I glanced down at the mysterious folder and chewed my bottom lip. I couldn’t stand not knowing what the hell Experiment #5 meant. “Aw, come on, Grayson. Just give me a hint, okay?”
Grayson sighed. “Very well.”
I smiled and took a victory sip of coffee.
Grayson cleared his throat. “It involves hot bodies.”
Coffee spurted from my mouth like a busted lawn sprinkler. “Porn?” I hacked, wiping my chin.
Grayson studied me clinically, then put a spidery hand on my forehead. “Drex, do you have a headache?”
I blanched and yanked his hand away. “No. Why?”
Grayson stared at me oddly, but said nothing.
Suddenly, a thought stabbed my brain. My ears flamed with heat. “Grayson, is this your attempt at ... foreplay?”
Grayson’s handsome head tilted slightly to the left. “Four play? Impossible, Drex. We’re not equipped for that.”
My eyebrows met. “What? Why not?”
“Because there are only two of us.”
I collapsed back into my seat, stunned to silence. Either Grayson had stolen a joke from Leslie Nielsen, or he was indeed utterly clueless when it came to intergalactic relationships.
As I ground my teeth to powder contemplating whether Grayson was of this Earth or not, I realized there was only one thing I knew about him with absolute certainty.
The guy really knew how to pull my chain.
Chapter Two
A high-pitched wail echoed down the hallway of the RV.
I glanced up from my laptop and winced. Either Grayson was giving an extremely reluctant cat an enema, or he was singing in the shower again.
My lips curled diabolically. I rubbed my hands together.
Yes!
It was time to get to work.
WHILE GRAYSON CRUCIFIED Jesus Christ Superstar, I ransacked the RV like a flying squirrel on crack. I couldn’t help myself. My mind was literally twitching with curiosity. I had to know.
What the hell is Experiment #5?
“On a need to know basis, my ass,” I muttered as I rifled through the hallway cabinets like a meth-head craving a fix. So far, I’d come up empty-handed.
A hasty shuffle through Grayson’s shelves of secret potions produced no results either—just another gander at his oddball collection, including the Alien Parasite Remover he kept in a Windex bottle. Behind it, floating in a jar of gross, pale-brown liquid, was the Nubian fertility statue my dingbat cousin Earl had mistaken for the extra appendage removed from Grayson when he was a kid.
Grayson’s adoptive mother had given her new son the nickname “Nubbin” because of his extra appendage. Its surgical removal had left a scar on Grayson’s stomach that looked remarkably like a second bellybutton.
Or, at least, that’s the story Grayson had told me.
“Damn. No file,” I muttered to myself.
I closed the cabinet and headed for the bedroom. But even after pilfering through Grayson’s underwear drawer, ten minutes later I still had absolutely squat to show for my efforts.
Wedging my hand into every crack in the broken sofa-bed and scrounging through every kitchen shelf and drawer had produced nothing except the BabyRuth candy bar I’d stashed away in an empty macaroni box two months ago. You know, in case of emergency.
And as far as I was concerned, this was a freakin’ emergency.
I flopped onto the bed, ripped open the silver foil, and sunk my teeth into the peanuts and firm, chocolate-coated caramel. As I bit off a huge hunk, a thought struck me.
Grayson said the folder contained “hot bodies.” Where would a man of questionable genetic origin hide his porn stash?
A peanut tumbled off the candy bar, bounced off my shoe, and rolled under the bed.
Of course! Under the mattress!
I shoved the last hunk of BabyRuth into my mouth, then heaved up the queen-sized mattress.
Nothing. Crap.
Down the short hallway, Grayson crooned out another excruciating series of off-key notes. Caught off guard by his oral assault, I gasped and nearly choked to death on the logjam of nuts and caramel stuck to my upper palate.
Then another thought made me gag.
Did Grayson take the folder into the bathroom with him? Is he looking at the photos right now and... Ugh!
I cringed and let go of the mattress. It landed atop the box-spring with a soft thud. Caramel-coated disgust churned in my stomach. I called off my search for the folder and began covering my tracks.
