It was a few hours later. Monk had finally given up on telling Sharona to slow down, so they were on good terms again.
"I can't believe how nice the country is here," Sharona remarked, as they sped away on the two lane highway.
"Looks too animated to me," said Monk.
The green foliage was unbelievably green, and the sunlight was unbelievably cheery. At least they looked somewhat realistic, and the shadows and clouds could of belonged to San Francisco, but Monk had this odd feeling that the Volvo stood out from most of the cars on the road, mainly generic models from the mid nineteen-thirties to the early twenty-naughts.
"Do you have the feeling this car doesn't fit into the landscape?"
"What? Is it supposed to."
Monk was quiet. He liked things to be even, and things seemed decidedly uneven.
"Trudy would like this," Monk thought.
He comforted himself as he remembered how Trudy liked drives down country highways, and bright days. She liked seeing healthy plants, lush vegetation. He decided to watch the scenery.
There was a large wooden sign up ahead.
"SCROOGE MCDUCK SAYS: GET A SQUARE PRICE FOR FUEL, BUY YOUR GAS AT MCDUCK OIL- ONLY TWO MILES AHEAD ON YOUR RIGHT."
Monk, had always been nervous about the prospect of running out of gasoline. (Much to the chagrin of Captain Stottlemeyer. When they were on patrol, he'd insist they fill up when the car was one quarter empty. Stottlemeyer was a three quarter empty kind of guy.) He leant over to check the fuel gage, for the first time in nearly a half hour.
"Sharona, you better pull over at that next gas station."
"Why? We still have over half a tank. And it's not too far to Duckburg."
"There's a black Buick following us," Monk observed. Dark tinted windows. License number 405 THB. He's been following us since we left Dr. Kroger's."
Sharona took a curious glance in her rear view mirror.
"How do you know he's following us?" said Sharona, interested to know Monk's methods. She knew Monk long enough to assume he was right.
"I remember the license plate. The chances of two cars going to Duckburg from the vicinity of Dr. Kroger's offices is, well, less than 1/10 of a percent. You've also passed 23 cars since we left San Francisco, yet the black sedan is still following us."
Sharona quickly pulled into McDuck Oil. The black sedan sped on.
"I can't believe it," quipped Sharona. "Your wrong."
"They'll be back, they probably just missed the turnoff.
The gas station attendant came out of the office. He was a lanky youth, with dog face, nose and ears, topped off with a Duckburg Mallards ball cap.
"Fill it up," said Sharona. "Unleaded."
"Will do."
"I'd like to ask you a question," said Monk, awkwardly.
"Ask away," the youth said, .
"Are you color blind?"
"ADRIAN!" Sharona blurted out, giving Monk the glare.
"I'm not color blind," said the youth, obviously confused. "What'd make you assume something like that?"
To prove his point, he identified the colors of everything in the car.
"I haven't been around here before," said Monk.
The gas station attendant shrugged his shoulders, proceeded to fill up the tank, and clean the windshields. Sharona handed him her Visa Card.
"We'd better get out of the car," Monk told her.
"Why?"
"Waiting around in a car when your being pursued isn't a good idea."
The black sedan had just drove in. To their surprise, they recognized the driver through the heavy tinting.
"Disher?" said Sharona, rolling her eyes.
Randy Disher drove up to the pumps, strolled out, asked the dog-faced youth to fill up his tank.
"Small world," Disher observed.
"You were following us," said Sharona. "And why in this Buick? I know what you drive, and my Volvo wagon beats your Pontiac Sunbird any day of the week."
"My new wheels," Disher explained.
"You don't own this car," observed Monk. "Look at the license plate. Three numbers, three letters. They haven't given out plates like these for the past ten years. All the new license plates have four letters, then three numbers. The person who owns this car, previously owned another, and just transferred the plates. It would have cost more to transfer the plates to you, than to transfer the plates from your old car.
Your windows are also tinted. You told me at the station Christmas Party, three years ago, that you'd never get your windows tinted. You wanted "the chicks," to see you driving down the "main drag."
"I didn't say it like that," Disher objected.
"There's also a stick of lipstick on your dashboard.
"Well, I had this date . . ."
"Must of been some date," observed Sharona, peering into the car. "It was bought at San Francisco Seniors Clearance."
"That, combined with the average age of the new Buick buyer, makes me 85 sure you borrowed this car, likely from a middle aged, or elderly female relative."
"I'll go further than that," grinned Sharona. "I bet it's his mother's car."
"Grandmothers, actually," said Disher quietly.
Even the gas station attendant laughed at that one.
"That still doesn't explain why your following us," observed Sharona.
"Scrooge McDuck, has personally asked me to accompany you on the case."
"What?" said Sharona, Monk, and the youth.
"Yes, he made a collect call to the station, and asked if you had left yet. He was so impressed with me, he offered me the chance to solve the case myself. Captain Stottlemeyer gave me time off, and here I am."
"Really?" said Sharona, rolling her eyes. "You probably begged Mr. McDuck to help you, and offered to work for free."
"And you couldn't find a map, so you trailed us," added Monk.
"Uh, . . . ." started Disher.
"Didn't," started Monk quietly, with Sharona and Disher stepping a few feet away from the curious gas station attendant, "you know that this case is supposed to be a secret."
"It is?"
Sharona rolled her eyes, and stepped a couple feet away from both Adrian and Disher.
"Yes, the attendant already knows," said Monk.
"You let it slip?"
"You did."
"Your secret's safe with me," said the youth, loudly.
He had been standing near them the whole time. He also had his ears perked up, listening in.
Monk and Disher were surprised.
"I've got really good hearing," he explained.
"And they were standing next to you," Sharona pointed out.
"But like I said, don't forget who I work for. I'm not telling anyone."
"Hey, can your answer a question?" Disher asked him.
"Sure, I know practically every road into Duckburg."
"Are you color blind?"
Sharona gave Disher the glare.
"NO!" said the youth, taking out his ball cap and scratching his head. Why do you people think I'm color blind?"
"No reason," said Disher, handing him the thirty dollars for his previously three-quarters empty tank.
Sharona and Monk got back into the Volvo. Sharona pulled out onto the highway.
"Only a couple more hours into Duckburg," she said, passing by a highway sign.
"If you go the speed limit, it'll only be two hours and forty five minutes."
"Have I ever got into an accident?" Sharona asked.
She rolled her eyes and sped on.