Checkered Flag (6 page)

TIM AND KELLEN WATCHED
the Dover race together in the garage and cheered as Dale finished ninth. Another top 10 was good, and the fact that several cup contenders finished 20th or lower helped Dale move up to the eighth position, but the big drawback was that Butch Devalon had finished first and was now second in the Chase.

“We started the year strong, and we’re going to finish the year strong,” Devalon said as he spread some liquid on the crowd around him. He cursed, then said, “We’ve got the best team and the fastest car, so all I have to do is go out and make it happen.”

“I’d do anything to make sure that guy doesn’t win,” Tim said. “I wish he’d get in a big wreck and get stuck in his car for the rest of the season. Then they can pull him out.”

“Better not let Dad hear you talk like that,” Kellen said. “He says Butch has every right to be where he is and to crow all he wants.”

“Well, I’d like to go crow hunting,” Tim said, and Kellen laughed.

Sunday evening Tim did some of his homework in his room and didn’t go to the airport to pick up Dale. He was supposed to write a paper for English on what he’d do with a million dollars. He began the essay with:

Probably everybody in class will write that they would give a million dollars to charity so they can feel good about themselves. While they can do what they want, I wouldn’t give to save whales or fight global warming or anything like that. I would use the money to open up a garage so I could fix people’s cars that are broken down. And it would be a good investment because I’d probably have to hire somebody to answer the phone and at least two other people to work with me because a lot of cars need repairs. And when single moms come in, I’d give them a discount and wouldn’t charge them as much.

Tim sat back and looked at his words. He wished he were Calvin Shoverton’s kid and could ask his dad advice on what to say. He started again.

If I had a million dollars, I would give it away to Camp Left Turn. They give sick kids the chance to spend a few days riding horses and swimming and just acting like normal kids. I went there in July, and when you see the faces of those kids, it just makes your heart happy. I would probably save a little bit for myself to maybe buy a car or start a business, but most of it I would give to that camp.

Tim figured the teacher would like this better, so he crumpled up the first one and tossed it. His cell phone rang, and he thought it was probably Mrs. Maxwell asking if he wanted something for dessert on their way home from the airport. Strange, because she usually called the house phone for stuff like that. Plus, the phone number showed up as “unknown number.”

“Hello?”

There was a fumbling with the phone, like someone was passing it to a different person.

“Hello?” Tim said again.

A pause. “Tim?” a female voice said.

“Yeah, this is Tim.”

“Timmy, I need to see you.”

A shiver went down his back. His dad said his mom used to call him Timmy, though he couldn’t remember much about that. “Who is this?”

“Son, I think you know, don’t you?” she said.

Tim sat up. “Mom?”

“I want you to write down this address, and I want you to meet me there in 20 minutes.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“It’s not that far away,” the woman said. “Do you have a bike?”

“I can borrow one,” Tim said.

She gave him the address, and he wrote it down. He thought the street sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“I’ll see you in 20 minutes,” she said. “Don’t be late.”

“Wait. I need to know—”

The line went dead, and Tim hung up and hurried to the computer. He plugged in the address and printed out a map, then headed outside to Kellen’s bike.

The air was brisk and chilly, but Tim didn’t care. He pedaled as fast as he could and raised a sweat as he rode past a main road. He cut across a dirt road,
ducking low-hanging tree limbs, and steered his way through a field and onto pavement. He stopped under a streetlight to make sure he was on the right track, checking the location and starting again.

Over the years, Tim had thought he had seen his mom several times in crowds, at races, and even in restaurants. In fact, on the day his dad had died, he thought he saw her in the stands and had followed and found it was someone else. Each time he was disappointed. Now, at last, he hoped to see her and find out why she had left him and his dad.

He found the street and raced down it, clicking his stopwatch to see that it had taken exactly 18 minutes to get here. He slid to a stop in front of a large iron gate with the address over it, the same one the woman—was it his mom?—had given on the phone. He looked around and saw no one on the road, so he leaned the bike against the gate. He paced a few steps, then heard movement on gravel nearby.

“Hello?” he called. “Anybody in there?”

No answer.

Tim studied the gate. It didn’t look electrified, and there was no razor wire at the top. He didn’t hear any dogs inside, so he took a chance and scaled the gate, dropping to the other side. He tweaked his ankle coming down and hopped toward the building at the end of the driveway. In the dim light of the streetlamp
he could see the black
13
on the front of the building. At that moment, something other than seeing his mother entered his mind—something scary that reminded him of a car pulling up behind him in Florida and people getting out and jumping him. His instincts told him he was in trouble.

He turned to run but caught sight of a flickering flame at the back of the building. Stopping, he squinted to see if the flicker was inside or outside the building. He moved to the side, walking gingerly on his ankle, and cupped his hands around his eyes so he could see inside the garage. The flames were inside!

Tim took out his cell phone and dialed 911, but just as he did, he heard a siren wailing and saw red lights flash in the distance. He clicked off his phone and hobbled back toward the gate, but before he reached it, an explosion rocked the area, smashing glass and sending it skittering on the concrete near him.

Tim hit the ground and stayed there until the shower of debris stopped. As the fire truck neared, he climbed over the fence, landed again on his hurt ankle, and headed back the way he had come. Behind him, he heard shouts of the firemen trying to get inside the gate. He didn’t stop pedaling until he pulled into the Maxwells’ garage and found Dale there.

“Where’ve you been so late?” Dale said.

“Just went for a ride,” Tim said. “Good job at the race.”

“Thanks.”

