about. Somebody wants to distract you from the Chase.”
“And they’re using Tim? And Devalon? I can’t see it. Everybody’s watching the teams out there like a hawk. This seems like somebody just wants to be mean.”
“What about Devalon himself?” Jamie said.
Her dad shook his head. “Why would he want to destroy his own garage? Doesn’t make sense.”
When they arrived at the Kansas Speedway, Jamie and her dad went straight to the haulers and located the Devalon crew. They pointed out Devalon’s RV in the infield.
“Maybe I should do this alone,” her dad said.
“I think I’ll tag along just for fun,” Jamie said. “I loveseeing the veins in your neck stick out. And your face get red. And your eyes bugging out so far—”
“That’s enough,” he said.
Her dad knocked on the RV door, and Mrs. Devalon walked to the front. When she saw the two of them through the window, her mouth dropped open, and she turned and hurried back inside the RV.
“I don’t think that was exactly a warm welcome,” Jamie said.
She laughed, but she got quiet when a guy who looked twice the size of her dad came to the door. Arms like tree trunks. A barrel chest. A neck that looked more like a slice out of a telephone pole.
“Can I help you?” the man said in an unusually high-pitched voice.
Her dad reached out a hand, but the guy just looked at it like it was a dead opossum and kept his hands tucked into his armpits.
“I’m Dale Maxwell. Just wanted to have a word with Butch.”
The guy stared through his Bollé sunglasses.
“It’s a personal matter,” her dad said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him I’d like to speak with him.”
“I can do that, but I’d like you to step away from the door, please.”
Jamie looked at her dad and stepped back. When the guy left, she said, “I didn’t know Butch neededa bodyguard. And his voice didn’t match his body at all.”
“Maybe his first name’s Mickey.” Her dad paced, kicking at clods of dirt and shoving his hands in his pockets.
When “Mickey” returned (Jamie smiled at the thought of calling him that), he was alone. “Mr. Devalon is not available right now. I’m sorry.”
“Could you have him stop by my hauler later? Or just have him call me on my cell?” Her dad handed the man a card, and this time he took it but quickly stuffed it in his pocket—sort of like the dead opossum you put in your pocket without looking at it.
“I’ll tell him, Mr. Maxwell, but you need to know that because of the cloud of suspicion around the boy staying with you and for legal reasons, Mr. Devalon won’t be communicating with you.”
Her dad looked like he wanted to say something else, like he wanted to chew the guy out, but he held back. He simply tipped his hat to Mickey and walked away.
A few hours later, when Devalon was returning from a practice run, Jamie saw her dad step out from one of the garage stalls right in front of him. Devalon tried to avoid him, but her dad blocked him. Devalon pointed a finger in her dad’s face, and now it was histurn for his neck veins to stand out and his face to get red. Jamie hurried over in time to hear part of the conversation.
“. . . and I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to make sure he gets what’s coming to him!” Devalon yelled.
“Butch, be reasonable,” her dad said. “Tim had nothing to do with what happened. He was lured there by someone who called him—”
“That’s his story, and I’m surprised a guy like you would buy it.”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, and get out of my way.”
A crowd had begun to gather around the two, and a camera crew shooting something at another garage stall came over and caught the argument. Jamie could see exactly what would happen on the broadcast and what people would be talking about on the radio tonight. They’d throw fuel on the fire of the Butch and Dale “feud.”
“Look,” her dad said in a low tone. “I want you
“And they’re using Tim? And Devalon? I can’t see it. Everybody’s watching the teams out there like a hawk. This seems like somebody just wants to be mean.”
“What about Devalon himself?” Jamie said.
Her dad shook his head. “Why would he want to destroy his own garage? Doesn’t make sense.”
When they arrived at the Kansas Speedway, Jamie and her dad went straight to the haulers and located the Devalon crew. They pointed out Devalon’s RV in the infield.
“Maybe I should do this alone,” her dad said.
“I think I’ll tag along just for fun,” Jamie said. “I loveseeing the veins in your neck stick out. And your face get red. And your eyes bugging out so far—”
“That’s enough,” he said.
Her dad knocked on the RV door, and Mrs. Devalon walked to the front. When she saw the two of them through the window, her mouth dropped open, and she turned and hurried back inside the RV.
“I don’t think that was exactly a warm welcome,” Jamie said.
She laughed, but she got quiet when a guy who looked twice the size of her dad came to the door. Arms like tree trunks. A barrel chest. A neck that looked more like a slice out of a telephone pole.
“Can I help you?” the man said in an unusually high-pitched voice.
Her dad reached out a hand, but the guy just looked at it like it was a dead opossum and kept his hands tucked into his armpits.
“I’m Dale Maxwell. Just wanted to have a word with Butch.”
The guy stared through his Bollé sunglasses.
“It’s a personal matter,” her dad said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him I’d like to speak with him.”
“I can do that, but I’d like you to step away from the door, please.”
Jamie looked at her dad and stepped back. When the guy left, she said, “I didn’t know Butch neededa bodyguard. And his voice didn’t match his body at all.”
“Maybe his first name’s Mickey.” Her dad paced, kicking at clods of dirt and shoving his hands in his pockets.
When “Mickey” returned (Jamie smiled at the thought of calling him that), he was alone. “Mr. Devalon is not available right now. I’m sorry.”
“Could you have him stop by my hauler later? Or just have him call me on my cell?” Her dad handed the man a card, and this time he took it but quickly stuffed it in his pocket—sort of like the dead opossum you put in your pocket without looking at it.
“I’ll tell him, Mr. Maxwell, but you need to know that because of the cloud of suspicion around the boy staying with you and for legal reasons, Mr. Devalon won’t be communicating with you.”
Her dad looked like he wanted to say something else, like he wanted to chew the guy out, but he held back. He simply tipped his hat to Mickey and walked away.
A few hours later, when Devalon was returning from a practice run, Jamie saw her dad step out from one of the garage stalls right in front of him. Devalon tried to avoid him, but her dad blocked him. Devalon pointed a finger in her dad’s face, and now it was histurn for his neck veins to stand out and his face to get red. Jamie hurried over in time to hear part of the conversation.
“. . . and I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to make sure he gets what’s coming to him!” Devalon yelled.
“Butch, be reasonable,” her dad said. “Tim had nothing to do with what happened. He was lured there by someone who called him—”
“That’s his story, and I’m surprised a guy like you would buy it.”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, and get out of my way.”
A crowd had begun to gather around the two, and a camera crew shooting something at another garage stall came over and caught the argument. Jamie could see exactly what would happen on the broadcast and what people would be talking about on the radio tonight. They’d throw fuel on the fire of the Butch and Dale “feud.”
“Look,” her dad said in a low tone. “I want you
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