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Chapter Fourteen

Maddie saw the surprise on my face and got serious. “Kate, we make movies, and we pretend to be in love. We kiss for the cameras, not for each other. But I've kissed enough people for the cameras to know when they're good at it. And Lucas is good at it.”

My mind whirled.

She spoke again. “Now you're wondering if you can trust him, since he acts for a living.”

“I'm that transparent?”

“It's everyone's first question. It's our job. We don't use our job to play tricks on normal, nice people, unless we're psychopaths getting off on others' misery. Which most actors are not—certainly Lucas and I aren't. My advice is treat Lucas like any ordinary guy, and trust him enough to get to know him and decide for yourself.”

“It's odd, hearing you say you've kissed him, right after he kissed me.”

“Better to get it out there now, rather than later. I have to roll around mostly naked with him in a couple weeks, but I can promise I won't enjoy it nearly as much as you would, should you ever reach that point.” Her smile was wicked this time.

My cheeks burned. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves.” Of course, I couldn't stop myself from remembering magazine photos of Lucas shirtless.

Penny entered the trailer. “You ready, Maddie?”

“Yep. And while I go do my job,” she smiled at me, “Kate needs to ask you about Billy with the Long Beach race organization.”

Penny grimaced. “All right.”

“You don't have to, Penny,” I rushed to say. “I've taken enough of your time.”

Penny slipped her black-framed glasses off and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “You're never a problem. He, however, was an asshole.”

“Stay here as long as you need to, Kate.” Maddie hugged me. “Good luck tomorrow. And thanks again for the help.”

“We're still karting on Sunday? One last lesson before race week?”

“I'll be there.”

Maddie left the trailer, and Penny and I sat down. She apologized and typed furiously into her phone, while I studied her.

Everything about Penny screamed no-nonsense, from her simple tee-shirt and cargo pants, in which she carried various notebooks, electronic devices, and items to help repair Maddie's makeup or clothing. On her own, she was pretty. Next to Maddie, we were all ordinary. But Penny didn't care. She preferred to be support staff, out of the limelight. My best friend and manager, Holly, was the same way.

“There! Go away.” Penny tossed her phone on the chair across from her and stood up, moving to the small fridge. “Want some water?”

“Thanks. Lots of interview requests?”

She sat back down, taking big gulps. “And appearance requests, inquiries about the celebrity race, and so forth. Enough of that. What did you want to ask me about that…person?”

I didn't bother hiding my smile. “You know he was killed yesterday?”

“Saw it in the news. Sorry for his family. Not sorry I won't have to deal with him again.” She eyed me. “Are you with the police or something? Investigating his death?”

“Not with the police. Not investigating. Asking questions for his employer and the race organization so they know what happened and can be prepared if anything embarrassing comes up.” I decided to tell Penny the truth. “I'm doing it against my better judgment, as a favor. I wasn't a fan of his either.”

“Sounds like you have stories also.”

I nodded. “What did he do that made you so angry?”

“He wouldn't stop pushing. He wouldn't listen to me or to Maddie. More than once, even after we both said we weren't interested.”

“In what?”

“In an interview, in his help with promotion of Maddie's part in the racing weekend, in his connecting her with big money men who could help her fund any project she wanted.” She paused. “In having sex with him.”

I almost spit out my water. “He propositioned her for sex?”

“Both of us. He couched it as dinner or ‘treating us right.'” She looked revolted. “He talked about helping us with any
needs
we might have, and he spoke to her while trying to grind himself against me.”

I felt queasy. “What did you do?”

“I shoved him away. I thought Maddie was going to slap him, but I stopped her in time—it's worse if the celebrity makes contact. Maddie told him we'd report him for sexual harassment, and he laughed in our faces. He knew we wouldn't want the publicity for something the cops couldn't act on anyway. But he threatened us with taking his story to the media.”

“What good would that do?” The answer started to dawn on me as she spoke.

“He'd get a lot of coverage on a story of how we'd propositioned him for a three-way and became violent and abusive when he turned us down.”

I sipped my water again, hoping it would calm the roiling of my gut. I'd known Billy and his cousin Holden were vile, but this was a new low. “What happened?”

“Maddie called his bluff. Told him to stay the hell away from us, or we'd have him arrested.”

“When was this?”

Penny blinked at me, her hazel eyes still angry behind her glasses. “He slithered around Maddie from day one, back in March, at those dinners during the training sessions. The physical approach—”

“Assault?”

