"Harrington, Patricia - Stacie Mercer - A Murder Just Waiting To Happen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrington Patricia)

"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."