Hot Tracks Page 6

  Nancy walked casually toward the truck with the enclosed bed. There were plenty of other people milling around the parking lot, but they all seemed to be busy.

  When Nancy reached the truck, she sauntered along the side and peeked into the window in the cap. The glass was tinted, but she could make out a pile of car parts inside.

  Nancy glanced around quickly, then slipped her lock pick out of her purse. In five seconds she had the door to the truck bed open. She pressed her lips together as she surveyed the jumble of parts. How was she going to tell if they were stolen?

  Her gaze fell on a rectangular engine block. Hadn’t Detective Quinones mentioned that that was one of the places that the Vehicle Identification Number was stamped?

  After checking to make sure no one was looking, Nancy stepped up on the bumper and leaned into the truck bed. Pulling her penlight from her purse, she clicked it on and searched for the VIN. All she found was a rough spot on one end. Maybe the number had been ground out.

  Not definite proof, Nancy said to herself as she locked the truck back up. It was obvious that the guy with the ponytail, or someone he was working with, didn’t want that part traced.

  She walked casually away from the truck and checked her watch. Almost four-thirty. Where was Quinones? And where was the guy with the ponytail?

  Dirk and Bess were still on the hill. Catching Nancy’s eye, Bess waved and made a drinking motion with her hand. Nancy nodded, then made her way toward the concession stand to buy some sodas.

  As she passed by the garagelike shed, Nancy decided to make a little detour. She hoped the guy with the red ponytail was still inside. Nancy decided to keep an eye on him until the police arrived.

  She slowly opened the door she’d seen Kitty storm out of. It was dark inside, and Nancy had to wait for her eyes to adjust.

  Several large shapes turned out to be cars and tractors. Along the far wall were some gardening tools. This had to be some kind of maintenance shed. Nancy saw no sign of anyone inside, though.

  She turned her attention to the cars. The one closest to her was a black sports car. An older model Chevy was parked next to the far wall. Between the two was a car covered with a tarp.

  Could it be stolen? Maybe she could get a peek at the car’s VIN. Silently, Nancy crept around the sports car to the middle one. The tarp was tied to the back bumper so she couldn’t lift it up. As she passed between the two cars, heading to the front end, Nancy reached inside her purse for her penlight. If she could just see under—

  Suddenly she lurched forward as the toe of her sneaker caught on something. With a cry, she landed on the dirt floor, her purse flattened beneath her.

  Nancy rolled onto her side with a groan and sat up. She gasped when she saw what she’d stumbled over—two legs sticking out from under the middle car, as if someone were working on it.

  A chill raced up her spine. No one would work on a car in darkness. Her fingers curled around her flashlight. Slowly she drew it from her purse and flicked it on.

  Taking a shaky breath, she scrambled to her knees. She ran the beam of light up the jean-covered legs, then bent down and flashed it under the car.

  It was the guy with the red ponytail.

  A feeling of dread grew in the pit of Nancy’s stomach. She felt for his pulse, but there was none. He was dead.

  Chapter

  Nine

  NANCY STARED at the dead man, her mind reeling.

  Somebody had killed him and shoved him under the car. Kitty Lambert had come storming out with a wrench. Had it been Kitty?

  Just then Nancy heard footsteps behind her. Before she could move, strong fingers closed around her shoulder. Instinctively, she whirled sideways and batted the person’s arm away.

  “Ow!” a male voice cried out.

  Jumping up, Nancy found herself face-to-face with Raul Quinones. He was holding his arm and grimacing with pain.

  “Detective Quinones! What are you doing sneaking up on me? I thought you were the person who killed the guy with the red ponytail.”

  The detective’s mouth fell open. “Killed him?” he echoed.

  He quickly knelt next to the body, and Nancy handed him her flashlight. When he aimed the beam under the car, he gave a low whistle. The light illuminated a small pool of blood under the head.

  “Did you touch anything?” Quinones asked Nancy.

  “I felt for a pulse,” she replied. “Oh, and I tripped over his leg. That’s how I found him.”

  Quinones sighed and got to his feet; “Well, there goes our car thief—and any chance of getting him to tell us where the chop shop is.”