She shrugged. “Aggression. That was yesterday morning, first thing.” She grimaced. “Just what I needed, a little molestation before my second cup of coffee.”

“I wish I could say I'm surprised. He was a disgusting asshole.”

She glanced at her phone, which was buzzing in the other chair, but didn't pick it up. “I didn't talk with him after that. I saw him from a distance, but I made sure to avoid him and keep Maddie away. Then he was killed.”

“Did you see him with other people?”

“I saw him at least four times throughout the day. I swear he paraded around so we'd be sure to see him with different women.” She rolled her eyes. “He was always with women.”

“As if he was God's gift.”

She laughed. “Right. He was with the Beverly Hills cougar a few times. And her cameras.”

“That's Nikki Gray. She owns the race—or the organizing company.”

“That explains his air of entitlement. I also saw him with Erica Aarons, the PR person from the race staff. He was talking to her, looming over her, you know?”

“Been there.”

“I got the sense she was barely being civil, but she'd probably have to if she wanted to keep her job.”

I made a mental note to talk to Erica. “Anyone else?”

“A blond woman, also short. He wasn't trying to intimidate her as much as the others.”

“Can you describe her more?”

Penny closed her eyes a moment, thinking. “That's tough. She was so forcefully bland. Long, straight hair.”

It was the perfect description of Elizabeth Rogers. “I know who you mean.”

“I did see him with one man. Don someone? The guy running the race?”

“Don Kessberg.”

“Right. I saw Don yelling at someone around the side of a trailer, waving his hands and looking pissed off. I couldn't see who he was talking to at the time, but a couple minutes later, Billy walked around the corner.” She paused. “Funny, I'd forgotten that until now.”

I frowned.
Don didn't mention arguing with Billy yesterday
.
He's still got plenty of motive and opportunity. Speaking of opportunity…
“Penny? Don't take this wrong, but you weren't alone at any point yesterday, were you?”

“I need an alibi?” She smiled at my discomfort. “As it happens, I wasn't ever alone, except when I went into one of the God-awful porta-potties while someone else held my phone and bag. And Maddie was with me unless she was in the car.”

“Sorry to ask.”

“I've got nothing to hide. I didn't kill him. Didn't want to kill him.” She shook her head. “If he'd been found strung up by the balls, you might be looking for me. I'd have gone for humiliation and revenge.”

Chapter Fifteen

Wednesday evening, I drove east on highway 10 toward Ontario and the Fontana Speedway, with the sun setting behind me and darker skies ahead. I thought about what Penny had told me. I'd known Billy was a creep, but I hadn't realized he was also a sexual predator. I was shocked by his arrogance, dumbfounded he'd think his crude attempts at seduction would appeal to women. Or that they'd be bullied into remaining quiet.

He obviously didn't care much about Nikki.
I wondered how much she'd cared about him in return—and how to ask her that question.

I had a list of people to talk to, starting with Nikki. Also Don, to find out what he argued with Billy about, and Elizabeth Rogers and Erica Aarons to see what they knew of Billy's last hours. Some questions would go unasked. I wouldn't talk to Edward, not after he'd called me a whore like my mother. Or Holden, who'd never had a civil word for me.

I still wondered about Coleman. I'd been wary of him because he was Holden's father and part of the Reilly family by marriage. My interactions with Edward, Billy's father, had gone so wrong I wasn't sure how Coleman would act. But working with him on the terms of the bank's sponsorship had been fine. We'd both been professional and respectful. Up until he steamrolled me into investigating Billy's death.

I unclenched my jaw and relaxed my shoulders. I shook off my gloom, mentally walling off everything to do with Billy, murder, and my family. I shoved it all in a room in my head and turned the key in the lock. It was time to think only about the next day's task. The car and the track waiting for me.

My excitement about the test got me up early the next morning. I ate a hearty breakfast, drank a lot of water along with my coffee, and checked out of my hotel by eight o'clock.

I felt a familiar surge of adrenaline as I drove through the tunnel under Turn 4 and up into Fontana's Auto Club Speedway infield. My first view of the track got my heart beating even faster, and I flexed my fingers on the rental car's wheel, imagining steering around the oval. I followed the paved road past grassy parking lots to concrete lots in the center of the infield. Aside from light standards and trash barrels, the acres of flat ground were only broken up by three low garage buildings and a two-story building that paralleled the front straight, housing pits, suites, and rooftop viewing. I parked next to a small group of cars near the fueling station and garages, and I headed for pit lane, after a stop to change into my firesuit.

