= A Murder Just Waiting to Happen A Stacie Mercer mystery by Patricia Harrington Stacie Mercer spun her racing chair's wheels one last time and raised her fist in a victory salute as she crossed the finish line. On the sidelines, her friend Melissa Cambridge waved and gave a thumbs up. When Stacie reached her, she exclaimed, "I did it. I won!" "And you said you'd never race again." Stacie said, "Well, racing down a ski slope on two legs is one thing." She held up her hands. "Spinning wheels with these is another." Underneath her racing gloves, her palms were leather tough. Larry Jennings rolled over and gave Stacie a high five. His bleached hair still stood up in sweaty spikes from his earlier race. "I knew you could do it, kiddo." "Thanks for the tips about the track," Stacie said, pleased to hear Larry's praise. It meant a lot to her. He'd been selected to be on this year's Pan Am wheelchair racing team. "You're doing great...." Larry stopped and stared, grim-faced, over Stacie's shoulder. She turned to see what had caught his attention and saw Hal Blair, the race's promoter, talking with a petite woman. Hal towered over her, and she had to lean back to look up at him. Stacie could tell from the way they glared at each other that an argument was in progress. The woman shook her head and turned to leave, but Hal grabbed her arm. Larry was watching, too, with clenched fists. "First you took my money, then you took Nancy," he muttered. Stacie and Melissa exchanged glances. Larry glanced at them. "That's my ex-wife with Hal. They were married last year." He shook his head angrily. "If I wasn't in this chair, I'd beat him to a pulp! I gotta get out of here," he said, jerking his chair around. After he left, Melissa asked, "What was that all about?" Before Stacie could answer, Greg Hopkins, wearing a racing number on his back and a red do-rag on his shaved head, made his way through the crowd toward the race promoter and his wife. He wheeled his chair so close to Hal that he had to jump back or be run over. Greg jabbed a finger at him and his voice carried easily. "I want out of our deal, Hal. Now! No more stalling." Stacie murmured, "What's with Greg? He's usually so mellow." "He sure isn't now," Melissa replied. Hal leaned over and began talking intently to Greg. This time, Melissa and Stacie couldn't hear what was being said--but judging by Greg's face, it wasn't anything he wanted to know. Stacie thought he looked stunned, and about as disbelieving as she had been when the doctor told her she wouldn't walk again. When Hal straightened up, he glanced around and spotted Stacie and Melissa. He waved and headed over. Stacie noticed that he didn't say goodbye to Greg or Nancy, who stared after him with a mixture of fear and hate on their faces. Hal stopped in front of Stacie and jerked his head in Greg's direction. "Sorry about the scene. Athletes! They just don't understand business." He added with a hearty smile, "Present company excepted, I'm sure." Stacie introduced Hal to Melissa, who said, "I'm here for the weekend--to watch Stacie win." "Two pretty young women. It's my lucky day." Hal studied Stacie for a moment, his eyes flicking over her face, her hair, and then her body, making her feel like a prize heifer at a stock show. "I've been meaning to talk with you," he said. "Word has it that you're a 'comer' in racing. I know a couple of companies that like to sponsor women athletes. You have good cheekbones, blonde hair. I bet you take a good picture, too.... You'd look great in ads." Stacie glanced at Melissa, who raised her eyebrows. "Why don't we get together before the awards ceremony tonight? You could drop by my room later," Hal added. "Well... I'll think about it." "What's to think about? A little talk could make you a lot of money. I've signed some of the biggest names in the sports-on-wheels world." Stacie thought that he spoke like a man used to having his way. To him, objections would be like speed bumps on a road; he'd run full tilt over them. Stacie wanted to say, "No thank you," but wasn't sure if that was a smart idea. She didn't care about the money, but she wanted to race, and Hal was a bigwig in racing circles. She decided she didn't want to tick him off at the beginning of her racing career. "Melissa's my business partner. She'll want to come along, too." Stacie felt her friend stiffen, but she kept quiet and played along. Hal's smile didn't quite reach his eyes when he said, "Sure, fine. Make it around 6:30. Room 342. I'm expecting some calls and have a few to make, or I'd meet you downstairs. If you come get me, I'll definitely make it a point to break away. Otherwise I forget time. We'll go down for a drink in the lounge. I do my business with the athletes there--it's good PR to be seen." * * * The women said goodbye to Hal and went to Stacie's retrofitted van where they found Greg waiting with a friend. Stacie had told Greg that she'd give him a lift to the lodge where they were both staying. Greg introduced Kurt Sellers, and said, "Kurt's going to sack out with me. He registered for the race too late to find a room. Most of the racers have their own RVs and the parks are full. The lodge only had a handful of accessible rooms, and they went fast." Kurt shook hands, and said, "I hope this is okay? Do you have room in the van for three chairs?" "No problem." Stacie smiled. While the women loaded Stacie's rig, the men peeled off their racing shirts and put on sweat jackets. Kurt winced and rubbed his shoulder. "Man, that hurts." "Too bad, you pulled a muscle and couldn't