by Judy Kentrus
Cindi raised a brow. “Pest?”
“Yeah, Edie Adams. Almost every evening she shows up to go fishing. She’s got it in her ten-year-old brain she can tell a sixteen-year-old how to fish.” Billy’s eyes shifted to the walking path that ended dockside. “Speak of the she-devil.”
Lisa Kay and Sam Morlock walked hand in hand down a paved path toward the dock. Both wore jeans and nylon windbreakers over their T-shirts. Edie skipped alongside them, wearing a hooded sweatshirt that skimmed the top of her light green shorts. She was babbling about something and slung her arm back and forth like a metronome. In her right hand was a stuffed animal.
The smile on Cindi’s face faded and she tightened her grip on Preston’s hand. The animal was a replica of the one she’d received with the twisted head.
Preston saw it too and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t say anything. We don’t want to frighten Edie.”
“Funny meeting you here,” Sam said, holding out a hand to Preston. “How do you like your new digs?”
“Who can complain when you have two beautiful roommates?”
“Hi, Mr. Reynolds.” Edie gave him a quick hug. “It’s no fun since you moved out. I don’t have anyone to play one-on-one. Daddy works so much. I still can’t understand why Mommy had Mr. Morlock punch the big holes in the wall under your sink.”
Preston’s lips tightened, and he darted a glance at Sam and Lisa Kay. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
“Miss Cindi, look what I got! He looks just like Donut.” Edie showed her love for the stuffed animal and gave it a hug.
Cindi’s attention was focused on the replica of her pygmy goat cradled in Edie’s arms, and the “punch holes in the wall” statement never registered in her brain. The sick feeling still hadn’t left her stomach, and she forced a smile. “Did you get it in the gift shop?”
“We stopped at the ice cream stand, but the line was out the door. We’ll go back in a little while,” Lisa said. “We decided to kill some time and made the mistake of going in the gift shop. It is a treasure trove for kids. What are you guys doing here?”
“We came down to check out the type of boat rentals and deliver cookies to Bill.” Preston felt Cindi tremble and he slipped a comforting arm around her waist. “Do they have a lot of those particular animals?”
“An entire shelf,” Sam said. He’d expected to see a smile on Cindi Pearl’s face, but he was confused by her paled features. First the request to put holes in the bathroom wall as an excuse to have Preston move to the farm and now the stuffed animal. Although he took early retirement as an ATF agent, he hadn’t lost his ability to sense trouble. He’d put a call in to Lincoln in the morning to find out what the hell was going on.
Preston glanced down at Cindi’s colorless cheeks. “Hang in there. What do you say we take a walk through the gift shop too?”
All she did was nod.
Edie chose that moment to tug on Lisa Kay’s hand. “I’ll bet the line is a lot shorter. Wouldn’t it be nice if we asked Billy to have ice cream with us?”
“Would you like to join us?” Sam asked. “It’s on me.”
Bill Landis was faced with a big decision. Put up with the mouthy “pest” and enjoy free ice cream or decline the invitation. At this point in his teenage life, food took precedent over everything else. “Thanks, that’d be great.”
He never did see the giddy, school-girl gleam in Edie’s eye.
“See you guys later,” Lisa Kay said before giving Preston a knowing wink.
“We don’t really have to go in the store,” Preston said, as they headed toward the rustic log building that housed the gift shop and concession stand.
“I’m okay. It was just the initial shock of seeing the replica of Donut.”
“Do you know if the place has twenty-four-hour security surveillance?”
“You’re kidding, right? As soon as we set up the new office and service facility, Henry Long was one of Lincoln’s first customers. There’s interior and exterior on all buildings and the dock twenty-four/seven.”
“How long do they keep the surveillance discs?”
Cindi stopped walking and stared up at Preston with a questioning frown. “You have got to get away from your figures once in a while. Lincoln’s company has the latest high-tech equipment. The digital records are kept indefinitely.”
