Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Box Set

by Margaret Lashley

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  Grayson shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

  I looked over at Stanley. He shook his head. “I see nothing. I know nothing.”

  Earl picked up the clove of garlic and popped it into his mouth. He chomped down on it, then met our blank stares with a quizzical furrow of his brow. “What?”

  AFTER THE LAST TACOS were devoured, Stanley left with a Lyft driver Grayson had ordered using his cellphone. We all waved as he disappeared with Vlad in his Smart car.

  “Well, I guess I better get going myself,” Earl said. “I’ll give you two a lift back to Banner Hill.”

  “Sounds good,” Grayson said.

  Grayson’s cellphone began vibrating on the table. “Must’ve left it on silent for the stakeout last night,” he said. He picked it up and clicked the green answer button. “Hello?”

  Grayson smiled and mouthed the words, “It’s Rocko.” He put the phone on speaker and set it in the center of the table.

  “Brother Grayson!” Rocko’s voice boomed over the phone.

  “Yes, I’m here,” Grayson said. “What can we do for—”

  “Did you ... uh ...” Rocko stuttered. “Uh ... have you happened to see Brother Bertie around?”

  “What?” Grayson said.

  “I ... I got up this morning and ... the semi’s gone, man. It’s just ... gone! And so is Brother Bertie.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting development,” Grayson said, in the understatement of the century. “We’ll keep you posted if we see anything.”

  “Thanks, man. But hey, if you do find him, you’re on your own. My plane leaves for Thailand in three hours.”

  “I see. Well, good luck and God speed,” Grayson said, and hung up.

  “Bertie’s disappeared?” I said.

  Grayson shot me a look. “Brilliant deduction, cadet.”

  “You think old Bertie played possum?” Earl asked.

  Grayson’s left eyebrow flat-lined. “What’s a marsupial got to do with any of this?”

  “He meant did Bertie fake his own death,” I said.

  Grayson shrugged. “Huh. Who knows?”

  Earl grimaced. “Dang it. Now I’m all worried.”

  “Why?” Grayson asked.

  Earl pouted. “You think Bertie will want Polly back?”

  I closed my eyes.

  That’s what you’re worried about?

  “I highly doubt it,” Grayson said. “Where is that parrot, anyway?”

  “In a box under the passenger seat.” Earl glanced out the window toward his truck. “I guess I should probably let her out, huh?”

  “Yes. You do that,” Grayson said. “And then head on home. We can get a ride from here.”

  “WISE MOVE,” I SAID as we watched Earl through the plate glass window of Topless Tacos. He’d climbed into the cab of his monster truck, and was now in the midst of what appeared to be a pillow fight gone horribly awry.

  “He’ll survive,” Grayson said.

  “I know. But what about Bertie?”

  “That’s who I was talking about.”

  I stared at Grayson. “You don’t think Bertie’s actually come back from the dead!”

  “Resurrection,” Grayson said, mulling the word over. “If you think about it, traveling prophets and con artists have been with us throughout history, Drex. Counterfeiters. Fake royals. Snake-oil salesmen. Amway distributors.”

  My brow furrowed. “Are you saying Bertie is the reincarnation of some historical crime figure?”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe he played with a possum and never died in the first place.”

  I smiled to myself. Mixing up metaphors was becoming part of Grayson’s charm.

  He took off his fedora and rubbed the stubble growing back on his head. “A really good confidence man would never get caught in the first place,” Grayson said. “Who knows how many scammers are out there were never detected?”

  He rubbed his chin, then looked into my eyes. “Here’s a thought, Drex. What if con artists are always the same people, just in different garb?”

  “What do you mean? Like immortals?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Maybe. What if Brother Bertie is part of some small band of alien creatures with incredible lifespans, masquerading on Earth, adapting to whatever scheme keeps them from being noticed?”

  “I guess it’s possible,” I conceded. “Are you planning to go after him?”

  Grayson smiled and shook his head. “No. I’ve got a feeling we’ve seen the last of Bertie and his crew of soul-sucking BERPS. They’re probably already in hiding somewhere, planning their next reincarnation.”

  I blew out a sigh. “I still say somebody just stole his semi.” I popped the last bite of taco in my mouth and nearly choked on a sudden thought.

  “Grayson! That truck that blew through the intersection last night. I bet it was the thieves stealing Bertie’s semi!”

  “Okay. So how did Bertie himself disappear?”

  I frowned and slumped back in my seat. “Maybe Rocko or some of Bertie’s goons loaded him up in it to take him to a funeral home.”

  Grayson smirked. “Oh ye of little faith. So you no longer believe Bertie healed you of your blind spells?”

  I sat up straight. “No. I’ve got a theory about that, too.”

  Grayson smiled. “What is it?”

  I stared into Grayson’s eyes. “Viagra.”

  Grayson nearly choked on his iced tea. “Okay,” he hacked. “Let’s hear it.”

  I leaned in over the table. “You said before that Viagra was one of the things that could’ve caused my temporary blindness.”

