftovers and broke his heart.”
On Tuesday, Quint called Ralph Sampson.
“Detective Sampson, Quint Douglas here. I wondered if you had any more information on the driver of the car that ran Jamie off the road?”
“Sorry, Quint, nothing new. We’re still working on it though.”
“How about Jamie’s mother, Katherine. Any new leads there?”
“I’m afraid not. I have some ideas but that’s all they are, ideas. Those NASCAR guys all have zipper lips.”
“Did you see an autopsy on Katherine?”
Several moments went by before Sampson answered. “Are you running your own investigation, Quint?”
“I’m concerned for Jamie. If you saw the race Sunday, you know she had a nasty crash.”
“Yeah, I saw it. Is she okay?”
“Just banged up a bit.”
“Are you suggesting somebody messed with her car?”
“I don’t know, but unless we find out who hit her on the freeway and why, she could still be in danger.”
“All right, Quint, I can understand that. If you find out anything, I hope you’re planning to let me in on it.”
“I will,” Quint lied. “Now, how about that autopsy?”
“Strangest thing. There wasn’t one. Doesn’t make sense either. When I called there before I flew to Richmond the information they gave me suggested there was an autopsy. Yet when I made copies of the file it wasn’t there. Without it there’s no way to prove that she was even murdered. Since your cousin, Virgil, was at the records department before I was, I hoped maybe he had it.”
“What do you mean, he was there before you were? Someone saw that file before Virgil got there. It was laying right on the counter.”
Sampson heaved a disgusted sigh. “Crap. Somebody got there ahead of us. They must have let whoever it was look at it and he made off with the autopsy. With such an old file they probably were a little lax with it. Shit, they even let me make my own copies because they were busy. Granted I flashed my badge, but that still doesn’t excuse it. I saw Virgil Douglas’ name on the sigh-in sheet just ahead of me, but I didn’t see another name I recognized. I’ll make a call, but whoever it was wouldn’t have been dumb enough to use his own name.”
“Call me if you come up with anything on that,” Quint said. He gave Sampson his cell phone number, ended the call, and brought up Vigil’s number on speed dial.
Before he could punch it in, his phone rang. It was Tim Andrews.
“It appears that Jamie’s steering wheel was tampered with,” Tim said. “The pin holding the wheel on had a spot filed as thin as a toothpick, and then filled in with caulk and sprayed silver.”
“The steering wheel is held on with a pin?” Quint asked, disbelievingly.
“Yeah. You need to remove the wheel to get in and out of the car. If there’s an accident it has to come out easily and quickly. Whoever did it knew exactly what he was doing. The pins all look alike. He probably fixed it up somewhere else. It wouldn’t have taken him more than a few seconds to exchange it. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”
After hearing that unpleasant bit of news, Quint was more determined than ever to find out who was responsible. In the meantime he did not want Jamie to be alone. Convincing her of that would be another story.
By Wednesday, Jamie was feeling almost back to normal. Quint took her to his office to introduce her to Marla, his secretary. In the lobby of the sky rise Jamie spotted a flower shop. She stopped to look in the display window.
“Oh, my, gosh, look at that plant. It’s a Silver Sword. The only place they grow wild is in Hawaii. I’ve never even seen one. Let’s go inside and see what else they have.”
Quint laughed. “Most people coming to New York for the first time want to see the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building. You want to see a flower shop.”
“I love plants,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the swinging door. Inside, her eyes lit up. “Just look around. It’s like a forest in here.” She took a deep breath. “Can’t you just smell the earth and the flowers?”
“It does smell pretty good in here. Would you believe I walk past this place every day on my way to and from work, and I’ve never been inside?”
Jamie pressed her nose into a bouquet of red baby roses. “Someday I’m going to own a shop just like this.”
Quint chuckled at her. “You could put little checkered flags in with all the bouquets and set them in race car vases.”
When she laughed, he walked up behind her and put his arms around her shoulders cradling her head with a gentle neck lock. He bent forward and brushed a kiss on her ear. “As lovely as these flowers are, I don’t see anything in here as beautiful as you. Let’s get these, you can sniff them all the way back to my place. All that heavy breathing excites me.”
Jamie smiled as he tickled her nose in his hairy arm. “Some people get high by drinking. I smell flowers. I could wrap myself up in them.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re a nut.” He picked up the red baby roses and took them to the checkout. “No need to wrap these,” he told the clerk. “She’s going to wear them home.”
Jamie had stopped to admire the floral arrangements in the cooler beside the counter. “These are spectacular,” she said. “Who does these?”
The fifty-something clerk gave her a sad smile. “My husband and I both do…or did. He had a heart attack two weeks ago and he’s not doing too well. I don’t know how much longer I can keep up. We try to hire people but they just don’t seem to understand what we want.”
Jamie came to stand beside Quint. “I’m sorry to hear that. How long have you been here?”
“Since they put the building up,” the clerk said, handing Quint his change. She smiled at Jamie. “Before that we had a little corner stand.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Good heavens, you’re Jamie LeCorre, the NASCAR driver.”
“You’re a NASCAR fan?” Quint asked.
“Both my husband and I are. It would mean so much to him if I could get your autograph.”
“Of course,” Jamie said. “Would you like it on a get-well card?”
“Oh yes, that would be so nice of you.” She reached over and picked a card off the floor rack. “This is one of my favorites.”
Jamie took the pen she offered and opened the card. “What’s his name?”
“Patrick. Patrick Quaster, but everybody calls him Quasy. I’m Janelle, by
the way.”
Jamie wrote out the card, signing it to Quasy, wishing him a speedy recovery.
In the afternoon they went on a horse-drawn carriage tour of Central Park. Afterward, he drove her past the home he’d grown up in, but didn’t stop since Delta and Hank were still in Minnesota, looking after his cousin Corinne. By the end of the day Quint realized his feelings for Jamie had gone to another level. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her.
On Thursday night, Quint accompanied Jamie to Talladega, Alabama, so she could qualify on Friday. Midway into the flight a thought struck him.
“Jamie, was your father in the habit of going out drinking alone after a race?”
Jamie shook her head. “I don’t believe so. If he went out at all it was with at least one of the guys.”
“Would he be likely to hang out with anyone besides your own crew members?”
“Of course. Most of those guys have worked together on the same teams at one time or another. What are you thinking?”
“Buster told me he was alone the night he saw Clay and Jimbo together, and Clay told you someone had seen them together, someone old enough to be his father, someone who later hit on him. You see where I’m going with this?”
Jamie was thoughtful for a moment. You think that person was with Buster?”
“It’s possible. Clay and Jimbo were pretty careful about being seen alone together. I doubt it happened twice.”
“That makes sense to me,” Jamie said. “I think you need to have another little chat with my father.”
Quint nodded. He didn’t tell Jamie that he suspected that person to be Mitch Grady. She wouldn’t have believed him. There was something about the way Grady kept sizing Quint up that disturbed him. Of course, he wasn’t about to rule out Talon Davis. After the tampering of Jamie’s car, Buster might be willing to name the person he was with. Quint would pin him down right after Jamie’s qualifying run tomorrow.
Secret Sacrifices Page 29
