My Dad, the Private Eye: Keep on Truckin'

CHAPTER 8

In full disguise, Dad parked right across from the entrance to the long driveway leading into Riverside Winery. He hid his car behind some bushes on the shoulder of the country highway, and from behind those bushes, he spied on the cars and trucks driving in and out of the winery.

Dad spoke to me on his phone as he pulled out some compact binoculars and focused in on the winery. "According to the lady in the Cortland Trucking warehouse, Gator's scheduled to do a haul from here down to Windsor right around now."

"The lady at Cortland Trucking?" I asked. "I thought you weren't working for them anymore."

"Well, I guess Mr. Borneman didn't tell her I was off the case 'cause she gave me Gator's whole schedule," Dad said with a grin.

Yep, I was proud of my dad, once again thinking like a real private eye!

"He's coming!" Dad said, spotting Gator's tanker truck lumbering slowly up the driveway, headed for the highway. "Listen, honey, I've got to go now. I've just hope he doesn't make me. 'Make' means recognize," he explained, fiddling with his fake beard and mustache.

"I know, Dad," I said. "I watch cop shows too. But... there's something I've got to tell you." That's when I started to kick really hard.

Dad heard banging coming from the trunk of his car. He looked at it, totally confused. "What the heck?"

"I need help out of the trunk!" I said, still kicking the trunk lid hard. That's right, I'd hitched a ride in Dad's trunk without telling him!

With a nervous glance at Gator's tanker coming up the driveway, Dad rushed to open the trunk and let me out. "Krista, are you nuts?!"

I jumped out and stretched my aching muscles. It was cramped in there!

Dad shook his head. "You've been in that trunk all the way from Toronto?"

"If I'd asked, you would've said no," I explained. "Come on, Dad, it'll be fun!"

"It'll be dangerous! I don't know what to expect from this guy."

"You think he's gonna try anything with your little girl around?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. See, I'd thought this through. I'd even dressed in a raggy clothes disguise of my own.

Dad noticed Gator's truck just about to turn onto the highway. "Jeez! He's here. Okay. You are nuts, you know that?" he said, closing the trunk of the car.

"I take after my dad," I cracked with a smile.

Getting into character, Dad stuck his thumb out to hitch a ride. I did the same, smiling wide. "How do you know he's gonna pick us up?" I asked.

"This guy's a talker," Dad said. "Something tells me he likes an audience."

Dad must've been right because Gator pulled his truck over just as soon as he turned onto the highway. We ran up to the cab of the truck, both Dad and me noticing stripper mudflaps on the cab's wheels, just like the ones Harley had had on his pickup. (This was Harley's old truck, after all.)

Dad mounted the steps to the passenger door and peered inside. "Thanks! How far you goin'?" Dad asked Gator in a really bad Newfie accent. (That's someone from Newfoundland. My mom grew up there, and her brothers still have Newfie accents. You can barely understand them.)

"Going to Windsor," Gator said.

"Perfect! We're headed there too," Dad said, and he opened the door and jumped into the passenger seat. I climbed in right behind him.

"Hi there!" I said, trying to do my own Newfie accent but probably sounding more like a cartoon dog.

"Hi, sweetie!" Gator said as I sat down on a fold-out seat behind the passenger seat. Right behind me was Gator's bed, and he hadn't made it. It was kind of a gross mess, but I tried to hide my reaction.