race," Greg said. "My tough luck. I've been competing back east," Kurt explained to Melissa and Stacie. "This is my first time here in the Northwest." "Kurt's brother won a silver medal in the '98 Pan Am, and...well. " Greg finished lamely. Melissa and Stacie exchanged puzzled looks. Kurt said, "It's okay. Greg's afraid he's hurting my feelings. My brother, Bobby, killed himself after the games were over. Someone spread a story to the officials that Bobby had faked his drug test, and they took back his medal. It wasn't the truth, but Bobby couldn't prove otherwise. I guess he couldn't take the shame." "I'm so sorry," Stacie said. Kurt shrugged and zipped up his bag. "Time heals." * * * Later, Melissa painted her toenails while Stacie, on the opposite bed, worked on one of the crossword puzzles that she always carried with her. She had propped several pillows behind her back. Melissa said, "Kurt is one hunk, don't you think?" "With that tan, he looks like he's been a beach bum. But he's not my type. He has a wimpy handshake." "It's because of his bad shoulder." Stacie tapped the pencil against her chin thoughtfully. "Nope. Wrong arm." Melissa screwed the top on the nail polish bottle. "Well, if we see him in the lounge, I get to make the first move." Stacie laughed and looked up. "Hey, what's a seven letter word for faker?" "How about phony?" Stacie shook her head. "Not enough letters. Speaking of which, what do you think about Hal's pitch? Is it on the up and up? Should we meet him?" Melissa swung her feet off the bed and planted her painted toes on the floor. "First we have a glass of wine in the lounge and then we decide." Over her Zinfandel, Stacie said, "No one has anything good to say about Hal." Melissa pointed to the bar. "She might. Then again, after this afternoon, maybe not." Nancy, drink in hand, was walking wobbly-legged toward their table. When she reached the two, she pulled out a chair. "Mind if I sit down?" Nancy stared belligerently at Stacie. "I know you're meeting Hal." "He just wants to talk business." Nancy snorted. "That's how Mr. Sincere always starts. Two years ago, he told me it was in Larry's best interests to sign with him. 'Work on him,' he said. Well, I did and then Hal worked on me. Now my kids live with my ex, and I hardly see them because Hal doesn't want them around. I'm nothing but a trophy wife." She added bitterly, "Hal won't let me go until he's good and ready." Nancy didn't wait for Stacie to reply. Instead, she stood up, steadying herself with one hand on the table. She shrugged. "It's your funeral. Just watch yourself." She had barely returned to her stool, when Greg joined Stacie and Melissa. "I see Nancy's getting a load on early." He shook his head. "Larry and she used to be such a great couple. Hal's some kind of con artist, with her--and with the athletes. Trouble is, he does it all legal. In the end you're screwed out of your money, and it costs too much to break your contract. I know...man, do I know." Stacie twisted the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. "He's asked me to drop by his room." Greg grimaced. "It's your call. But don't sign anything until a good lawyer's read the paperwork." The three sat in silence because Greg's gloom was hard to break through. Finally, Stacie said, "That was sad about Kurt's brother." "Yeah. There was a rumor Hal had something to do with spreading the drug test story." "Do you think there was any truth to it?" "Who knows?" Greg shrugged. "Was Kurt older than his brother?" "I don't know. I only met him once when Bobby was racing. It could be I didn't hear much about Kurt at the time because he wasn't getting write-ups. Or maybe he's one of those guys who's always cramping up before a race. Like today." "He looks number one to me," Melissa said, raising an eyebrow and pretending to twirl a mustache. Stacie laughed and even Greg smiled. Stacie blew out her breath, and said, "Well, I've stalled long enough and made up my mind. I'm not running--excuse me--rolling away from Hal. I'm going to his room." She started to push away from the table, but stopped and whispered, "Look!" Nancy and Larry were leaving the lounge together. They paused in the doorway, and Nancy leaned down and kissed Larry. Greg whistled softly. "Are they ever asking for trouble." Stacie said, "Do you think Hal will find out?" "Yeah. Someone will tell him--and get a kick out of doing it." After Greg left, Stacie turned to Melissa. "It's after 6:30." "Don't meet Hal alone. Let's finish our wine, and then we'll beard the old lion in his den together. Or better yet, call him. Tell him to come down here." Stacie shook her head. "Remember, he said he'd be on the phone. That's why he wanted me to come to his room--to fetch him. It would feed his male ego." Melissa nodded. "You're probably right." "I'll finish my wine. But then I'll face Hal. Alone." She made a face and said, "'I am woman, watch me roar.'" "Or snore," Melissa teased. Stacie finished her wine and said, "Wish me luck!" She took the elevator up to Hal's room and then paused to settle the flutters in her stomach. She rapped firmly, and the door sprang open. Stacie looked up and down the hall, then leaned close to the cracked opening and called, "Hal? It's Stacie Mercer." There was no answer, so she pushed the door opened further, and then gasped, her hand over her mouth. Hal was lying face down on the floor, his feet toward the door. The right side of his head was crushed and bloodied, and nearby on the carpet, a metal pipe had left a dark red smear where it lay. Stacie tried to go