The hard-faced young man brushed past me and snatched Grayson’s wallet from the breast pocket of his jacket. While the man examined Grayson’s badge, I studied his face and racked my brain over his features. That square jaw. That dimpled chin. Those pale-blue eyes ....
Where have I seen him before? On TV? At Walmart? A wanted poster at the post office? Match.com? Come on, think!
The man looked up at Grayson and sneered. “Well, Mr. Nicholas Grayson, looks like you won’t be needing this anymore.” He waved the tin badge in the air. “Bribing a cop is pretty good grounds for suspension of your license. And I think my father, the Chief of Police, can make it stick. I’ll be sure and let him know all about your friend Ben Franklin, though.”
Grayson winced as if he’d been punched in the gut. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Save it. Let’s get going.”
As the young man sidled by me again, the angle of his face and curve of his lips set the final pieces of the puzzle into place.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re Jimmy Wells, aren’t you?”
He eyed me suspiciously, but said nothing.
“It’s you, all right,” I said. “I recognize you from a picture at your brother’s place. You two looked mighty cute cozied up together with that giant bong.”
The man’s smug smile flew away from his face. “Crap.”
I shot a glance at Grayson. He was grinning at me like a proud professor.
“Don’t worry, Officer,” he said. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
Chapter Ten
“SO YOU MET MY BROTHER, Gary,” Officer Wells said after releasing Grayson and me from the handcuffs he’d kept us in until we’d cleared the path in the woods.
“Yes. Grayson and I met him this morning.” I rubbed my wrists and attempted an ingratiating smile. “And his little lapdog, Tooth.”
Wells’ eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You two. You’re not ...?” He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “Tell me you’re not Mr. Gray and Pandora.”
“The very same,” Grayson said.
Wells shook his head. “I thought Gary was just making that whole thing up. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. Crap! What other family secrets did my brother spill?”
“Besides the bong?” I asked. “Well, he said you were the first to discover Jenkins’ body. He showed us the pictures.”
A vein began to throb in Wells’ neck. “That little twit! I’m going to kill him!”
Grayson took off his backpack and tossed it onto the seat of the RV. “Where’d you find Jenkins, anyway? Inside the cabin?”
“No.” Wells glanced around to see if anyone else was within earshot. “Look. I shouldn’t be speaking with you about this.”
“We’re professionals,” Grayson said. “We keep our sources confidential.”
Wells’ eyebrow shot up. “Like you did with my brother, Gary?”
Grayson grimaced. “Oops. Well, we’ll keep the bong confidential. Scout’s honor.”
Wells looked as if he might throw up. He swallowed hard and said, “I found Jenkins in a clearing by the side of the cabin.”
“Was he still alive when you found him?” I asked.
“I thought so, at first. He was lying there, eyes open, like he was gazing up at the stars. I thought he might be alive, but when I grabbed his arm, it felt soft ... kind of like mashed potatoes.”
My nose scrunched involuntarily. “What do you think happened to him?”
“I dunno. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Grayson cleared his throat. “Garth ... uh ... Gary told us that Jenkins’ head was covered in slime.”
“Yes. Some kind of lubricant or something.”
Grayson nodded. “Anything else unusual?”
Wells chewed his lip. “Well, this is kind of weird, but I found Jenkins’ ammo belt and boots first. They were on the ground in front of the cabin steps. The boots were standing up in the middle of the ammo belt, still laced up—like Jenkins had been jerked from his gear by some enormous power.”
Grayson’s eyebrow rose a notch. “Power?”
Wells studied his shoes. “I didn’t put this in my report, but I saw a strange ray of light in the sky. White, like a search beam, sort of. It was off in the distance, but it still gave me this creepy feeling.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s just ... argh.” Wells shook his head. “Nah. You’ll think I’m crazy.”
He looked up. Grayson locked eyes with the young man. “Believe me, Officer Wells, we’re the last people who’d do that.”
