Lunatic's Game

by Margaret Lashley

  Earl grunted. “Darn. I thought there was gonna be some kind a critter in here.”

  I turned to Grayson. “What is this place?”

  “It’s an electromagnetic holding cell.”

  “Is that like a toaster oven?” Earl asked.

  Grayson sighed. “In layman terms, it’s a monster trap.”

  Earl’s eyes lit up. “Woohoo!”

  Grayson nodded. “And it’s time we set the trap to catch the Mothman.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  Grayson shook his head. “No. I’m not.” His eyes scanned the ceiling of the RV above his head. “He’s out there. I can feel him. But we’re going to need the right bait.”

  Grayson shot a glance at Earl, raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head toward me.

  Both men turned their heads, locked eyes with me, and smiled.

  I scowled. “What?”

  Then I figured out what, and ran for my life.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “COME ON, DREX! WHAT do moths find irresistible?” Grayson’s voice sounded muffled as he tried to reason with me from the other side of my locked bedroom door.

  “I dunno. You’re the genius here. Mothballs?” I looked around for something to barricade the door.

  “No. Flames.”

  “So what? What’s the pyro-maniacal leanings of a deranged insect got to do with me?”

  “Think about it, Drex. I think he’s attracted to your flaming red hair. He said he liked redheads, remember?”

  I stopped shoving on the chest of drawers. “That was fake Paulson, not Mothman.”

  “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

  I groaned. “Okay. So what if he does like redheads? I’m bald, remember?”

  “That’s only a temporary setback. When he met you at the mall, you had all your hair, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen, I think we have a chance of luring him into the RV if you could persuade him.”

  “Me? Persuade him? How?”

  “With your feminine, redhead wiles.”

  My face scrunched. “Right. And then what? Let him kill me in your rundown RV deathtrap? Uh...no thanks!” I tugged on the chest of drawers again.

  “No. If I’m right about this, he’ll be powerless around you.”

  I stopped and put an ear to the door. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s hard to explain. I’m going to have to show you. You’re going to have to open the door.”

  “No way, Grayson. I’m not falling for any more of you guys’ pranks.”

  “Don’t you find it interesting that Mothman appeared to you in your Grandma’s afghan? Your security blanket?”

  I thought about it for a second. “No. That was Earl’s doing.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, still, what if this Mothman creature fed on your fears? What if he was able to lure his victims with a false sense of security?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if Mothman can somehow read minds, Drex? Know his victims’ safe places? Then, he uses that knowledge to lure his victims. You know, make them feel like they have nothing to fear. It would explain how he’s been able to overwhelm them without an apparent struggle.”

  “Grandma Selma,” I whispered through the door.

  “What?”

  “This fake Paulson guy. He turned into Grandma Selma. In the cabin, I mean. Right before somebody shot out the lights. You don’t think she came back from the dead and shot—”

  “No. The bullet must’ve come from the second FBI agent, Drex. Paranormals don’t use handguns. No need. This other agent may still be out there ... unless Mothman finished him off already. No. I think your vision of Selma was the work of the Mothman. He must be able to project images into your mind. He knew you wouldn’t shoot your grandmother, right?”

  My gut flopped at the thought.

  “This creature knew your safe space, Drex. It’s your Grandma Selma, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “He tricked you, if only for a moment. Now it’s our job to figure out how to trick him back.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to need your wig.”

  “My wig? But I’ll be bald! What do you need it for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I cracked open my bedroom door and peeked out. Grayson was in the hall alone.

  “Where’s Earl?”

  “He said he’s making booby traps.”

  Aww, geez.

  “He shouldn’t be left alone out there,” I muttered. “Unsupervised.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go back down to the service bay.”

  I grabbed Lucky Red to cover my bald head and handed over my Woody Woodpecker wig. Grayson and I tromped downstairs to the parking lot. While he disappeared inside his RV with my wig, I went to check on what Earl was up to.

  As anticipated, I was neither surprised nor impressed by Earl’s ingenuity.