First stop was the bed. I stretched and tugged on the black bedspread until it was creaseless and taut. Satisfied it was back to Grayson’s military-precision standards, I swallowed the remnants of my contraband BabyRuth, then licked my teeth in the mirror above the bureau until every chocolatey speck of evidence was removed.
That done, I glanced around the bedroom. Everything appeared in order. I turned to leave, then remembered the AWOL peanut and froze in my tracks. If it had been anyone else I was sharing a room with, I’d have ignored the wayward legume. But I knew if Grayson found it, he’d put two and two together—and come up with five.
Ugh!
I got on my hands and knees and looked under the bed. Of course, the stupid peanut had rolled all the way to the front right corner, out of reach. I crawled over to the front side of the bed and fished it out, bumping my head on the nightstand in the process.
“Ouch,” I grumbled, rubbing my head.
Aggravated, I stood up and kicked the nightstand. The drawer popped open an inch. The edge of a manila folder came into view. I glanced around the room. The coast was clear. I yanked open the nightstand drawer.
The folder marked Experiment #5 lay right on top.
Ka-ching!
I reached for it.
“Baarriinnngg!”
An alarm rang, scaring the bejeebers out of me!
I jerked my hand back, slammed the drawer shut, and whirled around on my heels. I fully expected to see Grayson standing in the doorway, ready to turn me to dust with laser blasts from his alien-green eyes.
He wasn’t there.
The alarm sounded again. A thought burst to the surface of my paranoid mind.
That alarm isn’t Grayson’s. It’s mine.
It was the special “emergency” ringtone of my best friend back in Point Paradise. Beth-Ann was calling my cellphone!
I sprinted out of the bedroom, down the short hall, past the bathroom, and into the main cabin. I snatched my phone from the banquette table.
“Beth-Ann!” I yelled into the receiver.
“Wow. You can still recognize my voice.” Her deadpan tone dripped with sarcasm. “I was just about to mark you off my best friend list.”
Guilt washed over me. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” she asked.
I envisioned Goth-girl Beth-Ann milling about inside the quirky beauty shop she’d created inside her garage. In my mind’s eye, she was leaning against a broom, filing her black-lacquered nails, a Cheshire-cat smirk on her black-painted lips.
“Uh...private eye stuff,” I fumbled.
“Uh-huh.”
I let out a sigh and padded back down the hallway toward the bedroom. I knew from experience there was no fooling the savvy woman on the other end of the line.
“Well, to be honest, Beth-Ann—”
I stopped talking—I could no longer hear my own voice. It was being obliterated by a horrendous wail emanating from behind the bathroom door. Outside, a couple of dogs began howling.
“What in the world is that godawful noise?” Beth-Ann asked.
“Its ... uh...” I fumbled.
“Wait!” Beth-Ann gasped. “You’ve got some crazy creature snared in that bedroom, don’t you? You know. In that monster-trap thingy!”
“No,” I said. “That’s Grayson.”
“In the trap?”
“No! In the...” I cringed. “He’s in the...”
“Geez, Bobbie! Spit it out! Where is he
?”
“He’s in the bathroom.”
“Oh.” Beth-Ann’s voice sounded three octaves deeper.
Grayson belted out another otherworldly yowl, making me envision C3PO being crushed between two flaming asteroids. I grimaced with embarrassment. “Look. It’s not what it sounds like. He’s not—”
“Stop!” Beth-Ann demanded. “Don’t. Say. Another. Word.”
I chewed my lip and listened to my best friend breathe for ten seconds. Finally, Beth-Ann broke the silence.
“Bobbie, I don’t know how you two can live together in that crappy RV without driving each other crazy.”
I blew out a jaded laugh. “Who says we haven’t?”
I could almost hear Beth-Ann’s jet-black eyebrows rise an inch.
“Oooh. Do I detect trouble in paradise?” she cooed.
I winced. “Kind of.”
“What’s wrong?”
I frowned. “Grayson doesn’t trust me.”
Beth-Ann snorted. “Imagine that.”
