Uncle and Ants Read online

  Uncle and Ants

  A Silicon Valley Mystery

  Marc Jedel

  BGM Press

  San Jose, California

  Copyright © 2018 by Marc Jedel

  All rights reserved.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States by BGM Press.

  ISBN 978-1-7327164-0-7 (Paperback edition)

  Cover designed by Alchemy Book Covers

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  Contents

  Dedication

  1. Monday afternoon

  2. Monday Late Afternoon

  3. Tuesday Morning

  4. Tuesday Midday

  5. Tuesday Evening

  6. Wednesday Morning

  7. Wednesday Midmorning

  8. Wednesday Late Morning

  9. Wednesday Afternoon

  10. Wednesday Late Afternoon

  11. Wednesday Dinner

  12. Wednesday Evening

  13. Thursday Morning

  14. Thursday Midmorning

  15. Thursday Late Morning

  16. Thursday Lunch

  17. Thursday After Lunch

  18. Thursday Early Afternoon

  19. Thursday Afternoon

  20. Thursday Midafternoon

  21. Thursday Late Afternoon

  22. Thursday Evening

  23. Friday Morning

  24. Friday Noon

  25. Friday Late Afternoon

  26. Friday Dinner

  27. Friday After Dinner

  28. Friday Evening

  29. Friday Late Night

  30. Saturday Early Morning

  31. Saturday Morning

  32. Sunday Morning

  Preview Book 2 - Chutes and Ladder

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my beloved sister: Without you, not only would my whole life have been empty and meaningless, but I also wouldn’t have anything funny to say.

  (She made me write this.)

  1

  Monday afternoon

  Be careful what you wish for when you’re ten years old because it just might come true. I’ve had a complicated relationship with my younger sister Laney since we were kids, but I’ve never wished her hospitalized from a falling drone.

  Until the nurse from the ICU called about Laney, my Monday had rocked. Hard to beat clear blue skies and 75 degrees on a beautiful, late August day in Silicon Valley, and if my work kept me stuck inside all day, at least my latest software build appeared bug-free and working well.

  I hung up to rush to the hospital, only then realizing I’d forgotten to ask the nurse about Laney’s condition. Screwing up phone calls was one of my special skills that only seemed to come in handy with telemarketers.

  When I reached the hospital, I hurried into the building, more concerned than I’d want to admit to Laney. Our relationship had survived over the years on a steady diet of teasing and had only begun to deepen in the last few years after her husband died.

  She moved to town a few months ago, so I’ve got her and her two daughters around more often. It seemed like ages since I’d last interacted this much with my sister, or young children. I don’t see my own two kids often since they started college across the country, close to where my ex-wife moved. I haven’t fully accepted they’re old enough for college anyway. I haven’t fully accepted that I’ve crossed forty either.

  An unoccupied information kiosk responded to my query for Laney with a map to room 512. Darting through the crowded lobby, I hopped into an elevator right before the doors closed.

  The quiet struck me as I got off the elevator and walked to Laney’s room. No loud beeping monitors or garbled announcements over the loudspeaker disturbed the floor. An electronic sign reading “L. Tran” glowed next to the door of room 512. Taking a deep breath to slow my rapid heartbeat, I gave a soft knock and said, “Hello?”

  No answer. I stepped through the door and peeked around a movable partition that protected the privacy of the patients. To my surprise, I found an elderly Vietnamese woman sleeping in the only bed.

  While I like to tease Laney about her advancing years, she doesn’t turn thirty-eight until next month. She’s also white. About thirteen years ago, Laney married a nice man, Vietnamese-American by background, and took his name. A good guy, he always shared a laugh with Laney about people’s reactions when a white woman with long, dark, curly hair and hazel eyes showed up for a dinner reservation in the name of Tran.

  Something finally clicked. Why was this old lady in Laney’s bed? Had she died since the nurse’s call and been replaced already?

  I calmed my overactive imagination, took another deep breath and stepped back outside the room to double-check the sign. It definitely listed her name. Someone had made a mistake or the hospital’s software had bugs. Annoyed, I rubbed the back of my neck and considered what to do next. Down the hall, past the elevators, a police officer stood talking to a nurse. Perhaps they’d know how to find Laney.

  They paused their conversation as I stepped in front of them. The cop stood a few inches taller than me and, although I don’t usually notice men, I paused at his Hollywood-style good looks. He held himself erect in a close-fit uniform, crisp, neat, and form-fitting to his muscular body like it came straight from the tailor.

  I’d like to think that my clothes fit just as well as his. Other people might comment on some gray in my slowly receding hairline and a tendency toward a dad bod, but I saw none of that when I stepped out of my shower each morning. Self-delusion was another of my skills.

  The cop’s striking, green eyes stood out from his dark brown skin and closely cropped black hair. Those penetrating eyes watched as I started to fidget from one foot to the other.