Wells pursed his lips and blew out a breath as if he’d given up on something. “It’s just that ... this idea came over me that Jenkins had simply vanished from that exact spot. You know ... that the boots and ammo belt were left behind when he got ... uh ... beamed up in that ray of light.”
Wells studied our faces. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he must have found it, because he continued talking.
“Like I said, I just got this major case of the creeps, you know? Like that feeling you get when you think something’s watching you. Anyway, I freaked a little and started running back toward the trail. I wanted to get the hell out of there before I got zapped myself. But then I spotted Jenkins lying in the pine straw and realized he hadn’t been beamed up after all.”
“Why would Jenkins have been wearing an ammo belt?” I asked.
Wells shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’d seen a panther or something. They’re pretty sneaky predators. Maybe that was what was watching me.” He glanced back toward the woods. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. But what I don’t get is why he left his AK-47 behind. I found it on the floor inside the cabin.”
“Interesting,” Grayson said. “Did Jenkins have any other weapons on him?”
“Not that the crime-scene techs found in their search yesterday. He didn’t need anything else. An AK-47 usually does an adequate job in most scenarios.”
Grayson nodded. “In combat situations, sure. But why would Jenkins feel the need to have an automatic weapon and all that ammo out here in these woods? It seems to me like he was preparing for some kind of showdown.”
Wells shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many wild animals are out here. Lots of things with fangs and claws. Alligators. Wildcats. Rattlesnakes. Brown bears.”
“Is that how you got those scars on your neck?” I asked.
Wells reached up and absently touched the fine, white lines on his neck. “These? No. Tooth gave me these—when he was still a puppy. He’s not too keen on strangers, in case you didn’t notice.”
I grimaced. “I noticed. So they’re treating this as a crime scene?”
“Well, it sure wasn’t suicide,” Wells said sourly.
“Any suspects?” I asked.
“None at present.”
“What about aliens?” Grayson asked.
The young cop blew out a breath. “You talkin’ Mexicans or Martians?”
Grayson shrugged. “Either one. I’m flexible.”
Wells shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned the light beam. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Absolutely,” Grayson said. “It’s just that I noticed Jenkins had a stockpile of UFO magazines along with his ammo. And your brother Gary said he intercepted a ham radio signal where Jenkins was yelling ‘They’re here!’ over and over again. Could he have meant space aliens? Like you said earlier, could Jenkins have been ‘beamed up’ and then spit back out?”
Wells kicked the jagged line of asphalt where the paved road disappeared into greyish-white sand. “Look. Lots of folks around here think they see UFOs. My brother Gary’s the worst. He’s always going on about it. It was probably all his jabber that put that crazy thought in my head in the first place. UFOs aren’t real. Like all the other times, this’ll turn out to be something stupid.”
“All the other times?” Grayson and I asked in unison.
“Sure. P
eople call into the station all the time about lights in the sky. They turn out to be emergency flares. Beacons on cellphone towers. Even lightning bugs. One time, I actually had a woman run up to me all freaked out about ‘flying monsters.’ Turned out to be dragonflies. Dragonflies! People can be downright nuts.”
“How about Jenkins?” Grayson asked. “Was he what you’d call a nut?”
Wells shrugged. “No more than any of the other old drunks who come down here to spend their golden years turning us locals’ lives to crap. Jenkins had a fondness for getting blasted at Blarney’s Bar. From what Gary tells me, Jenkins would drink his fill of Jack Daniels and blabber on about the end of the world to anybody who’d listen.”
“The end of the world?” I asked.
“You know. Alien invasions. A woman president. Eight-dollar gasoline. That sort of crap.”
Grayson smirked. “Was Jenkins prone to hallucinations?”
“Not that I know of. But once at Blarney’s, he did mistake some other gal for his wife, Arlene.” Wells snickered. “I remember Gary coming home one night and telling me Jenkins thought Arlene had shown up at the bar ready to clobber him with a frying pan. Gary said Jenkins ducked under the counter and hightailed it out the back door. That old bastard might’ve talked a tough game, but I think his wife was one showdown he wasn’t prepared to deal with.”
