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foothills surrounding the raceway. While college football fans prided themselves on their pre-game tailgate, NASCAR fans made them look like they were hosting a 5-year-old’s birthday party in comparison. Rotating spits dripped juice into fire pits. Country music blared over high-tech sound systems. Fans clinked beer bottles over toasts about their favorite drivers.

Now, this is a party.

And it stretched on for what seemed like miles to Cal.

He checked and rechecked his surroundings again to make sure he was going in the right direction.

Three blocks west of the store.

Cal looked behind him and counted. He’d gone two blocks since he came across Safeway’s infamous tent grocery store.

One more to go.

He dodged fans whose parties had spilled out into RV city’s main thoroughfare. One man bumped into Cal and nearly knocked him down. The man apologized and then offered Cal a beer.

“Thanks,” Cal said as he took the man up on his offer.

“Who you think’s gonna win this weekend?” the man asked.

“My money’s on Cashman right now. That guy is driving lights out.”

The man shot him a look. “You do realize what flag is flying over this RV right here, dontcha?”

Cal glanced upward to see a No. 39 flag waving in the light evening breeze. “Carson Tanner fans, I see.”

“Dadgum right. That Cashman is trash, celebratin’ like he did last week while Tanner was fightin’ for his life just down the track. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cashman was the one who sabotaged Tanner’s car.”

Cal chuckled. “Why would he do that when he could’ve just put him into the wall?”

“You gotta point,” the man said as he nodded.

Cal held up the beer. “Thanks for the drink.”

He continued on until he came to what looked like the RV at the location described by Ron Parker. No one was outside so he walked up the pair of steps and knocked on the door.

“Ron Parker? Are you there? It’s me, Cal Murphy, the reporter from The Observer.”

He stepped down and waited for a few moments. Nothing.

Just as he was about to leave, Cal noticed a light flicker on in the back of the RV. He spun back toward the door and waited.

Then he yelled again. “Mr. Parker, are you in there? It’s me, Cal Murphy.”

A few seconds later, the door unlatched and Mrs. Parker— at least who Cal hoped was Mrs. Parker—emerged, clothed in a bathrobe.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m supposed to meet Ron Parker. Is this his RV?”

She nodded. “I’m not sure where Ron is, but he’s been gone for hours. I’m starting to get a little worried. He should’ve been back a long time ago. It’s not like him to disappear like this.” She stuck her hand out. “Nancy Parker. And you are?”

Cal offered his hand back. “Cal Murphy. I’m a reporter for The Observer.”

“Oh, a reporter. What business do you have with Ron?”

“Not sure. He told me that he had something he wanted to show me. Have you tried calling him?”

“His phone just keeps going directly to voicemail.”

“Would you mind giving me his number so I can try him?”

“Sure, just a minute.” She disappeared inside the trailer to fetch her phone. When she returned, she read off the number for Cal.

She waited while he called it.

After half a minute, he shook his head. “Same thing. Straight to voicemail.”

“He’s a popular guy tonight,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, this is the second time tonight people have come by looking for him. I gave his number to some other gentlemen who said they had a meeting set up with him for tonight.”

“Who were they?”

“They didn’t say.”

“What’d they look like?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions.”

Cal forced a smile. “I’m a reporter—that’s what I do. If I somehow track him down before you do, I’ll tell him you are wondering where he is.”

She smiled. “I’d appreciate that. I’m really starting to get worried. And I’ll do the same for you. Do you have a card?”

Cal handed her his card. “Tell him to give me a call once he gets back, if you see him first.”

“Will do,” she said as she closed the door.

Cal walked away and sighed. He knew something didn’t add up.

Maybe Ron Parker had more damning information than I thought.

CHAPTER 24

EDDIE SIMPSON GRUMBLED as he walked through the garage area toward the media center at the Phoenix International Raceway. The report that Cal Murphy filed about Jessica Tanner’s independent investigator’s findings ruined his dinner. The higher ups suggested he quell the furor with a press conference. Handling the media wasn’t part of his skill set. If it had been, there likely would not be a swarm of reporters standing outside the media center awaiting his arrival.

He lumbered along until he felt a sharp tug on his shirtsleeve. Turning to his right, he saw Ned Davis.

“Come here, Eddie,” Davis said, pulling him toward his hauler.

Simpson shrugged him off. “I ain’t got time for this, Ned. I’ve got a press conference in five minutes.”

“It can’t wait.”

“It’ll have to.” He continued to rumble toward the media center.

Simpson arrived to find the building jammed with reporters and cameramen waiting to capture the event. Several media outlets were streaming the event live.

Simpson sighed as he opened the door and surveyed the scene.

Oh, brother.

Once he stepped up to the lectern, he arranged his papers and looked across the sea of faces. He’d dealt with most of these press members individually on at least one occasion—and he considered them all friends. They’d talk about their families, the demands of being on the road, sports, restaurants, movies. But at the moment, Simpson saw what looked like a pack of hungry wolves ready to shred him the second he opened his mouth.

Deep breath, Eddie. You can do this.

He cleared his throat and then spoke. “I have a prepared statement that I’m going to read before I take questions.”

He shuffled the papers again and began reading.

“The entire NASCAR community was saddened at the passing of Carson Tanner last week at the Texas Motor Speedway. Everyone involved in

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