Collision Course Read Free

deceptively calm waters.
    Joe looked over at Arno, noting how composed the promoter seemed, given the circumstances. "You don't seem too concerned about McCoy's death," he said, trying to control his temper.
    Arno shrugged. "It's like Martin told you— McCoy lived on the edge. All good racing drivers do. The danger is part of the thrill. Some of these guys, like McCoy, think they're so good they can cheat death. And when you start thinking like that, death sneaks up behind you.
    "But you're wrong to think I'm not concerned," Arno added, sadness creeping into his voice for the first time. "McCoy and I worked together a long time. He was a hard man to like, but I'll miss him."
    Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a squad car carrying two of Bayport's finest. The driver got out and lumbered over to the small group, while the other officer walked toward T. B. Martin to take his statement. The uniformed man who approached Frank and Joe was large, more than a little out of shape, and sported a sizable paunch. Joe wondered how he managed to keep his pants up, before he noticed his name-plate "Reed."
    "Okay," Officer Reed huffed. "What happened here?"
    Before either Frank or Joe could say anything, Arno started in. "A tragic accident," he began smoothly. "Mr. McCoy miscalculated the turn, and at one hundred fifty miles per hour it was a deadly mistake."
    "Stupid race car drivers," Reed grumbled. "There's a reason for the posted speed limit, you know."
    "At the posted speed limit," — Arno jerked his thumb back toward the sign that said 15 MPH — "the engine would have stalled out, and he would have had to push the car around the turn. That1 would not have produced a spectacular lap time."
    The police officer looked back toward the tunnel, and then his eyes moved from the tunnel back to the gaping hole in the guardrail. "Well, what kind of lap time do you suppose he'll get now?" He frowned. "The only thing 'spectacular' here was his crash. Maybe they'll cancel that stupid race now."
    "I doubt it," Arno said curtly as he walked away.
    "What do you think of this?" Frank said, holding out the electronic device he had found.
    "What am I supposed to think?" the police officer retorted gruffly. "Some stupid gizmo to make a car go too fast and ruin a perfectly good guardrail. This is going to cost the county plenty, you know."
    Frank and Joe gave the officer their statements, and then Reed lumbered off to join his partner, who was radioing in a report to headquarters. Frank surveyed the scene again, then turned to his brother. "I don't like this."
    "Who does?" Joe responded grimly.
    "Come on," Frank said, tugging at his brother's arm, "I want to ask Martin a few questions. Something just doesn't add up."
    The Hardys approached the writer, who was standing by the edge of the cliff. He was staring Into the blue waters below. "Excuse me, Mr. Martin," Frank said quietly, "but i was wondering if I could ask you something."
    "You know," the writer began in a distracted tone, "you think you're prepared for this sort of thing. After ten years of covering the racing circuit, you think you've seen it all. Guys get killed every year. No big surprise. But somehow, you're never really ready when it happens."
    He was silent for a moment, then he said, "I'm sorry. What was it you wanted to know?"
    "Were the two of you close?" Frank asked.
    "Close?" Martin repeated. "Nobody was close to Angus McCoy. Everything was a competition tor him. He never let up, never wanted to lose the edge.
    "You know, he hated having a ghost writer, wanted to do the book himself. But his publisher saw the first couple of chapters and had the ugly task of telling Angus he couldn't write worth beans. If it weren't for the contract, he would have fired the publisher."
    "What happens to the book now? Frank pressed. "Will the publisher cancel it?'
    "Are you kidding?" Martin laughed. 'This is the kind of ending publishers dream about! I can just see the title now The