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

by Margaret Lashley

  I cringed. “You mean there’s more than one of those things slithering around?”

  Grayson sighed. “Invasive species are called invasive for a reason, Drex.”

  OUR SEVEN-PERSON CHAIN gang wound its way through Jenkins’ crazy maze of a trail, hopefully for the last time. Garth was in the lead, followed by Simpson, Earl, Arlene, and me, with Grayson and Officer Wells bringing up the rear.

  “Keep your eye out for snakes,” Wells called to Garth.

  “Roger that,” Garth called back. He squinted through his thick lenses and swung a machete at a palmetto leaf.

  “I don’t get it,” I said to Grayson. “Why did the snake eat Rexel, but not Lester Jenkins?”

  “Maybe it got disturbed,” Grayson said. “When stressed, snakes have been known to regurgitate their food. But I think he may have just been too big to swallow.”

  “Swallow this,” Arlene whined, and stuck out her butt. “I’m hungry!”

  Hands cuffed behind her back, Arlene’s mouth was open wide as she bobbed for a pendulous yellow fruit hanging from a hairy-leaved vine.

  “Stop!” I yelled, and slapped the side of her head. Hard.

  She glared at me, her eyes still wild. “You! You’re after my Lester, you two-timing—”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda,” I said. “Save it for your statement.”

  “Get going up there, Jenkins,” Wells barked. Arlene scowled, turned back around, and trudged down the trail.

  Grayson grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear. “You’re no hero. You just wanted to slap her, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t dignify his query with an answer. But damned, it was uncanny how well that man could see right into my soul.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  I WAS SHOWERING IN the RV, getting ready for a farewell meeting with the preppers at Blarney’s Bar, when I noticed the small cuts on my wrists. They were red and swollen.

  The bar of soap I’d been holding landed in the shower pan with a thud.

  “You okay in there?” Grayson called through the door.

  “I don’t know. I need to show you something.”

  Grayson opened the bathroom door and was at the shower curtain before I could even yell, “stop.”

  “I didn’t mean this second!” I said.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Grayson turned to go.

  “Wait. Look at this.” I stuck my arm out from behind the shower curtain. “Do you think I got infected by the deer zombie disease?”

  Grayson’s hand wormed its way into the shower. His wrist had the same swollen cuts.

  “If you did, so did I.”

  All of a sudden, I felt punched in the gut. My knees buckled, and I let out a cry. Grayson stepped into the shower, clothes and all. He wrapped his arms around me.

  “Are we gonna die, Grayson?”

  “I don’t know. But look on the bright side, Drex. Worst case scenario, we can be zombie buds together.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  I STARED AT THE MOUNTAIN of Blarney’s chicken wings, but somehow they’d lost their appeal. I wasn’t the only one. Grayson eyed them with disgust and sipped his beer instead. Earl, however, dug right in.

  I supposed ignorance truly was bliss.

  I figured I’d let my cousin stay uninformed of the possibility he’d been infected with mad deer disease. Ignorance suited him. Besides, there was nothing we could do to change the fact that we could, quite possibly, be dead within the year.

  “Officer Wells,” Grayson said, greeting the young man walking toward our booth.

  “Howdy, Officer,” Earl said. “Sit down and help me out with these wings. Them two love birds are off their chicken feed.”

  Wells studied our faces. “Why’s that?”

  Earl shrugged and grabbed another wing off the pile. “Beats me.”

  “So, what’ve you found out?” Grayson asked.

  “We’ll know more when Freddy—Dr. Crum gets here. But for now, I think I’ve figured out the motive.”

  “For Lester’s murder?” Earl asked.

  Wells brow furrowed. “No. I think the snake solved that. What I’m talking about is why his corpse was taken.”

  “Right. The old disappearing corpse act,” Grayson said. “Do tell. Was it love or money?”

  “As it turns out, a bit of both.”

  Garth joined us. “Oh goody,” he said. “Pandora, you wore those pink jeans again.”

  I rolled my eyes and scooted over for him to join me in the booth.

  “Did Jimmy tell you yet?” Garth asked. “It was a love triangle.”

