Half Past Mourning (2 page)

“I…think I will.” She glanced again at his car. “There won’t be any other yellow T-Birds. Never were very many around here.”

The girl puzzled Peter, but only for a moment. She moved farther back. He could see her still watching as he pulled out of the parking lot but quickly forgot the encounter, his mind already on the afternoon event. This piece of American engineering felt strange under his hands. It didn’t handle as easily as he’d anticipated, but he wasn’t sure what he had expected when he followed the whim to buy it. The idea of owning a sports car excited him. Even more of a thrill was the idea of competitive driving. He’d never tried it and wondered if he could hold his own. That heel-and-toe thing, the way a driver could brake with his right foot while keeping the sole of his foot on the accelerator—he wanted to master that. It sounded as if it would keep the revs up, even in a lower gear. He’d read about it, even tried it, but without much success. Maybe somebody at the gymkhana could give him some pointers. The challenge of learning something new was half the excitement.

Cars and the people who enjoyed them filled the parking lot behind the college football stadium. Peter was struck by the number of entries in the event. He saw Alfas and MGs, a couple of Jaguars, one lone Corvette, and a number of sleek machines he didn’t even try to identify.

Not going to win anything today,
Peter told himself with resigned honesty,
but at least I’ll learn something about driving a sports car out here.
He made his way to the registration booth, paid the entry fee—a fairly stiff one for a small town event—and pushed through the crowd to get back to his car. He’d have to fill out the entry forms and get them back pretty quickly. Qualifying rounds started in a very few minutes.

“You aren’t going to win.” The voice that echoed his own doubts came from behind him. A shadow fell across the pages in his hand.

Peter looked around. That college girl again, her tawny curls blowing, the breeze molding her shirt to curves more feminine than her lanky height suggested.

“I don’t suppose I will,” he agreed, keeping his tone amiable but dismissive. “But I want to find out what the car can do and how well I can handle it.”

Lights danced in her caramel eyes as she shook her head. “No, you can’t win, but your car can.”

Annoyed at her teasing, Peter took a step back. “Look, I don’t know what your interest is, and I don’t have a lot of time here. Do you have a point to make?”

“You can’t win. You’re not experienced, don’t know enough. But this little go-cart of yours could take first place if you had a decent driver at the wheel.”

He heard the authority in her tone. “And how would you know whether or not I can handle the competition?” His impatience mounted. He wanted to speed the girl out of sight before he lost his concentration.

She shrugged. “I was behind you as you drove over here. I watched your driving. I can tell you that you don’t have a chance, but the car does. Put somebody behind the wheel who can do something with it.”

“It’s my car, so I guess I’m the one to drive it.” Peter glanced around at the milling crowd. “Even if you’re right and I can’t win, who would I get to drive? I don’t see anybody offering.”

Her nose wrinkled, and the smile on her face widened to show even white teeth. “Let me drive,” she challenged. “I can win that trophy for you. Only one driver in the competition is really good, the fellow with the Corvette, and his engine’s knocking today.”

Peter, speechless at the audacity of this impudent slip of a girl, spluttered. “Let you drive? You? You’re a...”

“Only a girl?” she interrupted.

“That, too, but I was going to say ‘stranger.’”

“I’m a stranger,” she agreed. “You’d be taking a chance. But what’s the important thing? Do you want to drive, or do you want to win?”

“I think I want to drive.”

“You
think
?” She shook her head. “You don’t need to drive. You need to learn
how
to drive. Take some time to learn the ropes; then you can try it for real.” She kept silent a second, but Peter could see the anxious urgency in her eyes. “Tell you what.” She drew a breath. “You let me drive the T-Bird and I’ll guarantee a win. If I don’t take the trophy, I’ll pay you back the entry fee. How’s that? You can’t lose. You get the trophy or you get your money back. You know you can’t win on your own. Let me drive, and the worst you can do is come out even. You should see how it’s done before you try it, anyway. You don’t want to break the car first thing, do you?”

