Michael was driving through the hills, smiling and bopping along to the music on the radio. And bopping on the steering wheel. Something that Kitt was slowly getting used to as typical behavior from his driver.
"You seem quite pleased with this assignment, Michael."
"More the location."
"I did notice the extra bag you placed in the trunk. And that both state parks offer several areas for rock climbing."
"Yup."
"I still do not understand your unhealthy interest in that unsafe pastime."
"Hey, now. Fresh air and exercise are healthy habits. So is a mental challenge."
"All of which you could get with both feet planted firmly on the ground."
"But nowhere near as much fun. Speaking of near, how much longer 'till we get to the Summers' place?"
"I estimate we will be there in 14.8 minutes."
"Time to buckle down and get to work, then."
"Do you have a plan? Allow me to clarify: Do you have a plan worked out in sufficient detail that you can share?" Michael chuckled in response. "I did not think so."
"Print me out the address – with the Brinleys' name – and directions from Denver."
"Whatever for? We know their names, and I know where we are going."
"It's part of the plan I'm working out in the next 14.8 minutes. Or whatever we have left."
Kitt did as asked, printing out a sheet for Michael that listed Jess and Danny Brinley and the address of the house where Kylie and Eddie Summers now lived. He included directions from Denver, though he and Michael had not come through Denver on their way here. Michael thanked Kitt as he folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
They rounded a corner, revealing a small house: two stories, wrap-around porch, garage. It was a pleasant looking home, though well off the beaten path with no neighbors in sight. And the town was a good eight miles away. As Michael pulled up in front, a woman came out. She didn't look particularly happy to have unexpected visitors.
Michael got out of the car. "Hello, I'm Michael Knight. You must be Jess Brinley. I represent a small consortium of mine operators, who like to discuss potential molybdenum mining on your property." He smiled winningly, though somewhat insincerely, thought Kitt.
"My name is Kylie Summers," she said, remaining on the porch.
Michael let his smile slip and pulled out the paper from his pocket. "I was told this was the home of Jess and Daniel Brinley."
"Jess was my sister. She and Danny died in a car accident . . . two years ago."
"Oh, I am really sorry for your loss." Michael was sincerely apologetic. "All I was given was name, address, and directions. I will let them know back at the office that the Brinleys are dead. And I'll give them your name. If that's all right with you."
Kylie Summers was mollified but still uneasy. And then a pickup truck pulled up in front of the garage. A man got out. Michael assumed it was Eddie Summers. He stalked over to Michael, getting between him and the porch stairs.
"Who are you?" Both his tone and his stance were aggressive.
"Michael Knight," said Kylie. "He said he's a rep for a mining consortium."
"Not interested."
"No worries. I was asked to drop by, so I did. Thanks for your time. And I'll make sure they update their records."
Michael got back into the car, backed up, then turned around and left. Eddie Summers watched him leave before going up the stairs to his wife and then ushering her inside.
"Kitt, I think we'll stay here for a few days."
"I had assumed as much. And have already reserved you a room at the local motel."
"Let's go check in, and then check out the town."