  “More like a love quadrangle,” Wells said.

  Earl sneered. “Can’t you fellers see I’m trying to eat? Keep that kinky sex talk for after dinner.”

  I blew out a breath. “Okay, so what are we talking about here?”

  Garth started to speak, but Wells stopped him. He answered my question himself. “Long story short, it turns out that Hank Chambers, Jake Hinson, and both Jeramiah and Samuel Simpson were all after the same woman.”

  “Arlene Jenkins?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah,” Wells said.

  My upper lip snarled. “Why?”

  Garth’s grin made me want to go take another shower. “You should know why, Pandora. They were all after her sexy breeding hips.”

  My nose crinkled. “I thought they wanted Lester’s gold.”

  “Gold?” Wells asked.

  “Yeah. I gave you the coin that fell out of his ... uh ... that Rexel had, you know, somewhere on his person.”

  Wells cocked his head. “That thing? It was a commemorative coin from last year’s Strawberry Festival. Worth exactly squat.”

  “Then why was Rexel ready to kill for it?” I asked.

  Earl laughed. “Why’d he think he was Cupid? That’s what I wanna know.”

  Wells stifled an eye roll at Earl. “I ran some background on him. Turns out Rexel was discharged from the military for failing a psychiatric evaluation back in 1978.”

  “Okay, so that’s Rexel covered,” Grayson said. “He was one brick shy of a load. But what about the whole body-in-a-coffin shell game?”

  Wells nodded. “From what I could piece together, after Lester Jenkins died Arlene found out he’d let all his life insurance policies lapse except for one—the five thousand dollars to bury him. I think we could all agree that could righteously piss a woman off.”

  We all nodded.

  Wells chewed his cheek. “I think Arlene decided not to waste the money burying Lester. She and Hank Chambers decided to get rid of his body on the cheap. The trouble was, he’d already been delivered to McGreggor Funeral Parlor. So Chambers had to bust him out.”

  “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it,” Earl quipped.

  Wells shook his head. “So Chambers is pulling Lester out the window at McGreggor’s when he gets caught by one or more of Arlene’s other suitors. Either Jeremiah or Samuel Simpson, or both. Maybe even Jake Hinson, their assistant.”

  “That’s when the crap really hit the fan,” Grayson said.

  “Exactly how I see it,” Wells said. “Chambers tries to explain the predicament—that he and Arlene needed the money to run off to the Poconos to get married—and the jig is up because Arlene had promised every one of those guys the same thing.”

  I snorted. “And she said I was the two-timing floozy!”

  “So how did Chambers end up in a coffin?” Grayson asked.

  “That part’s still not totally clear,” Wells said. “I think the three spurned lovers—Jake and the Simpsons—conspired together to get rid of their main rival. They had the motive and means to seal Chambers in a coffin and haul him out to Dreadmore with his brother, Lester.”

  “Dispose of both of them in the back forty of a prepper compound,” Grayson said. “That’s two birdbrains buried with one stone.”

  “Right,” Wells said. “But Samuel’s accident with the truck foiled those plans. When the coffins dumped and broke apart, he and J
ake weren’t able to subdue Chambers. He came out of the box swinging. Chambers was beating those two to a pulp. That’s why Samuel called the police for help.”

  “But Chambers said the last thing he remembered was being at Arlene’s,” I argued.

  “And them three scrawny old men would a had a heck of a time gettin’ Hank Chambers to go willingly into a pine box,” Earl said.

  “Arlene had to be involved,” Grayson said. “I think she saved a sedative syringe from Dr. Crum and pumped it into Chambers when he wasn’t looking.”

  I chewed my lip. “Why?”

  “Chambers had just divorced,” Wells said. “He was actually planning on marrying Arlene. He’d already changed the beneficiary on his life insurance policy to her.”

  “That meant Chambers had to die for her to collect,” I said.

  “Right.” Wells took a sip of water and continued. “Arlene met Samuel Simpson when she called around for cheap ways to bury Lester’s body. Samuel and she worked out some kind of deal, for love, money, whatever. But then Jake got involved and wanted his cut. Again, for love or money, I’m not sure at this point.”