  “Do you think he was just one of the little guys?” Nancy asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” the detective replied. “He might have led us to the ringleaders.”

  “I think I know who may have killed him,” Nancy said. She told him about overhearing the conversation from outside the shed. “The woman said, ‘You didn’t tell me someone almost caught you.’ Then I saw Kitty Lambert leave, carrying a large wrench. She’s a mechanic who works with Dirk Walters, the guy we told you about.”

  “A blow on the back of the head with a wrench could have done it,” Quinones said thoughtfully. He shone the penlight on the shed’s dirt floor, and Nancy spotted two trails leading up to the car from the side of the shed by the tractor.

  “Looks like she dragged him over here and pushed him under the car,” Nancy said. “Probably to hide him from anyone coming in the door.”

  Nancy started to follow the drag marks, but Detective Quinones put a restraining hand on her arm. “We’ll take it from here,” he said firmly. “I’ll radio headquarters and get the boys from homicide and the crime lab out here.”

  “I’m sure glad you got here when you did,” Nancy added. “You obviously got my message. I called because I witnessed Dirk buying a car part from this guy. I’m pretty sure the guy with the ponytail recognized me, too.”

  “We’ll just have to ask Dirk a few questions,” Quinones said as they walked to the door. “Just remember, let me do the talking. You’re not supposed to be in on this case.”

  “How’d you know where to find me?” Nancy asked when they got outside.

  “Your friend, Bess.” He pointed over to his police car, where Nancy could see Dirk leaning against the rear bumper. Bess was hopping nervously from one foot to the other. When she saw Nancy, she rushed forward and gave her a hug.

  “Is everything okay? You were going to get sodas, and then I saw you go into that building. When Detective Quinones drove up in a rush and asked where you were, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I’m fine,” Nancy assured her, “but our car thief isn’t.”

  “What do you mean?” Bess asked. “He’s hurt?”

  Nancy shook her head. “No. He’s dead.”

  “Dead!” Dirk jumped up, and his face turned white. “But I just . . .” His voice trailed off, and he ran his fingers back through his hair.

  Nancy was about to press Dirk for more information when Detective Quinones came over to them. “Now tell me what you know about this red-haired thief,” the detective said, fixing Dirk with his eyes.

  Dirk slumped back against the police car. “His name is Jimmy Sandia. He races here, that’s all. I don’t know him very well.”

  “Didn’t you buy a car part from him?” Nancy pressed.

  Dirk cracked a knuckle before answering. “Yeah. Jets for my carburetor. So what? Lots of people sell parts.”

  Nancy had a feeling Dirk wasn’t telling everything he knew. He’d heard Bess say the car thief had a red ponytail. He must have guessed it was Jimmy.

  Turning back to Detective Quinones, Nancy said, “I looked inside Sandia’s truck and saw an engine block with the VIN ground out.” She was taking a chance in letting Dirk overhear her, but she wanted to see how he’d react.

  “Maybe he made a little money on the side selling the parts the chop shop couldn’t use,” Quinones guessed.

  “Jim
my selling stolen parts?” Dirk broke into the conversation. “That’s crazy. I really resent that you’d think I’d buy hot parts. What kind of person do you think I am?”

  Flashing Nancy an accusing look, he went on, “Anyway, Jimmy always locks his truck, so it sounds to me like you broke into it. Are you a cop or something? I mean, what’s going on here?”

  Nancy stared at Dirk without replying. He seemed more angry than worried, and he was surprised to hear about Jimmy selling stolen parts. Her gut feeling was that he was telling the truth—unless he was a very good actor.

  Just then, two cars pulled up and half a dozen officers got out—the homicide squad and lab technicians, Nancy assumed. As they went about their jobs, she couldn’t help but wonder if one of them was the bad cop, and if so which one. She had to trust that Detective Quinones could control that side of the investigation.

  By this time other people were milling around them curiously. The police quickly roped the area off. Nancy turned as another car roared up, spraying dust everywhere. Stan Powderly opened the door and got out.

  “Where’s B.D.?” Quinones asked, a note of exasperation in his voice. “I couldn’t get him on his radio.”

  Detective Powderly shrugged. “Who knows? He’s been disappearing a lot lately. So what’ve we got?” He glanced at Nancy and Bess.

