Janet Evanovich: Motor Mouth

“Guess we know why they weren’t worried about leaving you behind,” Rosa said to Hooker. “They were going to blow you up.”

“That charge was left in the kitchen, next to the gas cooktop,” Hooker said. “I’m guessing it would have blown everything up and probably burned the place down.”

I woke up in the little bed in Felicia’s house. Beans was on the floor, still sound asleep. Hooker was on top of me, wide awake, his hand on my breast.

“Your hand is on my breast again,” I said.

“And?”

“You might want to move it lower.”

He slid his hand down a couple inches. “Here?”

“Lower.”

The hand went to just below my hip. “Here?”

“Yeah. Now a little to the right.”

“Darlin’!”

Okay, big surprise. I was going to succumb to his charms…again. And I’d probably regret it…again. But I wouldn’t regret it short term. Short term was going to be good . And who knows, maybe it would work out for us this time. And if it didn’t, I’d be smart enough to keep the key to the golf cart.

An hour later we were still in bed, and Hooker’s cell phone rang.

“I hear on the news that the police found the Huevo murder weapon in the possession of two dead suspects,” Skippy said. “It sounds like you’re off the hook. Are you planning on showing up here anytime soon?”

“Do I have to?”

“We had the parade of cars this morning and your stunt double did a burnout on Forty-second Street and took out Spanky’s car. Marty Smith got to him with a microphone before I could reach him, and it sounded like Marty was interviewing Loni Anderson. If you don’t want rumors going around concerning your sexual affiliation, I think you should get your ass to New York.”

“Did they say anything else about the dead suspects?” Hooker asked Skippy.

“They said the one guy had been chewed up by the swamp monster. Imagine that.”

It was sixty degrees and sunny, it was mid-January, and it was the first day of three days of preseason testing at Daytona. Hooker’d rented a beachside house for himself and his crew, and I was included. We’d all left the beach house at seven-thirty and driven to the speedway where his crew had unloaded both triple-two Metro cars from the hauler, then rolled them across the blacktop and into their side-by-side garage bays.

Both cars were flat gray, only adorned by their numbers. No need to decorate the car up with sponsor logos for testing. Only a handful of fans would find their way to the grandstand, and there’d be no television audience. This was a work session to get the car ready to race.

Hooker’s crew was on the car, adjusting the setup. Hooker and I were in front of his hauler, drinking coffee, enjoying the morning sun. Beans was back at the house, taking his morning nap.

The 69 car was three haulers down from us, and Dickie was in the hauler with Delores. Best not to know what they were doing.

Light flashed in my peripheral vision. The sort of blinding flash you get when you tip a mirror to the sun. I shielded my eyes and turned to the light and saw that it was Suzanne Huevo swinging her ass down the garage area, the sun reflecting off her diamonds. She was wearing a Huevo Industries shirt, tight designer jeans, and boots with four-inch stiletto heels. A doggie bag hung on her shoulder, and Itsy Poo’s tiny head was stuck up, her black button eyes taking everything in.

“Yow,” Hooker whispered.

I gave him the squinty eye.

“Just looking,” he said. “A guy can look.”

I waved to Suzanne, and she walked past the two Huevo haulers to come say hello.

“We heard rumors that you were in charge, but I didn’t know if it was true,” I said to Suzanne.

“I was second in line as executor. And since Ray still hasn’t surfaced, I’m in charge until my sons come of age.”

“No word about Ray?”

“Miranda’s been in touch, making ransom noises. I told him he’d have to pay me to take Ray back. He also said the only thing they found in the bag of dog shit was dog shit. I voiced surprise over that. He then offered to market my product for me, and I declined.”

“What happens if Ray returns?”

“I suppose he could fight me for executorship, but I’ve had a chance to go into his files and collect evidence against him. He’d been robbing the company for years. The charges against him would be embezzling, at the very least. And I’m not wasting any time setting safeguards in place to protect Huevo property. The new battery and the wireless technology are in negotiation with a reputable buyer. The process is far enough along that Miranda doesn’t have an incentive to strong-arm me into partnership with him.”

“Looks like you’re going hands-on with the race-car side of Huevo,” Hooker said.

“I’m hands-on with everything my kids own,” Suzanne said. “I thought it would be good to stop around today and make my presence felt.”

Hooker’s mechanic was under the hood of the primary triple two. He revved the engine and the sound was deafening.

“Gotta go,” Suzanne said when the engine cut back. “I need to talk to Dickie before he gets in the car today.”

“Yeah,” Hooker said on a whisper to me. “Shore him up so he’s not too crushed when he loses because he’s not running with traction control.”

“About traction control,” I said to Hooker. “It turned out the gizmo wasn’t working at Homestead.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Spanky drove a great race.”

“That is so depressing,” Hooker said. “I’m going to need some serious cheering up when we get back to the house.”

“And I suppose I’d be expected to help with the cheering up?”

Hooker smiled at me. “I could cheer myself up, but it’s a lot nicer when we get cheered up together.”

I smiled back at him. Something to look forward to. Getting cheered up with Hooker was one of my favorite things to do these days.

Suzanne had detoured to the garage area to speak to her crew chief. She stood with one hand on the dog bag, one hand at her side, her feet planted wide. She was very much the owner. Woman in charge. She finished her conversation, turned on her heel, and stalked off to the hauler to meet with Dickie.

“Something else to think about,” I said to Hooker. “Here’s the bad news. Any woman who can swing her ass like that in four-inch heels and has mother bear programmed into her hormone system will do whatever needs to be done to keep the cubs in pizza money. I wouldn’t be surprised if she used her technology to keep cheating. It’s virtually undetectable.”

“Is there good news?” Hooker wanted to know.

“Felicia called me the day after we flew out of Miami. She was walking barefoot through her dining room and pricked her foot on something sharp in the carpet. Turned out it was the chip. Beans hadn’t eaten it after all. I sent it to my pal Steven, and he backed his way through it and reproduced it for me. I just got it from FedEx yesterday. And not only do I have the duplicated technology, but I’ve come up with a way to improve on it. Because in our case, the driver would be controlling the technology, I can insert the remote into a man’s sport watch, eliminating the need for the relay.”

Hooker slid an arm around my shoulders and hugged me into him. “Darlin’!”

JANET EVANOVICH is the recipient of the Silver Dagger, Last Laugh, Lefty, and John Creasey Memorial awards and the two-time recipient of the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association’s Dilys Award. She lives in Florida… sometimes.

www.evanovich.com