  My nose crinkled. “But back at the cabin, Arlene was arguing with Samuel Simpson as if she hated him.”

  Grayson snorted. “Maybe because she figured he would end up being just like Lester, only with worse breath.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe she just wanted to break free of the whole prepper scene.”

  “Why?” Wells asked.

  I shrugged. “Think about it from Arlene’s perspective. What would be the use of surviving in a world with no gel nails or peroxide?”

  “Or cosmetic procedures,” Crum said, walking up to the table.

  “What’s up, Doc?” Earl said. “Thanks for the staples.” He lifted his bangs to reveal his Frankenstein starter set.

  Crum was eyeing me and Grayson. The look on his face made my gut flop. He didn’t appear to be the bearer of good news.

  “What have you been able to find out?” I asked as he took a seat in the chair at the end of the booth. I could barely see him over the mountain of chicken bones on the table.

  A waitress came over. “One more order of wings,” Dr. Crum said, “and a beer. A big beer.”

  I glanced over at Grayson. His eyes met mine. He pursed his lips.

  “Let me start with the good news first,” Crum said. “Jenkins’ brain biopsy showed no signs of transmissible spongiform encephalopathy.” He glanced over at Earl. “That means no zombie deer disease.”

  I shot Grayson a small, hopeful smile.

  “But it’s too soon to tell about Arlene,” Crum said.

  “It’s got to be zombie deer disease,” Garth said. “What else could make those dingbats start living the la vida loca?”

  “You of all people should know the answer to that,” Crum said, staring at him sourly.

  Garth frowned. “What are you talking about, Doc?”

  “You smoke weed,” Crum said. “Hank Chambers came to the hospital higher than a kite on Mars.”

  Garth blanched. “I’ve been known to inhale, sure. But I never stripped naked and climbed a water tower.”

  “I know,” Crum said. “And that got me to thinking, what would make someone do that?”

  “Zombie deer meat,” Earl said.

  “Thanks for that suggestion,” Crum said tiredly. “However, I may have another explanation.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Embalming fluid.”

  “What?” I asked again, nearly choking on my iced tea.

  Crum blew out a breath. “You see, when Chambers’ blood tested positive for marijuana, I searched his clothes and tested the stub I found in his pocket. It came back positive for methanol, formaldehyde, and ethanol. Embalming fluid.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “Those are the same basic ingredients in the street drug, PCP.”

  “Would that explain his crazy behavior?” Wells asked. “The man was talking to a skull.”

  “Yes, it would,” Crum said. “Typical effects include both visual and auditory hallucinations. So, more than likely, in Chambers’ mind, Lester’s severed head was talking back to him.”

  “I’d loved to have heard that conversation,” Grayson said.

  “What about climbing a water tower?” Wells asked.

  “Actually, it makes perfect sense, now that I think about it,” Crum said. “People under the influence of PCP report feelings of invincibility, euphoria, and an overwhelming desire to disrobe.”

  “What about archery?” Earl asked.

  Crum ignored him and turned to Garth. “It also gives some people a strong distaste for meat. Didn’t you say you’re a vegetarian?”

  Garth nearly choked on his beer. “Sometimes. But you just saw me eat a chicken wing!” He shot a glance at his brother. “I swear, Jimmy. I’ve got nothing to do with this. I didn’t even sell them a brownie!”

  Wells frowned. “I believe you. And I guess we can all think of a few people who might be able to get their hands on some embalming fluid.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  IT WAS TUESDAY MORNING, and we’d survived another night at the Wells’ friendly neighborhood doomsday compound.

  “You know, I think I’m going to miss all this junk,” Grayson said.

  I peered out the window of the RV at the rusted hull of a harvest-gold washing machine. A small tree had sprouted in its drum.

  My eyebrows furrowed to a point. “Why would you miss camping in a junkyard?”

  Grayson set his coffee mug on the counter. “Think about it. It’s the perfect camouflage.”

  Given the condition of the RV’s exterior, Grayson’s statement was one of the few that had made real sense in the past couple of days.