  I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, at least not that the cop should know about. But he looked like he’d set me straight anyway. A name badge sat level and centered above the pocket on the left side of his chiseled chest. It read “Sergeant Mace Jackson.”

  His name sounded more like an action movie character than a real person. He even looked like an actor playing the part. If things ever went south in a conflict, I’d want Mace Jackson to take my side. After all, action movie heroes always win.

  The nurse wore a standard hospital uniform with sensible shoes. Various medical gadgets hung off her belt. Her badge read “Ruth” and hung slanted, clipped to the untucked top of her uniform.

  Under the scrutiny of the Sergeant’s gaze, I directed my attention to the nurse. “Excuse me. I think there’s something wrong with your directory or door signs. I’m looking for my sister’s room. Laney Tran? She’s not in room 512. The sign outside the door says it’s her room, but some old lady is in there.”

  Ignoring my helpful assistance with the signs, Nurse Ruth said, “Oh, you must be Marty. I called you earlier.” She pointed behind her to room 518. “This is Laney’s room.”

  “Her name is on the sign by the wrong room.” I highlighted the error needing correction.

  The cop scowled and looked hard at me. “Your sister is in the hospital and you’re worried about a sign?”

  I’ve got a bad habit of obsessing over things that don’t work right when I’m nervous or worried. Or when everything was fine. Working to ignore the distraction of the glitch, I said, “Sorry. Is she okay? Can I see her?”

  Nurse Ruth answered. “She’s stable and should recover just fine in a few days. You can call the doctor for more details or wait for her to c
ome back. I have to check on the other patients. And, yes, you can go see her, but she’s not awake.” The nurse’s warm smile for the cop faded to a forced expression aimed at me before she walked away.

  I had more questions and wished she hadn’t left me alone with the cop. He might be an action hero but cops have made me nervous ever since a difficult experience with them during my freshman year of high school. Let’s just say that I hadn’t yet mastered the U.S. postal system.

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked up at Sergeant Mace Jackson, standing in the doorway to Laney’s room. “Do you know what happened to Laney?”

  Instead of answering, he asked, “Can I see your I.D. please?”

  “I’m Marty Golden. I’m a software engineer,” I said as if that explained everything. Well, it pretty much covered my life. I’ve got a cool job at a startup. It’s not the most successful startup in the world. No big payday yet, but hope can sustain a person for a long time. Even if it meant work consumed all my time. That’s life in Silicon Valley.

  “Some I.D. please,” he repeated with an edge to his voice.

  I didn’t do it. I fumbled in my front pocket for my wallet as a light sweat prickled on my forehead. When I pulled out the wallet, my badge fell on the floor. Right as I bent down to pick up my badge, Sergeant Jackson reached out his hand for my license, almost smacking me in the head. I stood up holding my license but dropped it when my wrist bumped into his retracting hand. Bending over to pick it up again, I heard his exasperated sigh. When I stood up a second time, I managed to execute a successful handoff. With one fluid motion, he flipped it over, reviewed the information, and returned it to me as smoothly as James Bond handles a martini.

  Sergeant Jackson pointed at my shirt. “Did you get called back from vacation?”

  “What?” I glanced down. I wore my normal work attire of a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts. Different colors and designs every day, but all Hawaiian-style. Today’s was one of my favorite patterns. “No. I came straight from work when the nurse called. How’d her accident happen?”

  Sergeant Jackson noted my defensive tone and now raised his eyebrow, but answered, “She was in a pretty unusual accident. Witnesses reported that she was driving through the intersection of Saratoga and Doyle when she tried to avoid an ice cream truck running the red light. The truck was hit by a falling delivery drone and then your sister’s car t-boned the truck. She just barely missed getting hit by the drone herself. It would likely have killed her in her little car. It totaled the truck.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “A drone?”

  “Like I said, it was a pretty unusual accident.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Granted, a modern delivery drone was heavy, not one of those lightweight, older generation drones that were only good for taking videos and annoying your neighbors. But, still, this shouldn’t have been possible. “That’s near her daughters’ school. How could a drone hit there? The areas around schools are no-fly zones.”

  “We’re investigating. So, do you —”

  My phone buzzed. I held up a finger to Sergeant Jackson to excuse myself. He pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything as I stepped away.

  “Hello? Marty here.”

  “Is this Marty Golden?” said a woman in a clipped tone.

  “Yes, that’s what I said. I’m pretty busy right now. What’s this about?”

  “Well, now, you don’t have to be rude. That’s just unnecessary. We teach our children to be polite. It’s the right thing to do. Manners start in the home, you know.”

  I rubbed my nose in confusion. A drone that shouldn’t be there had nearly killed my sister and I hadn’t even seen her yet. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”

  “I’m Mrs. Quarles, school secretary. Skye and Megan are with me in the office. Their mother hasn’t picked them up. We’re not a babysitting service here at the Discovery School, you know. You’re their emergency contact, so please come get them now.”

