Mudflaps and Murder Page 2

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I exclaimed, exasperated, then turned to the pretty boy. “Are you over here gloating about paradin’ their little sister around like a prize calf?”

  “No,” he said at the same time Skeeter said yes.

  Skeet snorted and waved a hand at the girl. “Daisy’s been prancin’ around with Jackson here for the last two hours wearin’ next to nothin’ because the boys wouldn’t let her drive tonight. Rules say only one driver per vehicle per event. Carl and Ernie just finished buildin’ it!”

  I crooked my finger at her. At first, she ignored me, but when I gave her the stink eye and let her know I wasn’t playing, she wobbled toward us, doing her best to keep all her weight on the balls of her feet so her heels didn’t sink to China.

  “Do you got somethin’ to say for yourself?” I asked her. Close up, I realized she couldn’t have been a day over nineteen. Legal, but barely.

  She glared at her brothers when she answered me. “I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”

  “Except drive our truck,” the older of the brothers said, his eyes in slits.

  “Or act like you got some sense,” the other added. “No way mama saw that outfit before you left the house.”

  Her face flushed, but she shot him a look only a self-righteous teenager can pull off. “I can wear whatever I want, Carl.”

  “And she wears it well,” Jackson said, leering at her.

  Carl, the brother who’d managed to keep his cool up ’til now, lunged at him, but Skeeter caught him.

  “He ain’t worth gettin’ disqualified over,” Skeet said. “And you know that’s all he’s tryin’ to do. He’s worried your Ranger’s gonna show up his fancy-pants Chevy over there.”

  Jackson snorted and jerked his chin toward the boys’ truck. “Yeah, right. Look at that rust bucket. They don’t stand a chance.”

  Carl picked his hat up off the ground and slapped it on the leg of his jeans a couple times before slamming it back on his head. “We’ll see about that. I know what you got, and I know what we got. If you’re real nice, maybe we’ll help tow ya out. Once we cross the finish line, that is.” He turned his gaze to his sister. “Git home and git some real clothes on. You’re embarrassin’ yourself in them ridiculous shoes.”

  He motioned to his brother. “C’mon, Ernie. Let’s get us a Coke before we head to the bog.”

  Ernie followed, casting one final, scathing glance over his shoulder at Jackson, then a warning one at his pouting sister.

  “Sorry about that, Sheriff,” Jackson said. “You just gotta—”

  Hunter held up his hand. “I don’t just gotta nothin’. I’m a lot of things, but stupid’s not one of ’em. You start any more trouble, and I’ll bounce you outta here myself.”

  Jackson’s face mottled and the muscles in his jaw twitched, but he forced a smile and touched the brim of his hat. “Yessir.”

  He did his best not to stomp back toward his truck, but he didn’t quite pull it off.

  “Look at you, makin’ friends,” I said, nudging Hunter with my elbow. “Good thing nobody else wants your job, because I don’t think he’s gonna vote for you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do I look bothered?”

  I pressed my lips together and studied him. “Nope,” I said after a second. “You look hungry. Let’s grab a dog and a Coke, then head up to the bleachers to watch.”

  “Two dogs and you’ve got a deal,” he said, dropping his arm around my shoulders.

  “You can have three for all I care. I probably will before the night’s out,” I replied, smiling up at him.

  He dropped a kiss on my lips. “I love that you eat like a trucker but look like an angel.”

  I huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the Thigh Master that mocks me from beneath my bed.”

  “I’ll put the boogie man living under there right on it.”

  And that’s just a taste of the absurdity that is my life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  If you’ve never been to a mud bog, you need to know a couple things: they’re loud, and you’re probably gonna get dirty. That’s all part of the fun, though.

  The bog was designed for two trucks to race at once, and Sarah’s competition, a middle-aged brunette with a bright-pink pixie cut, looked ready to go in her giant F-150. Before she pulled her helmet down, though, she shot a thumbs-up and a huge smile at Sarah, and I liked her already.

  Kristen rushed up the bleachers, out of breath as she got to us.

