Chapter I: Gone Country

As dawn woke the silent and windy city into a fervor, the kitchen of Ranger HQ was filled with creatures, all seeking the percolator with much fervor. Gadget was sitting at the counter, listening with rapt attention, her customary cup of black sludge miraculously forgotten. Robert regaled the group with the history of his problem, and the problem of the entire racing circuit.

"Some weeks back, when th' pre-season trials started, people started havin' these weird…accidents. Motors'd blow, exhausts'd clog mysteriously, all routine stuff…exceptin' of course, that all of these started happenin' too close together, if ya take my meanin'."

"I think so," Gadget said. "Oh, excuse me a minute."

She left the room, and came back in toting Mariel in one arm, soothing the irritable infant, who had taken a crying spell again. Robert brightened visibly.

"Say now, ya'll never said ya had no youngster! Cute little thang, ain't she?"

"Takes after 'er mothah," Monty said with pride.

"Thanks," Chip replied, looking a bit sour.

Gadget merely grinned at this exchange, knowing that Chip wasn't really angry. He was just grumpy, trying to get the case rolling in his brain.

"So who has a motive to be doing this?" she asked casually.

"Well, more'n a few. We got Farnsworth Douglas, th' packrat that drives the number twenty-seven car. His daddy was the big winner in the old days, always comin' in just in th' nick of time to win. Unfortunately, ol' Farny ain't been that lucky. His team ain't had a solid win in three seasons."

"Golly, that could be a reason, I'd say."

"Then, there's Jeremiah Jackson, the gerbil driver from Knoxville. He's been a friend of nobody's since a crash earlier in the trials stranded him. He's just been hangin' around, bemoanin' his troubles to anybody and ever'body who'd listen."

"Sounds like a promising start to the suspects list," Chip mused. "What we need is an in, a way to blend into the crowd."
Gadget looked thoughtful, and a smile began to grow on her face.

"I have an idea," she said. "And golly, is it a doozy!"

"Well, spill it, lass," Monty edged, eager to find some action.

"We take the Rangerbolt, disguise it as a race entry, and put it into the race for Billy's team! Everybody will think it's Team Moss's new entry, and we can have free access to the premises!"

"Gadget, that has to be the most…brilliant and yet indescribably dangerous scheme you've ever come up with," Tammy chuckled.

"Well, we do seem to be good at going incognito, so I figured that we could pull it off."
"Ain't but one problem, missy," Robert said. "They ain't nobody from north of th' Mason-Dixon line ever entered these races. An' not to be offensive or nothin', but you ain't exactly gonna pass as a pony-tailed, grits-eatin' southern girl yourself."

Gadget merely grinned, and sat back in her chair nonchalantly.

"What, y'mean ya'll can't believe that I wasn't originally a belle o' Charleston?"

Chip looked at his wife in shock, not recognizing the syrupy voice that had just poured from her mouth. She shrugged.

"Dad and I spent a summer living in Georgia when I was a teenager. I kinda picked up the accent."

"An' how!" Robert laughed. "I coulda swore that was Atlanta drippin' off this girl's tongue! You might just pull it off, after all. But you'uns will have ta let Miss Gadget here do all th' talkin'."

"She usually does anyway," Tammy mumbled. She looked up innocently at Gadget's reproving expression.

"What?"
"Look at the ears, young lady. They're not there for nothing."

"So that's why they're so big," Tammy jibed back good-naturedly.

"Ladies, ladies," Sparky intervened. "Now is neither the time nor the place."

"Oh please, Spark," Gadget laughed, "it's all in good fun. Now come on, I need some help getting some parts before we start laying out trip plans. The Rangerbolt is fast, but if it's going to be competition-worthy, it needs that new high-performance carburetor I've been meaning to build."

"I think its high time I saw this here Rangerbolt I been hearin' so much about," Robert said with interest.

"Sure thing!" Gadget smiled, eager to show off one of her creations. "Come on down to the garage. Oh, and Monty, make sure that percolator keeps going, it's going to be a long day."

"Wheeee-doggies!" Rob exclaimed upon seeing the Rangers' high-speed transport. "A '69 Charger! Where in thunderation did ya'll come up with this!"

