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 coul
d 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.
Chapter Fifty-two
1:35 P.M. | 0:35 HOURS REMAINING
Pit lane erupted into sound as teams watched in disbelief and crew chiefs scrambled to warn their drivers. Race Control overrode all radio communications, issuing terse instructions for yellow flags to put the race under full-course caution and for the safety car to deploy quickly to control the field. Then Race Control called for black flags—racing’s equivalent of a penalty card—to be waved by all corner workers at Greg.
Holly stood wide-eyed. “What in hell is he thinking? He could get himself killed—not to mention be kicked out of the Series.”
“He did say if they pushed him too far, he’d show them.”
“But this is crazy.”
I shrugged, thinking Greg had plenty of reason to be a little crazy. I was actually relieved this was how he chose to vent his outrage—rather than more lethal options.
His actions were still shocking. It was unthinkable anyone would be out on an active racetrack without proper safety gear—firesuit, helmet, HANS, gloves, and the window net fastened, to name only the ignored items I could see—let alone to have gone out there with a race in full song. In addition, Greg wasn’t a registered driver for the car, so by going out there, he’d disqualified his car from contention. That didn’t address the anti-Series messages he displayed for millions of television viewers, which were likely to get him tossed out of the entire championship. But with his son dead and the despair he’d felt even before that about his future in racing, I supposed he didn’t care.
A strange thing happened on track, however. None of the drivers wanted to pass Greg, so he ended up leading the field around for a full lap, making it appear the other drivers wanted to honor his statements. Like Greg was the main attraction in the show, with the other fifty-five cars the supporting cast. I wondered if that was circumstantial or deliberate.
The strange parade lasted only until Race Control realized Greg wouldn’t stop for the black flag and ended the spectacle by tossing the red flag and stopping everyone else on the back straight. Greg continued to drive at low speed, still waving to his rapt audience. The SGTV cameras and live broadcast continued to capture every moment of the drama. I didn’t know what to think. I understood Greg’s pain and frustration, but his actions were reckless and public. Permanent.
“He must really not care about ever racing again,” I murmured to Holly.
She continued shaking her head, as she’d done since he first appeared on pit lane, her eyes glued to the monitors.
The spectacle didn’t reduce my anxiety or restlessness. I watched as the Series sent out two big safety trucks—each loaded with four safety workers—to herd Greg into pit lane. Then they blocked pit lane with a variety of vehicles, from tractors to golf carts and an ambulance, to make turning into the garage area his only option. Greg almost got around the line of cars by steering onto the big stretch of grass separating pit lane from the front straight, but a quick-thinking driver in one of the safety trucks accelerated alongside him and cut off that option.
After that final spark of rebellion, Greg sedately steered his car through pit lane, through the garages, and into his garage space. It was clear from th
e TV broadcast the Series had mobilized all possible staff to keep the garage area clear for Greg’s passage. They also had security staff waiting for him at his garage. I recognized Officer Webster of the Speedway police and other uniformed officers who looked like the real cops.
The churning in my gut reached its zenith. I grabbed Holly’s arm. “If Webster’s there with Daytona police, who’s up at Benchmark watching out for Lara?”
“Everyone seems preoccupied with Greg right now.”
“I’m going down there.”
“Don’t burst in, Kate.” Holly’s words stopped me. “Let’s go past Benchmark into the CPG tent. I know you don’t want to deal with Sam—”
“Doesn’t matter, plus Jimmy Baker is there.”
“And Cecilia, who’ll make sure the team helps us, no questions asked.”
I put a hand on her arm. “Holly, find Scott Brooklyn.”
“And his camera. Genius. On it.”
I headed up the pits at a run. Right before the opening to the Benchmark tent, I slowed to a leisurely walk, trying to look casual and breathe normally. I took the radio headset from around my neck and put it over my ears, pretending to concentrate on what I was hearing.
I passed Benchmark slowly, stopping as I had a view into the tent and cocking my head at the imaginary voice in my ears while I searched for Lara. She wasn’t on the pit box. I fought for breath. There! I caught sight of her standing at the far side of the tent, near the wall Benchmark shared with CPG, talking with four people. Big people who blocked my view of her. A crew member exited the tent and walked past me. I glanced around the tent to find a couple crew members watching me, including a big guy on the pit box next to Vinny.
I gave a faint smile and looked to the team’s bank of monitors, putting my hand on my right earpiece, pretending to press the radio button, and mouthing some words. Then, careful not to let my eyes do more than scan past Lara again, I started walking. I ducked into CPG’s tent, yanked my headset off, and zeroed in on Cecilia, a tiny, thirty-something blonde with a pixie cut.
Avoidable Contact Page 26
