Case of the Chatty Roadrunner Read online

  Case of the

  Chatty Roadrunner

  By

  J.M. Poole

  www.AuthorJMPoole.com

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  Copyright 2019 © J.M. Poole This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations, is purely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  1st Digital Edition: December, 2017

  TRUE HAPPINESS IS BEING GREETED BY A CORGI!

  For a complete list of titles available by Jeffrey M. Poole, including the best-selling fantasy series Bakkian Chronicles and Tales of Lentari, and the cozy mystery series Corgi Case Files, please click here!

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  Case of the

  Chatty Roadrunner

  By

  J.M. Poole

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Acknowledgments

  The long awaited resolution to the death of Zachary’s wife is finally here! After long last, we finally learn just what did happen to Zachary’s late wife, Samantha. Was it merely an accident, as everyone had originally thought, or was foul play involved?

  This story is the result of the overwhelming support of the fans and their desire to see further adventures of Zack and the dogs. This marks the 6th story in the series, and you’ll be pleased to know, there are more on the way. So, without further ado, I’d like to thank some people for their help in creating this book.

  The cover was again illustrated by a talented artist from Brazil by the name of Felipe de Barros. He’s done 5 of the 6 titles thus far, and I hope to use him for all future volumes in the Corgi Case Files series.

  I’d like to thank the members of my Posse for helping polish up the book. You know who you guys are, but most specifically, Jason, Carol, Elizabeth, and Diane. You guys and gals do an admirable job in preventing me from looking like a horse’s ass. :)

  As always, I am forever grateful to my loving wife, Giliane, who continues to prove to me that she’s the hardest worker I have ever known. And for my little Keeley… I’ll never forget you, pup. Until we meet again.

  J.

  For Keeley –

  If not for you, pup, this series would never have started. You left us much too soon and left me with a sizeable whole in my heart. Be at peace, sweet girl. Run free until we meet again!.

  ONE

  “This has got to be the most messed up, idiotic, poorly planned airport I have ever had the misfortune of seeing in my entire life. I mean, how the hell do we get out of here? Did you see any signs that said ‘exit’? I didn’t. There’s a sign that says 44th St. There’s one that says Buckeye. What the hell is a buckeye, anyway? I’m telling you, man, it’s enough to drive anyone insane.”

  “Well, you just passed an exit, pal. And… there goes another one. Tell me again why you didn’t want me to drive?”

  “Everyone knows you have a lousy sense of direction, Zack. There’s no way I’m letting you behind the wheel.”

  “Even though this is my hometown? Seriously?”

  “Vance?” a female voice hesitantly asked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like Zachary to drive?”

  “I’m a police officer,” Vance crossly reminded us. “It’s impossible for me to get lost.”

  “Tell that to the corn maze from last year,” I reminded my friend. “You were just as lost then as you are now.”

  “Am not.”

  “Stay in the far left lane,” I instructed. We had just passed Terminal 3, after looping around for the third time, and were approaching another exit. “The next time you see a sign for 44th Street, take it. We can take that all the way up to Camelback.”

  All right. Let’s catch you up. Vance, Jillian, and I, along with Sherlock and Watson, had just arrived in Arizona, with the intent to look into my late wife’s death. Now, as a former resident of Phoenix, I’ll admit the act of leaving the Phoenix International Airport with your sanity intact can be tricky for those not familiar with its layout. I had no idea my friend Vance, police detective extraordinaire, would get so turned around that we’d end up circling the airport like vultures over road kill. I glanced back at the dogs. Neither were willing to look at me. Hell, I couldn’t blame them.

  Let me explain.

  After the flight had landed, while Vance arranged ground transportation, I had moseyed over to the Customer Service desk to pick up the dogs, who unfortunately, had to ride in the cargo hold. I knew both wanted out of the crate, but I wasn’t about to let them out in the airport, so they were going to have to suffer in silence for a bit longer. Since both were in the same large crate, gazing at me with what had to be the worst case of corgi stink eye I had ever seen, I had to either carry the crate or come up with another option. Thankfully, it presented itself in the form of those rentable airport trolleys. The dogs were still angry with me, but now that they could see us, both appeared to be settling down.

  I really couldn’t blame them. I had tried everything I could think of, short of bribery, to get the airline to allow the dogs in the cabin with me. Apparently, their rule was if the dog and the crate could both fit under the seat in front of you, then they’d allow it. For an additional fee, of course. Plus, they’d only allow a certain number of dogs in the main cabin, so you had to hope they’d have an opening or two.

  Well, in this case, the corgis were just too big. So, after both airline employees assured me that the cargo cabin was temperature controlled, and quite safe, and even produced pictures to back up their claims, I relented and agreed to put the dogs in the cargo hold. It was either that or else we were going to have to drive, and take it from someone who has made that particular drive before, I wasn’t looking for a repeat performance.