inside, but her chair wouldn't fit through the doorway. She stared at Hal's bludgeoned head and thought that he was past human help. * * * When the sheriff arrived, he took Stacie aside first and questioned her. She learned from him that Hal had probably died just minutes before she discovered his body. Then later, the sheriff asked Stacie and Melissa as well as Larry and Nancy and Greg and Kurt to wait in a room off of the lounge. The staff had left pitchers of ice water, soft drinks and glasses on the table. Stacie had no doubt that the six of them were prime witnesses--and some--suspects. The sheriff wanted to question them all again. When Nancy and Larry entered the room, Stacie overheard Nancy say, "Why didn't you tell them I was with you?" Larry didn't look at her, but said, "Because you weren't, and I'm not lying for you." Then he made a point of sitting at the opposite end of the table from his ex-wife. Their glares chilled the atmosphere and conversation stuttered to a standstill until Kurt blurted out "This better not take long." He poured water into his glass. "I have a ride to SeaTac tonight and I'm catching the red-eye flight back to Boston." Greg said, "You sure weren't any help! Why didn't you cover for me, instead of saying you didn't know where I was when Hal was killed?" "Hey, man. It was the truth. You were supposed to meet me and didn't. What can I say?" Melissa whispered to Stacie, "These folks are not 'Happy Campers.'" Stacie made a face and pulled out a pen and crossword from her purse. Her mind worked furiously, trying to solve the puzzle and figure out who Hal's killer. She needed an eight-letter word for actor and wrote down thespian. She couldn't shake the image of Hal's bloodied head and shuddered. The sheriff hadn't brought up the subject, but Stacie knew one thing for sure. No one in a wheelchair had killed the promoter. Hal's room wasn't handicapped accessible, which also explained why he did business with the athletes in the lounge. A racing chair was slim enough to have fit through the doorway, but anyone wheeling around the lodge in one would have been pretty conspicuous. Stacie discreetly studied Nancy. She certainly had a good reason for wanting Hal dead. She wanted her freedom. He had died in their room, so she had the opportunity, too. But the angle of the blow that had killed Hal was something to consider as well as the power that had been behind the blow. She knew that whoever struck Hal must have been right handed, which unfortunately, included everyone around the table. The men were strong enough, but from a wheelchair they wouldn't have had the leverage to crush Hal's head. Neither would Nancy; she wasn't tall enough. She wouldn't have been able to strike with such deadly force unless she was standing on a chair. Stacie looked around the table again. Who was left? Larry? Greg? They had the upper body strength but they were stuck in wheelchairs. Stacie looked at her puzzle and the word actor. Look for something obvious that really isn't. What if one of the racers was pretending and had the use of his legs? A thespian, she added. What did she know about Greg and Larry? She knew they had been involved with sports-on-wheels for several years, and had been featured in magazines and news stories. No one faked being paralyzed for years--nor would they cover up a miraculous recovery. Stacie looked around the table and paused when she came to Kurt. He was watching her intently, his expression wary. She bent her head and blindly wrote letters into empty squares on her puzzle, her mind flip-flopping like her heart. She was afraid to glance at Kurt again, afraid he could read her thoughts. Kurt wasn't a racer! Words tumbled around in Stacie's head and then fell into place neatly. She had felt something was wrong when they shook hands in the parking lot. At the time she hadn't bothered to analyze what it was. She knew now. His hand was too soft! Kurt couldn't be a competitive racer. His hand would have been stronger and calloused. And he had a surfer's golden tan all over his upper body. His skin should have been paler where his racing shirt covered it. A heady rush filled Stacie. Maybe Kurt's motive had something to do with his brother and Hal. The police could check out the connection, but would they? Would they ask Kurt to stay instead of leaving for Boston just because of her suspicions? Stacie's nerves tingled. She felt pumped just like before a race, waiting for the starter's gun to go off. Dare she find out if Kurt could walk? Stacie picked up the pitcher of ice water, and said, "I forgot my manners. I'll play hostess and pour." Greg said, "Sure." Stacie filled his glass, and went next to Kurt. She paused, and then dumped the pitcher of water and ice cubes into his lap. Kurt swore, and sprang up, brushing ice and water from his pants. Then he stopped, his hand frozen in mid-air, and looked around the table. Five pairs of eyes were staring back at him in disbelief. PATRICIA HARRINGTON writes short mysteries featuring a variety of sleuths. Pat's other mysteries are online at mysterybooks.about.com (search on her name to quickly find them) and at NEFARIOUS, and her mystery clerihews have appeared in Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine (MIMM) and will be out in Crimestalkers Casebook. Her debut mystery novel, DEATH STALKS THE KHMER, featuring Bridget (Bridg) O'Hern, is now available from AmErica House Publishers. For more information about Patricia, and her writing, see her site www.patriciaharrington.com. Copyright (c) 2001 Patricia Harrington