Red Flags by Tammy Kaehler Page A

to set your expectations correctly. Those results come from a team that works together extremely well—has done so for almost a dozen years now, including before I came along three years ago. It didn’t happen overnight.”
    Coleman took the floor and adjusted his tie again. “We’ve discussed a measured approach to building Kate’s skills, the team around her, and her exposure, as well as ours.”
    The grouchy man spoke again. “What about our spend? What do we get during this slow build? And how long will this take? Why aren’t we at the 500 this year?”
    â€œWe’ll go next year.” I cut through the murmurs running around the room. “And for at least two years after that. That’s thirteen months to the first Frame Savings car at the Indy 500. We’ll set modest goals that year, such as qualifying for and finishing the race. I’ll have bigger hopes and expectations for the years that follow.”
    I met the eyes of each board member. “As much as I’d love to get out there next month for this year’s race, it’s a terrible idea on a variety of levels. We need time to find the right team and prep the car, and I need to get comfortable with both. That’s why, this year, I’ll run some lower-level races with a team that could take us to Indy next year, to get used to an open-wheel car again and to try out the team.”
    â€œAnd you’re testing tomorrow.” My father spoke for the first time.
    â€œTomorrow I’m on the oval in Fontana with that team, testing an IndyCar on the track.”
    â€œHow can you do that, if you’re driving for your current team?” Sharon, the lone female on the board, asked.
    â€œMy contract with Sandham Swift means I drive their Corvette in the SportsCar Championship. It doesn’t prohibit me from driving other cars in other series, though I clear other rides with Sandham Swift out of courtesy. I can have more than one driving contract, like I can have multiple sponsors.”
    â€œWhat kind of car is it, and have you driven one before? Driven on an oval?” Bob wanted to know.
    â€œIndyCars are what’s considered open-wheel, meaning no fenders around the wheels, as well as open-cockpit, meaning no roof. I drove smaller, less-powerful open-wheel cars in my Star Mazda days. Some of those races were on ovals, and I’ve also driven other kinds of cars on oval dirt tracks here and there. But the answer is I haven’t done much of either, so I need practice before tackling the fastest cars on the biggest oval at the Indianapolis 500.”
    I answered questions for another fifteen minutes about my racing plans and how those had changed, based on their sponsorship. One board member insisted I should move straight to NASCAR, to “make a splash.” I explained why sending me into a high-level series with zero experience in the cars or tracks was a recipe for disaster, whereas building slowly would get us somewhere. I think I got my point across.
    At least, they all seemed satisfied when they called for a break after an hour and twenty minutes. But there was one last topic on a few minds.
    â€œWe’ve covered the racing, Kate,” noted Bob, as everyone pushed back their chairs and stood up from the table. “What about Billy’s murder? I assume you’ll get that figured out also.”

Chapter Ten
    I froze. “Excuse me?”
    Board member Bob replied. “You’ve solved crimes before. Figuring out what happened to an executive at your new sponsor ought to be part of your duties. Don’t you think?” The last was addressed to the others in the room, who mostly agreed.
    Sharon raised her eyebrows. “Are you an investigator also, Kate?”
    â€œShe’s a racecar driver.” My father’s cold, flat voice cut through the murmurs. “ Not an investigator.”
    Coleman frowned. “She knows the racing world, and