I studied him. “Do former clients often walk up to you and say ‘I know someone who needs your help,’ and you believe them? And you spread rumors about that person being unstable?” I was pleased to hear the calm tone of my voice.
“You misunderstand. First, it wasn’t brought up right away. It was well into our interactions—” he stumbled over the word and flushed beet red.
I took a wild guess. “It was a woman.”
He opened his eyes wide.
I took it another step. “And you slept with her.”
“How could you know that?” He gaped at me and turned a deeper red.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, though I probably didn’t manage to hide my disgust. “Was the story of poor little Kate pillow talk? And did you approach her?” Who the hell was this bitch?
“She approached me, but she didn’t bring you up until later. After.” He shuffled his feet. “It’s embarrassing to feel taken in. It’s been a long time since a woman her age was interested in me. I should have known better.”
“You believed her and spread rumors?”
He snapped his eyes to mine. “I didn’t do that. I’d never do that, I swear.”
“If you didn’t, then—”
“She must have,” he finished.
“Who the hell would want to damage my image? Who hates me…?” Then I knew. “Sofia Montalvo.” It wasn’t a question.
He’d gone pale, and he wrung his hands. “I believed her—her interest in me and her concern for you as a friend. I assumed she had the best intentions, since she spoke so warmly of you and your talent. She was concerned your skills not be lost like PJ’s were.”
I couldn’t stop a shudder.
That woman is creepy.
“But once I started questioning things today,” he went on, “I realized I had only her statement to go on. And after she wouldn’t even look at me today on pit lane, I had to question everything she’d said to me.”
“Finally,” I muttered.
“Once I questioned my baseline assumptions about her, I saw every one of her actions in a new light, and it changed my perspective. Turned everything I thought I knew upside down.” He grimaced. “It’s embarrassing, professionally and personally. I’m truly sorry for the issues it’s caused you.”
I had to be fair. “If you didn’t tip off the Ringer, you didn’t do anything. You were taken in also.”
Question the baseline assumption and it turns everything upside down….
I struggled to connect that idea to something, but I wasn’t sure what.
He shook his head. “I didn’t. In fact, I’ll contact him and demand a retraction.”
“Only if it comes up again. I think it’s blown over now.”
“Then I’ll owe you one for the future. Again, I’m sorry.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “It’s fine, Tom. I understand.”
Now go away, so I can think!
After five more apologies, he left, and I remained outside, leaning against the garage wall. I knew I should get back to the party, but I was trying to chase down whatever was stuck in the back of my mind. Like a word I couldn’t remember, it hovered just out of reach. I looked around the garage area. There was Donny—Don—PJ’s former crew member and now a tire guy, exiting another team’s garage. There was Josh Gaffey, entering Kenny’s garage space at the far end of Beermeier’s row. There was Paul Lauth, PJ’s boyfriend—wait.
Josh Gaffey? Gaffey Insurance? No. Chuck Gaffey.
Chapter Fifty
Look at things from a new perspective, like thinking about my father’s family. Question the baseline assumption.
When I did, an awful lot of pieces fell into place. I’d taken Chuck at his word that he was so distraught over PJ’s death he almost quit racing.
Ryan told us to question what everyone said. What if Chuck’s story wasn’t true?
Sure, his company had lost money making a payout to Ron Arvin for PJ’s death, but that had proved his new product had value. His business had steadily grown through the years. Except for the reported stumbles and money problems—having to mortgage his own house, Josh had said—at the start.
The Ringer mentioned a rumor of mishandled funds. Was that Chuck struggling to keep the business afloat?
Plus Chuck had heard about PJ via a “breaking news” report, meaning he might not have been at the track when PJ died.
What about Ron’s death? How could he be responsible if they were best friends?
Maybe Ron had figured out what Chuck had done, and Chuck had to shut Ron up—but would that have happened now, after all these years? Sure, Chuck was at the team party, but I didn’t see any motive for him to have killed Ron.
“Kate?” Tyler, the young transmission expert, stuck his head outside the garage. “There’s a photographer here who’d like a photo with some of your sponsors.”
