Moth Busters, Dr. Prepper, Oral Robbers: Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures 1, 2 & 3

by Margaret Lashley

  “What are you talking about?”

  Grayson leaned toward me. “Remember the ‘WOW signal’? You know, that radio signal Ohio State University got back in ‘77? It was the first and only signal their radio array ever detected that had all the hallmarks of extraterrestrial communication.”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard of it. But it was just a blip. The signal never repeated.”

  “Correct. And you know why?”

  “No.”

  “Because we were rude.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  Grayson shook his head. “We didn’t answer back right away. In fact, nobody even noticed the signal for two solid days.” He sat back and sighed. “By the time they tried to respond, it was too late. We failed a basic manners test, Drex. And quite possibly blew our chance at ever meeting that alien race or being invited to their next cosmic cocktail party.”

  I bit my lip. “Geez. Maybe you’re right. I know I’ve dropped guys I was dating for less.”

  We both sat in silence for a moment, watching my over-easy eggs congeal on my plate.

  “Grayson, if there is a cosmic consciousness out there trying to communicate with us, how can we tune in to it? Like your ham radio gizmo—do you think there might be a ‘God frequency’ out there somewhere? Could it be that we have built-in receivers in our brains, but forgot how to use them?”

  Grayson studied me. “Big questions, Drex. And to be honest, I don’t have all the answers. It’s a massive universe out there. And it’s full of unlimited possibilities. What’s a mere mortal to do? Hell, I can’t even decide what to watch on Hulu.”

  I smiled, but I wasn’t ready to drop the topic. “I’m serious, Grayson. How do you think this so-called creator of the universe communicates with us?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Lots of ways. Dreams. Thoughts. Visions. Feelings. Experiences. Insights.”

  “Keep going with that list and there won’t be anything that’s not a communication from God.”

  Grayson grinned. “Bingo, cadet.”

  I frowned. “You’re nuts, Grayson. But at least we have one thing in common.”

  “What?”

  “We like breakfast for dinner.”

  Grayson smiled. “Well, there you go. That’s the one thing we’ve got.”

  I grinned. “So, is it time to head back to our home-sweet-home, the Walmart parking lot?”

  “Not tonight. It’s not polite to stay more than two nights in a row at the same Walmart, and that’s one universal force I don’t want to have to reckon with.”

  My eyebrow shot up. “So, what are we gonna do? Not another sleazy motel, please.”

  “No. Tonight we have an invitation to camp out.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  My nose crinkled. “I don’t like surprises.”

  Grayson grinned like a fox. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “I left it in my other jeans.”

  “But those cute pink ones make your breeding-stock hips look so hot.”

  I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. “Oh, geez. Please tell me we’re not going back to Dreadmore.”

  Grayson laughed. I opened my eyes. He was grinning at me.

  “We’re not, are we?” I pleaded.

  “Nope.”

  I blew out a breath. “Good. So where, then?”

  Grayson motioned to the waitress for the check. “Someplace I know you’re going to like even more.”

  Chapter Thirty

  TAP. TAP. TAPPITY-TAP.

  I cracked open one eye the narrowest slit humanly possible, then scanned my surroundings.

  I was in the RV.

  Good.

  My pink jeans were still on my breeding-stock hips.

  Also good.

  At least I had those two things going for me.

  Tap. Tap.

  Through the tiny slit, my eye searched the room for the source of the ear-splitting, brain-crunching sound. It was coming from Grayson. He was at the stove, tapping scoops of coffee into a filter. I closed my eye and prayed that I might lapse into a coma.

  But instead, I farted.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Grayson replied.

  I clamped my jaw shut.

  Don’t laugh, Bobbie. Don’t laugh. I’m telling you, girl, don’t you dare freaking laugh!

  I laughed. Then I opened my eyes to half-mast. Grayson was grinning at me.

  “Sorry,” I croaked.

  Grayson shrugged. “Farts happen. You up for a cup of coffee?”

  “Depends. Do I have to actually be up to get one?”

  “Rough night, cadet? Oh. Silly question.” He shot me a smirk. “Remind me to never leave you unchaperoned with Jose Cuervo again. Nice Mexican hat dance, by the way. If Pan was watching, I’m sure he was impressed.”