  “Did I miss it?” she huffed. “I ran all the way here.”

  “Nope,” I said, pointing to where Sarah was getting ready to go. “You’re just in time.”

  Sarah gave it her all but got stuck for a couple of seconds, which was just long enough for Elle to pull ahead and beat her. Still, when she climbed from her Jeep, she was grinning to beat the band. We weren’t allowed in the race area, so we had to wait for them to come to us. I hope she was truly as okay with losing her first-ever race as her smiling face implied.

  It didn’t take long to find out she was perfectly fine with it, though. Just as the next race was ending, she and Gary climbed up the bleachers to join us, hot dogs in one hand and Cokes in the other.

  “I gave it my best,” Sarah said, her face still glowing with the flush of adrenaline. “My time was good enough that I may still be in the running. The way they’re doing it, it’s all about times, not about whether or not you beat the person in the race.” She paused and took a bite of her dog. After she’d swallowed, she continued, “Well, or at least it’s not all about whether or not you beat them. Obviously, if you do, you have the better time.”

  “And the braggin’ rights,” Gary said. “You can’t forget about those.”

  “Yeah, and the braggin’ rights,” Sarah said. “But Elle’s been so kind that if I had to lose to somebody, I’m glad it was her.”

  An ungodly backfire exploded through the night air, and I jumped. Down on the track, smoke was billowing from the stacks on Jackson’s truck while he revved it even louder, mud slinging from his spinning tires. His competitor, a big burly dude who looked like he ate nails for breakfast, was shooting him the evil eye from his spot behind the wheel of a big silver Dodge.

  “It would serve him right if he blew it up before he even made it past go,” Sarah said, wrinkling her nose. “That guy’s such a jerk.”

  I didn’t know much about cars, but I couldn’t imagine that was a truck running at its finest.

  Gary furrowed his weathered brow and studied the truck a little closer. “You may just get your wish,” he muttered, then stuck his nose in the air and took a big sniff. “You smell that?”

  I poked my nose in the air and pulled in a plethora of scents: burning charcoal, cooking meat, night-blooming jasmine. Then the wind shifted, and I caught something else.

  “Is that bleach?” I asked, confused.

  Understanding crossed Hunter’s face. “He’s using nitro. Can he do that?”

  Nitro—not to be confused with nitrous oxide—is a cleaning agent, but it’s also been used as rocket fuel and as an additive to race fuel to increase horsepower. That was about the extent of my knowledge.

  “No,” Sarah said, glowering toward the truck. “He can’t. But it doesn’t seem like that stopped him.”

  The two trucks took off, slinging mud and muck forty feet in all directions. Though the silver truck got the early lead, it went a little sideways in the middle of a deep spot, and Jackson pulled ahead. Another backfire, and then he shot through the mud almost like he was on dry pavement.

  My witchy senses tingled with the anger I felt rolling off of Sarah.

  “Calm down,” I said, putting my hand on her knee. “He’s not worth it.”

  “He’s a dirty cheat,” she snapped, pushing to her feet. “I’m sick of him getting away with it all the time. I’m gonna put a stop to it once and for all, the first chance I get.”

  A couple about my age was sitting right behind us, and the man spat his chew into h
is cup and smirked at her.

  “Sour grapes, it sounds like to me,” he said through yellowed teeth. “Now why don’t you sit your pretty little self down, and let the rest of us watch the races in peace?”

  Hunter placed his hand on mine and gave me a look that plainly warned me not to turn the guy into a spittoon; the man knew me way too well. Kristen gave the guy the stink eye, but huffed out a breath and turned her attention back to the races.

  She sat back down but continued to stew.

  “I’m sorry, Noelle,” she said after a few minutes. “I’m no fun. I just can’t get that lyin’ cheat outta my mind. I’m gonna go check on the Jeep and lock it down for the night. Maybe that’ll help me cool off.”

  “You want some company?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  “Nah, I’m okay. I’ll be back in a bit. Y’all have fun.”

  Gary started to stand, but she waved him off, too. “Seriously. I just need to clear my head.”