Peter wasn’t sure what persuaded him. Somehow her determination, her audacity, perhaps a little concern about his own inadequacy, convinced him. He turned the entry form over and looked at the space for the driver’s information. “It’s that important to you?”

Something somber touched her face, shadowed the amber eyes, and darkened the tone of her voice. “You can’t imagine how important.”

He handed her the keys. “I’ll need your driver’s license information,” he said in surrender.

Barely noticing the facts listed on the license, Peter filled in the sheet. “You better get in line for the qualifying run. If you don’t make the cut, we’re out before we start.”

He tossed the keys up and she caught them.

“I’ll make the cut.” No hint of doubt colored her voice.

Still reluctant but now committed to follow through, Peter delivered the registration forms to the officials, then took himself back to the sidelines to watch. The entry field was bigger than he’d realized. The girl would have a lot of competition. What was her name? Peter looked at his copy of the registration papers. Nina, that was it, Nina Kirkland from Santa Rita, the county seat of the next county over, thirty miles down the road. Married, by the ring on her finger, but not much more than a kid. What was she doing out here by herself?

Peter held his breath as number thirty-six, his number—well, his and Nina’s—came up. The yellow T-Bird rolled into place. The object, to weave the car through a complicated pattern of pylons without tipping or turning over the markers while making the best time, required a good driver with excellent coordination and a good understanding of the way the car handled.

Nina rolled smoothly into the pattern. As Peter watched, she proceeded with caution but handled the tight turns competently. He exhaled for the first time when she stopped at the finish line without a penalty for touching the pylons. She remained in the car till the score was posted, then pulled to the sidelines. Peter waited for her to join him, but she seemed in no hurry to leave the car. Impatient with the delay, he strode to the car.

“You qualified, but not very high in the standings. I’m having second thoughts here, Nina. I might have done that well.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Sliding her long legs out of the car, Nina shut the door and turned to him. Her eyes flashed a gleam of irritation. “You would have tipped a marker or two and drawn at least a two-second penalty. Those turns are tight, and you don’t know how to drive into them. We’re exactly where we need to be. We qualified, but not so high up that we made the leaders anxious and not so far down that the four cars still to come can push us off the board. We’re in the middle of the pack but far enough up to stay with the leaders.”

The confidence in her tone couldn’t be a bluff. Peter looked at the girl beside him and knew she believed in herself. And he probably would have bumped a cone or two. Not a doubt in the world tainted Nina’s self-assured confidence.

“Okay, I’ve come this far. I guess I have nothing to lose. I’ll stick with you to the end.”

Nina’s pretty mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You won’t be sorry.”

The last of the qualifiers made their run. The field reduced to twenty, and Nina’s prediction proved correct. Car thirty-six stood in the pack, neither leading nor trailing, but only five cars had a higher score. For the second run, all scores were erased and the competitors began from even ground.

The cars lined up for the final encounter. Peter noticed that the Corvette driver Nina had said could beat her, if his car was at its best, was the third one in line. As the drivers moved into place, Peter listened to the engines. He didn’t hear anything amiss with that third car. Had the girl been spinning a tale for him? She said the event was important to her. Why? What would compel a young woman to approach a stranger and offer the deal she’d made Peter? He couldn’t imagine, but he sincerely hoped, as much for her sake as his, since the event seemed to mean so much to her, that she hadn’t underestimated her competition.

One by one the cars began the course. The first driver tipped over a pylon and took a two-point penalty. The second made a clean run but had a poor score on his time. Peter stood closer to watch that Corvette driver. He finished with no penalties and a fast time. Peter didn’t see any way Nina could beat that run. She’d had a clean and decent first run, but to beat that third driver she’d have to get into and out of the turns fast and drive hard, with no slipping up on her lines. Not a thing he expected a young girl to do, even a girl with Nina’s audacity. She’d need real skill behind the wheel this time.

