Once Around the Track

that window whether she wanted it to or not, which, odds are, she didn’t.

She was going to have to give him hell for this temperamental display, of course, scaring the money people like that, but she had to admit to a sneaking admiration for the boy’s skill. Badger was one hell of a driver, all right. He could put that car close enough to the wall for his passenger to strike a match against it, but she wasn’t really in any danger of being smashed into the concrete. Well, unless he blew the right front tire, of course. Then all bets were off. But that shouldn’t happen in so few laps. Probably.

After what probably seemed like an eternity to the passenger, the race car screeched to a halt. Ride over. Half a dozen people had rushed to the passenger side to extricate a whimpering, semi-conscious Katharine through the window, so Tuggle sidled over to the driver’s side and leaned down for a word with Badger.

“Smart aleck,” she said, mouthing the words and trying not to grin.

Badger lifted his visor, and yelled, “Who’s next?”

As it turned out, nobody was.

CHAPTER XIII

Creative Engineering

Tuggle was outside the garage, smoking her second allotted cigarette of the day when Deanna from the office turned up at her elbow, looking worried.

“The oddest thing just happened,” she said. “It may be none of my business, but I just thought I ought to tell somebody.”

Tuggle nodded, wondering why Deanna had bothered to walk over to the garage instead of calling her cell phone. The day was cold and windy, and the secretary had come out without her coat, so she kept shivering and hugging herself to keep warm. Tuggle hoped that Badger hadn’t made a pass at her or something. Surely not. That wasn’t his style. She figured he was the type to act sweet and clueless until desperate women attacked him. Considering the Badger shrine that surrounded Deanna’s desk, any sexual harassment between those two would definitely be going in the other direction. “Something wrong?” Tuggle asked through a plume of smoke.

“I don’t know,” said Deanna. “The racing business is so crazy, it’s hard to know when anything is wrong, because we still haven’t come within a mile of normal.”

“Point taken. What’s going on?”

“A little while ago, this woman walked into the office, plumped her laptop down on the conference table, sat down, and started talking on her cell phone. And then she told me to get her some coffee! I said we were fresh out and that I’d go and get some, and I came right out here to tell you about it. Maybe you’re not even the right person to tell, but you are the team manager, as well as the crew chief, so…”

Tuggle stared at the end of her cigarette, digesting the information. “A woman invaded the office. Hmmm. Not a reporter?”

“No, they do identify themselves. And now that the gender story is old hat, we’re not exactly news, are we? Nobody thinks much of our chances to make it into the Chase.”

Tuggle tried again. “Fan stalker?”

Deanna hesitated. “She wasn’t at all impressed by being in a racing office. She didn’t even glance at the posters of Badger.”

That was a bad sign. Fans could usually be shooed away with a signed photo, but this one sounded like trouble. Tuggle tried again. “Did she look like an ex-wife or something?”

Deanna considered it. “Well, no,” she said slowly. “I don’t want to be rude about her, but I’ve seen the other drivers’ wives, and she doesn’t look like one of them. Not unless Badger is less concerned with looks than any other man on the planet.”

Tuggle grunted. “He was married to a Miss Georgia, so if this one is as homely as you say, I think we can rule out a romantic angle. I suppose she could be a process server, but I don’t know that any of us is getting sued. Badger seems to be behaving himself pretty well, as drivers go. Did you ask her who the hell she was?”

“She told me. I’m just not sure I believe her, because it’s the first I’ve heard of it. She claims that she is Badger’s manager.”

Tuggle digested this information. “Badger,” she said at last, “does not have a manager.”

“Well, that’s what I thought,” said Deanna. “But unless she’s a reporter or a fan stalker, then apparently he does now. A scarecrow in a shiny black dress, fishnet stockings, and stiletto Jimmy Choos is roosting at our conference table, and she’s got an attitude that could scour a cast-iron skillet.”

Tuggle grinned. “I’m glad you aren’t planning to be rude about her, Deanna.”

The secretary pursed her lips. “She ordered me around,” she said. “She treated me like a servant. I don’t care who she is, I don’t work for her. Anyhow, I thought I ought to tell you she’d moved in. Do you think I should ask Badger about it?”

“Yeah, that would be a big help. This woman sounds like she could eat Badger for breakfast.” Tuggle ground her cigarette into the dirt. “I’ll come with you and see what we’ve got here.”

They walked back to the office without speaking. Deanna was a shy young woman who dreaded the whole idea of conflict, even if she was merely an innocent bystander, and the thought of an impending confrontation made her too nervous to think up any small talk, especially with the crew chief, who was a bit abrupt at the best of times. Tuggle, on the other hand, was on point, as always, mapping out possible strategies for the current situation, so focused that she had nearly forgotten that there was anyone walking beside her. An interloper in the team office. Peculiar. She hoped that all this was simply a misunderstanding, but her lifelong experience with motorsports and a bred-in-the-bone cynicism made her seriously doubt it.

Sure enough, the conference room was under siege by a black-clad woman who was staring at the screen of her laptop and tapping her pen against her presumably empty Team Vagenya coffee mug, which she had appropriated from a nearby counter. Tuggle stood for a moment in the doorway, sizing up the intruder, deliberating on how best to proceed. Probably not a fan, Tuggle decided. Of course, it was hard to tell for sure these days, because fans could be absolutely anybody from the president to the latest rap star, but this woman looked to be more business than pleasure. Fans generally walked around the office of a race team looking awestruck and touching things reverently. Tuggle studied the woman for a moment: unfortunate hair, Wal-Mart rock-star clothes, definitely not an ex-wife or an old girlfriend, unless she had fallen on exceptionally hard times since her days with Badger. If Tuggle were forced to guess, she’d have pegged the woman as a relative of Badger’s from a side of the family they didn’t talk about, but apparently this apparition was claiming to be his manager. Managing Badger. What a concept. What experience would prepare you for that? Keeping a troupe of spider monkeys in your living room? This ought to be interesting.

“Something I can help you with?” said Tuggle.

The woman held up her empty coffee mug, but Tuggle’s cold stare made her think better of the gesture. She lowered it again, with a philosophical shrug.

“Now, just exactly who-”

Unfortunately, the woman’s cell phone rang just as Tuggle spoke, and she found herself waved into silence as the woman snatched up the phone. “Melodie Albigre here. Oh, hello, Nicole. What have you got for me? Grand opening of an auto parts store? Kyle can’t do it? Well, when? Where? Okay, what’s in it for Badger? How much? Tell them to double it and I’ll see what I can do. Get back to me.” She set down the phone with a sigh of exasperation and turned back to the computer screen. Then she seemed to remember that she was not alone, probably because Tuggle had moved to within inches of her chair and was peering into her face with all the interest of someone observing an exotic animal building a nest in the backyard.

The woman had the grace to blush. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said. “I am your driver’s personal manager. Melodie Albigre of Miller O’Neill Associates.” She whisked a card out of the case of her cell phone. Tuggle made no move to take it. “And you are?”

“I am the team manager and the crew chief, and this happens to be our conference room that you have