  “Yes, I did. But how—”

  “Hear me out. Melvin and Holbrook were putting pills in the water glasses of their victims at Banner Hill, so they wouldn’t remember them sneaking into their rooms to steal their stuff. What if Melvin spiked my water glass with Viagra to ....” I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat. “To try and put me in the mood.”

  Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “Okay, but—”

  “The dreams I had about Melvin weren’t dreams. I think he slipped me Viagra every night I was in Banner Hill. Mystery solved.”

  Grayson folded his arms across his chest. “What about the first time it happened, on our drive to New Port Richey?”

  I chewed my lip. “I thought about that. You remember that woman who was in the corner booth at Sargent’s Pizza? The one who looked like a hooker?”

  “No. I don’t recall.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure you don’t. Anyway, maybe our waiter was planning a little somethin’-somethin’ with her. What if he spiked her drink—or his—and accidently delivered it to me instead?”

  Grayson cocked his head and unfolded his arms. “I suppose it’s possible. But more likely, he didn’t wash the glasses very well and you caught somebody’s second-hand mickey. That place was nothing but a pick-up joint, for sure.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because any respectable place would’ve had liver and onions on the menu.”

  “No. That’s what explains the bad taste in my mouth.”

  Grayson smirked. “And here I was blaming poor Betty and Bam-Bam.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  WHILE WE WAITED ON the Lyft driver to come and take us to Banner Hill, Grayson paid the check, then tapped a few keys on his computer.

  “Huh,” he grunted. “Did you know that foot fetishism is the most common sexual fixation relating to body parts?”

  I nearly choked on the Tootsie Pop in my mouth. “As opposed to what? Wait! Don’t answer that.”

  “According to some sexpert at Cosmo, toe sucking is called shrimping.” Grayson looked up at me. “It makes sense, if you think about it.”

  “I don’t want to think about it!” A thought made me cringe. When I’d first met Melvin, he’d asked me to call him Shrimpy.

  Ugh! There goes ever eating seafood again.

  “Sucking toes is totally
gross,” I said.

  Grayson looked up from his computer. “Why? Melvin’s got his oral fixation, you’ve got yours.”

  I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Those Tootsie Pops of yours. Those who suck on straws shouldn’t break a camel’s back.”

  Ugh!

  With a Tootsie Pop lodged in my mouth, it was difficult to defend my position. I settled for shooting Grayson a scowl instead.

  He smiled. “But I suppose the ultimate oral fixators are incubus and succubus.”

  I raised a snide eyebrow. “Not vampires?”

  Grayson shot me a look. “I think we just proved they don’t exist, Drex.”

  I blew out a sigh. “Right. What was I thinking?”

  WHEN WE GOT BACK TO Banner Hill, we were in for a rude surprise. We’d both forgotten about the RV’s stolen back tires. Now all four were gone.

  “I guess I’ll call Earl,” Grayson teased.

  “No!”

  “Triple A?”

  “Better.”

  While Grayson dialed, I climbed into the back of the RV. Gizzard was waiting there in her terrarium.

  I picked up one of the miniature Jim Beam bottles from the couch where Balls had emptied it. I rinsed it out, and fixed the anole some fresh vitamin water.

  “Thanks, little Gizzard,” I said as I filled her water dish.

  “For what?” Grayson asked, coming in behind me.

  “For being our spirit animal,” I said. “If you think about it, one of her iguana relatives saved us. Even if it was a zombie.”

  Grayson smiled. “That, it did.”

  I plucked the sucker from my mouth and studied Grayson. “Do you really think I have an oral fixation?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes a Tootsie Pop is just a Tootsie Pop. And a taco is just a taco.”

  I smiled. “Now that’s a belief I can get behind.”

  Grayson took a packet of mealy worms out of a cupboard and dropped a few into Gizzard’s terrarium. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said, about vampirism being the ultimate oral fixation.”

  I groaned. “Please, can we give this whole vampire thing a rest?”

  “I don’t mean vampires as blood suckers or soul suckers. But as oral robbers.”

  My brow furrowed. “Oral robbers?”

  “Yes. Those who steal with their mouths—not by way of fangs, but with words.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Grayson turned his back on me and reached back into the cupboard. “What if I told you I was thinking of letting you go, Drex?”

  My gut fell four inches. “What? Why? What did I do wrong?”

  He turned back around. “Did you feel an internal shift?”

  “Internal shift?” I said. “I feel destroyed. Like I want to throw up! Why are you doing this?”

  “To prove my point.”

  “What point? That I’m no good?”

  “No. That in a way, we’re all oral robbers—with our words.”

  “Huh?” I whined.

  Grayson studied me clinically. “All I did was utter some particular arrangement of tones through my vocal chords. You interpreted them as words, and applied your own meaning to them.”

  I was hurt. And on my last nerve with Grayson’s stupid analogies. “Come on, Grayson! Just tell me. Am I fired, or what?”

