Then I heard it.
That telltale, echoing rasp of breath.
Earl had fallen asleep with his head in the toilet.
Again.
Chapter Sixty-One
I WAS CAUGHT IN THE grips of the undead.
A shadowy entity had ahold of my left foot.
Paralyzed with fear, I lay helpless in bed as my leg rose in the air like Linda Blair’s—under the control of some otherworldly demon.
Fear shot down my spine like a bullet of ice. Toxic vapors enveloped the room. A wave of nausea swept through me.
I blinked into the green-black darkness. The dark silhouette at the foot of my bed disappeared. Then, just as suddenly, reappeared.
A slimy sensation, like a cold-water slug, slithered across the bottom of my foot.
Then came a disgusting slurping sound.
I nearly dry-heaved.
It was Old Mildred, all right.
And she was sucking my big toe ....
Chapter Sixty-Two
“FORGIVE ME, JESUS,” I heard a voice call out in the dark.
Ack! Old Mildred’s fixing to kill me!
I lurched up in bed. A hollow, metallic sound gonged, then reverberated off the walls.
“What’s happening?” I screeched.
Suddenly, the lights flipped on, searing my retinas with a blinding white flash.
I squinted through the stars in my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Earl standing at the end of my bed holding a dented bedpan.
A second later, Grayson and Stanley rushed into the room.
“What’s going on?” Grayson yelled.
“I kilt Old Mildred,” Earl whimpered.
Grayson and Stanley stared at the floor at the foot of my bed. I crawled across the covers for a look.
For the second time in ten seconds, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Crumpled on the floor, half buried by a Santa-sized laundry sack, were a pair of hairy, pasty legs clad only in white socks and the same cheap black slippers I’d been issued.
“Looks like Old Mildred wasn’t a hunchback after all,” Earl said.
“Or a shaver.” Grayson heaved the sack from atop the body, revealing the open back of a hospital gown and a flabby, white, pimply bare ass.
Grayson groaned. “I may never eat tapioca pudding again.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Only one way to find out.”
Grayson squatted down and started to turn the body over. Suddenly, the door flew open as if it had been kicked by a mule.
“Hold it right there!” a man’s voice yelled.
All eyes shifted from the body on the floor to the man at the door—then to the barrel of the gun in his hand.
“Don’t move,” he said.
I recognized the weapon as a Glock. I recognized the face as the man I’d seen at the revival ... the one stealing cash from the collection plate.
Where do I know him from?
His name was on the tip of my tongue ....
Chapter Sixty-Three
“HOLBROOK!” STANLEY said. “What are you doing here?”
The cop we’d seen at Topless Tacos rushed into the room and closed the door behind him. He waived the pistol at Earl and Grayson. “Hands on the walls. Now!”
Grayson cleared his throat. “I know this looks a bit odd, officer, but we were just—”
“Shut up!” Holbrook hissed. He glanced down at the mangled heap of legs and laundry lying on the floor. “What did you do to him?”
“Him?” Earl asked. “I thought Old Mildred was a woman.”
“Shut up!” Holbrook said. “All of you. Get in the bathroom. Now!”
He jabbed his gun in Grayson’s ribs.
“Easy! Okay!” Grayson said. He held his hands up and marched into the bathroom. Earl and Stanley followed suit.
I started climbing out of bed to join them. Holbrook closed the bathroom door. He grabbed a chair and was dragging it across the floor when he turned and glanced at me.
“Not you, old man. You stay there.”
My heart lurched in my throat.
Why? Am I the next one on your list of vets to “disappear?”
“I ... I ....” I stuttered.
“What?” Holbrook said, staring at me. He tucked the Glock into his waistband. “Stay in bed. Sorry about the disturbance.”
As Holbrook turned his back on me and wedged the chair under the bathroom’s doorknob, I realized he hadn’t recognized me. No wonder. When he’d seen me at Topless Tacos, I’d been a woman with shoulder-length red hair.
