My Dad, the Private Eye: Keep on Truckin'

CHAPTER 13

Dad stood in Mr. Borneman's office, desperately trying to wrap his head around Det. Perotta's bombshell report that Harley Beaudry died of motor oil inhalation instead of drowning in red wine. He could feel everybody's eyeballs bearing down on him, and he was starting to panic.

And that's when I realized something. "Dad?"

"Not now, honey, I'm trying to think," Dad said as he massaged his forehead.

"But Dad, remember what that Gator guy said about tankers? Motor oil one way, wine the other way?"

Dad slowly looked up, his eyes gradually lighting up with realization. "That's what that tar gunk was I found in the tank – congealed motor oil!"

"I don't understand..." said Mr. Stalletti.

But Mr. Borneman had had enough. He stood up and motioned to Det. Perotta. "Detective, I'm afraid Mr. Winnette here has accumulated a wealth of evidence to implicate Mr. Stalletti in a horrible cover-up."

Dad turned boldly to face Mr. Borneman. "No! It wasn't Mr. Stalletti. It was YOU!"

"Mr. Winnette..." Mr. Borneman fumed.

But Dad continued. "Harley wasn't cleaning out milk or cooking oil from his tank before it was to be filled with wine, he was cleaning out motor oil!"

"WHAT?" said Mr. Stalletti, aghast.

"He asphyxiated from the fumes of the motor oil. Then Gator filled up the tank with wine, not realizing Harley was in there. I guess he had enough life left in him to breathe in a lungful of wine and die." Dad leaned close to Mr. Stalletti. "Sorry, Mr., uh, winery guy. It was Mr. Borneman who must've hired Gator to dump the body. And he didn't tell you about it 'cause he didn't want to lose your business – or get arrested for violating the Safe Food for Canadians Regulations by shipping motor oil and food products in the same tank!"

"You go, Dad!" I cheered.

Mr. Stalletti stared daggers at Mr. Borneman. "You risked contaminating my wine with motor oil?!"

It was Dad who answered. "Yeah, and all just so he'd never have to put one of his trucks on the road with an empty tanker trailer. Whether it's motor oil or salad oil, if one of his trucks is there, he'll ship it, no matter what was in it before." Dad turned to Det. Perotta. "You could probably check the driving logs in Harley's old truck for proof."

Just then, Gator burst into the room! And the last person he expected to see was Dad. "What the heck?!" he exclaimed, shocked beyond belief. Turning to Mr. Borneman, he said, "Sorry, Mr. Borneman, I'll get him outta here." Gator tried to grab Dad by the arm. "Time to leave, Mr. P.I."

Borneman shot Gator a steely look. "Gator, shut up." Then, faking calm, he continued. "Uh, Luther, you should know that this gentleman here is a detective with the Toronto Police Service," he said, gesturing to Det. Perotta.

Gator looked at Det. Perotta and froze. "You're a cop?"

Det. Perotta nodded. "Last time I checked."

Dad turned to Gator and smiled. "Gonna break his wrist?"

Gator chuckled nervously, let Dad's arm go and started to back out of the room. "I'll just be leaving now..."

"No, why don't you stay a while?" Det. Perotta said, stepping in Gator's way.

"Yeah, stay," Dad interjected. "Maybe you can explain to Detective Perotta why you locked me in your tank last night!"

Det. Perotta turned to Dad. "He what?"

Gator started to panic. "It wasn't my idea! I just did what I was told!"

"GATOR!" Mr. Borneman snapped.

"Sorry, Mr. Borneman! I'm on probation!" Gator explained. "I gotta stay clean!"

"You idiot!" Borneman shouted.

"Just what is this man talking about, Mr. Borneman?" Det. Perotta asked.

Mr. Borneman rubbed his face in extreme frustration. He turned to Dad and growled, "You know, I paid you off two days ago! What the heck were you doing in Windsor anyhow?"

"Solving the crime you hired me to solve," answered Dad. "Don't worry, my trip to Windsor was pro bono." Then Dad leaned close to Mr. Stalletti and added, "Unless Riverside Winery wants to give me a bonus this time...?"

"A big bonus!" I chimed in.

Mr. Borneman shook his head at Dad. "I hired you 'cause you were a screw-up, don't you know that?!"

Dad was floored. "I... uh... you did?"

"Your job was to take the money and run, and you couldn't even do that right!" Borneman hissed.

"Well... good thing I didn't!" Dad said with mixed emotions.

"I couldn't believe it when you tracked down Harley's body, but I guess that wasn't hard, thanks to numb-nuts here not knowing how to sink a corpse." Mr. Borneman motioned to Gator then let his head fall in despair.

Gator hung his head too, in his case because of shame.

"But you could've left it there," Borneman continued to Dad. "Instead, you had to play the hero. You know, you're the worst private eye I ever met!"

Dad just stood there, silent, taking it pretty hard. But then Det. Perotta said, "I don't know. I think Mr. Winnette did a pretty good job..."

Dad beamed, sharing his smile with me.

"...surprisingly," Perotta added.

Dad's smile faded a bit.

The detective pulled out a pair of handcuffs and stepped up to Mr. Borneman. "Put your hands behind your back, sir."

Still furious, Borneman reluctantly turned around, and Perotta cuffed him. He called to his secretary in the other room, "Kathleen! Call my lawyer!"

As Det. Perotta led Mr. Borneman out of the room, they passed by an astonished Stalletti, a smiling me and Dad, and a nervous Gator. "Don't go anywhere, Mr. Probation," Perotta said to Gator. "I got a uniform coming up for you."

"Aw, damn!" Gator whined. Then he turned to Mr. Borneman and asked, "Does this mean I gotta give my 'Cuda back?"