I thanked him and hurried back inside the garage. My mind still spun with ideas and connections, and I worked hard not to stare at Chuck Gaffey, who sat on his customary stool and chatted with Gramps and some of the crew. I wanted to tell Ryan what I’d figured out, but he stood by the office area talking with Alexa. Plus, the photographer was waiting. I posed for photos alone next to my dirty and battered car, hoping my mental distress didn’t show on my face, and then our fuel sponsor’s representatives joined me.
When we finished, Holly dragged me to an empty corner of the hospitality area. “What’s going on in your head?” she whispered.
“Can’t I hide anything?”
“Not from me or your grandfather,” she said, gesturing across the garage to Gramps, who looked at me with a question in his eyes.
My heart skipped a beat. Next to Gramps, Chuck also watched me, and as much as I tried to be smooth and smile, I was afraid the horror I felt for him showed on my face. I made a lame attempt at a smile, then pointed at Gramps and waved him over, hoping to get him away from Chuck.
Alexa tapped my shoulder, wanting me to take a photo with her and representatives from the company that supplied our brake parts. When we finished, Alexa walked the reps out of the garage and I turned, looking for Gramps. But he wasn’t next to me. He wasn’t on his stool, and he wasn’t in sight. Neither was Chuck.
“Where’s Gramps? Where’d he go?” I could barely breathe.
Ryan looked up from his phone at the sound of my voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Gramps—Chuck.” I gulped air as Ryan and Holly moved closer. “I think Chuck did it. And now I don’t know where Gramps is.”
“Chuck?” Holly repeated. “But he—oh.”
Ryan didn’t ask questions. He grabbed the nearest crew member, Tyler. “Where did Horace go—Kate’s grandfather? Did you see him? Was he with Gaffey?”
Tyler was blank. “They’re not over there?” He turned to the stools they typically occupied and scratched his head. “Geez, I have no idea.”
I wanted to shake Tyler until his teeth rattled.
Ryan darted across the garage to Uncle Stan, and I followed. “Did you see Kate’s grandfather leave? Was he with Gaffey?”
Uncle Stan saw Ryan’s worried face and my frantic one. “Stepped outside together, couple minutes ago. Chuck wanted to show Horace something, but I don’t know what or where. What’s wrong?”
“Call the police—call security and have them send the FBI and others on site. Tell them we have information about Ron Arvin’s killer,” Ryan said, moving toward the door.
“Tell them he’s got a hostage,” I added.
Ryan stopped and turned back to me and Uncle Stan, as Holly and Alexa joined us. “No, don’t.” He kept his tone low. “We don’t know Chuck’s the guy. We don’t know Gramps is a hostage. We’re going to find the two men and see what’s going on, because it’s almost time to go home.”
“Chuck is what guy?
And who’s a hostage?” Alexa asked.
I clutched at Ryan’s arm. “Gramps is in danger. I’m sure of it.”
“Tell them to hurry,” he told Uncle Stan, then turned to the rest of us. “You all stay here.”
“Like hell,” I returned.
“I’ve got the gun and the training.”
“He’s the most important person in my world.” I spit the words out, focusing on anger instead of fear. “You’re wasting time. I’m going with you or I’m following you.”
“We’ll deal with the cops,” Holly assured him.
“What’s going on?” Alexa demanded.
“You go.” Holly shooed us away. “I’ll explain.”
Ryan looked at me. “Shit. Come on.”
But we didn’t have far to go. We turned right out of the garage, away from the main corridor leading to the track, and toward the row of hospitality tents, now being dismantled and packed up. Around the corner of the garage building opposite mine was a gate that led to one of the roads in the speedway, as well as to a dozen different parking areas. Gramps and Chuck stood arguing outside the gate, while a bored and tired yellow-shirt fanned himself listlessly fifty feet away.
Ryan grabbed my hand to slow my headlong rush. He murmured, “Remember, we’re looking for Gramps so we can leave. Nothing dramatic. No accusations.”