“Go back to sleep,” Holbrook said, dropping a pill into my water glass. The liquid turned blue. “Drink this. You won’t remember a thing.”
He handed me the glass. I smiled weakly and took a sip of the bitter brew.
“There you go,” he said. Then he turned, bent down, and wrestled with the giant laundry sack on top of the guy with the hairy legs. “I’ll be back in a minute for him,” he said, heaving the sack onto his back. “Sorry about the toe thing. He’s always been a bit funny that way.”
Holbrook turned to leave. My mind raced. What was Holbrook going to do to my friends he had locked in the bathroom? Were they going to end up on his missing persons list?
I had to stop him! I reared back and heaved the water glass at Holbrook. It cracked against the side of his head.
“Ow!” he yelled as he stumbled. He slapped a hand against the wall for balance, then turned and glared at me.
“Take that, DiMaggio!” I yelled, standing up in my bed.
Holbrook’s eyes doubled in size. He turned back toward the door, but it was too late. I leapt on top of him and his hunchback sack, slamming him sideways into the wall.
“Get off me, you crazy old man!” he yelled, trying to shake free of me.
I held on for all I was worth. “Stop!” I screeched as Holbrook regained his balance and lumbered, Frankenstein-like, out the door and into the main hallway of the nursing home.
“Get off!” he yelled again, and dropped the sack. He tried to claw at me, but I clung to his back like a super-glued turtle shell. I knew it was up to me alone to stop him. Everyone else in the place was either locked up or in a wheelchair.
“Why are you doing this?” I hollered, feeling the cold air on my backside as my hospital gown flapped in rhythm to Holbrook’s lurching steps.
“I could ask you the same thing, old man!” Holbrook yelled back.
Then, suddenly, he froze.
I followed his blank stare down to the end of the hallway.
What I saw through the glass exit doors made me wish I had on clean underwear.
Or, at least, underwear.
Chapter Sixty-Four
AN EERIE PURPLE GLOW was emanating just outside the glass exit doors of Banner Hill. It was the strange, violet glow Stanley had warned about. The purple glow that made people disappear ....
Holbrook saw it, too. He stopped in his tracks, heaving to catch his breath. “Get off,” he wheezed.
“Not happening,” I said.
“Shit,” he hissed, and began turning around, grunting with each awkward, jerky step.
I held tightly to his back. My plan was working. The burden of carrying me was wearing Holbrook out. I squeezed my thighs around his sides even tighter.
“Come on, old man!” he yelled. “You’re killing me. Let go!”
Holbrook took a few steps down the hall, then turned right.
I knew what that meant. He was heading for the side exit. If he made it, I figured I was a goner. But what else could I do to stop him? If I let go of a hand to poke him in the eye, he’d surely sling me off. If I fell off, he’s surely stomp me to death! I dug my nails deeper into his shoulders.
“Argh!” Holbrook yelled, then staggered determinedly down the short hall to the side exit door. He laid a hand on the push-bar and gasped. “You’ve got some grip for an old man.”
“He takes Kung Fu lessons,” a voice qu
ipped behind me.
Grayson!
I craned my neck around. Grayson and Earl were standing right behind me. One was armed with a Glock. The other with ... a bedpan.
“How’d you get out of the bathroom?” I asked.
Grayson winked. “You’re not the only one who knows Kung Fu.”
“Ugh!” Holbrook groaned. He shoved open the exit door and lumbered off into the night, carrying me on his back like a worn out rodeo bull.
“Drop and roll, Drex!” Grayson called out.
I let go and tumbled into the grass. Holbrook took off. Grayson sped past me, leaping over me as he ran after him.
“You okay, Cuz?” Earl asked, holding out a hand to help me up.
“I think so.” I did a quick survey of my body parts. “Yeah. I’m okay. Let’s go!”
I ran in the direction Grayson had gone. Earl followed right behind me. Fifty yards out, in the dim haze of a lamp post, I saw Holbrook hobbling toward a Grand Safari stationwagon parked in the lot.