  Once we were in Vance’s rental car, which turned out to be a mini-van, much to my amusement, we were off. Only, we didn’t make it far. Navigating your way through unfamiliar territory can be frustrating, I’ll admit, and the Phoenix International Airport could hopelessly confuse even the most directionally-inclined locals. Out-of-towners didn’t have a chance.

  Finally, with my help, we were putting some distance between us and the airport. We were heading north, on 44th Street, when Jillian pulled out the brochure she had printed online about the hotel she and I had booked. It was a place called The Phoenician. Even though I used to live in the city, and I had heard of the hotel before, I had never once stayed there. Why? ‘Cause the sucker was a luxury resort and the price tag had been way too high for my liking. However, either I had to pony up the money for my share or else Jillian told me she’d just take care of the bill herself. Well, as you can imagine, no, that wasn’t gonna happen.

  Dammit.

  Anyway, the reason we’re here is that two months ago, I received a phone call from a woman I didn’t know, who claimed my late wife, Samantha, hadn
’t died in an accident like I had originally thought. Instead, this mystery lady claimed it was premeditated and had been trying to get a message to me for some time about it.

  For those of you who may not be familiar with my late night phone calls, let me explain. Practically every night, at 3:30am in the friggin’ morning, my phone would ring. There was never any caller ID, nor was there anyone on the line. However, that came to a screeching halt after I was told Samantha’s death wasn’t an accident.

  Since my late night phone calls had come to an abrupt stop, I knew I had to look into the matter. Therefore, I hired a local private investigator in Phoenix, one by the name of Alex Stokes, to do some digging. Well, he apparently had found something that corroborated my mystery woman’s claims, because he requested I should return to Phoenix and go over whatever he had found.

  My new girlfriend, Jillian Cooper, also from Pomme Valley and owner of Cookbook Nook, as well as good friend Vance Samuelson, Pomme Valley’s finest police detective, and my two dogs, Sherlock and Watson, all came with me to Arizona to sort this mess out. I didn’t know what we were going to find, but let me tell you, I was damn glad I had their support. You see, I wasn’t too sure how I was going to handle this. Why? For the simple reason I hadn’t stepped foot back in Arizona since I had moved away, which was almost immediately after Samantha’s death.

  So, with my friends and my dogs in tow, I was back in my old hometown to discover once and for all what had happened to my beloved Samantha. If she really was murdered, then you had better believe I wanted to see whoever was responsible to be put behind bars. For life.

  “This place looks really nice!” Jillian observed, as we pulled into the resort’s main drive.

  “I’ll say,” as I gazed admiringly at the freshly cut lawn and the meticulously landscaped grounds. “At least the dogs aren’t barking. I don’t know what was bugging them earlier, but Sherlock just wouldn’t stop woofing. What was it, every ten minutes or so? Anyway, just look at this place. I’ve always wanted to stay here, but I never got around to it. Something about trying to justify forking over that much money when I lived less than 30 minutes away. Anyway, I don’t know about this. Are you sure they take pets? I don’t ever remember the Phoenician stating they allowed dogs before.”

  “Well, they do,” Jillian confirmed. “Their website clearly states that there are a limited number of pet friendly rooms, and they’ll accommodate up to two dogs at no more than 40lbs each.”

  I turned in my seat to regard Sherlock and Watson, who were resting on the floor of the van. Sherlock looked up at me just as I spun in my seat. Thankfully, neither corgi was overweight, which was a common problem for the smallest member of the herding group. Corgis always acted like they were starving, so overfeeding happened a lot. Not to my dogs, though. My two corgis were sleek, energetic, and fit as a fiddle. They were both intelligent, inquisitive, and sharp as tacks. Anyone familiar with my dogs knows full well they are more than likely smarter than I am. Sherlock, for example, has solved more homicide cases than most of the detectives on the Pomme Valley police force. Sadly, that included Vance, but that’s a sore subject and one I don’t typically bring up.

  As we pulled in to the front entrance, a uniformed member of the hotel staff, complete with white gloves, opened the door for us. As we unloaded our stuff, I couldn’t help but notice both dogs had zeroed in on the staff member and were watching the young man like a hawk. Was there a reason?

  The uniformed employee finally caught sight of the dogs, smiled broadly, and squatted. He reached behind his back and, when he was sure both dogs were watching, produced two doggie biscuits. Both corgis sat, on cue.

  “Aren’t you two some of the cutest dogs I have ever seen?” the teenager gushed. “Here you go.”

  “You just made two friends for life,” I observed, with a chuckle.

  “What are their names?” the employee asked.

  I pointed at the dog closest to him, “That one is Sherlock, with the red, white, and black on him. On your left is Watson.”