  Grayson locked his green eyes on mine. “My words formed images in your mind that sent chemical and hormonal secretions into your bloodstream, causing emotions that shifted your entire world view.”

  I glared at him. “Fine. I’ll pack my bags and leave with the Triple A guy.”

  “See?” Grayson said. “Now you’re insecure about your whole future, based on a couple of words that came out of my mouth.”

  “You’d be undone, too, if you just got fired and had to go back to Point Paradise and work with Earl!”

  “That’s just it,” Grayson said. “You don’t have to. I didn’t fire you. I only asked you, ‘What if I told you I was thinking of letting you go?’ You did the rest yourself.”

  I blanched. “So ... I’m not fired?”

  “No. Like I said before, it was all to prove my point. Every word we say is a psychic vampire, Drex, striking others with the power of suggestion that either drains or boosts the energy of its intended target.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling a wave of confused relief wash over me. “In other words, we all live and die by the thoughts and words we chose to believe?”

  “Exactly,” Grayson said. “Unless coronary artery disease gets us first.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  WITH FOUR NEW TIRES on the RV, we were finally ready to leave New Port Richey behind and head out on our next adventure.

  I glanced over at Nick Grayson, the man in black. The man who murderized metaphors. The man with my future in his hands.

  Why do I put my faith in this man? I wondered. Then I remembered. Because every time I think Grayson’s nothing but a lunatic, he says something so profound it blows my mind.

  I sat back and smiled. By my own admission, ours was a conflicted, ironic, and so far, platonic partnership. I might occasionally wish Grayson was dead, but something about that man made me feel alive.

  Plus, for once, we’d finished a case with my wig still intact. I flipped down the visor and checked my shoulder-length auburn hair in the vanity mirror. I tugged the wig a tiny bit to the left.

  Perfect.

  “Ready to hit the road?” Grayson asked.

  I nodded. “Ready. Where to next, chief?”

  “Excellent question, cadet.”

  Grayson’s cheek dimpled as he leaned over to open the glove compartment. His shoulder brushed mine, and a tingle of electricity passed through me.

  If he felt it, too, he didn’t let on. Instead, he pulled out a brochure and snapped the compartment shut.

  “Look what I found at the Dilly Dally Motor Court,” he said, handing me the brochure. “Someone stuck a bunch of these behind the refrigerator in the lobby.”

  I stared down at the brochure for the Skunk Ape Research Center in Ochopee, Florida.

  “Do you think it’s a sign from the universe, or a conspiracy?”

  “Conspiracy?” I stuttered.

  “Yes. You know, like someone doesn’t want us to go there.”

  Grayson’s calm, green eyes studied me, giving nothing away.

  “I ... uh ....” A sharp hiss of static from the ham radio underneath the dashboard saved me from perjuring myself.

  “Oh gee double-oh seven to Mr. Gray,” the transmission crackled. “Come in, Mr. Gray. Over.”

  I smiled and shook my head softly as Grayson picked up the mic. Goofy, buck-toothed Operative Garth had either saved my bacon—or was about to throw me into the frying pan.

  “Gray here,” Grayson spoke into the mic. “Come in, oh gee double-oh seven. Over”

  “Heard about Melvin and the bogus missing vets. Sorry about the bum lead. Over.”

  Grayson shrugged. “It happens. Anything new and interesting on the grapevine? Over.”

  “Yeah. Possible skunk ape encounter down in the Everglades. Over.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Grayson said. He grinned and plucked the brochure from my hand. “A sign from the universe, it is.”

  The End

  Ready for More Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures?

  Find out where Bobbie and Grayson go from here in their next crazy adventure, Ape Shift.

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  More Freaky Florida Mysteries

  by Margaret Lashley

  Moth Busters

  Dr. Prepper

  Oral Robbers

  Ape Shift

  More to Come!

  “I want to believe, but I mean ... really?”

  Bobbie Drex

  About the Author

  WHY DO I LOVE UNDERDOGS? Well, it takes one to know one. Like the main characters in my novels, I haven’t lead a life of wealth or luxury. In fact, as it stands now, I’m set to inherit a half-eaten jar of Cheez Whiz...if my siblings don’t beat me to it.

  During my illustrious career, I’ve been a roller-skating waitress, an actuarial assistant, an advertising copywriter, a real estate agent, a house flipper, an organic farmer, and a traveling vagabond/truth seeker. But no matter where I’ve gone or what I’ve done, I’ve always felt like a weirdo.

  I’ve learned a heck of a lot in my life. But getting to know myself has been my greatest journey. Today, I know I’m smart. I’m direct. I’m jaded. I’m hopeful. I’m funny. I’m fierce. I’m a pushover. And I have a laugh that lures strangers over, wanting to join in the fun.

  In other words, I’m a jumble of opposing talents and flaws and emotions. And it’s all good.

  I enjoy underdogs because we’ve got spunk. And hope. And secrets that drive us to be different from the rest.

  So dare to be different. It's the only way to be!

  Happy reading!