Its lights blinked on. Its engine roared to life.
Someone was there waiting for him.
Holbrook jumped in. The stationwagon took off, burning rubber.
“Over here,” Grayson called out.
Earl and I ran over to the RV. Grayson was standing beside the passenger door, shaking his head.
“Let’s go!” I yelled. “They’re getting away!”
“No can do,” Grayson said, and nodded toward the rear of the RV.
“Crap!” I yelled. “Who the hell keeps stealing our tires?”
“Looks like it’s gonna be Bessie to the rescue,” Earl hollered. “Follow me!”
“Where’s Stanley?” I asked as we raced toward my cousin’s monster truck.
“He stayed behind to check on your secret admirer,” Earl quipped.
“Who was it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
“We didn’t have time to stick around and find out,” Grayson said, opening the passenger-side door.
I started to climb in, then realized I was wearing a hospital gown—and not much else.
“You first,” I said.
“I already called shotgun,” Grayson said, offering me a hand up.
“But—”
“And I already saw your caboose.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And might I say, choo-choo.”
I pinched the back of my gown together and climbed in. Once Grayson’s butt hit the seat, Earl punched the gas pedal to the floor. The g-force could’ve made me lose my dentures—if I’d been wearing any.
As we tore through the parking lot, I realized I’d never been so embarrassed—or proud—in my entire life.
I was a real-life private-eye trainee—on a real-life, high-speed chase.
And Grayson thought I had a nice caboose.
Chapter Sixty-Five
AS IT TURNED OUT, TAILING the twenty-foot long stationwagon wasn’t that hard. It had the turning radius of a small cruise ship.
“Not the best choice for a getaway vehicle,” I said.
“I don’t think it was chosen for that purpose,” Grayson said.
“What do you mean?” Earl asked.
“Look at the thing. It’s as big as a hearse.”
“So why did they choose it?” I asked.
Grayson shot me a look. “I thought I just covered that. Because it’s as big as a hearse. Nobody would suspect there were bodies inside.”
I cringed with fear and disgust. Then I held on for dear life as Earl’s monster truck chased Holbrook’s sheet-metal land cruiser all the way into New Port Richey’s old downtown strip.
As we sailed by a couple of blocks, the quaint, striped awnings and wrought-iron railings of the old buildings reminded me of New Orleans. Then I remembered we were chasing a guy who sawed people up for body parts.
“Hurry!” I said, staring at the road ahead.
The stationwagon’s brake lights flashed in the distance about a quarter mile ahead of us. Earl stopped at an intersection.
“What are you doing?” I yelled.
“Looking both ways,” Earl said. “You can’t never can be too careful.”
I glanced over at Grayson. He was preoccupied, staring out the window at a mural. It was hard to miss.
The drawing was nearly as large as the building itself, and depicted a crowd of people in brown, old-timey bathing suits taking a dip in a body of water—either a lake or the ocean.
Earl hit the gas. I lurched sideways into Grayson.
“Lucky them,” I said as the mural disappeared from view. “Those old timers probably drowned before they had to live here.”
“Don’t be so fast to judge,” Grayson said, pushing me back to my center position on the bench seat. “Back in the 1920s, New Port Richey used to be a magnet for the rich and famous. In fact, it was once dubbed ‘The Hollywood of the East.’”
“Yeah, right. I guess now it’s just part of “The Redneck Riviera.’”
Grayson shook his head. “Is this as fast as she’ll go?” he hollered at Earl.
“Lord, no,” Earl said. “I just didn’t want to scare y’all.” Earl punched the gas pedal and plastered us to the back of the seat. The tractor-sized tires hummed like a swarm of bees, and we made a city block in two seconds flat.
“We’re gaining on them,” I said.
“That’s the point,” Earl said.
We were maybe twenty yards behind them when the Grand Safari ran the stop sign at the intersection. Earl slammed on the brakes. I nearly hit my head on the windshield.