  Trying to take care of Laney and her girls was more than I’d signed up for. Wait, had I signed something? I couldn’t be considered a responsible adult. If someone didn’t believe me, they just needed to ask my ex-wife. I wanted to tell her to call another parent. I was going to stick around to talk to Laney’s doctor and make sure she was ok. “I’ll be there soon” is what I mumbled into the phone, probably not the best way to get across my point.

  I turned to see Jackson staring with narrowed eyes at a fixed point on the wall with his hands on his hips.

  “I’m sorry. That was my nieces’ school. I need to go pick them up since Laney is here.”

  He took a second slow, deep breath before answering, “Before we’re interrupted again, here’s my card.” He handed me the first paper business card I’ve seen in years, then continued, “I’d like to talk to her to find out if she saw anything unusual. Tell her to call me when she wakes. But, I won’t be back until Thursday because I’m on furlough for the next two days.”

  “Furlough?” I didn’t know that word.

  “Unpaid, mandatory time off. All thanks to the city of San Jose not having enough money to pay us.” He grumbled at this before striding off to the elevators, chest held high like a champion headed off into the sunset.

  I looked around but didn’t see the cameras and director following our star. Action heroes in the movies didn’t seem to suffer mandatory time off from work because their agency ran out of money to pay salaries for the rest of the year.

  I stepped into Laney’s room to see her before I left to pick up the girls. Laney looked asleep, with a bunch of tubes and wires running from her to surrounding machines. Bandages covered part of her head. The uncovered portions of her face looked bruised. I moved to her side and squeezed her hand, but she didn’t respond.

  The nylon satchel, which she used as a catchall briefcase and purse, rested on the chair next to her bed. Her computer, phone, wallet and some papers nearly spilled out. I grimaced as I noticed a splotch of blood on the side. I grabbed it all to take home with me so nothing would happen to her things. I’d bring it back to her after she awoke. Maybe I would even wash her satchel so the blood wouldn’t remind her of the accident. Well, I’d think about washing it.

  I used the twenty minutes it took to get from the hospital to my nieces’ school to check in with her doctor and update my own kids, away at college. To avoid enticing some elementary school hoodlum from breaking into the car, I grabbed Laney’s bag as I got out.

  The desert landscaping that most in the Valley have adopted to deal with the long-term drought prevailed along the path to the office. Assorted varieties of cacti, succulents, and rocks decorated the red dirt. A creative designer could create an eye-catching display with distinctive colors and textures of plants, but I still pined for green grass.

  My nieces sat talking just inside the glass walls of the school office with their backs to me as I approached. Skye, reed thin and pretty with dark hair and glasses was a girl with plans. Twelve, going on thirty, she liked school and read fantasy books all the time. Megan, her younger sister, had her long hair worn up with various colored hairpins sticking every which way. Megan was nine, or eight, or possibly a mature seven. I never could remember. The free spirit of the family, she bounced off the walls with energy.

  When I opened the door, Skye noticed me first. She interrupted Megan in mid-sentence. “Hi, Uncle Marty. Did you come with Rover?”

  From a side room behind the counter, a disembodied woman’s voice called out. “No dogs in here! That’s simply not allowed.”

  Before I could speak, Megan chimed in. “You got a dog?” Without pausing to hear the response, she continued, “Hey, where’s Mom?”

  “Yes,” I answered Skye, as I glanced around and rubbed my chin. What was that voice talking about? There were no dogs in sight.

  Megan jumped up and started a little celebration dance at the idea of having an uncle with a dog.

  Oops. “No, sorry. I was answering Skye. I didn’t get a dog. It�
�s my car, remember?”

  Megan’s dance ended with a lurch. “Just the dumb car?”She slumped back onto her chair.

  “Well, it’s not dumb.”

  A woman walked out of the side office back towards the counter. She had to be Mrs. Quarles, the school secretary. “You gave your car a dog’s name?” she asked in a scornful tone.

  I’d never met her before and didn’t understand why she felt it was acceptable to judge me. However, my parents had taught me to be polite, even to impolite people, so I answered, “I work for a car service called Rover that drives the cars for you. It’s like a taxi, but with no driver. We call all the cars Rover. You know, like ‘hey Rover, come —”

  Megan interrupted. “Why not Buddy? That’s a better dog name. Buddy would always be your best friend …” Her voice trailed off as she hugged herself, thinking of her imaginary best dog friend, Buddy.

  She had me there. “Well, our marketing team decided. Maybe they’re not as smart as you and didn’t think of Buddy.”

  Megan looked up at Mrs. Quarles. “Uncle Marty makes the cars go wherever you want.”

  Skye clarified, “He’s an engineer.”

  I smiled. The girls had paid attention when I’d told them what I did. Turning to Skye, I said, “I think you’ll be interested in a new feature we just added.”

  Skye looked excited and started to ask me about it, but Megan jumped in again. “But, wait. If they all have the same name, how do they know which one should come?”