  “The famous detective, Ms. Drew, still insists on snooping around,” Quinones said, adopting a sudden, gruff attitude toward Nancy. “Well, she stumbled over something she didn’t expect to find. Our car thief is dead.”

  Quinones gestured to the garage, and he and Powderly went in.

  “You’re a detective?” Dirk asked Nancy when the police officers had gone.

  “The best,” Bess said proudly.

  Dirk’s face flushed red with anger. “Now I get it. You guys are just hanging around the track trying to catch a car thief. You don’t even care about being with me.”

  “No!” Bess exclaimed. “You invited us before my car was even stolen.”

  Dirk glanced doubtfully from Nancy to Bess, a frown creasing his forehead.

  “But it does look as though some of your friends are involved,” Nancy said softly.

  “Jimmy Sandia was not my friend!” Dirk burst out.

  “I’m not talking about Jimmy. I’m talking about Kitty,” Nancy told him.

  “Kitty?” Bess and Dirk said at the same time.

  Nancy nodded. “I heard her talking to Jimmy in the garage before he was murdered. When she stormed out, she was carrying a wrench in her hand. She might have been the last person with him.”

  Dirk glared at Nancy. “Kitty Lambert would never hurt anyone,” he said angrily. “I don’t care what you saw. Now I’d appreciate it if you two would leave the track. I don’t like you accusing my friends.”

  “What about your race?” Bess asked. “I thought you wanted us to see it.”

  “Forget it. Fans like you I can do without!” Turning abruptly, Dirk stormed off.

  “I wish I could be sure about how involved he is in this whole thing,” Nancy commented in a low voice, watching him go.

  “Oh, come on, Nan,” Bess scoffed. “So what if he bought a part from Jimmy Sandia. He probably didn’t know it was from a stolen car.”

  Nancy wasn’t convinced of that. She turned as Quinones and Powderly stepped out of the garage. At the same time, Detective Hawkins’s blue sedan drove up.

  “Where were you?” Quinones asked as the younger man got out of the car. “Why didn’t you answer the dispatcher’s call?”

  Hawkins’s face turned red. “I stopped for dinner, all right?” he said. “I mean, aren’t we allowed to eat anymore?”

  “Not when there’s a murder,” Powderly put in.

  “A murder? Who?” Hawkins asked.

  “Jimmy Sandia,” Quinones told him. “The kid we almost caught at the nightclub.”

  “Any suspects?” Hawkins wanted to know.

  Detective Quinones pointed to Nancy. “Ms. Drew saw a woman leave with a wrench. We’ll know more after the crime technicians get through.”

  He dismissed Nancy and Bess with a terse “Thank you.”

  “What now?” Bess asked Nancy as the two girls slowly wandered away. “We’re obviously not wanted here. I don’t think Dirk cares if he ever sees our faces again.” She shook her head. “I feel awful.”

  Nancy touched Bess on the arm. “Don’t give up on him. He may be completely innocent,” she said.

  “At least you can’t accuse him of murder. He was with me the whole time,” Bess added.

  Nancy nodded. “That’s true. I do think he knows more than he’s telling, though.” She moved to the outskirts of the crowd to a spot where she could watch Dirk. He was leaning over the motor of his car. Just then, Jake and Kitty strode up to him.

  “I think we should eat,” Bess said from behind Nancy. “It’s six-thirty and my stomach’s reading empty.”

  “Mmm,” Nancy said distractedly. She wasn’t really listening. Her attention was focused on the group by Dirk’s car. She kept thinking about Jimmy Sandia’s murder. Kitty Lambert was an obvious suspect, but what would her motive be? Why would she kill a car thief? Was she in on the ring?

  “Why do you keep spying on Dirk?” Bess asked indignantly, breaking into Nancy’s thoughts.

  “I think he may have tipped Jimmy Sandia off that I recognized him,” Nancy replied. “Now I bet he’s warning Kitty.” Sprinting forward, she started toward the group.

  “Where are you going?” Bess called after her.

  “To see what Dirk and Jake are up to,” Nancy said over her shoulder. “I know you think Dirk’s innocent, but someone killed Jimmy Sandia, and I’m going to find out who.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Bess insisted.