"Model kit, with a few obvious…adjustments," Gadget said with pride, popping the hood. Underneath the sheet metal lay her pride and joy. A miniature high performance V-8, built by hand. It would have measured in at 440 cubic inches in human scale. Gadget tossed the opossum mechanic the keys.

"Start it up!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Rob slid into the driver's seat, and turned the ignition. With a throaty rumble, the big engine stirred to life, filling the garage with it's loud voice.

"Mmmmm-hmm!" Rob said. "Now that there's a fine piece o' work."

"Thanks. Think it's got a chance of being a winner?"
"If'n she runs as good as she sounds, then I don't see why in th' world not!"

Gadget, in the manner of the racing drivers she had seen, lifted her feet and slid through the passenger window, settling comfortably and buckling herself in.

"It needs a good shakedown anyway. Let's go for a ride."
"Honest? You mean it?"
"Sure! What inventor wouldn't relish the opportunity for a real crew chief to critique her work?"

A smile plastered on his face that only a 'possum can affect, Rob slammed his door shut and gunned the engine. Grasping the Hearst-style shifter, he brought the transmission down through it's gears, and as the tree's automatic garage door slid open, he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The rear tires screamed against the polished wooden floor, and the car shot out into the open like a bullet. Passers-by in the park would only think that someone was playing with a remote-control toy, unless they took time to look a little closer, upon which they would see a deliriously happy 'possum driving, with an equally thrilled mouse passenger.

"She handles like nothin' I ever seen!" Rob yelled through the wind that whistled past the open windows.

"Doesn't she though!" Gadget laughed. She looked ahead, and her elation abruptly left her.

"Slow down, Rob! There's a fallen branch up ahead!"

"No time!" he called, and pressed the gas harder.

"What are you doing!"
"Somethin' I saw Billy do once. Hope it works!"

The big motor revved at a fevered pace, and seconds later, the front wheels struck the downed tree limb. At the intense rate of speed, the car lifted into the air, flying over the obstacle like it had been thrown. The Rangerbolt seemed suspended in midair for a moment, before the wheels again met the ground, the impact knocking Gadget's teeth together painfully. Running her tongue around her mouth, she thankfully found no breaks.

"Are you all right?" she asked Rob, worriedly.

"Yeah…I'm fine, just a little shook up."
"Good," she replied, and then began flailing at him with a rolled up blueprint. "If you ever do a harebrained thing like that again, so help me I'll toss you off the hangar branch!"

"Okay, okay! Gee whillikers, woman, calm down!"

Depositing the blueprint back where she had found it, Gadget thanked Providence for the fact that she'd installed harness seat belts. She managed a small grin.

"Well, if it can take that, then I'm sure it's up to a Tennessee rally!"

As she said the words, something groaned underneath the car, and the steering went limp in Robert's hands.
"Hang on!" he said, trying to maintain control. They skidded sideways, sliding on the park's bed of fallen leaves, and finally collided side-first with a nearby tree.

"That went well," the opossum said, dizzily. "You all right, Miss Gadget?"

"Ask me when my eyes uncross," she managed to get out. They climbed out through the driver's side door, and Gadget began to survey the damage. The passenger side of the car was a wreck, the die-cast sheet metal crumpled and banged thoroughly. The roll bars inside had saved the occupants from any real injury, but the body would need some major repair. Reaching inside, Gadget flipped on the radio that hung beneath the dash.

"Rangerbolt to HQ, come in."

'Wot's the trouble, luv?' Monty's voice replied.

"Well, um…we need a tow."

'Oh croikey, wot'd you do?"

"We kinda hit a tree."

'Oi'll send th' boys out with th' Rangermobile. Sit tight.'

Back at the garage, the damage to the Rangers' main set of wheels was evident. Rob was visibly upset, wringing his hat in his hands.
"I'll never live this'un down, ya'll. I'm sorry fer wreckin' it, believe me I am."

"Don't worry, Rob," Gadget consoled. "If it hadn't been for your quick thinking, we might have been flattened against that fallen log, anyway. This is nothing I can't fix. Besides, I needed to make a few adjustments and disguise it, anyway!"

"Umm…disguise it?" Chip asked. "Just what are you intending to do, Gadget?"