  My brilliant cousin had taped together patches of cardboard boxes until they formed the basic size and shape of a refrigerator. Then he’d covered the whole Frankenstein mess with duct tape, sticky side out. Somehow the genius had managed to get the whole contraption stuck on his back.

  As I walked up, he was flailing around like Quasimodo stuck to a roach motel.

  “Gimme a hand here, Bobbie!”

  I smirked. “If I did, then I’d only have one left.”

  “Come on, Cuz.”

  “What is that thing, anyway?”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “A redneck’s worst nightmare?”

  “It’s a Mothman trap, you dingdong. Help me get it set up.”

  “How’d you get it stuck on your back?”

  “I was gonna tote it out to the RV and ... uh ... I kinda forgot it was sticky.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Fabulous. Follow me.”

  Earl shuffled along behind me to the RV, hunched over with the trap on his back like an appliance delivery guy.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked.

  “We make this thing look like a moth cocoon. Grayson said that might be the creature’s safe space.”

  Before I could come up with anything more stupid than that, Grayson emerged from his RV with a Windex bottle in one hand, my wig in the other.

  “What’s that?” I nodded at the Windex bottle half-full of brownish liquid.

  Grayson beamed. “My proprietary blend of moth pheromones. I sprayed your wig with them.” He handed me the soggy mass of red hair. “Now, put it back on and I’ll spray you down.”

  I stared at him. “You’re joking.”

  “No. I’ve left the bedroom door in the RV unlocked. You wait for him in there. Earl and I, we’ll hide nearby. When Mothman goes inside, we’ll run in and stick that cocoon thing over him.”

  Grayson turned and saw Earl’s convoluted duct-tape trap. His proud smile evaporated. “Earl, I told you to put the duct tape on the inside.”

  I stared at the two men. I was supposed to entrust my life to these two idiots? Grizzly Adams caught in his own moth trap, and Professor Pheromones with a Windex bottle full of happy hormone juice?

  I don’t think so.

  “Hold on, gentlemen,” I said. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  TYPICAL ACADEMIC.

  Grayson’s moth-trap idea might’ve seemed good in theory, but it didn’t translate in the real world—at least, not in my real world. If all went according to my plan, however, Mothman would be buzzing around us again soon enough.

  I ripped Earl’s sticky, cardboard box from the back of his flannel shirt and tossed it on the ground.

  “Grab your duct tape and follow me,” I commanded. “And you, Grayson. Spray down the RV’s bedroom with that pheromone stuff of yours. But be sure and save some for me. Come on, Earl.”

  My burly cousin tromped up the stairs behind me. He followed me into my apartment and down the hall to my bedroom. I pointed at the floor.

 
; “Fix Mothman so he can fly again.”

  Earl grinned as he contemplated the deflated remains of his blow-up-doll monster. He laughed. “Looks like he put up a good fight, Cuz.”

  “Get to work,” I barked. “And don’t use Grandma’s afghan this time. Use this instead.”

  Earl caught what I threw at him and grinned. “Yes, boss man.” He ripped off a piece of duct tape with his teeth, got down on his knees, and went to work.

  While Earl doctored up the Mothman doll, I fished through my closet for the perfect outfit for our flying bait. I re-dressed the re-inflated body while Earl patched leaks and tested out the drone.

  “Does it still work?” I asked.

  “Ain’t too much worse for wear, Bobbie. You never were good with a punch.”

  “Har har. Grab this thing and let’s roll.”

  When Earl and I emerged downstairs a few minutes later, the flying drone had been transformed. With the help of an old nightgown of mine, fuzzy high-heeled slippers, and one of Grayson’s pink T-shirts for a cape, Mothman had become Mothwoman.

  Grayson’s jaw fell open.

  “Spray her down, professor,” I said. “Earl, tape that wig to her head, then let her fly.”

  “Yes, boss man.”

  “All right, men,” I said. “Let’s get that pheromone scent up in the air, shall we?”

  WITH EARL AT THE HELM of the remote control, Mothwoman worked like a charm, buzzing her way around the vicinity of the garage and bordering woods, advertising her wares like a mothy, flying harlot.

