Dead and Gone Jack Patterson (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

“Thanks.”

“I’m afraid I’m calling with a bit of bad news, which I know isn’t what you want to hear at this time, but I wanted to let you know now so you could plan accordingly.”

“What kind of bad news?”

“Your husband’s coverage only dealt with death or illness that happened to something unrelated to his racing.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that if he died in a car accident on the way home from the airport, he would be covered.”

Jessica grabbed a tuft of hair with her free hand and pulled. “So, he’s not covered?”

“That’s correct, ma’am. We’re going to have to deny this claim.”

Jessica’s breathing became short. “What do you mean, you’re denying this claim? I’m not going to get anything?”

“I’m really sorry, but that’s the case here. His policy covered hardly anything that happened on the race track.”

“Hardly? So, there’s something that it did cover?”

“In the very rare and off chance that someone intentionally and willfully attempted to end your husband’s life on the race track, then, yes, the policy will be paid out. That’d fall under the murder clause. But NASCAR released their findings to us this morning and they determined it to be a faulty part that caused the accident. Unfortunately, that’s not covered.”

“You have to be kidding me? This is crazy. I’m pregnant! And my baby needs an expensive surgery!”

“Again, Mrs. Tanner, I’m sorry for your loss and I wish there was better news or more I could do for you, but at this time, that’s it.”

“You better believe you’re gonna hear from my lawyer,” she snapped before slamming the phone down.

She crumpled to the floor, an even bigger mess now than she was five minutes ago. Without giving it a second thought, she wiped her nose with her sleeve and stood up. She stumbled back toward her bedroom where Carson had left her with a contact list of people to call in case something ever happened to him.

“Where is that number?” she said as she scanned the list. Her finger finally fell on it. “Ah-ha.”

She punched in the numbers on her cell phone and waited.

“This is Eddie Simpson.”

Jessica cleared her throat before speaking. “Hi, Mr. Simpson. This is Jessica Tanner.”

“Oh, Mrs. Tanner. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“If there’s anything we can do for you here, please let us know. We’d love to help.”

“Well, in that case, can you please release a statement saying that Carson’s accident was no accident?”

“I’m not sure I’m following you.”

“I just got a call from my insurance company telling me that they are denying my claim for Carson’s life insurance policy payout because the accident was just that—an accident. If someone willfully tried to put him into the wall, they would’ve paid out. But because Carson was cheap and bought a crumby life insurance policy, I’m stuck.”

Simpson let out a long moan. “Oh, Jessica. I’m so sorry. I wish we could do something about that, but I’m afraid we can’t. Our investigators have already wrapped up their inquiry into the matter and we just found it to be a faulty part.”

“There has to be something else you can do,” she insisted. “Surely there’s some bereavement fund or assistance for the family of lost drivers.”

“Right about now, I wish we’d started one. But that’s simply not the case. At this point, we can’t do much—and while I want to help you, I can’t falsify any documents just so you can receive a life insurance policy payout.”

Jessica stamped her foot. “All this talk about NASCAR being a family is bull. What kind of family ignores the loved ones of a lost driver?”

“I understand you’re upset, Mrs. Tanner, but the facts are what the facts are. It doesn’t make it any less tragic, but it’s what happened. And I—”

Jessica didn’t wait to hear the rest of his rant. She was done. Done with all of it. She wished she could just stay in her room and drown her sorrows in bowls of ice cream—or alcohol.

After a few moments, she took several deep breaths and regained her composure.

Then she felt her baby kick again—and another wave of sorrow rolled over her.

CHAPTER 8

RON PARKER STARED at the desert, his scenery out of the front of his RV windshield for the past ten hours. But a scene from a few days before that lasted all of ten seconds dominated his thoughts. He knew what he saw, yet he had no idea how to proceed.

He looked over at his wife, Nancy, who slumbered in the passenger seat. To him, she deserved sainthood. I picked a good one. Not many women would embrace his obsession with NASCAR and spend their early retirement years driving from track to track every weekend. Parker installed appliances for a major home improvement store for nearly 35 years before he retired. His life had been anything but a dream, but he felt like he was living in one now—almost.

If Parker had his druthers, he would have owned a car and spent years on the NASCAR circuit as a famous driver. He’d experienced some mild success racing sprint cars on dirt tracks in the Midwest, but when a blood clot led to a minor stroke in his early twenties, it dashed any hopes he had of making a career out of it. With his right leg partially paralyzed, there was no way he could have handled the demands of competitive racing.

He looked down at his speedometer, holding steady at 70.

Thank God for cruise control.

This was the second year Parker had signed up to help the Davis Motorsports Team sell memorabilia at the different tracks. But ever the work-a-holic, he also covered security shifts for sick or absent volunteers. He and his wife followed the tour and went to work a couple of days before the race, selling merchandise to fans or guarding a chain-link gate. It wasn’t much money, but it was enough to cover gas and food. However, monetary gain was