"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see. Better plan to have dinner without me tonight, this is going to be a long job."

"Kinda like every night lately," he muttered. Gadget's keen ears caught the edge of the remark.
"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, walking up the stairs toward the living room. Gadget cast a worried glance around to the rest of the group, then set her jaw in determination.

"I'll be right back. I've got something to straighten out."

Upstairs, Chip was sitting on the couch, his eyes fastened on the evening news, fedora tipped back in customary fashion. He didn't move when the door slammed loudly. He didn't seem to notice, although he did, when Gadget came to stand beside him, arms crossed.

"All right, spill it."

"Excuse me?" he asked innocently, finally looking up at her.

"Don't feed me a line, Chip. What's bothering you?"

"Oh I'm not bothered, just because I haven't seen my wife across the dinner table in what seems like weeks, the only time we really get to spend together is changing diapers, and now her attention seems to be monopolized by a southern boy with a taste for motor oil!"

Her eyes widened with every point he named off, and she stiffened slightly at the last one.

"I don't believe it. You're jealous."

He didn't reply.
"You are actually honest-to-goodness jealous. And what is this about spending time? You know we've had wall to wall cases the past couple of months. And raising Mariel is our responsibility!"
Chip maintained his stony silence for a minute longer, and then deflated slightly. He reached for Gadget's hand, and pulled her down next to him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. That wasn't fair. None of it was."

She slipped her arm around his neck.

"Some of it was. Maybe I've been spending too many nights in the workshop lately. And maybe I have paid a little too much attention to Rob. But its just because he's a kindred spirit. You're my husband, Chip. Nothing's going to change that."

"I know. Guess I just gave in to insecurity there for a bit."

She reached up and ruffled the fur at his neck fondly, in the way she knew he liked.

"Well, I think when this case is over, the Rangers are going to have some vacation time. We'll already be in a beautiful locale. We can wrap up the case, and then go find a campsite."

"Sounds like a winner to me. Sorry about the way I acted."
"It's okay. We've both been overworked. Let's just try and do our job a little longer."

That evening, the Rangers entertained their guest with stories of cases past, and stories of more than a few blunders on cases past. All except Gadget, that is. She was hard at work on the Rangerbolt's facelift. The banging and hammering of metal against metal could be heard all over the tree as she pulled dents from the body and reshaped the fenders into their original conformity. It took her till midnight to right the damage caused by the crash earlier that day. Tired, but satisfied, she sat back on her heels, looking at the vehicle that would now become her canvas.

"We need a convincing disguise," she said, thinking aloud. "Something regional, something with heritage, something…something…"

Suddenly, she noticed an old poster hanging on the garage wall, which showcased another 1969 Charger. A wide grin painted itself on her face.

"Something like that!"

Reaching for her hand-built paint gun, she strapped a mask onto her face, and pulled her goggles down, setting to work.

As the hours passed, the Rangerbolt changed, from it's customary glossy black, to a bright, vibrant orange. On each door, the number '01' was now proudly painted. Across the roof, the red, white and blue colors of the old southern Confederacy splashed brightly into being. In the wee hours of the morning, when she had finished, Gadget stood back, and admired her work.

"The only thing missing is an air horn that plays 'Dixie'," she laughed. "But that might be a touch over the top."

Putting away her tools, she trudged upstairs and collapsed onto the couch, asleep almost before she hit the cushions.

"Where's Gadget?" Monterey asked at breakfast. "It's not like th' little sheila ta miss the coffee."
"She's passed out on the couch, sleepin' like a rock," Dale said, walking in with the morning paper. "She musta pulled some all nighter, fixing up the Rangerbolt."

"Let her sleep," Chip replied. "She's earned it. We'll start getting ready to leave this evening. Everybody else needs to rest as much as possible, too. We're going to travel by night, so we can look like a surprise entry at the rally. Gadget and Tammy will take the Rangerbolt, and everyone else will follow with the planes. And remember, stick to the characters you've picked, unless we're all together! We can't afford to blow our cover."

"I'm more worried about the car blowin', than the cover," Rob said worriedly. The words hung ominously in the kitchen, but the Rangers paid them no heed, preparing for the departure, and their impending investigation.