“So, that’s how they did it.”
I turned to study the picture for a few moments. “That’s how they did what?”
“That’s how they got away. No wonder.” Jillian wove through traffic better than any professional driver. Screeching and honking sounded as we hurried toward the police station. “That looks like a Toyota Prius.”
“So?”
“That means it’s a hybrid. More than likely, they weren’t using the gasoline engine.”
My eyes widened with surprise and I snapped my fingers. “Of course! That’s why we didn’t hear them. Their car was running virtually silent. Still, there was no sign of them at all. You’ve seen my driveway. It’s at least three hundred feet long. How could they have made it down that in the time it took for us to run outside?”
Jillian suddenly groaned aloud. Concerned, I checked the surroundings. I didn’t see anything alarming so, questioningly, I turned to her and waited for an explanation.
“The answer to that was they didn’t have to. What did we do? We ran outside and assumed they drove off.”
“Oh, son of a biscuit eater,” I growled, letting out my own groan. “They were still at the winery, weren’t they? They probably drove their car out to the backside of the winery or maybe the warehouse.”
Armed with the new information, I sent it off to Vance. I even sent along the description of the woman I believed to be the driver. As expected, I got a snarky response.
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO JUMP TO ANY CONCLUSIONS? DOES THAT MEAN THEY’RE BEHIND YOU NOW?
I read the message to Jillian, who, surprised, checked the mirrors, as though a Prius would have been able to keep up with a 1967 Corvette Coupe sportscar.
“I don’t see anything back there.”
“That means they could still be anywhere,” I complained. “This keeps getting better and better. We played right into their hands, didn’t we?”
Jillian sadly nodded. “We did, but don’t count us out yet. We have them.”
I twisted to look back at the dogs. Both Sherlock and Watson were resting, Sphinx-like, in the storage compartment behind the two seats.
Less than two minutes later, we turned right and headed north, up 6th Street. As we approached E Street, I felt the Vette slow, but only marginally. Holy cow! Jillian was gonna make the sportscar drift around the corner! How cool!
“What’s with that face?” Jillian asked.
“I’m waiting for us to go drifting around that corner,” I said, as I pointed at the intersection of 6th and E.
“I am so not drifting this car,” Jillian retorted. The brakes were engaged, and I finally felt the mechanical beast slow. “Aggressive driving is dangerous.”
“Says the person who was weaving through traffic as though we weren’t allowed to go below 50.”
Jillian nodded. “Speed. Great movie, but don’t get me started about that bus. There’s no way it could have made the jump across an incomplete freeway.”
“And that’s why I love you so much,” I grinned, like a lovestruck teenager.
We turned left, and headed west on E Street, toward the police department. As we skidded to a stop in front of the station, we saw that Vance was already there, on the curb. He was pacing and, unsurprisingly, on the phone.
“Yes, sir,” he was saying, as I rolled the window down. “We’re looking for a blue Prius. Driver? Rumored to be a red-headed woman. No sir, we don’t have a picture.”
My eyes widened as I realized that yes, there was a photo of the driver. When I took her picture several days ago, she had been wearing a white, frizzy wig. But, the picture did show her face in clear, high-definition, I might add. I quickly sent the picture to Vance, who glanced at his phone to identify the nature of the alert. Seeing that it was from me, I watched him tap the screen and then hold the phone up to his face. Incredulously, he turned to me.
“Wait a moment, sir. Zack? Who’s this?”
“That’s the lady who was driving one of those scooters from a few nights ago. Put some red hair on her and you’ll have our driver!”
“You rock, Zack! Captain? Did you hear that? I’m sending you a picture Zack took a few days ago. The driver is the lady with the white hair. She’s now wearing some type of red wig that … scratch that. We don’t know what color hair is natural for her. Could be white, could be red, you never know. Yes sir, we’ll keep you posted.” Finishing the call, Vance turned to us and squatted down, so he could look at us through the window. “This lady? The one with the white hair? Or, better yet, the one who now has red hair. Who is she?”
“She’s the one who was outside your house earlier this week,” I reminded my friend. “She’s the one who …”
“ … bugged Watson,” Vance finished for me. “I’ll be damned. Of the three times you’ve seen her now, has she ever disguised her face?”
Both Jillian and I were shaking our heads.
“No. The only thing I remember seeing that was different each time was her hair. Granted, this time she was wearing a face mask and sunglasses, but parts of her hair were peaking through the mask, and that hair was red.”
Vance was tapping something into his phone, undoubtedly updating someone about the thief.
“Shouldn’t the police be setting out roadblocks?” Jillian asked. “They must still be in town. In fact, hold on. Let’s see if PV would be willing to help.”
Vance and I watched as Jillian pulled her phone out, saved the picture of the Prius I had sent her, and sent it out in a single message. All in all, it took her less than ten seconds. Certain that she had more to do than just that, I pointed at her blinged-out purple phone.
“That’s it? What did you do? I thought you wanted to send that picture out to more than just one person.”
“I did. I sent it to everyone in my phone.”
“How?” both Vance and I echoed.