My eyebrows crunched together. “I thought you were my friend.”
“Sorry. But you know how you are.”
I scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. Look. Why do you think Grayson doesn’t trust you? Have you tried talking to him about it?”
“Come on. You know guys’ ears are like their nipples, Beth-Ann. They don’t actually work. They’re just there to make them appear more human.”
Beth-Ann laughed.
I opened my mouth to say something, but the sharp squeak of the water faucet cut me off. Grayson had finished his shower. A surge of panic shot through me. Would Grayson know I’d snooped through his stuff?
“Hold on a sec, Beth-Ann.”
“Okay.”
I held the phone in one hand and feverishly scanned the hallway, then the bedroom, searching for any telltale signs of my ransacking rampage. I scurried over to the nightstand to make sure I’d shut the drawer all the way. Then I tugged once more on the corner of the taught bedspread for good measure.
“Okay. I’m back,” I said, then let out a sigh of relief. “Uh...what were you saying?”
“I asked you why you think Grayson doesn’t trust you,” Beth-Ann said.
“How the heck should I know?” I said, shooting a paranoid glance back down the hallway.
“Did he say he doesn’t trust you?”
I frowned. “No. But he keeps stuff from me. Important stuff. And most of time, when I ask him a question, he tells me, “That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
“That’s his right, Bobbie. You don’t tell Grayson everything you do, do you?”
I winced. “No. But since we’ve been sleeping together—”
“What?”
“Argh! I didn’t mean it like that—”
“You’re boinking Grayson?”
“No! We’re just ... uh ... sharing a bed.”
Beth-Ann laughed. “Sounds like boinking to me.”
“It’s not! Listen. Last time Earl came to visit he busted the couch, okay? I started bunking with Grayson until we can get a new sofa-bed. Anyway, I just thought by now that he’d, you know, be sharing more about himself with me.”
“Oh, no, Bobbie,” Beth-Ann said. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for the guy!”
I winced. “I’m not! But. I mean...would it be so bad if I was?”
“Girl, you’ve got one short memory. So let me remind you. You did the same thing with your last boss. Carl Blanders. Remember him? How’d that work out for you?”
A familiar pain shot through my head at the mention of my ex’s name. “It turned into a total crap show.”
“Exactly. Listen here, Bobbie. Grayson may be a ‘sexy detectsy,’ but he’s your boss, not your boyfriend. There is a difference, you know.”
I blew out a sigh. “Crap. You’re right, Beth-Ann.”
“Damned straight I’m right! Don’t screw it up with Grayson.” She paused for a moment. “Or, is it too late already?”
“No. It’s not too late.”
“Good.”
I chewed my lip and listed to Beth-Ann breathe. When she spoke again, her tone had softened a notch.
“I saw the big jerk the other day,” she said.
“Earl?” I asked.
Beth-Ann choked. “No! Carl Blanders.”
“Oh.”
“He and Candy Vincent broke up.”
A streak of sadistic pleasure melded with the throbbing pain in my head. “Boo hoo. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple.”
“Look, Bobbie. I know the jerk cheated on you with Candy. But give him some credit. At least he asked about you.”
I blanched. “You talked to him?”
“I had to. He came by my shop for a haircut. He’s been on some European antiques buying trip for the last six months. The dumbass thinks you’re still working at the auto shop with Earl. He didn’t have a clue that you’re actually off chasing monsters with the nutty professor.”
I cringed so hard I nearly cracked a molar. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Hell, no! You know me. I’ve got your back. Besides, you made me promise not to, remember?”
I blew out a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Suddenly, my face puckered with resentment. “So Carl took Candy to Paris, then forgot I existed. Geez, Beth-Ann. Are you telling me this to cheer me up?”
“Maybe,” Beth-Ann said. “Because there is a bright side to it.”
I scowled. “Really? I’m all ears.”
Beth-Ann giggled. “Just between you and me, I edged around Carl’s bald spot in the back. Thanks to me, he’s now sporting a hole in his ozone layer the size of a softball.”
