Drag Strip by Nancy Bartholomew

venture too far into an explanation. I’m never sure what will set her off.
    â€œTrouble in paradise,” she sighed. “Ain’t it just the way?” She was shaking her head and staring at the chair beside her. The morning paper lay there, so Raydean probably knew all about it.
    â€œDid you read about it?” I asked.
    â€œHoney, I don’t have to read the paper to know racing’s bad news. Got a nephew who’s made a fool of himself over that stuff. Calls himself the King of Dirt.” Raydean looked disgusted and I felt a chill go up to the back of my spine. “His wife’s said if he don’t quit fooling around with cars and women, she’s gonna leave.” Raydean smiled. “Of course, if you ask me and his mama, that’d be for the best. His wife’s a slut and he’d be well rid of her.”
    â€œI ran into him last night,” I began.
    Raydean looked at me and laughed. “Don’t surprise me at all. A half-naked woman on a racetrack? Roy Dell’d sniff you out like a coon dog. But don’t worry,” she said, catching my frown, “he’s harmless.”
    I was all set to debate harmless, but from across the street, I could hear Fluffy barking. Raydean hopped up and ran to her spot by the window, shotgun in hand.
    â€œAll right,” she snapped, “I’m warning you. You got company and he don’t look familiar.” Raydean stiffened. “Don’t be fooled by the facial hair,” she said, “they got transmitters encapsulated in almost anything. Technology is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.”
    It was getting close to Prolixin time, I could tell. I couldn’t figure out what she meant until I wandered up and peaked through the bay window curtains. Detective Wheeling was standing on my back stoop, repeatedly ringing my doorbell.
    What happened next was not exactly my fault. Could I have stopped it? The case could be made either way. I went out onto Raydean’s stoop, still holding the mug of coffee she’d given me, and yelled. Detective Wheeling turned around, saw me, and quickly headed in my direction.
    â€œWait,” I said, “I’ll be right over.” But he either didn’t hear me or didn’t think I meant what I said, because he kept coming. Fluffy had emerged from her doggie door and was following him, yipping at his heels and causing him to walk in a broken-step weave.
    I started down the stairs and hit the walkway at the same time he stepped onto Raydean’s booby-trapped section of lawn. Fluffy, who knew what would happen next, turned around and ran for the safety of her own yard. Detective Wheeling was not quite so fortunate. The sprinkler system turned on and completely drenched him.
    This was perhaps the new low point in my relationship with the police department. Not so much because my neighbor’s sprinkler system had watered Detective Wheeling down, but because I saw the situation as funny and started to laugh.
    I cut a wide path around him and continued on my way to my trailer.
    â€œIf you want to dry off,” I said, looking back over my shoulder, “I’ve got a towel.”
    He had two alternatives. He could leave and drive off sopping wet, or he could come inside. I could feel him warring with himself. He was mad as hell, but he was the type who hates to mess up a vehicle. I hadn’t opened the kitchen door when I felt him start up the stairs behind me.
    â€œSo I thought my attorney told you to call him if you wanted to talk to me,” I said after I handed him a towel and let him perch on one of my barstools. Wheeling’s short hair stood in tufts around his head, giving him a sort of punk look.
    â€œI wanted to explain to you about the article in the paper. I thought you might see it and—”
    â€œAnd what?” I interrupted. “Think you planted it so you could flush out a suspect? Leave the dancer high and dry,