“You should look up Groups and how to use them,” Jillian informed us. She looked at me and smiled. “In short, you can create a new contact on your phone, specify you’re creating a group, and then add users to that group. Then, when you send out a message, you tell it you want to send to the group, and the phone takes care of the rest.”
“Amazing,” I decided.
“Incredible,” Vance added. “I need to do that with all the contacts on my phone. Officers, techs, I.T. guys, and so on. I must have close to a thousand people on my phone.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Me, too.”
I got the sense that we were about to hold a popularity contest when both dogs were suddenly on their feet and looking out the front windshield, which meant they were looking west, onto E Street. Did they notice something? Or, perhaps, smell something?
“What’s with them?” Vance wanted to know.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Well, while we’re waiting for Jillian’s master list of operatives to report in,” Jillian giggled for this, “let’s see what master sleuths Sherlock and Watson have up their furry sleeves.”
Setting both dogs down on the sidewalk running alongside E Street, I was about to ask Jillian how often she added someone to her group when I felt a tug on the leash. Looking down, I saw that the corgis were about to morph into their Clydesdale personas and do their best to pull me down the street. Gently reining them in, I looked back at Jillian, and then Vance, and pointed west.
“Methinks we be going that way, little lady.”
“Do they smell something?” Vance hopefully asked.
“I’m not really sure,” I answered, adopting a serious tone. “If they ever learn English, or become telepathic, then I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Vance snorted with irritation. “You know, there was a time when you weren’t so sarcastic.”
I shrugged. “I will say that I’m enjoying it, though. Jillian? Are you staying here?”
The Corvette chirped as the doors locked and the security system was activated. Swinging the strap from her purse over her neck and shoulder in one fluid
motion, Jillian held out a hand and waited for me to pass her Watson’s leash. Together, we turned to look at Vance.
“Oh, what the hell. Those two are on to something. I’m willing to bet on it. So, what are you waiting for, Zack? Come on! We have a thief to catch!”
“I would have thought they’d be long gone by now,” I said, as the five of us walked companionably down E Street, heading west. “I can only hope these two know what they’re doing.”
Sherlock looked back at me then, and gave me such a disgusted look, that I had to laugh.
“Wow,” Vance laughed. “If a dog had the ability to make a human drop dead from one look, that would have been it.”
“It’s called corgi stink-eye,” I explained. “Thankfully, I don’t get it that often, only when Sherlock truly thinks I’m the stupidest thing walking around on two legs.”
Sherlock let out a loud snort, as though the little booger had been listening and was letting us know he agreed with the statement.
“What’s in this direction?” I wanted to know. “I’ll be honest and say that I usually don’t come this way. Lentari Cellars is the other way, and if I was going to Cookbook Nook, then I would have turned back there, on 3rd Street.”
“We’re almost at 3rd and Oregon,” Vance mused. He looked at Jillian and shrugged. “There’s nothing here but … look at that. And, we’re turning. All right, now what? We’re heading south, toward Main Street, guys. We could have driven this.”
This time, Jillian and I both laughed. Vance had just been given his very first stink-eye look by a corgi. Properly chastised, our detective friend shoved his hands in his pockets and fell silent.
“What are they putting in here?” I asked, as I looked at the fenced off lot located on the northern side of E Street, at the Oregon Street intersection. “Hopefully, it’ll be a restaurant.”
“You’re always thinking with your stomach,” Jillian observed.
Vance hooked a thumb at me. “I’m with him. I think we could use a really good steakhouse.”
“We already have one,” I argued. “Don’t you like Marauder’s Grill? They have the best barbecue there.”
“Maybe they’re relocating?” Vance suggested. “That place never had much in the way of a dining room.”
“I’m hoping for a craft store,” Jillian said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
We were only heading south for a few minutes when I sensed the dogs were slowing. Sure enough, the corgis came to a stop, at the intersection of D and Oregon, and turned pensive as they studied the scene. Coming up behind the dogs, I stared at the three-story building and the sprawling parking lot surrounding the building on all sides but the back. In silence, we watched as a group of people, decked out in matching attire, disappeared through the large, arched double-door. Parked just outside this door was a white, customized Ford transit van that had its loading door open. A handicap ramp unfolded from within and lifted a wheelchair, and its occupant, down to the ground.
We were staring at Pomme Acres, PV’s one and only nursing home. There, clearly visible in the visitors’ parking area just outside the front entrance, was one blue Toyota Prius. Together, the three of us turned to look down at the dogs.
“A nursing home. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
ELEVEN
“How?” I demanded, as I looked down at the dogs. “How do they always do it? I mean, that stupid car could have been anywhere by now. Heck, if the Forces of STUPID were smart, then they should have been on the other side of the county by now. But, where do they decide to stop? At the freakin’ nursing home? Where’s the logic in that?”
“Let’s not jump the gun,” Vance cautioned, as we hurried over to the Prius to look through the windows. “Gas prices are still high. Lots of people have these things. But, let’s just find out who owns this one, shall we?”
Jillian and I stepped off to the side as Vance phoned the police station with the license plate number. As for Sherlock and Watson, they were paying absolutely no attention to the car. Instead, they were both looking at the nursing facility’s front entrance. I tapped Vance on the shoulder and pointed at the dogs. Vance ended the call and pulled us off to the side.