Nina revved at the starting line. At the green light, she accelerated fast with no slipping of the tires, then quickly moved into the first S-curves. Her wheels hugged the turn markers, and she down-shifted quickly as she headed for the apex of the curve. Peter was impressed when he heard the engine blip as she heel-and-toed her way into lower gears.
So that’s how it looks when an experienced driver does it.
Nina hit the accelerator and took the second curve without changing gears. On and on into the course the car sped, a yellow streak in the afternoon light, red taillights quickly blinking as she tapped the brakes before each curve. One lapse of concentration and she could lose it all, slide sideways and spoil her time, even spin out on the course and ruin her run completely.

His palms were wet, his shirt soaked, and Peter couldn’t feel any of it. His gaze never wavered from the twists and turns Nina was executing. She drove as if she were part of the car, cutting the pylons close, handling the demanding course with complete control. Peter didn’t believe the speed Nina held as she pushed the car into the final straightaway—she powered the vehicle across the finish line and stopped exactly on the final mark. Though it took the judges a few minutes to post her time, Peter had no doubt that Nina had made a run that would hold up across the remaining drivers.

Peter crossed the asphalt between them at a lope. Nina slid out of the car grinning like a twelve-year-old with a guilty secret.

“I guess I’m not going to give you back the entry fee after all.” The laughter in her voice bubbled through her words.

“Where in the hell did you learn to drive like that, young lady?”

She shook back the curls that tumbled around her face. “When I was twelve, my uncle taught me to drive and let me practice in his parking lot. By the time I was old enough to get my license, I could drive anything I could get to run.”

“Some teacher, this uncle of yours. I’d like to get a few lessons from him myself.”

Nina’s smile faded. “Wish you could, because he’s the best. But he’s been out of the business for a while. You may have heard of him. Eldon Lassiter? He won at Indy a couple of times before he crashed against the wall.”

Eldon Lassiter? Yeah, Peter and most of the world had heard of him, the man who plowed a furrow in the wall to keep from hitting a rookie driver who lost control of his car. The crash put Lassiter in a wheelchair for life but gave the rookie only a broken collarbone.

Peter stared at the girl beside him. “And you asked to drive my car? Why? If you wanted to drive, I’ll bet any person here would be glad to have Eldon Lassiter’s niece put hands to the wheel.”

Nina turned to look at the yellow paint casting back the rays of afternoon sun. “No, I didn’t just want to drive. I wanted to drive your car, this car.”

The hint of tears darkened Nina’s eyes. Peter again sensed the pain surrounding her as if a murky wave had dimmed the lights inside her. “I don’t understand, Nina. This car? Why?”

“I asked you if Danny Wilson sold it to you. You said no, but I know this is Danny’s car. I can’t prove it, but I know it. I drove it often enough.” She took a step back. “Danny is, or maybe
was
, my husband. For about an hour. Right after the wedding, he went to get the car, his yellow Thunderbird, so we could leave on our wedding trip. I saw him through the window of the church parlor. He waved, so jaunty, so happy, and I waved back. But Danny never came back to the church. He and the car vanished. Until today, there’s never been a trace.” Her voice stopped as if she had no words, no strength left.

Her thin hand touched the steering wheel, the wide gold band on her finger catching a single ray of sun. She stroked the wheel, tracing a star-shaped nick in the center, and looked up. “That’s how I knew, how I was sure.” She tapped the imperfection with the tip of her short, unvarnished nail. “When I saw the car in the parking lot, saw that it was so like Danny’s, I had to look closer. Then I saw this. I knew it was his. That mark wouldn’t be proof to anyone else, but it is to me. And I wanted to drive this car, drive it again, to be sure.” She looked up at Peter, as if she saw not Peter but someone else, someone a light year from where they stood. “Thank you. I’m glad I could win for you… Well, not just for you. Mostly one more time for Danny.” She put the keys into his hand, turned, and walked into the crowd. Before he could answer, Nina’s lanky figure became part of the milling swarm pushing forward to see the car that took the prize.

Chapter 2

Sun glinting off the red tile roof cast a harsh ray into Nina’s eyes as she pulled into the employee parking lot beside the car museum. She saw her uncle’s van, with its special hand controls on the steering wheel, and parked her wood-sided station wagon in the second slot next to it.