“What do you say we give our boss a call and let him know what we’ve found? Since this is an official investigation, he is authorized to check security records and sales of that item.”
“Suppose the person paid cash?”
“Doesn’t matter, and it would be in our favor. Not too many people pay cash these days. I’m sure Henry’s system is set up to track inventory of every item sold. There will be a record of each sale with a time and a date. Once Linc’s e-guys integrate the security tape with the sale of each pygmy goat, we can take a look to see if we recognize the buyer.”
“You are so damn smart!” Suddenly Cindi was feeling a whole lot better. She stood on tippy toes and planted a kiss on his delicious mouth. “Let’s have a talk with our boss. But first, I want a hot fudge sundae with two cherries on top!”
“Hmm, is one of them for me?” he asked with a hopeful grin.
“I’ll make you a deal. If you help me out with another problem, you can have both of them.”
Preston pursed his lips. “Is it going to put me in another embarrassing position with your dingbat alter ego?”
“Nope, just the real me. Honest.” She made the sign of the cross on her chest.
“I’ll take your word, Ms. I-Always-Tell-the-Truth. Your two cherries are mine!”
“Deal!” Her first challenge was to get him to the soap box derby. Convincing him to stay would be another. Maybe she should invest in a jar of cherries.
Chapter 9
Three days later, race day had arrived. Today’s event was mega-important, not just for the kids, but also for Cindi personally. Once again, she went behind Preston’s back and withheld a surprise or two. Seeing and working with the Super Kids could either make or break him. She was also laying her heart on the line. He could wind up hating her.
The sun had barely risen when they left the farm and went for breakfast at the Spoonful. With her stomach already in knots, she should have eaten something light, but the special had been stuffed French toast, one of Samantha’s specialties. Preston had eaten the same thing, but added three eggs over easy, plus a side of biscuits and gravy, the house favorite. When the waitress had brought their meals, Samantha sent a note wishing them good luck.
Cindi tried to remain calm and sang along with Bryan Adams as his he crooned, Everything I do, I do it for you. Ain’t that the truth, she said to herself and glanced at Preston out the corner of her eye as he handled the luxury car with ease. He was going to be hot in those jeans. She’d purposely worn shorts, because the July day promised to live up to its seasonal reputation, hot and humid. If only he would take that stubborn stick out of his cute butt and wear shorts.
“You have a very nice voice, and that is one of my favorite songs.”
“Thanks, but I consider myself a shower singer.”
He shifted his eyes in her direction and wiggled his eyebrows. “If you ever decide to offer a private performance, I’ll buy out the house.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” she offered with an easy laugh. That will happen when pigs fly.
“Thank you again for coming with me,” she said. “We are always short of volunteers. I’ll be on the reviewing stand during the race. You’ll get a neon-yellow derby shirt identifying you as staff and a lanyard with a name tag.” Cindi spotted their exit on the interstate and put a hand to her nervous stomach. “Take the second exit for Stevensville. The town granted the derby permission to hold the event on Court Street. Driver safety is paramount, and the town blocks off the entire street with horse barriers so no one can go in or out. Residents are given a week’s notice to keep their vehicles off the street.”
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“Thanks, but you already gave me the location and it’s programmed in my GPS.” Preston wondered why she was so jittery. “How many entrants do you expect?”
Focus, focus. You are not going to throw up. “Fifty applications were submitted. That is considered an average number for a local race. Some meets have a hundred fifty–plus cars. Once the Laurel Heights track is set up, that number will be easy to handle.”
Preston moved into the right-hand lane, preparing to exit. “Did you ever drive a soap box car?”
