Case of the Chatty Roadrunner

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “If I didn’t know any better,” Vance slowly began, as he watched the video progress in slow-motion, “then I’d say that the VIC just stomped on the gas here. Did you see the Audi jerk? It looked like the front of the car lifted slightly, like any other car would do if the driver were to slam their foot down on the accelerator.”

  “I think that was just because the road was rough through there,” Victor observed. “That’s why the video shook.”

  “It was, yeah,” Vance admitted, “but even with the screen shaking, you can see the Audi take off. Let it play forward. There, the Audi just took off down the median. Now it’s in the oncoming traffic. Do you know what I didn’t see?”

  “What?” Jillian, Victor, and I all asked, together.

  “Brake lights. Not once did the VIC hit the brakes.”

  “What are you trying to say?” I demanded, growing angry. “That Samantha deliberately drove into oncoming traffic? I don’t buy it.”

  “Nor do I,” Jillian added.

  “That goes for me, too,” Vance admitted. “So, what does that tell us? That one of three things happened. First, as the police reports states, she could’ve lost control of the car and driven – unwillingly – into the opposing lanes of traffic.”

  “There’s no way,” Victor said, voicing his own concerns.

  Vance nodded, “Right. That leads me to the second option: perhaps the VIC suffered some type of medical trauma, which resulted in her losing control and going across the median.”

  I shook my head, “She didn’t have any history of that happening.”

  “And third?” Jillian prompted.

  “That her car was forced to hit that semi.”

  I frowned, “Forced? As in, forced off the road? Like someone ran her off the road? I would assume the footage failed to show that, or else you would have mentioned it by now.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” Vance argued. “All these new modern cars are now equipped with computerized controls. I’m suggesting someone might have hacked her car.”

  “What?” I demanded. “This isn’t any movie. People don’t do that type of thing.”

  Victor sat back in his chair, dumbfounded. He slowly nodded.

  “I got a buddy who insists his Mercedes was hacked. Someone kept changing all his radio stations.”

  Sheryl returned just then, holding something that had my jaw dropping open with surprise. It was a bottle of Syrah, from a winery I was quite familiar with. Sheryl held the bottle out so that her husband could read the label.

  “Do you see this, Victor? This wine that we just bought was bottled in Pomme Valley, Oregon. That’s why the name was familiar to me.”

  “Lentari Cellars,” I breathed, amazed.

  It was Sheryl’s turn to be surprised.

  “You’ve heard of it? Really? Well, if you’re from the same town, then I guess it’s not that unusual.”

  I hesitantly raised a hand, like I was a nervous schoolboy ready to answer a question.

  “The reason I know it is because that’s my winery. I inherited it last year, after my wife died. That’s why I moved. I needed a change of scenery.”

  Sheryl looked at me, thunderstruck. She held the bottle out to me and waggled it in front of me.

  “You’re telling me that you are responsible for this? This bottle, right here?”

  “I’m not, personally,” I corrected. “My winemaster, Caden, handles all the recipes. But yeah, that bottle came from my winery. Honestly? I didn’t know our wine was for sale outside of the state. Then again, that just proves to you how little I know about running the day to day operation of the winery.”

  “So, getting back on track,” Jillian smoothly interjected, “is there any way of determining if Samantha’s car was hijacked? And, if so, could someone take over the controls and tell it where to go?”

  Vance pulled out his cell and looked at me, “What was the model of her car again?”

  “It was a 2017 Audi Q7,” I automatically answered. “It was her dream car.”

  Vance tapped his search into his smartphone and then perused the results. He suddenly grunted, tapped the screen once, and grunted again. Curiosity piqued, I leaned forward.

  “What is it? What did you find?”

  “That particular model has ‘Driver Assist’.”

  “Yeah, I remember that. It was to help her parallel park. She hated parallel parking.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Sheryl quipped, eliciting a grin from her husband.”

  “So it helps with parking,” I said, “so what? It’s not like it was a self-driving car, so that really doesn’t help us too much.”