I took a deep breath, my first since realizing Gramps was in the company of a two-time killer. I matched Ryan’s stride and forced a smile. “All right.”
I walked ahead of Ryan. “We’re ready to leave, Gramps, but we didn’t know where you went.” I slung an arm around Gramps’ shoulders and turned to Chuck with a fake smile on my face.
Gramps was stiff, but he smiled at me. Chuck didn’t.
Apparently Chuck wasn’t fooled by my acting job, because he moved faster than I thought possible. In seconds, he’d wrapped his left arm around my throat in a choke hold, pulled a knife from a sheath on his hip, and held it against the side of my neck.
Chapter Fifty-one
“Stay back!” Chuck hissed, as he dragged me around the corner, into a walkway between the back wall of the last garage and the side of a now-deserted concession tent. The parking lots around us were filled with big rigs and motorhomes—lots of slab sides unbroken by windows. No one in sight to help.
I stumbled along in Chuck’s grasp, panting for breath between my panic and the arm clamped around my throat. I felt a sting from the knife tip pressed into the flesh of my neck, and I cringed, trying to move away from it but unable to.
Ryan had his gun out and pointed our direction by the time he and Gramps followed us around the corner. Gramps was agitated, wringing his hands, but Ryan stayed calm, focused on Chuck and me.
Ryan ignored Chuck’s instruction and moved to within ten feet of us. “What’s going on, Chuck? We were looking for Horace to leave for the day, and now this? What’s this is all about? Let Kate go.”
Chuck laughed, but without any humor. “How stupid do you think I am, FBI boy? Put down the gun or I’ll slit her throat.”
I stopped breathing and heard Gramps gasp.
“What is it you think we know, Chuck?” Ryan didn’t move a muscle.
I felt Chuck shake his head and shift so he stood directly behind me, out of the line of fire. “I’m not playing this game,” he said.
“Then what are we doing here?” Ryan replied.
“You’re in the way. Our media darling Kate is my insurance policy.” Chuck laughed. “I do like my insurance policies.”
I thought he sounded deranged, and I choked down the panic and nausea threatening to rise in my throat. I met Gramps’ eyes, and the fear in them as he watched me made me ache.
Ryan still hadn’t lowered his gun, and I stared down its barrel. His voice was still calm, but I caught a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Whatever you’ve done, don’t make it worse by hurting Kate.”
I moved slightly to ease a cramp in my back, and Chuck tightened his grip. I had trouble drawing breath, and my hands flew to Chuck’s arm, tugging at it.
“Let her breathe!” Gramps pleaded.
“I said, stay back.” Chuck wiggled the knife at my neck, and I felt a sharper sting of pain. But he did loosen his grip, and I sucked in air.
Ryan didn’t move his body, but his eyes flicked from Chuck’s to mine. “It’s okay, Chuck. We’ll stay back here.”
“Let’s get on with what I need to do,” Chuck snarled. “Starting with you putting down the gun. Don’t try to be a hero. No one wants to see their precious Kate hurt.”
Ryan still didn’t budge. “If we do as you say, you won’t hurt her?”
“That’s right. She’s just my insurance policy. Put your gun and phone on the ground over there—Horace’s, too.” Chuck nodded toward the white tent wall. “Nice and slow. No tricks. Don’t make me twitchy.” He moved the knife to emphasize the point, and I winced, wondering how much I was bleeding.
Ryan hesitated a long moment, and I imagined him mentally working through possible scenarios, but then he nodded and complied, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. Gramps looked frantic, but he stayed still, chafing his hands. Ryan returned to his original position, poised on the balls of his feet for action, hands loose at his side.
Chuck nodded. “Now, I need to get in my car, drive to the airport, and get on my plane. Then I’ll let Kate go. If you stay out of it, she won’t be hurt. Her safety is your choice.”
I didn’t understand. “How are you going to take me to the airport? You can’t get through security like this.”
“I’m sure he means a small airstrip, with a private plane,” Ryan said. “One big enough to get you to somewhere with no extradition…the Cayman Islands, say?”