“I’ll tell you the truth, but you can’t laugh. My brother and I had our own cars, and we raced until we were eighteen. The rules have changed, and kids at the Masters level can drive to the age of twenty. My car was painted a bright yellow and was called The Canary. Somehow or other, I always raced against my brother. It doesn’t matter who crosses the finish line first, because you have four chances to race and they average your time. It was our last race and I was in the lead, but something happened to the steering. The car went out of control. I shot up a short ramp and flew into the flags next to the reviewing stand. My brother told everyone I was trying to do my own impersonation of the Amelia Earhart because she named her plane Canary.”
“Did you get hurt?’
“Just my pride. I didn’t go very high, just took out the flags.”
Preston could no longer contain his laugh. “Oh, Cindi Pearl, only you, but I’m a bit confused. If your brother is older and bigger than you, why would they pair you up?”
“Weights are applied to the cars to keep everyone at the same poundage. A couple of days before the race, there are practice runs. The cars and drivers are officially weighed then the cars are impounded so no one tries to add additional ballast.”
They were silent the rest of the trip, each keeping their own counsel. When they approached the residential street where the race was to take place, a volunteer directed them to a parking lot used by a local car dealership to handle vehicle overflow. Cindi grabbed her backpack before exiting the car, and they walked around the corner. The street had been blocked off by a row of orange safety cones and wooden barriers.
“This looks great, just like a rural Le Mans,” Preston said. Yellow caution tape had been tied to street signs and bales of hay lined the curbs, calling attention to the racing path. A portable stage doubled as a reviewing stand where the awards ceremony would be held. Black-and-white-checkered flags had been added to the roofline and fluttered in the early morning breeze. Gold and silver trophies stood straight and tall along the edge of the stage. The race wouldn’t start for an hour and a half, but people had staked out the best viewing spots with their folding camp chairs. Food and souvenir vendors set up on the side streets, were doing a brisk business.”
“I’m overwhelmed and impressed,” Preston said, as his eyes traveled up the street to an open-sided white tent that designated the start of the race. “I see the cars are already lined up, but who gets to go first?”
“Every entrant fills out an application. Some chapters fan the paperwork facedown, and a member of the board selects the order of the racers. The All American Soap Box Derby has heat sheets that can be used.”
“What time does the event officially start?”
“The opening ceremony is scheduled for eight-thirty, with the first cars starting off at nine. The Stock category, age’s seven to ten, kicks off the race. Super stock, ages twelve to eighteen, goes next. The Masters is anyone to age twenty. There will be two car eliminations. After the first run, the kids are separated into winners and challengers and then regrouped. That’s when things really heat up—eliminations, until there is only one winner in each category.”
“Cindi Pearl, I’m floored by your knowledge of soap box derby racing. You mentioned the kids can be as old as twenty? They are a lot bigger than an eight-year-old.”
“Nah, they use a few more milk cartons to make the car,” Cindi laughed.
“Milk cartons?”
“The cars are made from recycled milk jugs. The kids in the Masters level actually lie flat, and only their helmets are visible. Two spotters wave checkered flags to let the kids know they reached the finish line. Observers tell the kids to brake, but many of them apply the brakes at the last minute and crash into the hay bales. It’s foolish because they risk bending an axle. After their run, the kids make their way up the hill, and the cars are moved off the track by a volunteer manning a come-along dolly. The car is put on a flatbed trailer and brought to the start for the next round. That will be your assignment.”
“Suppose one side of the street is faster than the other?”
“The cars switch sides the next time they come down. The official run is six hundred feet, and it takes approximately thirty seconds to run a race. The timers start the moment the kids leave the ramps.”
“The committee has prepared for every contingency. Where will your brother be working? I look forward to meeting him.”
“Unfortunately, he couldn’t be here today. I mentioned Denny is a truck driver, and he’s on his way to California. Come on. I’ll sign you in, get us some shirts and introduce you around. Then we’ll walk up the hill to the start of the race.” Cindi paused and pressed the tips of her fingers to his forearm. His skin was already warm. “I’m sorry, Preston. At times my enthusiasm overpowers my brain. You didn’t bring your cane, but if at any time your leg starts to bother you, just sit down. The local RV dealership brings in a travel trailer for us to use as our first aid station. Feel free to go inside and rest. It’s air-conditioned.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I purposely left my cane home. I’ve come to realize it’s a psychological crutch. I no longer need it.” He put a hand to her soft cheek. “Please don’t worry. If my leg starts to bother me, I will rest.”