  Vance waggled his phone, “Nevertheless, I think we ought to talk to an Audi mechanic and get their take on this. I’d like to know if it’s possible.”

  “How terrifying would that be?” Jillian whispered. “To know that the car you’re driving could be taken over? That makes me want to go back to riding my bicycle.”

  “You and me both,” I agreed.

  Vance stood, which prompted Jillian and I to do the same. My detective friend held out a hand.

  “Thank you, Victor. You’ve been a tremendous help. Sheryl, it was nice to meet the two of you.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Sheryl hesitantly began, “what’s next for you? Do you really think someone set up that poor woman to be killed?”

  I nodded affirmatively, “That’s the ongoing theory at the moment. The more I look into this, the more convinced I become.”

  “I hope you find the sumbitch who did this to your wife,” Victor solemnly told me. “If there’s anything I can do, then you are to let me know. Knowing I helped bring her killer to justice might just make the nightmares stop.”

  I shook Victor’s hand, “I’ll keep you posted, pal. Thanks again for your hospitality. Sheryl? Victor? I’ll personally send a case of the Syrah for you two, as a way of saying thanks.”

  “Dude, there’s no need to… oomph!” Victor was cut off after Sheryl thumped him in the gut. “I mean, that’d be more than generous of you,” he hastily amended.

  I grinned, “Spoken like a true married man.”

  THREE

  “Oh, I haven’t been to one of these in a while. Come on, we gotta pull over.”

  “Zack, what am I looking at?”

  “Seriously? Vance, you’re looking at a modern southwestern marvel. The convenience stores around here are absolute wonders to behold. This one is called a ‘PS’. We can get something to drink and a bite to eat, like a hot pretzel, if you want.”

  “We’re going to a place called BS and you want to get a drink? What, is this a joke? It looks like a gas station to me.”

  “P,” I corrected. “PS, not BS. Big difference.”

  Jillian tapped Vance on the shoulder and pointed at the large sign, depicting only two letters: PS.

  “Oh. So, it is a gas station. You want to get food here? Come on, pal. You can do better than that. If you’re hungry, then I’m sure we can find a decent place to grab a bite.”

  It was too warm to leave the dogs in the car without the air conditioning running, so Jillian volunteered to wait with them. Her only request was for me to pick her up a cherry Pepsi. As Vance and I walked through the store, I pointed out all the offerings that were available. My detective friend’s objection to getting a bite to eat were quickly withdrawn as he started tapping the touchscreen menu, which listed all the choices that were available. He was in the process of ordering a pizza when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Turning, I came face-to-face with someone I was not expecting to see.

  “Zack? Oh, man! I thought that was you! Holy cow, brother! I didn’t know you were back in town!”

  The owner of the voice was nearly 15 years younger than I was, had unkempt blonde hair, and had to be a full 10 inches shorter than me. This was a person I had known for practically all his life, and I’m sad to say, I hadn’t spoken a word to him since the day Samantha died. Who was it, you ask? Well, hi
s name was Randy. Is Randy. Randall Masters, if you want to get technical. He was Samantha’s much younger little brother.

  “I’ll be damned. Hey, Randy. How are you?”

  “Dude, what the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you move out of state?”

  “To Oregon,” I confirmed. “Listen, I know I should have stopped by and talked to you guys, but…”

  Randy nodded knowingly and brushed off my concerns, “Dude, what you went through was thoroughly messed up. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I may have lost a sister, but you lost your wife. Mom always told me that you knew her better than anyone, including her. We all knew it was rough on you. So, what are you doing back in town? Will you be here for a few days?”

  Hoo, boy. Where do I start? Do I admit the real reason we were here?

  “Is this a friend of yours?” Vance’s voice suddenly asked, as he appeared by my side.

  I nodded, “It is. Vance, this is Randy, Samantha’s brother. Randy, this is a friend of mine, from Oregon. He’s here, helping me to check out a few things.”

  Randy’s brow furrowed, “Oh? Like what?”