  I slowly peeled the side of my face off the vinyl couch. “Oh, crap. I thought I’d only dreamt that.”

  “You wish.”

  I shot Grayson a sheepish smile with the half of my face that was functioning. I sat up. A millisecond later, my brain followed my body’s upward trajectory and slammed into my skull with a thud that ached all the way to my toenails.

  Ouch.

  I rubbed my forehead. Grayson handed me a mugful of coffee and studied me as I took a greedy gulp. The scalding heat of the bitter liquid on my tongue felt better than the jackhammer assaulting my brain. I groaned from both the pain and the relief.

  Grayson shook his head and laughed softly. “Who knew you were such a party animal?”

  I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were the life of the campfire last night. Don’t you remember?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I must say, that was the most unusual act I’ve ever seen performed with a corndog and a tequila bottle.”

  “Hardy har har.” I looked over at ET, the intergalactic lighting fixture. He was bald. My hand went to my head. Nothing but stubble. “Where’s my new wig?”

  “If memory serves, you said, ‘I don’t need no stinkin’ wig,’ and threw it into the fire.”

  I felt my eyes pop halfway out of my skull. “I did not!”

  Grayson grinned. “You did. And I’m sure most would agree it was the highlight of the evening.”

  I cringed. “Most? Who all was there?”

  “Oh, pretty much everybody we’ve met since we blew into town. Plus an old friend.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your cousin Earl. He showed up last night.”

  I’d have slapped my forehead if I thought I could survive the impact. “Ugh. Great.”

  The rumbling of a massive diesel engine rattled the RV windows. I knew the sound. It was Bessie, Earl’s monster truck.

  Grayson looked up. “That must be him now.”

  He padded over to the RV’s side door and opened it. From the glimpse I caught of the rusted-out Buick chassis outside, I deduced we’d spent the night in the Wells brothers’ junkyard compound.

  Ugh. This just keeps getting better and better.

  “Good morning, Earl,” Grayson said. “Come on in.”

  Earl slowly stuck his shaggy head in the door like a cautious sloth. He winked at me, then turned to Grayson. “She had her coffee yet?”

  Grayson laughed. “She’s working on it.”

  “Whew! Good. Everybody knows she’s just plain evil till she’s had a cup.”

  I scowled at Earl as he squeezed the rest of his bear-like, six-foot-four frame into the RV’s tiny main cabin.

  “Howdy cuz,” he said. “Nice floorshow last night. Or was it a dirt show? You know, on account a there wasn’t no real floor?”

  “Don’t start,” I groaned.

  “I guess it’s too early to argue semantics,” Grayson said.

  Earl nodded. “Yep. Grandma Selma always told us don’t talk religion before breakfast. Speaking of which, look what I got.” Earl opened a grocery sack and pulled out a box of donuts.

 
My eyes lit up. It was only the second time in my life I felt like kissing Earl Shankles on the mouth.

  “Did you get me a banana crème?” I asked.

  “’Course I did. And this little beauty, too. Thank the lord for twenty-four-hour Walmarts.”

  Earl pulled out what looked like a life-size Barbie scalp. He shook the platinum-blonde hooker wig at me and made googly eyes. It was only the millionth time in my life I felt like kicking Earl Shankles in the nuts.

  “Put the wig on ET,” I grumbled. “I still need to get a shower.”

  “ET?” Earl stared at me like I was crazy.

  Garth poked his head inside the RV.

  Awesome. It’s a full-on party. Again, apparently.

  “Morning!” Garth said. “I thought I smelled donuts. Got a spare to share?”

  “Only glazed and crème filled,” I answered sourly. “They were fresh out of spirulina-flavored.”

  “Spiro what?” Earl asked, staring at Garth’s mullet as he reached for a donut. “You get that wig at Walmarts?”

  Garth turned to face him. “Hey, have any of you seen Tooth?”

  Earl blanched as his confusion grew. “You looking for a missing tooth?”

  “Tooth’s a canine,” Grayson said.

