“Then why’s he so goddamn sorry?”

“What about Wayne Gamble?”

“Trust me. In a few short hours, Winge will be singing like a marching band.”

Slidell’s linguistic misadventures never ceased to amaze.

“The term is alienation of affection,” I said. “It’s a charge against the third party, not the spouse.”

“Yeah. Well, I hope the wife cleans Nolan’s shorts.”

The clock read two-ten when I dropped into bed.

In the brief period before my brain shut down, I replayed what Nolan had said.

Who was the man arguing with Cale Lovette? What system did they intend to poison? A water system? Where? Obviously they hadn’t done it. Or hadn’t done it effectively. Such an attack would have been big news.

Something bugged me.

The hat? Where had I seen a cap like that?

Had Nolan read the man correctly? Had he truly regarded Cindi Gamble with malice? If so, why? Or had the look meant something else?

And what was the bit about a bloody hatchet?

Then I was out.

Chapter 31

WHILE I SLEPT, MY BRAIN PLAYED WITH SOUNDS.

Two phrases.

Bloody hatchet.

Maddy Padgett.

Suddenly I was wide awake.

Was that what Nolan had overheard? Were Cale Lovette and the old guy talking about Maddy Padgett?

The clock said six-twenty.

Too early to call.

Too jazzed to sleep.

I threw on a robe and went downstairs. Birdie opened one eye but didn’t follow.

While Mr. Coffee cranked up to perk, I turned on the TV.

The local news was all about NASCAR. Qualifying for the Coca-Cola 600 had taken place the previous night. Jimmie Johnson had won the pole and would go off from the inside starting position. Kasey Kahne would share the front row.

Though farther back than predicted, Sandy Stupak had also won good position. And big surprise, the tragic death of Stupak’s jackman, Wayne Gamble, was no longer the lead B-story.

The secondary headliner was the weather. Periodic strong winds, thunder and lightning, and all-day rain were predicted for Saturday, so the Nationwide Series race had been moved up to Friday night. Unprecedented, but a necessary precaution to avoid cancellation and complicated rescheduling.

The new tertiary headliner was a big-ass crater.

As Speedway management was scrambling to make the accelerated timetable work, they learned that, overnight, a sinkhole had opened on the edge of the dirt track. Measuring forty feet long and thirty-five feet deep, the thing was a monster. Fortunately, no one had been injured.

The sinkhole’s location made it unlikely that the evening’s Nationwide Series event would be affected. Safety inspectors were on site. Officials had yet to announce if the race would begin at the newly designated time.