Grayson shot Wells a man’s-man smile. “Thank you, Officer Wells. You’ve been a great help.”
The two men shook hands, but when it was time to release the grip, Grayson didn’t let go.
“Just one more thing,” Grayson said, holding firmly to the young cop’s hand. “I’d like to have access to Jenkins’ body, or at minimum the coroner’s autopsy report.”
Wells’ eyes widened, then narrowed. “No way!” He jerked his hand free. “Our deal was your freedom for my bong. That’s it. We’re done here.”
“Right. But what about these pictures?” Grayson took out his cellphone and flashed a picture of Jenkins doing his human Jell-O impersonation. “Who should I say is the source?”
Wells crumpled. “Look. I’ll see what I can do. Okay?”
Grayson nodded. “I appreciate that. Is Jenkins going to be cremated?”
Wells shrugged. “I don’t know. His wife Arlene hasn’t claimed the body yet.”
“Why not?”
The young cop pursed his lips and shrugged. “Probably because nobody’s seen her since the night Jenkins died.”
Chapter Eleven
“WHAT’S YOUR TAKE SO far?” I asked Grayson as he hooked a left out of the desolate subdivision Rexel and a few other residents had been swindled into calling home.
He stomped on the accelerator. “Don’t buy swampland in Florida.”
“Har har. I mean, what do you think is going on with Jenkins?”
Grayson shrugged. “Hard to say. Like I said before, we need to get a look at his body, or the autopsy report.”
“What about his wife, Arlene? She might be missing. You think she could’ve met the same fate as her husband?”
“Beamed up by aliens?”
I blew out a breath. “No. I meant do you think she’s dead somewhere in those woods back there?”
“I don’t know. Wells mentioned panthers and bears as potential killers. But the terrain around here is also the perfect habitat for Sasquatch—or as you Floridians like to call him, the skunk ape.” Grayson’s lip twisted to one side. “Now that I think about it, the Boggy Creek monster would find this area to his liking, too.”
“What?” I smirked. “No giant spider or scaly iguanodon?”
Grayson grinned and showed me the palmetto scratches on his knuckles. “Nah. Too many sharp objects.”
“So, I take it then that you think it was an animal that turned Jenkins into baby food?”
Grayson smirked. “There you go again, making me hungry.”
He turned the RV onto SR 39. “Let’s pick out a restaurant for dinner. I’m suddenly in the mood for venison and mashed potatoes.”
I crinkled my nose. “You’re sick, Grayson.”
“I prefer the term ‘desensitized.’”
I snorted. “Yeah. You keep living that dream.”
Grayson laughed. “You’re in a good mood. How about an evening on the town? I hear you can’t beat Blarney’s Bar for cheap beer and disgruntled wives.”
I smirked. “To be honest, I could use a drink. But first, I’m gonna need a wig. I’m not going into a bar wearing a Redman chewing tobacco cap. In a redneck town like this, I might be accused of crossdressing. How far is it to Walmart from here?”
“Look it up on your phone.”
I scowled. “Why? You know the way.”
“Come on. You look so cute when you do your Mrs. Magoo impersonation.”
“Very funny.”
I got out my cellphone and tried not to squint as I punched the Google mic on the display. “Address of nearest Walmart.”
The voice spilled out the answer.
I turned to Grayson. “Got that?”
“Affirmative.”
I sat back and watched the shabby little town of Hopewell fade in, then out of view.
“I’m curious, Grayson. Why didn’t Wells care when I mentioned that we were working for Chief Warren Engles?”
Grayson’s eyes met mine. “That only works for the FBI. And even then, only under certain circumstances.”
“Why’s that?”
Grayson turned his gaze back to the road. “Right now, cadet, you don’t need to know.”
AN OLD MAN STOPPED in his tracks and looked me up and down as I climbed out of the RV in front of Walmart. Apparently, my ball cap and buzz cut didn’t jive with my boobs. The judgmental sneer on his face could’ve made Jesus weep.