  Earl scratched his head. “Have I done had a stroke? ET and spirals and missing teeth. I don’t understand a darn thing what’s goin’ on up in here.”

  I smirked and took a noisy slurp of coffee. “Welcome to the funhouse, cuz.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I POURED EARL ANOTHER cup of coffee and topped off my mug. Then I set the empty carafe back on the burner and slid into the banquette opposite my burly cousin.

  From the shower, Grayson’s strangled-cat rendition of the Bee Gees’ Stayin’ Alive seemed a fitting background for Earl’s and my equally off-key conversation.

  Earl winced and tried to clean out his ear with his index finger. “Lordy! Somewheres a Gibb brother’s gettin’ a hernia operation.”

  I gave him half a smile. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, but what the hell are you doing here, Earl?”

  “Checking up on you.” He looked down at his coffee mug. “A feller can worry, can’t he?”

  “I’ve only been gone less than three days.”

  “I know.” Earl locked eyes with me. “But we both know a lot can happen in a short time.”

  Like finding out your father’s not your real father. And that your mother ran off with the guy who is. Or that you have the vestiges of a twin brother’s nuts banging against your brainstem.

  Or was that just the tequila?

  “True enough,” I said, and rubbed my aching head.

  Earl laughed “You keep sowing your wild oats like you done last night and you’re gonna run out of thread.”

  “Thanks for the life tip, coach.” I blew out a breath. “So how’re things going at the garage?”

  Earl shrugged. “Slow, but okay, I guess. Since you took off, the only person left to talk to is Beth-Ann. And she don’t even live in Point Paradise.”

  Oh, crap. I need to call Beth-Ann.

  Earl slurped his coffee. “What with Artie shuttin’ down the Stop & Shoppe for the weekend to fumigate for rats, I thought I’d take me a drive out to see you.”

  I cocked my head. It still thumped, but not as badly. “Is that your way of saying you miss me?”

  Earl grinned. “Nah. But I do miss getting fired by you.”

  We laughed for a moment, then Earl’s face grew somber.

  “You really doing okay here with Grayson? He treatin’ you okay and all?”

  As I thought about Earl’s question for a second, despite the hangover, an unexpected lightness of being took me by surprise. I smiled. “Yeah. I guess I’ve been too busy with our case to think about much of anything else. But, yeah, it’s going okay.”

  Earl’s eyes lit up. “You said on the phone you was investigatin’ some feller that got hisself squashed, right?”

  “Yeah. A guy named Lester Jenkins was found dead five days ago. Nearly every bone in his body was broken.”

  “Poor feller. What done it?”

  “That’s what we’re still trying to figure out. We thought at first he’d stumbled onto a secret alien invasion. But that turned out to be a skywave transmission.”

  Earl’s face crinkled in confusion. “Hold up a sec. You sayin’ you think an alien’s transmission fell out of the sky and flattened that feller?”

  “No. It’s ... ugh.” I heaved a sigh. “Listen. The thing is, how Jenkins died isn’t even the biggest mystery anymore.”

  Earl’s left eyebrow flattened out. “Well, then what in the world is?”

  “Where his body went. Jenkins was about to get embalmed when his body disappeared.”

  Earl sucked in a breath. “Alien abduction!”

  “Of a corpse?” I snorted, sending a dull shockwave of pain pulsing through my skull.

  “Hmmm,” Earl said, his lips twisted to one side. His gaze shifted from the ceiling onto me. “I know! Bigfoot nabbed him!”

  I shook my head. “No tracks.”

  “Then what’s left?”

  “Grayson thinks it may be some half-goat man named Pan.”

  “What would this Pan feller want with a dead guy?”

  “No. Grayson thinks Pan may have killed Jenkins. But wait. You’re right. What would anyone want with a dead guy?”

  “That may be a moot point,” Grayson said. He’d emerged from the bathroom wearing his signature black jeans and six-pack abs.

  I tried not to stare. “What do you mean?”

  “I just got off the phone with Officer Wells. Someone called in a report yesterday about a man sneaking out the back window of McGreggor Funeral Parlor. According to the eyewitness description, it was Lester Jenkins himself.”

  I nearly dropped my coffee mug. “He’s alive? How? And why are we just hearing about this now?”