  A knock on the door saved me from having to reply. I opened it to find Officer Wells nodding at me.

  “Morning. Coffee?” I asked.

  Wells shot me a grateful smile. “Sure. I could drink a cup.”

  “Come in. Have a seat,” Grayson called out.

  Wells ambled inside and slid into the banquette. I handed him a steaming cup of coffee.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  The young cop shifted in his seat. “Before you two left, I wanted to let you know that Crum called me. The meat from Jenkins’ cabin tested negative for chronic wasting disease.”

  I gasped. “So ... we’re in the clear?”

  “Looks like,” Wells said.

  “That’s great!” I patted Wells on the shoulder and smiled at Grayson. He winked and gave me a subtle nod.

  “From what I’ve been able to gather, Samuel Simpson and Arlene are the masterminds of this whole mess,” Wells said.

  “What’s going to happen to them?” I asked.

  “Simpson confessed to tripping out Arlene with embalming fluid-laced joints. But we’re still not sure whose idea it was to bury Hank Chambers alive.”

  “Maybe you can get that snake to squeeze the truth out of ’em,” Earl said, emerging from the bathroom.

  Wells shook his head. “Since Chambers is still alive, and you three decided not to press charges for false imprisonment, Arlene might get to take that trip to the Poconos after all—with Chambers, one of the Simpsons, or whoever.”

  I shook my head. Now that’s what you call spoiled for choice. Not.

  Wells’ police radio crackled.

  “I better take this,” he said and got up from the table. He shook hands with Grayson and me. “It’s been weird, but I have to say, it’s still been a pleasure meeting you all.”

  “We feel the same,” Grayson said. “Take care and be safe.”

  “You, too.” Wells smiled, then disappeared out the door.

  “I guess I better be takin’ off directly myself,” Earl said. He turned to Grayson. “Before I do, can you answer me something, EB?”

  Grayson shot him a look. “EB? You think I’m an extraterrestrial being?”

  “Huh?” Earl’s eyebrows convergin
g below his staple line. “Well, there’s a thought. But nah. I meant Encyclopedia Britannica. On account a you got all that crazy knowledge up in your brain.”

  “Oh.” Grayson’s enigmatic smile faded a notch. “What do you want to know?”

  “All these prepper fellers we got tangled up with. They called themselves mercenaries. But as far as I could tell, there weren’t ’nary a mercy among ’em. Would you say that’s ironical or apropos?”

  Grayson’s right eyebrow shot up. He gave me a weird glance, then stood up and patted Earl on the shoulder. “Some questions just don’t have any clear-cut answers, Earl.” He nodded toward the restroom. “You done in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take care. Hope to see you soon, as far as you know.”

  Earl smiled. “You, too.”

  I looked up at my bear of a cousin. “Thanks for coming. You really helped us out.”

  “I dunno about that, Bobbie. I think I might a just got in the way. You had to save my hide more’n once.”

  I grinned. “You saved mine back.”

  Earl smiled. “Bobbie, I think you might a found where you belong.”

  I frowned. “You mean with Grayson? For the umpteenth time, Earl, we’re just friends.”

  “That’s not what Grandma Selma said.”

  My eyes bulged. “Don’t tell me you’re seeing ghosts!”

  “Nah. I’m talking about that dream you told me about. You know, where she was in the coffin with you, stirring that pot of poop.”

  “Are you saying I’m stirring up crap?”

  Earl blanched. “What? Heck, no!”

  “What then?”

  “In your dream, Granny offered you a spoonful, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think she’s tellin’ you not to poop where you eat.”

  My jaw flexed. “Ugh! Earl, Grayson and I are just business partners!”

  Earl nodded at me skeptically. “Well, it might be good to keep it that way. ’Cause, like I said, I think you’re damned good.”

  I cringed and stared at the floor. “At messing things up? Yeah, I’m good at that all right.”

  “No, Bobbie.” Earl took my chin in his huge hand and gently tugged my face upward until my eyes met his. “You’re good at being an investigator. It’s your calling. I can just feel it.”