Page 61 of The Perils of Paulie
“I don’t know. Perhaps they haven’t unloaded the fourth car yet.”
“Maybe.” I frowned, leaning into him to say softly, “I have a bad feeling about this, though.”
“Bad how?”
“Bad as in I think Roger may be partially right. I think someone has cursed the race. Oh, don’t look at me like I’m a talking potato—I meant cursed in the sense that someone is deliberately causing problems to the race and racers.” I couldn’t help but slide a look down the windows to where the two Esses were talking with Anton and Max.
“Hmm.” Dixon looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I should speak to Roger—”
“About the Esses? Yeah... uh... I might have done that last night after you went to bed.”
He turned to give me a look filled with disbelief. “You did? Why?”
“Because you were almost killed! Or you could have been killed, and I wanted Roger to stop the Esses before they struck again.”
He was silent for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this in light of the fact that right now my brother is flying home to England with his leg in a cast, but I don’t think the accident yesterday was intentional. You didn’t see Sanders’s face when he climbed into the car and it started rolling forward. Not to mention the fact that I doubt if he’d put his own partner—one of them—in such danger. Even if we do credit the Essex team with the most nefarious of motives, it seems counterproductive to take out one of their own.”
“Yeah, that bothers me about the whole thing, too, but maybe that part was the accident, and they really intended on slamming into your car to disable you guys or it, or both.”
He didn’t have a chance to respond before Roger turned on the tarmac and bolted for the building, the airport people once again trailing after him.
“Oh dear,” Tessa said, moving toward us. “This doesn’t look good, does it?”
“It doesn’t appear the fourth car is in the plane, no,” Dixon answered. I had the worst urge to snuggle into him for comfort and warmth, or even just to hold his hand, but there were too many people around us.
Not, I mused to myself, that there were many people left who hadn’t seen Dixon naked in my hotel room, butI was determined to try to maintain some form of decorum.
“What’s going to happen?” Melody asked, coming over with her dad. “There are only three cars? What does that mean for the race?”
“Unfortunately,” Max said, rubbing his jaw, “I believe it means that someone won’t be continuing.”
We all looked at one another, then as a group turned to look at where the Esses were still talking with Anton.
“I know who I’d like to see get voted off the island,” I said darkly, glancing quickly at the slight bruising still visible on Dixon’s face.
“You heard the rumors, too, then?” Tessa asked, her voice dropping to an intimate level. “Tabby said that there are rumors they deliberately sabotaged the French team’s car with acid and ran over Rupert in an attempt to break the team up.”
“Tessa,” Max said in a stern tone that was belied by the look of adoration he cast her way. She flashed him an equally adoring look. “That’s just a rumor, and an unfounded one at that.”
“Not so unfounded,” Dixon said, and quickly explained his experience with the Esses in New York City.
“Holy moly,” Tessa said, her eyes on the other British team. “Do you think they’re picking off the teams one by one? What are they going to do to us? Max, we have to talk to Roger. This has to end!”
“I highly doubt the Essex team is sabotaging everyone else,” Max said in what I thought of as an annoyingly calm tone. “You have to keep in mind how excitable Roger is and take everything he says with a grain of salt.”
“It was Dixon who told us what the Esses team said, not Roger,” Melody pointed out.
“Regardless, Roger is prone to making drama out ofevery little thing. I agree the race has been fraught with unfortunate accidents, but much of that is perfectly normal, given the state of the cars we’re using.”
“Roger was right the last time he said the production was being sabotaged,” Tessa said firmly, glaring at the Esses. “I see no reason to discount him now.”
I slid a glance toward Dixon. He was frowning in thought. “Do you think that—” I started to say, but stopped when Roger and some airport officials burst into the room. Roger’s fringe stood on end as if he’d stuck his finger into a light socket.
“My friends,” he said, looking horribly frazzled. “Terrible news. As best we can figure it out, it appears that one of the containers bearing the Engaging Englishmen’s car has been loaded onto a cargo plane that was sent to China.”
“What?” I exclaimed at the same time the others started hurtling questions and comments at Roger.
Dixon looked stunned.