Despite my best efforts, a smile cracked my lips. “You, Beth-Ann, are a true friend.”
She laughed. “And don’t you forget it. So, that’s all the news from Point Paradise. What are you and Grayson up to—besides being bunkmates? Working on some new, exciting case?”
I glanced down the hall to see if Grayson was still in the bathroom. The door was shut. “Uh ... nothing at the moment.”
“Well crap, girl. If you’re not busy, get Grayson to swing that old hunk of junk back here to Point Paradise.”
“Who you callin’ a hunk of junk?” I teased.
“I meant that old motorhome of his! Aw, come on, Bobbie. I’d love to see you. And if you come, I promise I’ll see what I can do with that crazy hair of yours.”
“Uh, considering what you just did to Carl, I think I should wait until I’m sure you’re not harboring any passive-aggressive feelings toward me.”
Beth-Ann burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. I reserve my ‘special trims’ for ‘special people.’ I’d never do that to you, girlfriend.”
“I know. But honestly, Beth-Ann. I don’t think my hair’s grown out enough for even you to work one of your miracles on it.”
“Let me be the judge of that. I can’t promise I can make it look fabulous, but I guarantee I can make it look intentional.”
I glanced in the mirror in the hallway and ran a hand through my spikey red locks. “At this point, anything would be an improvement. I barely look human.”
The bathroom door squeaked open. Grayson passed me in the hallway without a word.
Really? What a jerk!
“Good grief, Beth-Ann,” I grumbled into the phone. “Whether Grayson finds me attractive or not, the guy could at least acknowledge my existence, right?”
“You know the old saying,” she said. “‘If you can’t bring Mohamed to the mountain, bring the mountain to Mohamed.’ Or was it, ‘Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill?’”
“Ha ha,” I said sourly. “Thanks for all your sage advice, Beth-Ann. I can always count on you.”
Chapter Three
I slipped into the RV’s tiny bathroom, wiped the steam from the mirror, and examined my hair. If Beth-Ann had taught me anything, it was this: If
your hair doesn’t look good, you don’t look good.
I, personally, looked as if I’d just survived a last date with Old Sparky.
Geez. No wonder Grayson doesn’t find me sexy.
I needed a Beth-Ann styling miracle, and I needed it bad. But how could I convince Grayson to take a detour to Point Paradise? Grayson was head of operations. To get my way, I was going to have to turn his head...
I plucked my eyebrows and applied pink lip gloss. With no other options coming to mind, I splashed water onto my hands and slicked my spikey auburn locks hair behind my ears. Forget Experiment #5 for the moment. I had to find out where I stood in the love department.
Is Grayson interested in me that way? Or am I just his doormat sidekick?
I padded to the main cabin. As usual, Grayson was snugged into the banquette, tapping away at his laptop.
I stood tall, cleared my throat, and went fishing for compliments. “Umm ... Grayson?”
He looked up. “Yes?”
“Uh ... as your P.I. intern, what would you say is my best attribute?”
Grayson surveyed me with his all-seeing green eyes. “I’d say it’s that you’re not a typical woman.”
My brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re not consumed by frivolous activities designed solely to enhance your physical appearance.”
My ears caught fire. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”
“Joke?” he asked.
“You heard me,” I grumbled. “Wait. Were you listening in on my phone conversation with Beth-Ann?”
His left eyebrow arched. “That would be a breach of trust.”
“Trust!” I laughed jadedly. “It’s you who doesn’t trust me!”
Grayson’s shoulders straightened beneath his black shirt. “Why would you say that?”
“Why? Because of this!” I stuck my nose in the air and imitated Grayson’s voice. ‘That’s on a need to know basis, Drex.’”
Grayson’s face lost all expression.
“I see,” he said finally, and let out a slow breath. “Let’s review, shall we? I hired you as my intern, Drex. You live with me in this RV. You have access to everything in it. And when your cousin Earl broke your bed, I let you sleep with me in mine. Yet for some reason, you still think I don’t trust you. This may come across as ironic, but it may be you who has the serious trust issues.”
Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) Page 2