Before he pulled his hand away, she deposited a kiss on the center of his palm. “Good enough. There are free drink and food stations for the kids and volunteers near the starting line. It’s supposed to get up in the high eighties or low nineties, so make sure you have a bottle of water handy. Call my cell if you have any problems. I won’t be far.”
Before they parted, Preston put his hands to her shoulders and sampled the sweetness of her lips. He debated letting the kissing interest build up so he could enjoy more kisses, but he needed to taste her. “It’s been a long time since someone was so concerned about my welfare,” he said when he reluctantly released her mouth. “You‘ve already pointed out the location of the Porta Johns, and I promise not to wander off. I’ve got my assignment.”
“Let’s go, Dolphin. You won’t be shooting the curl, but you’ll have the time of your life!”
They were interrupted half a dozen times by people wanting to say hello to Cindi before they got to the registration table to get their official shirts and name tags.
Preston adjusted the lanyard around his neck and watched volunteers line up the first six cars under the open-sided tent. Two others were placed on the starting ramps. “Every car has the sponsor’s name painted on the side. What name do they put on the cars for the kids in foster care?”
“They actually came up with their own name. The A-Team.”
“You mean like the old television show?”
“The story goes, the kids wanted the name because the A-Team was wrongly accused of a crime they didn’t commit, but fought for the rights of the underdog.”
“Sounds like a great bunch of kids. I noticed ten cars lined up against the fence on the other side of the first aid station. The seats are wider than the other others. Who are they for?”
Before she could tell him, the loudspeaker announced racers and handlers were to line up by their cars and stand by for the opening ceremonies.
“That’s our cue,” Cindi said hurriedly, grateful for the timely interruption. “I’ll be on the reviewing stand, checking times, but I’ll be back to help out with the Super Kids. You’d better hoof it down the hill.”
With the reviewing stand in front of the finish line,
Cindi had the advantage of keeping an eye on Preston. He worked well with the other men as they lifted each car onto the backs of the flatbed trailers. She neglected to mention he would be working with volunteers from the local high school ROTC. The six teenagers, dressed in gray military camo, fit the mold of the ideal fighting soldier.
Cindi didn’t understand why the organizers had put the Super Kids toward the end of the first-round eliminations. Another judge took over for her on the reviewing stand, and she followed the path to where the bales of hay ended and the cars were being loaded on the backs of the flatbeds. The time had come. She pasted a big smile on her face.
“Sorry, I need Preston to do another job.”
“Miss Cindi, you can’t take our strongest guy,” protested Jason, one of the ROTC volunteers. “He’s a former Army Ranger, a real hero.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll be back for the finals.”
Preston wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and then replaced his sunglasses over his eyes. “ROTC. Thanks for the warning. Those kids kept tossing questions at me while we worked. And no, I didn’t claim to be a hero.” He took the bottle of warm water out of his back pocket and killed his thirst. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely company?”
Cindi figured he had to be tired and slowed her enthusiastic pace. “There is a special group of children I want you to meet, and they will be racing in about an hour. Let’s make our way up the hill to the area alongside the first aid station.”
He matched her footsteps and slipped a possessive arm about her waist. “You were right. I’ve really enjoyed myself. Some of those are kids are nuts. The guys are yelling ‘brake, brake’ and they plow right into the bales of hay.”
“That’s part of the fun.” Cindi pressed a little closer to his side and savored these few private moments, despite the surrounding chaos. “Have you eaten?”
“No. Just drank a few bottles of water, as instructed.” He winked and tightened his arm around her. “To be perfectly honest, I’m starving.”