  “Sherlock and Watson? That’s clever!”

  We were led into the resort’s posh lobby, where polished marble gleamed in all four corners of the room. I saw statues reclining in various poses scattered around the room. Colorful paintings depicting various countrysides, resplendent in their golden frames, were on every wall. Every wall that didn’t have a window, that is, because directly behind the check-in counter was a wall of nothing but windows overlooking the Salt River Valley.

  And the view! Wow. I’ve lived in Arizona for many years, but I have never tired of seeing the beauty in the desert. Yeah, I know that sounds weird, but until you’ve visited the desert and were able to see for yourself what I’m talking about, then you shouldn’t brand me crazy. Well, not yet, anyway.

  There’s something about being able to look out at the rugged beauty of the desert, with no signs of civilization anywhere, in conditions that should make quality of life an absolute nightmare. However, I don’t think I’ve ever seen more wildlife than I have in Arizona. Rabbits, quail, coyotes, lizards, and even lynx are some of the critters you may encounter. But, for every silver lining, you’ll always find a dark side, and as for the nasty critters, Arizona has some of the worst. Rattlesnakes, scorpions, tarantulas, and sun spiders, to name a few.

  Eww. Sun spiders. Don’t get me started on those mean, aggressive little SoBs. Imagine a tail-less scorpion with an attitude. They loved getting out of the sun, and once they set their sights on getting into your house, you had better be prepared with a can of Raid. And a lighter.

  Anyway, once I realized I was bringing the dogs with me to Arizona, I vowed never to let them out of my sight. It just wasn’t worth the risk. So, either they stay in the room, or in this case, casita, or they accompany me, and since I was trying to solve a mystery, you’d better believe I planned on having them by my side at all times.

  Once we were checked into our casitas, and Jillian had persuaded me to unpack my luggage into the available dressers, we were ready to meet my private investigator.

  Alex Stokes was a life-long resident of the Sunshine State. He had claimed that he had solved hundreds of cases, ranging from traffic infractions, to settling domestic disputes, to even locating missing family members, whether they wanted to be found or not. His website stipulated that, if he couldn’t produce desired results, then his fee would drop to a paltry 10% of the final bill. In my mind’s eye, that was definitely worth a shot.

  While Jillian and I were chatting about Lentari Cellars, and the latest award Caden had managed to win on my behalf, there was a knock on the door. I opened it and ushered in a man in his early thirties. He had brown hair, was about six inches shorter than I was, and seemed to be in reasonable shape. He wore non-descript clothing, which consisted of a simple gray polo and a pair of blue jeans. He carried a worn leather briefcase, which had several scratches and scuff marks on it, suggesting he might have used it to clock someone over the head a few times.

  As I studied the P.I., it dawned on me how perfect Alex Stokes looked. By that, I mean, here was someone who could easily blend in without being noticed. There was nothing remarkable in his appearance which would stand out, therefore, he was perfect for this type of work.

  “Mr. Anderson,” Alex said, by way of greeting. He shook my hand.

  “This is my girlfriend, Jillian Cooper,” I said, giving Jillian’s hand a light squeeze, “and over there is Vance Samuelson. He’s my detective friend I told you about.”

  Alex nodded appreciatively, “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “Call me Zack.”

  “Very well, Zack. As you know, I have uncovered some developments that I thought you should know about.”

  “What kind of developments?” Vance asked, as he reached for his notebook.

  “How much do you know?” Alex asked, as he turned to face Vance. “Has Mr. Anderson, er, Zack, told you the circumstances of his wife’s death?”


  Vance nodded, “Yes. I know she was in her vehicle, and for some reason, it veered into oncoming traffic, where it struck a semi-truck head on. Death was instantaneous.”

  “What have you discovered?” I asked.

  Jillian took my hand in hers, patted it a few times, and then looked over at Vance.

  “What do you say we have lunch first?” she suggested. “I know Zachary hasn’t eaten anything since first thing this morning. I think it would be better.”

  Vance laid a friendly hand on my shoulder and then looked at the P.I. for confirmation. When Alex indicated he didn’t have any problem with going to lunch first, we all headed for the door. However, we were brought up short when two corgis materialized out of nowhere and blocked access to the casita’s front door.

  “Awwwwoooo!” Sherlock howled. Then the corgi looked pointedly at Alex. I couldn’t help but grin.

  “Sorry, Alex. This is Sherlock and Watson, both of whom do not like to be left out of the introductions. Sherlock? Watson? This is Alex Stokes. He’s the investigator looking into Samantha’s death.”

  Since neither dog had on a leash, both corgis were able to approach the P.I., where they sat at his feet and looked up at him. Alex saw that he was being watched, smiled warmly at the dogs, and held out a hand. Sherlock didn’t waste any time giving the hand a lick. Neither did Watson, for that matter.