“If it’s okay with you, I got an early day tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, Tim. See you in the morning.”

WHEN JAMIE DROVE
Tim to school the next day, he was unusually quiet. Not that he was very talkative most of the time, but he just stared out the window. She turned up the radio as a news report about a fire the night before was coming on.

“. . . top story concerns a mysterious fire at the Butch Devalon Racing complex,” the reporter said. “An explosion there last night blew out some windows, but authorities say they were able to save the structure. The fire is suspicious in origin. It comes only a few hours after Devalon won a race in Dover, Delaware.”

Jamie reached for the volume knob and turned it down. “Wow, I hadn’t heard anything about—”

“No, listen,” Tim said, leaning over and turning up the radio.

“. . . and authorities say they have possible leads about the person or persons who may be involved. We’ll have more about that in our eight o’clock hour and an interview with Butch Devalon then as well.”

Jamie turned the radio off. “That’s weird. Who would want to burn down Devalon’s garage?”

Tim shrugged.

Jamie went from school to the gym. She only worked part-time at the auto parts store and her shift didn’t begin until six, so she wanted to get in a good workout beforehand.

When she got home, she was surprised to see a police car in the driveway. Her dad was on the front porch with the officer, and Kellen was talking to them.

“What’s up?” Jamie said as she walked over.

“Do you know where Tim is?” her dad said, his face grim.

“No. He takes the bus home.”

The officer tipped his hat and crossed his arms in front of him. “Jamie, I’ve admired your driving. Think I’ll be admiring it even more in the years to come.”

“Thanks,” she said. “What’s this all about?”

The officer took a deep breath. “Did Tim seem himself this morning when you drove to school?”

Jamie pursed her lips. “He was pretty quiet. Of course, he doesn’t say much to begin with. . . .” She
thought a moment. “He did get squirrelly about the news report we heard on the radio.”

“What report was that?” her dad said.

“The Devalon garage fire. He seemed really interested in it.”

The reaction of all three was immediate. Her dad shook his head, the officer nodded, and Kellen closed his eyes and tipped his head back, like his favorite team had just lost the Super Bowl by a last-second field goal.

“What?” Jamie said.

“They think Tim might have been involved in the fire,” her dad said.

“That’s crazy!” Jamie said. “Tim wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“That’s not what your brother says,” the officer said.

“Tell her,” her dad said to Kellen.

Kellen looked like he had sold his favorite horse to a dog food factory. “Tim was talking during the race about Devalon, saying some wild stuff. I don’t think he’s capable of hurting a flea—”

“What did he say?” Jamie said.

“Something about making sure Devalon didn’t win and getting stuck in his car or something dumb like that. He was just kidding around—he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yeah, well, here he comes,” Jamie’s dad said.

Tim walked past the squad car, taking a good look at the exhaust and (Jamie thought) imagining what the engine looked like. He walked tentatively, like an animal going to slaughter.

“Tim, this is Officer Dunham,” her dad said. “You have any idea why he’s here?”

“Should I?” Tim said.

“Were you at the Devalon racing complex last night?” the officer said.

Tim hesitated. “I might have driven Kellen’s bike over that way.” He glanced at Kellen. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No problem,” Kellen said.

“Did you go on their property?”

Tim looked away and put his hands in his pockets.

“Maybe we should get legal counsel on this,” Jamie’s dad said.

“No, it’s okay,” Tim said. “I’ll tell you what happened. I went over there and climbed the fence. That’s when I saw the fire inside, and as I was about to call 911, the fire trucks got there and I took off. I was scared somebody would pin the thing on me.”

Officer Dunham stared at him. “And you expect us to believe you didn’t start the fire.”

“It was burning when I got there, sir.”

“Why did you go there?” the officer said.

Tim put his toe in the dust, and he looked to Jamie like a little kid who had forgotten his fishing pole at the Boy Scout campout. He looked at Jamie’s dad and searched for words. “It’s kind of personal.”

“Trying to burn down a garage complex is kind of personal—don’t you think?” the officer said.

“I didn’t burn anything,” Tim said.

Jamie’s dad searched Tim’s face. “Son, I think we’re going to need more than that. There must have been some reason you went over there that late. Why can’t you tell us?”

“I got a phone call,” Tim said haltingly. “I don’t know who it was. They just gave me the address, and I rode over there.”

“Must’ve been someone pretty important,” Officer Dunham said.

“Yeah,” Tim said.

“A girlfriend of yours?” the officer said.

Jamie studied her dad, who studied Tim. It was almost like he could see right through him.

“Officer, let me talk with Tim,” her dad said. “You want us to come down to the station with you?”

The officer took off his hat, showing a huge bald spot, and scratched the top of his head. He walked over to the squad car, opened it, and pulled something off the front seat. “You’ll probably want to
explain this when you get there,” he said, holding up a hat inside a plastic bag.

“That’s mine,” Tim said. “My dad gave it to me. Where’d you find it?”

Officer Dunham put the bag back into the car. “Inside the building. Near where the explosion happened.”

Tim’s mouth dropped open, and he looked like he was computing things in his head. Jamie felt bad for him. All the evidence pointed to his guilt, but she couldn’t imagine him setting fire to Butch Devalon’s palace of a garage.

“Oh,” the officer said as he got inside his car, “you’ll want to explain the surveillance video we have of you there too.” He drove away.

Kellen came up beside Tim and put an arm on his shoulder. “They’re not sending him to prison, are they, Dad?”

“Nobody’s going to prison. There’s a good explanation for this. I just don’t know what it is.”