“Promise me you’re coming back,” I said to Grayson through the RV window. “I’m not dressed for long-term survival here.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, tops. I’m just going to find a UPS store and mail something off for analysis.”
“The Mothman scat from the last job?”
“Bingo. As with any treasure, the value lies in its authentication.”
“I thought it was the lies about authentication that added value to the treasure.”
Grayson shook his head. “Drex, Drex. Always the skeptic. Hey! Pick me up a bag of Cheetos while you’re in there, would you?”
“Sure. See you in a bit.”
As Grayson drove away, a sudden wave of insecurity caused my gut to flinch.
Am I crazy? What am I doing in this strange town with this strange man?
What did I really know about Nick Grayson?
Not even enough to be sure he was coming back.
I checked my purse for my lifeline. A ping of relief flooded through me as my fingers found my cellphone in the bottom of my bag. I tucked it back in my purse and headed into Walmart.
Like a confused nomad wandering into a strange oasis, I was no longer certain what part of my life was real, and what was a mirage.
But at least I had four bars.
And a full battery.
Chapter Twelve
FOR A GUY WHO WAS COMPLETELY OCD about keeping his RV spic-and-span, making a living selling cryptid crap seemed totally out of character for Grayson. But then again, the need to make a living could trump anything.
I knew that all too well.
After my father died, I’d wasted the better part of a year trying to prove to his ghost that I could run the family auto repair business. I’d failed him on all levels—even at being his biological daughter. As it turned out, my cousin Earl had been both the real mechanic and the real relation.
I’d spent twenty-five years blaming Earl for stealing my job and my father’s affections, only to find out it wasn’t his fault at all. I’d been a real jerk to my cousin. And good-old Southern guilt was telling me I needed to make it up to him.
As I wheeled my cranky Walmart shopping cart past a display of ball caps, I
took it as a sign to give Earl a call. But as I dialed his number, I realized sarcasm makes a better master than a servant. Dropping my caustic, barb-slinging routine with him was going to take some serious effort.
“Hey, Earl,” I said sweet enough to make me nearly gag.
“Hey, there, Bobbie. Still alive, I see.”
The snide tone of Earl’s voice sounded like ... home.
I smiled. “You run the family business into the ground yet?”
He laughed. “Gimme another day or two. You know I can’t work that fast. Thanks for turning out the light, by the way.”
I cringed. As I’d driven away from Point Paradise last night, I’d shot out the lousy hole-in-the-wall’s only claim to fame—the flashing yellow light hanging over the intersection of nowhere and oblivion.
“You all right, Cuz?” Earl asked.
“Sure. Sorry about the light. It was kind of ... symbolic for me.”
“I get it. I’d a done a lot worse if I’d just found out my pappy wasn’t my pappy. How’s it going with Grayson?”
“I survived the night. And we’re on a new case in Plant City. Some prepper guy got killed at his cabin. Someone—or something—mooshed him into a human Slurpee.”
“That don’t sound too good Bobbie. Be careful. You still got Lucky Red to protect you?”
“Yes.” I touched the cap atop my head. “Don’t worry. Your precious cap is safe with me. I’m at Walmart now looking for another one. I need a wig, too. Thanks to Mothman and your duct tape, my last one was shot to hell. I’ll grab a new cap here and mail Lucky Red back to you.”
“No. You keep ol’ Red for as long as you need him. You deserve some better luck, Bobbie.” Earl laughed. “Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky with Grayson.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that all you think about, Earl?”
“That and pistons. What’s so bad about that?”
“Nothing, I guess. Be good. I’ve got to go.”
“I’m always good,” Earl quipped. “At least, that’s what all the gals say.”
I clicked off the phone and smiled. So much had been upended in my life over the past few days, it was nice to know one thing had remained the same. My cousin Earl would always be a wisecracking pain in my ass.
Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Box Set Page 28