  But about ten minutes into it, things went a little off plan.

  Earl made an unscheduled emergence from the bushes. He stepped under a lamp post in the parking lot with his hands in the air. I was about to yell at him when I noticed there was a man behind him, holding a gun to Earl’s ribcage.

  It wasn’t the imposter we knew as Paulson.

  “FBI Special Agent Tom Hicks,” the guy announced. “Come out now. And if you’ve got any weapons, lay them down.”

  Grayson and I glanced at each other from behind the RV. He nodded and laid Earl’s Mossberg shotgun on the asphalt. I followed suit with my Daisy BB gun.

  “What’s going on here?” Hicks demanded.

  “We’re on your side, Agent Hicks,” I called out from across the lot. “We’re trying to apprehend Paulson ... I mean the guy who’s pretending to be Terry Paulson.”

  The FBI agent poked his gun in Earl’s ribs. “Is this him? I found him crouched in the bushes, giggling.”

  “No,” I said, walking toward them. “I know he looks rough, but he’s just my cousin, Earl Shankles.”

  Suddenly, a man-sized creature buzzed over us, mere feet from our heads. We all looked up.

  “What the?” Agent Hicks yelled. He pointed his weapon toward the sky and fired twice.

  Shards of plastic rained down onto the parking lot. A moment later, Mothwoman smacked into the asphalt between us. She squealed and deflated with a long, flappy, whine.

  I glanced up at Agent Hicks. His face was impossible to describe. He pointed his gun at Mothwoman, then Earl, then me; then just let it drop to his side. “Can somebody please explain what the hell is going on here?”

  “It’s a decoy,” I said. “We’re using it to lure Paulson in.”

  “With a flying blow-up doll?” Hicks eyed me like I was crazy. I couldn’t blame him.

  “It’s a long story,” I began, but Grayson cut me off.

  “We don’t have time for long explanations. Agent Hicks, whoever this guy is who shot your partner, he ditched his car nearby. He’s out there somewhere ... he could be aiming a gun at us right now.”

  Agent Hicks nodded toward our Mothman trap. “Who’s in the RV?”

  Grayson fumbled. “Uh ... no one. It’s part of the lure. I put on some soft music and lit a candle.”

  I smirked. “Nice touch.”

  Hicks jaw went tense. He pointed his gun at us again. “Shut up! I need some straight answers. Why is there a blow-up doll here wearing a monster mask and a red wig?”

  I grimaced. “This Paulson imposter is ... uh ... partial to redheads.”

  “And monster ladies,” Earl added, as if that explained everything else Agent Hicks needed to know.

  I was preparing myself for being cuffed and led to a psych ward when Grayson stepped forward.

  “Agent Hicks, I’m Nick Grayson, Private Investigator.” He flashed his badge. “I’m working on a case for Chief Warren Engles.”

  Agent Hicks’ eyes grew wide. But not as wide as mine.

  “I’m here investigating reports of Mothman sightings in the vicinity. The apparatus you shot down was, as my assistant said, a pheromone decoy.”

  Agent Hicks appeared incredulous. “I thought Mothman was just an urban legend.”

  “That’s what I’m here trying to determine.”

  Agent Hicks shook his head. “I’ve heard some ridiculous crap in my day, but this takes the prize.” He chewed his lip for a moment, blew out a breath, and looked Grayson in the eye. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

  Grayson turned my way. All of a sudden, all eyes were on me.

  Again.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “TERRY PAULSON WAS REPORTED missing by her family five days ago,” Agent Hicks said as the four of us crammed into the small banquet in Grayson’s RV. “I ran the plates on the Corolla in the ditch. They were stolen. The number’s registered to a Mandy Vanderhoff.”

  I wanted to kick myself in the head. The blue Corolla. There were millions of them out there. Mandy drove one. I hadn’t made the connection.

  “This guy must’ve abducted Mandy,” I said. “She has red hair. Terry Paulson has red hair. I’ve got ... I shot a glance around at the men’s faces. I had red hair.”