  I watched her go, chewing on my lip. I hated that some tool had ruined her first night of racing, but I knew how she felt. Shoot, I was mad, too. The only thing worse than one cheat was two of them.

  “She’ll be right as rain in a bit,” Gary said after the next race when I glanced toward the truck area for the twentieth time. “Jackson gets under her skin. We’ve suspected him of cheatin’ for a while now, but nobody’s ever been able to prove it.”

  Kristen, who’s from Keyhole Lake, too, raised a brow. “You’re sayin’ Skeet wasn’t able to figure out somethin’ mechanical?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think Skeeter’s ever been the inspector before. I have a lot of faith in him, but Jackson don’t let anybody other than his own mechanic look any closer than what’s absolutely required to clear him for the.” He pinched his lips together in disgust.

  “Don’t count Skeeter out just yet,” Hunter replied. “I’ve been here almost two years now, and if there’s something to find, he’ll find it.”

  We watched for another half an hour or so, then my ears popped, a sure sign that one of my living-impaired friends or family members had just made an appearance. I smiled when Cheri Lynn, a peppy, beautiful brunette who’d inherited her gypsy grandmammy’s exotic looks, appeared before me.

  Her story was sad, but only because she’d had to die to get happy. Cheri’d been murdered before she’d ever gotten a chance to get life right. She’d spent what few adult years she’d had being manhandled and psychologically beaten down as a dancer at a seedy club, and now swore her post-life was a hundred times better than her actual life had been.

  “Hey, Cheri Lynn!” I said, smiling. “What’s up?”

  “Nothin’,” she replied, floating over to take a quasi-seated position by me. She leaned forward with her elbow on a bare knee, then dropped her pixie chin in her silvery palm. “Rupert’s visitin’ his family over in England, so I figured I’d come see what y’all are into. I wanted to make it here in time to see you and Missy race, but his mother could talk a post to death. How’d you do?”

  “Not bad,” I said. “Half a second off the top time. It was fun, though. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.”

  “That’s awesome,” she exclaimed, beaming at me. “I’m glad you decided to come. Where’s Sarah?”

  I gave her a quick rundown of the evening, and she frowned. “That really sucks. You think I should go check on her?”

  I debated. You wouldn’t find better company than Cheri Lynn when you wanted a solid girlfriend on your side. She was good at commiserating, boosting you up, or helping you heap scathing insults on the source of your ire. She may be just what the doctor ordered.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m worried about her. At least peek in on her.”

  “Will do,” Cheri replied, then faded out.

  “You think it was a good idea sending Cheri Lynn after her?” Kristen asked. “She did say she wants to be alone.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “You know Cheri. She’s special. And if Sarah really doesn’t want the company, she’ll say so.”

  It wasn’t ten seconds later that my ghostly friend popped back in, all atwitter. Rather than talking to me first like she usually did, she popped to Hunter’s side, instead.

  “You gotta come right now,” she said, shooting a worried glance in the direction of the truck area. “Now!” she barked when Hunter just looked confused.

  “Why?” he asked. “Cheri Lynn, what’s wrong?”

  “Just ... come. I found Jackson Prescott, dead as a doornail.”

  “Dead?” I exclaimed, shooting to my feet at the same time everybody else did.

  The guy behind me scowled because I was blocking his view—he couldn’t see or hear Cheri, so he was clueless about what I was talking about—but I shot him a murderous glare. The scrawny little dipstick he was with musta been smarter than she looked. She snapped her mouth shut before whatever stupid thing was on her mind could fall out.

  Kristen had a little more awareness about how to talk to a ghost in public than I did. “You mean like he had a heart attack?” she hissed.

  “No,” Cheri Lynn said, stuffing her hands in the back pockets of her designer jean shorts. Since she’d died and money was no longer a factor, she’d become quite the fashionista. “I mean like he just had a losin’ battle with the sharp end of a long-handled screwdriver.”

  Hunter sighed and closed his eyes for a minute. “Just one vacation. That’s all I wanted. Just one non-stabby, non-poisony, non-murderous weekend.”