  I wasn’t too sure how Randy was going to take the news of me investigating his sister’s death. Obviously, anything I tell him now will make it back to his parents, so I wasn’t sure I should tell him we were treating his sister’s death like a homicide. With that being said, I did feel that Samantha’s family were part of my own extended family, so maybe I shouldn’t keep any secrets from them.

  An idea formed as I remembered the line of work that Randall and his father were in, and it had me smiling.

  “Randy, are your parents home? I think I would like to stop by and say hello.”

  Randy checked his watch, “Well, I know dad does a lot of his work from home, so he should be there. As for mom, I think her shift ended at 10am, which was just under an hour ago. So, yeah, they should both be there.”

  I should point out that Samantha’s father, Jason Masters, owned and operated an insurance investigative firm, which meant he’s done lots of research in his day. Randall Masters worked for his dad, as an estimator. As for Denise, Samantha’s mother, she was a nurse.

  “You’re up to something,” Randy accused, growing serious. “Can’t you tell me what you’re doing?”

  I nodded, “I will, pal, but I want to tell your family at the same time. You all deserve to know.”

  “Deserve to know what?” Randy wanted to know.

  “Nuh uh. I’ll tell you all together.”

  We completed our purchases and headed outside. Randy followed us to our van and, once he saw who was waiting for us inside, turned to give me a speculative look. Thankfully, before an awkward silence could cut in, Randy gave me a friendly slap on the back.

  “Good for you, bro. I’m really glad to see you’re moving on. Did you want to follow me to my parents’ house? They ended up moving since, uh, well, since Sam’s death.”

  I nodded, “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “In case we get separated, they’re off of 12th and Fern Drive now. It’s not far from here.”

  Randy then proceeded to hop into a blue Mustang convertible and speed off. It’s a damn good thing he told us roughly where it was, because when it came to driving, Randy has always had a lead foot. And, he was no different now. Since our min-van could go from 0-60 in about an hour and a half, we were understandably left in his dust.

  As I plugged in the intersection of 12th and Fern Drive into my phone, so that we’d know where we were supposed to go, both dogs suddenly perked up. They each took a window and looked out at the businesses and stores that were passing by. Sherlock woofed again.

  “What are you looking at, boy?” I asked, as I tried to determine where Sherlock was looking.

  “What’s out there?” Vance wanted to know.

  I shrugged, “Not much. I see a little mini mall. There are a few stores in it, including a Square L convenience store. We both know how Sherlock reacts whenever he sees one of those.”

  Sherlock had a habit of suspiciously staring at that particular chain of convenience stores whenever we passed one by. Why? I can only imagine it had something to do with finding a certain Egyptian pendant, and all the praise that came with it, when I realized Vance had lost his bet. Consequently, the bet was whether or not he’d have to take tap dancing lessons while wearing his old Peter Pan outfit. So, if you’re curious, just look up ‘Detective dresses like Peter Pan’ on YouTube and you can see for yourself.

  Sherlock continued to woof for another five seconds before settling back down on the floor. What he was looking at, I don’t know. I may never know.

  “There’s his car,” Jillian pointed out, as we turned onto Fern Drive. “That must be their house right over there.”

  Randy must have phoned ahead, because a women with bright red hair and a tall man with a solid head of gray hair were pacing in their driveway. Samantha’s mother was still in her nurse’s scrubs, and her father was wearing a gray Polo shirt and khaki pants, looking as immaculate as I remembered him. As our van pulled in, both of Samantha’s parents immediately angled towards the driver side. However, they caught sight of Vance, who gave them each a sheepish smile, and immediately switched their attention to the passenger side.

  “Zachary!” Denise Masters exclaimed, pulling me into a hug as soon as I stepped out. “It’s so good to see you!”

  Samantha’s father caught my hand and crushed it in a bone-shattering handshake, “It’s good to see you, son. You can imagine our surprise when Randy called to let us know who he had bumped into at the gas station.”

  “What’s going on?” Denise worriedly asked, as she caught sight of the guarded expression on my face.