  Agent Hicks nodded. “Interesting observation. Officially, Terry Paulson was last seen ten days ago, when she left Starke prison driving a police transport vehicle. Her passenger was a murder suspect named Eugene Hollister.”

  I gasped. “The guy pretending to be Terry Paulson must be Eugene Hollister! The dead body in the woods ... with the orange jumpsuit. Hollister killed her and switched clothes. He messed up her face, so no one could identify her.”

  “You could be right, young lady,” Agent Hicks said. “Yesterday, we found Terry Paulson’s body in a shallow grave about two and a half miles south of here.”

  “I told Hollister I found the body,” I said. “He must’ve gone back and hid it, then made me go back to the scene to show me it wasn’t there. He wanted me to think I’d imagined it. Then he must’ve gone back later that day and buried it. The rain would’ve washed away his trail.”

  “But why hadn’t anyone reported Ms. Paulson missing until now?” Grayson asked.

  “Sounds like the guy assumed Terry Paulson’s identity,” Agent Hicks said. “She was filling in as interim officer for Jack Barker. Nobody knew her in Waldo. Hollister could’ve reported in to the Alachua Sherriff’s Department by computer. Or used a device to change his voice to sound like a woman over the phone.”

  My back stiffened. “They make devices like that?”

  “Sure,” Grayson said. “Hollister might’ve been able to fool department employees with it, but he couldn’t fool Terry Paulson’s family.”

  I shook my head. “That’s why he didn’t want to go to Vanderhoff’s. Paulson ... I mean Hollister. He gave me that assignment because he was afraid old lady Vanderhoff would recognize Mandy’s car. She must’ve made the connection anyway, and so he had to kill her.”

  “What’s this Hollister fella look like?” Earl asked.

  Agent Hicks pulled out a photo. “Kind of like Paul Newman, some say. I, personally, don’t see it. Reports say he’s got a way with the ladies, though.”

  Earl and Grayson both shot me know-it-all looks. I grimaced. As Agent Hicks passed the photo to Earl, I snatched it from his grubby hand and stared into the handsome, irritatingly attractive face.

  I didn’t recognize i
t.

  “That’s not him,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not the guy who was pretending to be Terry Paulson.”

  I handed the photo to Grayson. He agreed. “You’re right. It’s not.”

  Hicks stared at us both. “Then who the hell are you trying to catch?”

  I bit down on my resolve. “I guess we’d better reset that trap and find out.”

  PHASE TWO OF “OPERATION Moth Trap” was well underway.

  The door to the RV’s “monster trap” bedroom was open for business. A few feet away, Grayson and Agent Hicks were holed up inside the miniscule bathroom. I didn’t even want to know how two grown men were making that work. The soft music was playing again, and because Grayson insisted, a candle was left burning on the kitchen table to offer Mothman a symbolic “flame.”

  Our comrade in arms, the dearly deflated Mothwoman, was duct-taped to the RV’s open doorway. She was wearing my wig, my sexiest lingerie, and a nylon rope around her waist.

  I was positioned upstairs in my bedroom. My role was to flick on a lighter when I saw anyone approaching. The light, in turn, would signal Earl. He was hiding inside a smelly trash can beside the RV.

  I smiled to myself. Being in charge had its privileges.

  Earl’s job was to pop up out of the trash can and tap on the bathroom window to alert Grayson and Hicks that our prey was approaching the trap. They would then tug on the rope and yank Mothwoman inside.

  Once the perpetrator stepped inside the RV, Earl was supposed to run around and close the door, then make sure it stayed closed until Agent Hicks and Grayson gave the all clear.

  I looked down at the RV in the parking lot and shook my head. I wasn’t kidding myself. This was a foolish plan devised by and carried out by foolish people. Still, as I stood by the window and kept watch, I prayed with all my might that God would stick with his promise to take care of children and fools.

  Because if this didn’t work, Earl and Grayson would never let me live it down.

  ABOUT A QUARTER PAST two, I was about to call the whole thing off when a shadowy figure appeared out of nowhere. I blinked, unsure if I was just seeing things. In that split second, the dark figure had somehow managed to traverse the parking lot and was nearly to the RV door.