“Okay, listen. This particular Prius is a rental. It’s currently showing it was rented in Sacramento …”
“Ernest,” I breathed, as Vance trailed off.
“Exactly what I’m thinking. But, if this is Ernest’s car, and we know the guy working with she-who-had-white-hair isn’t Ernest, then who are we looking for?”
“There were four of them for the scooter chase,” I recalled. “Clearly, they must know each other.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Jillian added. “If they’re part of this same organization, and they are all working toward the same goal, then it’d make sense that they’d be willing to work with one another to get the job done.”
I pointed at the entrance. “Well? The last time we were here, Sherlock and Watson made quite the stir. Shall we go in and see if anyone at the front desk recognizes Wig Lady?”
“Wig Lady?” Jillian repeated, giggling. “That’s the best you can do?”
“We’ve seen her with three different colors of hair,” I pointed out. “What would you call her?”
“Wig Lady will do,” Vance decided, as he strode toward Pomme Acres’ front entrance.
“Just a moment,” I called, which drew Vance up short. “If we know for certain this is a STUPID car, then what are the chances they know we’re out here? They could have rented any other car, only they keep using the one Ernest brought up with him from Sacramento. Why is that, do you think?”
“They’re acting as though they’re on a budget,” Jillian began, “but that can’t be right, can it?”
“So, if it is, what then?” Vance wanted to know.
I pointed at the car. “That would suggest this is their main method of transportation. We don’t want to lose it. One of us should stay here, to make sure this thing doesn’t go anywhere.”
Vance was silent as he considered. After a few moments, he nodded. “All right, I’ll buy that. However, Wig Lady had a gun. I’m not about to let you two go in there, unprotected. Hang on. I’m calling for backup.”
Less than five minutes later, two officers approached us, only it looked as though they had walked all the way here.
“My patrol car is parked just around the corner,” Officer Jones offered, as if he could tell what Jillian and I were thinking. “Detective Samuelson suggested we should keep our cars out of sight, in case someone decides to do something drastic.”
“I’m going in with them,” Vance reported, as he pointed toward Pomme Acres. “You two are to watch this thing. Don’t let anyone get in it. If someone tries, then I want you to detain them. Got it?”
“Keep them here,” Officer Jones said, nodding. “Got it.”
“If you need us,” the second officer called, as he headed out, “don’t be shy.”
“Count on it, Officer Stidwell,” Vance returned, and then looked at the two of us. “Shall we go see about ruining someone’s day?”
“Why, I thought you’d never ask,” Jillian exclaimed, as she slipped her arm through mine. Clutching Watson’s leash tightly in her hand, she eyed me to make sure Sherlock and I were ready. “After you, Detective.”
Vance grinned and nodded. As we approached the entrance, the twin glass sliding doors whooshed open. First and foremost, I detected a strong antiseptic smell, which immediately reminded me of stepping inside a hospital. Just past the entrance doors was a receptionist station, complete with a large, plexiglass window that stretched from the counter all the way up to the ceiling. In the center of the counter was a six-inch wide by four-inch tall opening in the thick glass. I honestly didn’t remember seeing this before, and had to wonder if I had just missed it the last time I was here.
“Mr. Anderson!” the receptionist exclaimed, as she finally looked up from her computer screen. “It’s so good of you to stop by ag
ain! By any chance, did you bring your two adorable dogs? Sherlock and Watson? Are they here?”
A piercing bark made us all jump. The receptionist rose to her feet and practically smooshed her face against the protective glass of her booth in order to see over the counter and inspect the floor. Before she could say anything, I nodded and gave her a sheepish grin.
“That pretty much answers that, doesn’t it?”
“Aren’t they adorable?”
I nodded. “They are, and they know it. That’s the problem.”
“Oh, you hush,” the receptionist scolded, but did end up giving me a smile. “What can Pomme Acres do for you today, Mr. Anderson?”
I pulled out my phone and brought up the picture I had taken of Wig Lady, from when she had frizzy white hair. “Have you seen her recently? Don’t pay any attention to the hair. We’re guessing it was a different color when she came in.”
“Oh, yes,” the receptionist confirmed. “I do remember her. And her hair was most definitely a different color.”
“That’s her,” Vance said, grinning. “Which way did she go?”
“Did she give a name?” Jillian asked.
Vance and I turned to regard the third member of our group.
“What? I’m assuming I get to ask a question or two.”
Vance nodded, and promptly took a step back. Jamming my hands in my pockets, I did the same.
“Ms. Cooper! I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t see you there. Are you inquiring about the woman who came in about ten minutes ago?”
“Ten minutes ago?” I whispered to Vance.
Jillian patted my shoulder and gently pushed me to the side so that she could see the receptionist. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Brannan. By any chance, could you tell me if the driver of the blue Prius out there is the same woman you were just talking about?”
The receptionist’s tight gray curls bobbed as she nodded. “My window overlooks the parking lot. I thought it was strange that a hybrid vehicle would come tearing around the corner like that. You’d think that she had just committed a robbery or something.”
Case of the Shady Shamrock Page 17