  Cheri Lynn rolled her eyes. “Maybe next time, sunshine, but this is apparently not your weekend with the wish fairy. Or Jackson’s either,” she added with an impatient look.

  “Maybe not,” Gary said, “But I can tell you if it’s Jackson, somebody got their wish.”

  When he said it, a chill ran down my spine. “Maybe a lot of somebodies, but the question is: who made everybody’s wish come true?”

  His face paled when I said that, and I realized for the first time that Sarah was gone and Jackson was dead. Those two details did not look great side by side.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Where’s he at?” Hunter asked as we rushed across the field toward where they were keeping their trucks.

  “He’s in his tent,” she said, floating along beside us. “I only saw him because I couldn’t find Sarah and I saw lights.”

  “Lights?” I asked, rushing to keep up. I wasn’t exactly short by most standards, but in this group, everybody had a solid four inches on me, at least. Even Kristen was a leggy five-ten. And Cheri Lynn could, of course, float.

  “Yeah, I saw flashlights over there”—she motioned toward the field that led to the barn area—“and thought maybe she was taking a walk or something. I couldn’t find her Jeep in all this, but when I was passin’ this tent, I saw the camp light on. I know how social most folks are at these things, so I figured it was possible she stopped to shoot the breeze with someone.”

  The moon was bright, but even with that, it was still tough to see anything because of all the trees as we made our way toward Jackson’s tent. I squinted, making out the shapes of vehicles, some covered in tarps. Over in the corner, I could just barely make out the shape of the Jeep, hulking under its cover, but didn’t see hide nor hair of Sarah.

  Hunter picked up the pace to where I was trotting as we headed toward Jackson’s tent. A dull light glowed from inside, casting eerie shadows against walls.

  “He’s inside?” I asked, and Cheri Lynn nodded.

  “I didn’t realize it was his tent ’til I floated in looking for her. If I’d known it was Jackson’s, I’d have just kept going. No way would Sarah have been in there.”

  Gary went to pull back the flap, but Hunter held up a hand. “Maybe you guys should wait out here.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do,” I said, smirking. “Let you walk into a shadowy tent where I know one man’s already been killed.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “You do know I carry my weapon even
off-duty, right?”

  “I do, but I’m fairly sure good ole Jackson packed, too, and look what good it did him. So, after you, sir.” I made a sweeping motion toward the lowered flap of the tent opening.

  We’d been together long enough that he knew there was no use arguing with me. While we’d been debating, Cheri Lynn had swept through the tent.

  “All clear,” she said, floating through the wall right as Gary swept the flap open. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, Noelle. Nobody in there but the dead guy. I gotta say, he don’t look so horrible when his eyes are closed and his jaws aren’t flappin’.”

  I shot her a disbelieving look.

  “What?” she asked, examining her fingernail. “Sure, he was a walking cliché—clothes, attitude, cheap cologne—look up the definition of cocky and you’ll see his picture. But he was still sorta good lookin’ underneath it all.”

  She wasn’t wrong, so I let it slide. She was wrong about him looking better, though, as I realized as soon as I followed Hunter into the tent. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t imagine he’d ever looked worse. Though, as she’d mentioned, his mouth was shut, so that helped some. Not enough to make up for the red-and-yellow screwdriver handle sticking out of his chest, though.

  “Stay back, at least,” Hunter said, scowling at me. “I need to call this in, and I’d like to have as clean a scene as I can.”

  Looking around, I snorted. The place was the exact opposite of clean. It was utter chaos. Toolboxes were tipped over, a camp chair was on its side, and a cooler had been knocked over.

  Kristen whistled. “Either he went out of his way to make a mess, or there was a humdinger of a knock-down, drag-out in here.”

  She took a couple of steps back toward the wall of the tent while Hunter bent down to check for a pulse. He paused for a few seconds, then shook his head. “He’s dead all right. Now, will you two please go back outside? I need to call this in, and I don’t want you in here when everyone shows up.”