  Without waiting, Nancy hurried over to the pit area and wove through the many cars, trying to think of a plan of action. She was still about fifty yards away from the group, when Dirk caught sight of her. Frowning, he gestured toward her with an accusing finger. Kitty whirled around to focus right on Nancy. As Nancy got closer, she could see that the brunette’s eyes were wide with fear. Before Nancy could even call her name, Kitty had taken off at a run.

  Chapter

  Ten

  NANCY RACED after Kitty, who had sped ahead. With a quick backward glance at Nancy, she whipped around a van and out of sight.

  Her heart pounding, Nancy sprinted the distance to the van—then stopped abruptly. Kitty was nowhere to be seen. Nancy spun her head in every direction, but it was useless. Kitty had disappeared in the maze of cars.

  Nancy walked back to Dirk’s Big D. Dirk started to brush right past her when he saw her coming.

  “Dirk, wait.” Nancy caught his arm. “You need to help me out. If you’re innocent, I need you to prove it to me.”

  Dirk shrugged off her arm. “Why bother,” he scoffed. “You’ve already convicted us in your mind.”

  “That’s not true,” Nancy protested. “Kitty’s only wanted for questioning. If she doesn’t have anything to hide, she should go to the police.”

  Dirk stared down at her with probing green eyes. Jake stood behind him, his arms crossed against his chest.

  “Hey!” Bess ran up, puffing and holding her side. “You guys are hard to keep up with.” Seeing the sober expressions on everyone’s faces, she asked, “Where did Kitty go? What’s going on?”

  Nancy kept her eyes on the Walters brothers. “I was just about to tell Dirk and Jake that they could be arrested for obstructing justice,” she said firmly.

  Finally Dirk let out a long breath. “Kitty’s too scared to talk to the police,” he said.

  “Scared of what?” Bess asked.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Jake cut in angrily.

  “What’s she scared of, Dirk?” Nancy pressed, ignoring Jake’s angry glare.

  Dirk shrugged. “She wouldn’t say.”

  “Then tell me where she is. If she runs, it will only be worse for her—and you
.”

  “No way!” Jake said. He grabbed Dirk’s arm and started to walk away, but Dirk shook him off.

  “Look, maybe Nancy can help Kitty,” he told Jake. Turning back to Nancy, Dirk said, “I’ll try to find her. Be here tomorrow morning, and I’ll see if I can get her to talk to you.”

  He smiled ruefully and added, “Besides, with Kitty on the run, I may need you guys to crew for me in tomorrow’s race.”

  Dirk turned to Bess. For a second he just stared at her with a sad smile, then he bent down, kissed her lightly on the lips, and strode off with his brother. It was time for him to race.

  For once Bess was speechless. “Whoa,” she finally managed to say. “That was not the kiss of a car thief.”

  Nancy laughed. “Bess, you are a complete romantic.”

  “True,” Bess agreed, grinning.

  • • •

  On Saturday morning Nancy called the police station before she had even had breakfast.

  “Jimmy Sandia, alias Johnny Smithson, alias Jeremy Saunders, has quite a record for auto theft,” Raul Quinones told her. “Amazing, considering he was only nineteen.

  “Seems he’s wanted in Chicago, where they’re also looking for his female partner. She was described as an attractive woman in her midtwenties with bleached blond hair.”

  “Kitty Lambert?” Nancy suggested.

  “Could be,” Quinones said. “She could have dyed her hair brown. Unfortunately, there aren’t any prints on her. It seems she’s a little more cautious than Jimmy and has never been arrested.”

  “If she was his partner, that might give her a motive for killing him,” Nancy said. “She might have worried that he’d implicate her.”

  “I’ll say. Jimmy was about to get nailed. She was probably afraid he’d tell us who he was working with in order to get a lighter sentence.”

  “What about the murder weapon?” Nancy asked.

  She heard a brief shuffle of papers before Quinones answered. “Autopsy shows it was a heavy, metal tool—could’ve been a wrench. He was hit from behind when he was standing on the far side of the shed by the tractor. The murderer was probably hiding there, then dragged him over to hide the body.”