  Grayson slipped a black T-shirt on over his head. “The operator who took the call thought it was a prank and dismissed it. Then she saw the report in the newspaper this morning about the body going missing and—”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Come on! Jenkins was as dead as you can get. He couldn’t have crawled out the window. It had to be someone else.”

  Grayson held up his hands as if proclaiming his innocence. “Look. All I know is that Wells told me the physical description fit Jenkins. And when he ran the tag number in the report, it was a match to Jenkins’ truck.”

  “But that don’t make no sense,” Earl said.

  Grayson grinned. “I know.” He shifted his attention to me. “So, you know what that means, right?”

  My nose crinkled. “What?”

  “We’re back in the game.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  BESSIE’S HUMONGOUS tractor tires whined as we sped down the highway toward our date with a dead guy on the lam.

  Either Lester Jenkins had come back to life and crawled out a funeral-home window, or, well, I didn’t want to think about what the other options might be. Careening down the road in a pimped-out monster truck, I already had enough troubles on my mind.

  To my left, in the driver’s seat, sat my cousin, Earl. An unsophisticated, barrel-chested, straight-talking, country boy—he represented everything good and bad about my past. To my right sat my future. Grayson. A mysterious, wiry, enigmatic smooth talker who, at the moment, was chewing on a plastic straw like a deranged Pekingese.

  It was times like these I wished I didn’t think so much.

  “Turn right here,” Grayson yelled over the buzz of the tires. “Wells said he spotted Jenkins on Harney Road.”

  Earl yanked the steering wheel, sending me lurching sideways into an impromptu lap dance with Grayson. As I struggled to get back to the center of the seat, Grayson yelled. “That’s them!”

  Off to the side of the road ahead, a police car’s lights flashed. As we drew nearer, the vehicle in front of it—an old red pick
up truck—came into view.

  Earl shifted into low gear and maneuvered Bessie into the grass behind Wells’ patrol car. As soon as he hit the brakes, we opened the doors and tumbled from the monster truck like discarded beer cans.

  Grayson and Earl took off toward the vehicles. Hindered by a blowout in my cheap flip flops, I was the last to arrive at the scene. When I did, I took my place in line beside Earl and Grayson, who were staring, open-mouthed, at Lester Jenkins. He was slumped behind the steering wheel of the red pickup like a sack of old potatoes.

  I stood, dumbfounded, as Officer Wells questioned Jenkins through the driver’s side window.

  Earl elbowed me out of my stupor. “Pee-yew! That feller Jenkins might’ve come back to life like you said, Bobbie. But lord help. He brought the dead stank with him.”

  Grayson crinkled his nose. “Somebody needs to invent dead-guy cologne.”

  I was too stunned to even shake my head. “I don’t understand,” I mumbled. “How is Jenkins alive again?”

  Officer Wells lowered his notepad and turned to face us. “He’s not. This is Hank Chambers. Lester Jenkins’ half-brother.”

  Chambers looked over at us and shrugged. “People say we look alike.”

  “What’s that smell?” I asked.

  Chambers’ eyes narrowed, then his face went sheepish. “Oh. Sorry about that. My wife cooked up a pot of collard greens for me to take to Lester’s wife, Arlene.”

  Earl whistled. “That’ll do it, all right.”

  Wells adjusted his stance and glowered at us. “You three mind if I ask Mr. Chambers here a few more questions?”

  Earl and I exchanged naughty-kid grimaces.

  “Sorry, Officer,” Grayson said. “Please. Proceed.”

  “Thank you.” Wells turned back to Chambers. “Sir, when was the last time you talked to your brother, Lester?”

  Chambers’ mouth hitched up on one side. “Well, I guess that’d be the night he died. He buzzed me on the radio. Told me he was having wifey troubles again. I was supposed to meet him at Blarney’s Bar, but he never showed.”

  Wells’ right eyebrow shot up. “And you didn’t think to go check on him?”

  “Nah. You see, that wasn’t the first time he’s stood me up. Besides, he’s a grown man. He can ... uh ... I mean, he could take care of himself, I thought.” Chambers looked down. “Maybe I was wrong.”