Chuck smiled. “Something like that.”
“How is this going to work?” Ryan asked.
“Horace is going to take my car keys from my right jacket pocket,” Chuck said. “Then he’ll retrieve my car. Kate and I will get in—she’ll be driving—and you’ll let us leave. When I get to the airport, I’ll take her on the plane with me until right before we take off. Then I’ll let her go.”
I didn’t like the sound of his plan, and neither did Ryan. “It’ll never work,” he warned.
Chuck rolled his eyes. “You sound like a bad movie. You think all of a sudden, I’ll believe you and decide to give myself up?”
Gramps swallowed. “Where’s your car?”
“In the lot behind us, far end,” Chuck jerked his head in the approximate direction. “White Porsche 911. You can approach slowly now. Keys in my right pocket.”
Gramps glanced at Ryan, who nodded. I hoped someone had a plan or that the police would arrive soon. Gramps took one step at a time toward Chuck, his eyes darting between Chuck’s face and the knife at my throat.
Can I do anything when Gramps gets close? No, he might get hurt also. Chuck will be the most distracted when Gramps gets back with the car. Do something then. And why didn’t I ever take martial arts classes?!
Gramps approached slowly, extracted the key from Chuck’s bomber jacket pocket, and walked backwards away from us, looking anguished as he met my eyes. I projected back confidence, and I saw the same determination reflected in Ryan’s face.
We’re going to get out of this.
Chuck nodded. “Now go get the car. Don’t talk to anyone or signal anyone. Don’t take too long. Remember, I’ve got your granddaughter’s life in my hands.”
Gramps clutched the key. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Then be back here in five minutes,” Chuck responded. “Go.”
With a last glance for me, Gramps set off at a fast shuffle down the lane, quickly disappearing from view behind the concession tent.
Ryan kept his eyes on me and Chuck. “You can still back down from this, Chuck. Get in the car alone and leave Kate here
. We won’t stop you.”
Chuck snorted. “You’ll have cops waiting for me.” He shook his head. “If you do as I say, I won’t hurt her. Just let me take care of business—that’s all it’s ever been about. I did what needed to be done.”
“What needed to be done for whom?” Ryan asked.
“For me and the greater good of the racing world.”
I couldn’t hold in my outrage. “How was killing PJ for the greater good?”
Ryan sucked in a breath, and Chuck tightened his grip on my neck, his arm scratchy with hair and slick with sweat.
“Do you realize how many small teams I’ve saved with my business interruption policies?” Chuck snarled near my ear. “And in turn, how many other local businesses those teams have kept afloat—suppliers, manufacturers, and the like? How many families those businesses continue to feed to this day? I knew my policies would work—knew they would save businesses and lives. I was bold, and I had vision—I deserved to get a fair chance to fulfill my destiny of helping people. What was one worthless life stacked up against hundreds of others?”
“You threw her off a building and made it look like suicide to further your business?” I spat out.
Chuck was silent for a long moment, then he sounded dreamy, almost reverent. “She wasn’t concerned until we got onto the roof—she trusted me, believed I had something to show her.” I felt him shake his head. “She didn’t even struggle, not after a tap on the head stunned her. And then she flew.”
My stomach rolled, and I wondered if throwing up on Chuck was a way to break free. “You’re not God. How can you make that choice?”
“Easy,” Ryan murmured.
“Did you make the choice for Ron, too?” I had to know.
“My best friend, Ron. My partner in crime.” Chuck sighed. “Ron agreed to buy the new policy after PJ’s spectacular run that first day and agreed to ensuring she wouldn’t race.”
“But he seemed upset by her death,” I said.
“He was soft,” Chuck sneered. “He planned for an accident that would break her leg or something—but when she and I were staying at the same hotel, I saw the opportunity for a solution she’d never be able to talk about.” I felt him shrug. “Ron lost his nerve while he was in prison. He said PJ was weighing on him. He swore he’d never told anyone, but I didn’t trust him.”
Kiss the Bricks Page 26