I was there to test with Beermeier Racing, whose drivers had ended the previous season seventh and fourteenth in the standings—respectable, but not all the team hoped for. Beermeier had yet to field a top-five driver, but team co-owner Alexa Wittmeier was a former competitor with a best season-long result of sixth. Though she'd never won a race, she'd amassed dozens of top fives and only failed to finish a race an astonishing four times in six years. She'd been the benchmark for consistency as a driver, and she'd slowly built a strong team from the other side of the pit box, making a big leap in Series standing when she joined forces with Tim Beerman five years ago.

I'd done a lot of research into the team and its results, and I thought they were poised to break out and take a driver to a championship. I wanted that driver to be me. But it all depended on how I performed and what kind of chemistry I had with the crew. Like many teams, Beermeier Racing employed two drivers, one a star and the other a rookie or near to it, along with a possible third car only at the Indy 500. In addition, Beermeier still ran a racing program in Indy Lights, the lower-level feeder series to IndyCar, which I'd tested with a couple months prior. All in all, there were a variety of options for working with the team, should the day's test go well.

I found the team set up near a break in the pit wall, equipped with the bare essentials—tires, tools, and a handful of crew members—plus a fueling rig and a timing stand for each car, where the crew monitored cars and laptops receiving data. Most importantly, there were two racecars.

“I guess that's us,” said a male voice.

I turned to see a late teen with a wiry build and a worn firesuit.

“Must be.” I held out a hand. “I'm Kate Reilly.”

“Matt King. Good to meet you. I know you've been racing sportscars. And winning. But now IndyCar?”

“I'm thinking about it. Matt King…you've been in Indy Lights?”

“For three years.”

I revised my estimate of his age up to twenty. “Time for a step up to the big leagues.”

He nodded, his eyes on the cars in front of us.

“I'm all for collaboration and sharing information, if you are,” I offered. I couldn't tell if he'd be willing to compare notes or would need to “beat the girl.” I'd seen plenty of both attitudes.

But he smiled. “Anything to make me faster. Let's both kick some IndyCar ass today.”

“Deal.”

There would be ten car-and-driver combinations testing IndyCars, run by four teams splitting the facility rental cost. In general, test days were money-makers for teams: they got paid to bring out their cars and coach a new driver around the track. For the driver, test days were pay-to-play. We paid—or hopefully, our sponsors paid—for the opportunity to show this team and others what we could do. A solid performance might reaffirm a sponsor's plans to fund the driver in the future, and with sponsor dollars in hand, the driver could knock on team doors to find an available car. I needed a good performance to prove to my sponsor I was worth the money and to interest teams in providing a car for me.

The reality of racing these days was that drivers, even at top levels, had to bring money to a racing team. The story of a driver with no associated sponsors being hired and paid by a team, strictly based on talent, was as much a fairy tale as finding Prince Charming. Of course, the better and more well known a driver, the easier it was to secure sponsors. Those of us in the middle ranks struggled more. A lot more. I'd met plenty of talented racers without enough dollars to launch themselves out of the local circuits.

I was one of the lucky ones, especially on a bright, sunny, but not too warm day at a California Speedway. The buzz coursing through me bumped up a notch.

As Matt and I moved toward the pits, Alexa Wittmeier, co-owner of Beermeier Racing, saw us and gestured to the cars: low-slung, rear-engined, open-wheel, and open-cockpit. “Welcome. There's your transportation for the day.”

Matt and I looked at the cars, then at each other, and broke into identical grins.

Alexa smiled also. “We should have some fun.” She opened two cabinets in the pit cart where Matt and I stored our helmets, gloves, and other gear. We followed her around the end of the wall to stand in pit lane.

“Kate, you'll be in the front car, the 40. Matt, in the 41,” Alexa explained. “I'll introduce you to the crew, and then Mick and I will take you around the track in street cars to orient you.” Mick was Michel Poirier, a French driver and Beermeier's star.

“After that, we'll get you two strapped in and familiar with the controls and send you out individually for your rookie tests,” Alexa went on. “We'll have a couple short sessions before lunch, and two or three longer ones this afternoon. Does that work for you both?”

Matt and I both nodded.

“Great, let's get to it.”