  “First, let me introduce you to everyone. Vance? Jillian? These are the Masters, Samantha’s family. That’s Denise and this is Jason. Jillian? Over there is Randy, Samantha’s brother. Guys? This is Vance, a good friend of mine, and this is Jillian, my new girlfriend. They’re both from Oregon and they’re both here to help me with something.”

  “What part of Oregon did you end up moving to?” Jason wanted to know. “And they’re here to help you with what?”

  “Pomme Valley,” I answered. “And I’ll get to the other question in just a bit. As for PV, it’s in the southwestern part of the state. Oh, before we go any farther, I have two more introductions to make.” I turned back to the van and retrieved Sherlock first, and then Watson. I handed Watson’s leash to Jillian as I turned around. “It’s a long story, but I ended up adopting two dogs once I moved to Oregon. This is Sherlock, and that’s Watson.”

  “Sherlock and Watson,” Denise cooed. “How adorable! They’re corgis, aren’t they? Did you name them yourself?”

  I pointed at Sherlock, “He was already named when I got him. As for Watson, well, I named her to go along with his name.”

  “Watson is a girl?” Randy asked, puzzled. “That’s no name for a girl dog.”

  A smug smile appeared on Vance’s face, to which, in response, I punched him on his arm before he could say anything. Then I saw Denise focus her attention on Jillian. I held my breath as I realized I had failed to take into consideration how Samantha’s family would react to learning about my new relationship. For the second time, I was surprised there wasn’t an awkward silence, because Denise looked straight at me and smiled warmly.

  “It’s so good to see you moving on, Zack. Jason and I were worried about you. Let’s go inside, shall we? Then you can tell us why you’re here.”

  “How do you know there’s a reason?” I asked.

  “Because I know how hard this must be for you to come back here, and especially to see us. Plus, Randy indicated you needed to talk to us, so either you’re going to announce your intent to marry Jillian…”

  Jillian and I quickly looked at each other before turning away. I’m sure I blushed as red as a Coke can, while Jillian nervously giggled. Denise smiled at the two of us again before continuing on.

  “… or,
there’s something more important on your mind. So, let’s go inside, where we’ll be more comfortable.”

  Once inside, and the three of us were sitting together on a huge sectional, and the dogs were curled up by my feet, I looked at our hosts and took a deep breath. What I had to say was not going to go over well, that much was for sure. How, then, do I bring it up?

  “What’s going on, son?” Jason quietly, but firmly, asked. “What do you need to tell us?”

  I immediately rose to my feet and began to pace. Sherlock rose to his feet, intent on following me, when I signaled he should remain in place.

  “I’ve got something to tell you guys, and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

  “Is this about Samantha?” Randy asked.

  I nodded. I kept pacing a few moments longer before I finally stopped. I looked over at Jason, father of my beloved Samantha, and squatted down next to him.

  “I’m here, well, we are here, because I believe Samantha’s accident wasn’t an accident.”

  Jason stood so fast that he bumped into me, which caused me to go tumbling backwards. Not being fans of sudden movement, both dogs leapt to their feet and stared at Jason, who at the moment, was clenching his fists uncontrollably.

  “Why do you say that?” Denise somberly asked. Was it me, or had an edge of annoyance crept into her voice? “The police looked into the matter after it happened. They didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Zachary, you must know how badly Samantha’s death had affected us all. It took a lot of counseling for us to come to terms with her death. I’m really not sure I want to open up those wounds again.”

  I slowly rose to my feet. I looked at Denise and sighed as I reclaimed my spot on the couch.

  “And, if you knew that someone was responsible for making the accident happen, wouldn’t you want to know?”

  “I would want to know the name of the person responsible,” Jason flatly stated.

  Why, all of a sudden, did I get the impression that, if I happened to know who was responsible, and I disclosed that name to Samantha’s father, then I’d be signing that person’s death warrant? There was just something about the way he stated his intentions. There was a dangerous glint in Jason’s eyes. I definitely need to be careful with what I share with him.