“What the?” I groused. “Earl, you can’t stop at every—”
Hoooonnnk! A deafening horn blasted us from the left. A split second later, a huge semi-truck blew through the intersection.
I settled back in the seat. “Good call, Earl.”
A second later, the taillights of the stationwagon lurched sideways. The sound of breaking glass and twisting metal filled the air.
“Lordy! They’ve done crashed,” Earl said.
Earl drove us up to the scene. The stationwagon had clipped a corner, spun around, and crashed into a cigar shop. The store was decorated with a mural of a straw-hat sporting, stogie-chomping gator. Smoke billowed from the car’s crumpled hood, lending the surreal effect that the gator’s cigar had somehow come to life.
Someone groaned inside the car.
“I think it’s time to call the police,” I said.
Just then, behind us came the blip of a siren and the flash of blue lights.
“No need,” Grayson said. “They’re already here.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
“WELL, TESTS DON’T LIE, but I can barely believe it,” the patrol officer named Daniels said. “None of you tested positive for alcohol. Not even you, Holbrook.”
Daniels had lined us all up against the wall opposite the now mangled mural of the cigar-smoking gator. He was shaking his head in wonderment that all of our breathalyzers came back clean.
“The tow truck is on its way,” Daniels said. “Now, will somebody tell me what in the world is really going on here?”
Grayson and Holbrook exchanged glances. “I was doing an investigation at Banner Hill nursing home,” Holbrook blurted. “This man is a lunatic. He’s impersonating a doctor!”
“I’m the one conducting an investigation here,” Grayson said, tugging the collar of his white hospital coat. “You’ve got a dirty cop there. In fact, I believe he’s the mastermind behind a body-snatching ring.”
Holbrook shot his fellow officer a see what I mean look.
The confused cop shifted his gaze over to the rest of us—Earl, me, and Ms. Gable, who’d been behind the wheel of the stationwagon.
“Somebody else want to help me out here?” Daniels said.
Another car pulled up beside us. Stanley got out, paid the driver, and tugged a giant laundry sack out of the back seat. Then he reached in and pulled out Melvin Haplets.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked.
Stanley shrug
ged. “Turns out old Melvin may be Old Mildred instead.”
“What?” I gasped.
Officer Daniels winced as if he’d just had an aneurism. “Now what?” He shook his head and pointed his weapon at the new arrivals. What’ve you got in the bag, bad Santa?”
“Uh ....” Stanley stuttered.
Grayson cleared his throat. “Excuse me, officer. If my theory is correct, that bag contains evidence of Holbrook’s trafficking in human body parts.”
Stanley dropped the sack like it was made of molten lava. “It does?”
“Looks like they got us,” Melvin said to Holbrook. “The gig’s up.”
“Shut up!” Holbrook hissed. “Don’t tell them anything!”
“Like what?” Melvin asked. “That you’re my nephew?”
Holbrook’s face crumpled. “Look,” he said to Daniels. “It’s not body parts.”
“What isn’t?” Daniels asked.
“What’s in the bag,” Holbrook said. “It’s not body parts.”
“What is it then?” Daniels demanded. He turned to Stanley. “You,” he barked. “The guy who brought the bag. Open it.”
“Me?” Stanley asked.
“Yes, you.”
Stanley winced, then untied the drawstring. Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes and cautiously reached a hand inside the bag. When he pulled it out, he had ahold of a tube of Preparation H and a brown prescription bottle.
“Medical supplies?” Daniels asked. “What are you doing with these?”
“Me? I know nothing!” Stanley said.
“Stealing them,” Melvin said. “What else?”
I peeked inside the bag. The missing men’s files were there, tucked among a mountain of pill bottles, bedpans, cotton swabs and tubes of denture cream. I stared at Melvin. “Why did you take all this stuff?”
Melvin shrugged. “To sell at the flea market. Have you seen what they want for a decent condo around here? Social Security don’t cut it.”
“How long has this been going on?” Daniels asked.
“Only a week,” Melvin said, sounding disappointed.
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