anyway? I admit I’m getting used to finding a different vehicle every time I go somewhere.” Logan had forgotten to ask Trevor about the car situation the night before, and about T.L.’s profession. “Trevor showed up yesterday morning in a 1956 Thunderbird. This Winnebago is the first vehicle your family has that isn’t over twenty years old.”
“It’s T.L.’s way of keeping up with the Rockefellers, though he has quite a way to go before he has anything like the museum over on Petit Jean Mountain,” Tory answered, seeming to forget her earlier animosity. “The truck and station wagon are his, along with about fifteen other cars of various ages. The T-bird belongs to me and Trevor. We trade off every three months and drive one of T.L.’s in the meantime. As for our current mode of transport, it belongs to Curtiss, and I haven’t the faintest idea why he said to take it.”
“What exactly does T.L. do for a living?” He was certain that there was more to his uncle’s old friend, and perhaps his profession could give him a clue. The Planchets were an influential family and vintage cars weren’t cheap.
“Oh, dear, hasn’t anyone told you?”
“Is it illegal? Preston didn’t tell me anything beyond my assignment, and Trevor was talking car rallies when he wasn’t giving advice.”
“Daddy’s in garbage.”
Logan took his eyes off the road to give Tory a skeptical look. She was grinning from ear to ear.
“He really is. His corporation runs one of the largest waste hauling firms in the Southwest,” she went on, not bothering to hide her amusement at his flabbergasted expression. “Don’t worry, it kind of hits everyone that way if they don’t know before they meet him.”
“Apparently they didn’t meet him the way I did,” Logan said dryly, giving her a pained smile. “Or does he only do that for visitors from the North?”
“Yes, well, Daddy has a strange sense of humor at times,” she stated, matching his tone and shrugging. “Did Trevor or Curtiss give you any instructions about the race tomorrow?”
Logan could tell she wanted to change the subject, and he gladly complied. He did promise himself they would get back to the subject of T.L., although he wasn’t anxious to dwell on it right now. It could lead to the reason he was in Arkansas, which he didn’t want to discuss yet. He’d finally managed to get on solid, fairly compatible ground with Tory. His exile to the South wasn’t something he wanted to talk about until he’d known her a little longer.
Without hesitation, he launched into the explanation Trevor had given him about the similarities and differences between the Cherokee Challenge and the Arkansas Traveler. It was a safe subject, and he could question Tory about her part in the rallies for his articles as well.
He still had a lot to learn about this form of racing since he’d only seen the European version on television. How was a standard street car modified to withstand the rough terrain of dirt roads that were specially selected for each stage of the race? How were the cars timed on each stage, and what were the regulations for driving on public roads between stages? Was it true that the driver with the fastest accumulated time wouldn’t be named the winner if he’d been penalized for starting too soon, or driving too fast between stages? Were the stages run during the day, then repeated over the same ground at night to test the skill of the driver? That should keep them occupied for a good portion of the trip.
As he conversed easily with Tory for almost the first time since they had met, he wondered when he’d spent this much time talking with an individual. He was sure that Preston would be pleased. In Boston, he never seemed to have time for this type of communication. His conversations were with H.P.G. employees, or brief comments in passing at some function his mother had organized. It seemed as though he’d spent more time interacting with people
“It’s T.L.’s way of keeping up with the Rockefellers, though he has quite a way to go before he has anything like the museum over on Petit Jean Mountain,” Tory answered, seeming to forget her earlier animosity. “The truck and station wagon are his, along with about fifteen other cars of various ages. The T-bird belongs to me and Trevor. We trade off every three months and drive one of T.L.’s in the meantime. As for our current mode of transport, it belongs to Curtiss, and I haven’t the faintest idea why he said to take it.”
“What exactly does T.L. do for a living?” He was certain that there was more to his uncle’s old friend, and perhaps his profession could give him a clue. The Planchets were an influential family and vintage cars weren’t cheap.
“Oh, dear, hasn’t anyone told you?”
“Is it illegal? Preston didn’t tell me anything beyond my assignment, and Trevor was talking car rallies when he wasn’t giving advice.”
“Daddy’s in garbage.”
Logan took his eyes off the road to give Tory a skeptical look. She was grinning from ear to ear.
“He really is. His corporation runs one of the largest waste hauling firms in the Southwest,” she went on, not bothering to hide her amusement at his flabbergasted expression. “Don’t worry, it kind of hits everyone that way if they don’t know before they meet him.”
“Apparently they didn’t meet him the way I did,” Logan said dryly, giving her a pained smile. “Or does he only do that for visitors from the North?”
“Yes, well, Daddy has a strange sense of humor at times,” she stated, matching his tone and shrugging. “Did Trevor or Curtiss give you any instructions about the race tomorrow?”
Logan could tell she wanted to change the subject, and he gladly complied. He did promise himself they would get back to the subject of T.L., although he wasn’t anxious to dwell on it right now. It could lead to the reason he was in Arkansas, which he didn’t want to discuss yet. He’d finally managed to get on solid, fairly compatible ground with Tory. His exile to the South wasn’t something he wanted to talk about until he’d known her a little longer.
Without hesitation, he launched into the explanation Trevor had given him about the similarities and differences between the Cherokee Challenge and the Arkansas Traveler. It was a safe subject, and he could question Tory about her part in the rallies for his articles as well.
He still had a lot to learn about this form of racing since he’d only seen the European version on television. How was a standard street car modified to withstand the rough terrain of dirt roads that were specially selected for each stage of the race? How were the cars timed on each stage, and what were the regulations for driving on public roads between stages? Was it true that the driver with the fastest accumulated time wouldn’t be named the winner if he’d been penalized for starting too soon, or driving too fast between stages? Were the stages run during the day, then repeated over the same ground at night to test the skill of the driver? That should keep them occupied for a good portion of the trip.
As he conversed easily with Tory for almost the first time since they had met, he wondered when he’d spent this much time talking with an individual. He was sure that Preston would be pleased. In Boston, he never seemed to have time for this type of communication. His conversations were with H.P.G. employees, or brief comments in passing at some function his mother had organized. It seemed as though he’d spent more time interacting with people
Similar Books
