There was no response. I called again. Still nothing.

I went another few steps up the connecting stairs until I was standing in the threshold. “Alex? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

There was still no answer. I wasn’t going inside any farther. It might be nothing, I thought, biting my lip. I didn’t want to cause an uproar over nothing.

Still, there was the argument I’d heard.

I took out my cell phone and tried to dial 911. Of course there was no service. The closest open space that might have service was the big door going out of the parking area.

I turned around to go back down the RV stairs. Someone rushed by me from behind, pushing me out of the way. I dropped my cell phone and let out a small yelp of surprise.

As I tumbled down the remaining stairs to the concrete, I saw a pair of black boots and caught a glimpse of jeans. I wasn’t sure if they belonged to a man or a woman. My head was spinning. I could taste blood in my mouth.

That was it.

I stayed on the concrete for a few minutes, afraid to move. I heard a car pull up and raised my head.

“Zoe?” Miguel was back with supplies. “What are you doing over there?”

– – – – – – –

“Where’s security?” Miguel helped me up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I wiped away the trickle of blood from my cut lip. “Nothing serious.”

He called the hotel and the police.

I told him what had happened and he went right inside Alex’s RV.

I went to make sure Crème Brûlée was all right. I pulled back the blanket.

He was gone. Panic set in. My cat was alone in a parking garage. I wasn’t sure what he’d do.

I started looking under the Biscuit Bowl. There was no sign of him—this from a cat that normally didn’t even like to walk into the next room to eat.

Miguel came to tell me that Alex Pardini was dead. “He was shot in the chest at close range.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? What are you doing, Zoe?”

“I set Crème Brûlée down. He’s gone. He must’ve been terrified by everything going on out here. I have to find him.”

We looked everywhere for him. We were still looking when the police arrived. They asked what we were doing, and I told them. They weren’t much help, but then they had a murder to deal with.

An hour later, I was close to tears. What if I never found Crème Brûlée? What if he’d been hurt and couldn’t come when I called him? He could’ve been hit by a car or someone could have picked him up and I’d never see him again.

Bobbie Shields came over to see what was going on. She offered to help look for my cat, too. “I have a sweet little Manx at home. I would hate to lose him.”

No sooner had she joined us than Uncle Saul and Ollie came downstairs—they’d heard about the shooting.

“Was anyone hurt?” Ollie asked.

I told him about Alex.

He frowned. “I suppose it would be wrong to ask if anyone human was hurt?”

“Shame on you!” Bobbie said. “Alex was good at what he did! And they might call the race off for sure with him gone. Now help Zoe look for her cat.”

A police detective in an expensive black suit finally arrived with the coroner.

“Hey! What are all you people doing out here? This is a crime scene. No one should be in this parking area except authorized personnel. Get out of here or I’ll have to arrest you.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes. I’m not a pretty crier. I knew my face was blotchy and unattractive. I didn’t care.

“My cat is missing. He was out here with me right before the shooting. I’m not leaving until I find him.”

“That makes you a witness. You can wait over here by my car. The rest of you have to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we find Zoe’s cat.” Ollie towered over him.

“Me, either.” Bobbie put her hands on her ample hips.

“We find the cat or we’re all staying,” Uncle Saul joined in.

“And I’m not a witness unless I find my cat,” I added. “I didn’t hear anything or see anyone leaving the RV.”

The detective was obviously angry, but we were resolute. He threw himself into helping us find Crème Brûlée. He even assigned two of the police officers to help us.

I was close to the Pizza Papa truck when I heard a loud howl followed by cursing. The back of the pizza truck flew open and Crème Brûlée ran out. His little face was covered in pizza sauce.

“Stay out of here, you little devil!” Antonio Stephanopoulos shook his fist. “You spoiled a whole batch of pizza sauce with your paws.”

I caught my cat and held him to me. Antonio was right. His paws and face—even his tail—were covered in pizza sauce. I looked at him in disbelief. “You came all the way over here and snuck into this truck to steal pizza? Bad, bad cat.”

He meowed and looked at me so pitifully. It was past his usual time for dinner. He was probably starving. I hugged him, forgiving him, before I told everyone that he was okay.

“Is that blood all over him?” The police detective’s eyes sharpened. “Where has he been?”

“No. It’s pizza sauce. He was in the Pizza Papa truck. Crème Brûlée loves pizza. Well, pretty much anything Italian. I’m going to take him upstairs and give him a bath.”

“You have to stay right here,” the detective disagreed. “Let one of your friends take the cat.”

Uncle Saul agreed to take Crème Brûlée to his room. “I’m not saying I’m going to give this monster a bath. I value my hands too much. But he’ll be out of the heat anyway.”

“Thanks.” I wrapped my cat in his blanket. “I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

Ollie went up with Uncle Saul. The police were redirected to question everyone who had been in the parking deck. I told them what I knew, what I’d heard and seen. The detective asked me to wait until he was done looking at the crime scene.

“Here we are again.” Miguel had finished putting away the supplies and was waiting with me. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

I smiled, completely worn-out and soaked with sweat from looking for my cat. Not the most romantic way to feel. “This is how we met. Me, in trouble, waiting in the back of a police car. This might be how our relationship is going to go.”

“I don’t think so. This race has had a run of bad luck. That’s all. Maybe the whole thing was about Alex and now that he’s dead, everything will be fine.”

“Or the whole race will be over since it’s been cursed from the beginning. I don’t know how many things can happen before they call it off.”

“Was there anything else you heard or saw that you didn’t tell the police?”

“No. It was over very quickly. I was scared. Maybe there was something else and I didn’t notice it.”

The detective came to find us and had me repeat what I’d already told him. He handed me his card. “Call me if you think of anything else. I know you’re not going to be here past tomorrow. You can still let me know if you think of anything.”

“I will.” I pocketed his card.

Antonio Stephanopoulos was also talking to a police officer. From what I could tell, he’d been in his food truck the whole time. He’d been cooking, wearing his headphones, and hadn’t heard a thing.

Helms and Marsh were by the elevators. They were talking to an Atlanta police officer. It looked like they were trying to explain who they were and why they were there.

Miguel and I left the parking area, along with about eight of the other food truck team members. I passed Helms and Marsh getting into the elevator. True to their word, they didn’t acknowledge me at all.

“How much more can happen in this race?” Roy Chow asked as the elevator went up. “They wouldn’t even let me make sure my truck was okay.”

Daryl Barbee had tried to get into the garage, too. “You don’t believe all this is real, do you? At the end of the race, Pardini and Johnson will pop out. The whole thing is a big stunt. They do these things to keep people interested. Really, don’t take it so seriously.”