My Dad, the Private Eye: Keep on Truckin'

CHAPTER 9

By the time we arrived in Windsor, Gator had sure done a lot of talking, but we still hadn't gotten any useful information out of him about what had happened to Harley.

Gator pulled off the freeway, and we realized we didn't have much time. So Dad spoke up, asking his question as casually as he could. "You know... a shame about that other trucker. The one who drove this rig before?"

"Oh, yeah. He drowned," Gator said. "Fell in the lake after having one too many."

"One too many what?" I asked. (Hey, I'm only 15, okay?)

Gator burst out laughing. "She's a pisser!" he chortled. Then he pulled through the gates of this large warehouse where a bunch of other tanker trucks were coming and going. "Well, we're here right on time," he said. "David, mind going into the glove box and gettin' me my logs?"

"Sure," Dad said, and he opened the glove compartment and dug out some messy handwritten logs held together with a big clip. He handed them to Gator, and Gator grabbed a pen to write down some figures. But when Dad moved to close the glove box, he spotted a pistol inside! He froze.

Gator noticed this and chuckled. "On the road much as I am, havin' a piece nearby comes in mighty handy." Then he leaned in with a grin and added, "Touch it, and I'll break your wrist." Another chuckle. "Just joshin' ya!"

Dad fake-laughed along with Gator. But as he did, his mustache came a little loose!

Gator squinted at Dad. "What's that on your face?"

Dad nervously got the mustache to stick again. "Hey, thanks for the lift!" he said, and he quickly opened the door and jumped down, eager to avoid any further questions. "C'mon, CarLY. Aunt Sally is real nearby." I rushed to jump down and join Dad.

"You know," Gator said, rubbing his chin, "ain't I seen you somewheres before?"

"Thanks again!" Dad said, pretending not to hear Gator. He closed the door, and we scooted off as fast as we could.

Our next stop was the Windsor Police Service Headquarters. This time, Dad let me tag along. (Did he have any choice?) We knew that Gator was hiding something about Harley, and finding a gun in his truck just made us more suspicious, but we needed to find out more about how Harley actually kicked the bucket before we could even start to figure this thing out.

We met up with Detective Will Leeson, a short, kind of chubby guy with a loosened tie and a sweaty neck. We followed him as he hustled down the station's main hallway. Dad thought it might be hard to get Det. Leeson to share any information, especially while wearing his shabby "disguise" clothes (but no fake wig and beard anymore), so he told the detective he was tight with Detective Perotta in Toronto.

"Roger Perotta? Yeah, I know him. Good cop," Det. Leeson said with a nod.

"Well, I'm like his favorite P.I.," Dad fudged. "I solved that Patty Delaroy case for him."

"You cracked the Patty Delaroy case?" Det. Leeson asked with an impressed raised eyebrow.

"Yep," Dad said kind of cocky. "Just another day on the job, really."

"Very cool," the detective said, nodding. "Well, what brings you to Windsor? Another movie star case?"

"No, I'm here about Harlan Beaudry."

"No foolin'? Hey, I'm headed right down there now," Det. Leeson said.

"Where?" Dad asked.

"The morgue. They're gonna do an autopsy. Wanna come with?"