“You want a cup?” I asked Garth.
He smiled weakly, giving me a glimpse of his bucktooth choppers. “That’d be great, Pandora.” Then he blew his nose like a foghorn.
“I’ll get the coffee,” Grayson said from behind me.
The sight of Grayson already neatly dressed in his uniform of black jeans and black T-shirt made me cringe. It really raised the bar on my gray sweatpants and a Who Farted? T-shirt.
“Good morning, clan,” Grayson said as he padded over to the stove. “Earl, I see you’re already hard at work. Do you require assistance with your rudimentary operation?”
Confusion marred Earl’s blackened brow. “I thought she was a Winnebago.”
“He meant do you need help with the water pump,” I said.
“Oh.” Earl shook his head. “Nope. I got it all under control, Mr. G.”
“I can see that,” Grayson said. “Very good. Carry on.”
“Will do, Chief.” Earl saluted, drained his coffee cup, set it on the floor by the door, then disappeared into the junkyard like a redneck chimneysweep.
Grayson handed Garth a cup of coffee. “Let’s go pick up that oscilloscope, shall we?”
Garth sat on the couch and blew on the hot brew. “Uh...sorry, Mr. Gray. It’s barely past seven o’clock. Sherman usually sleeps till noon.”
“You don’t say,” Grayson said dully. “Well, no bother. We have other things we can do in the meantime.”
My nose crinkled. “Why don’t you just go to Walmart and buy your own stupid Oscar Mayer scope thing?”
“Oscilloscope,” Grayson corrected. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing they carry at Walmart.”
“He’s right, Pandora,” Garth chimed in. “And a good digital o-scope can set you back six or seven grand.”
The two techno-nerds exchanged smirks, making me feel like a doofus.
“Fine,” I grumbled, reaching for a box of Pop Tarts. “So what else is on the agenda?”
“Retrofitting the back bedroom to contain our alien quarry, for one thing,” Grayson said.
I nearly dropped my blueberry toaster pastry.
“Retrofitting?” I asked. “I thought you said that room was already reinforced with monster-proof trapping stuff. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me it was strong enough to hold Godzilla.”
“Physically, yes,” Grayson said. “But in this case, we’ll need to add certain accoutrements to entice the space creatures in.”
“Accoutrements?” I snarled. “Like what? A Star Wars bedspread?”
“Hmm.” Grayson’s eyebrow raised as if he were actually contemplating my suggestion. “I was thinking more along the lines of gustatory and auditory lures. Sweet treats and a homing beacon, if you will.”
“Of course!” Garth said excitedly. “Just like in ET the Extraterrestrial!”
Grayson pointed a finger gun at Garth and pulled the trigger. “Exactly, my good man!”
“Huh?” I grunted.
Garth’s bloodshot eyes aimed in my direction. “You remember. That kid used a trail of Reese’s Pieces to get ET to follow him home. And then ET tried to phone home with that contraption he made out of toys.”
Dear God! Have I had a stroke?
Grayson sighed thoughtfully, his gaze skyward. “A truly inspired movie, if you ask me.”
Garth nodded violently, like a head-banging Queen fan. “Totally!”
I fought in vain against a sudden attack of involuntary eye roll. “Uh ... sorry to burst your space bubbles, dudes, but I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna take a lot more than a bag of Halloween candy and a souped-up Speak & Spell to entice alien life forms into this ratty old RV.”
Grayson rubbed his chin. “Of course it is, Drex. That’s why I plan to supplement the trail of Reese’s Pieces with induction coils.”
Something inside me broke. I think it was whatever little hope I had left for the future.
I smiled weakly, resigning myself to my fate. “Oh, sure. I mean, there’s not an alien out there who can resist a tasty induction coil.”
Garth snickered and shot Grayson another knowing glance.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
Grayson locked his green eyes on mine. “Drex, it’s not the coils’ flavor they’ll be enticed by. It’s the frequency the coils will be emitting.”
Oh. Well that explains everything.
NOT!
I slapped on a studious look and tried to focus. Whatever those two science jerks were talking about, I had a feeling understanding it might come in handy soon for my ongoing survival.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I need a little bit more of an explanation.”
“Let me make it easier for you,” Grayson said.
He held up a black plastic box the size of a juice box. I recognized it as that stupid bug sweeper gizmo I’d found the other day under the passenger seat.
“During our expedition last night, I used the EMF detector to measure the magnetic frequency fluctuations being emitted by the alien craft.”
Not exactly a sentence I thought I’d hear in my lifetime, but okay...
I smiled weakly. “Well, um ... well done!”
Grayson nodded. “Thank you.”
“But Grayson, I thought that thing in your hand was a bug sweeper.”
He smiled. “It is. This morning, I’m going to recreate those identical magnetic fluctuation patterns electronically, then retrofit this bug sweeper to serve as a transmitting coil.” He smiled at the black gizmo. “This little baby is going to become a beacon, transmitting the identical electromagnetic signature as the alien craft.”
I cringed with confusion. “Wait. I thought you said you were going to use induction coils, not transmitting coils.”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “Right again. I did. You see, by embedding induction coils into the back room of the RV, we can use them to pick up the bug sweeper’s transmissions and amplify the signal for a broader reach—all while keeping the homing source localized to the back bedroom, or what you’ve so eloquently dubbed, ‘the monster trap.’”
Geez. If that’s the dumbed-down version, I’m a goner.
“Uh ... okay,” I said.
Garth snickered. “Mr. Gray, it looks like your ETs are about to phone the wrong home!”
Grayson’s eyes twinkled. “Exactly! And when they do, all we’ll need to do then is entice them into the trap and slam the door shut on them!”
A sinking feeling came over me. I raised a finger. “Let me guess. That’s where the Reese’s Pieces come in?”
Grayson grinned. “Precisely!”
I shook my head.
All right, Universe. All we need now is a good extinction event.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“This is the last one,” I said, putting a dab of glue on the only remaining induction coil.
I’d been surprised at how tiny they were—no larger than half a c-volt battery. Still, according to Grayson, they were supposed to be able to amplify electronic transmissions all the way to the ozone layer.
I pressed the coil onto the baseboard behind the nightstand in the back bedroom and held it for sixty seconds. “There. All done.”
I heaved myself up of the floor. As I moved the nightstand back in place, my mind flashed to the mysterious folder labeled Experiment #5. It was right there—in that drawer—mere inches from my hand. But with Grayson in the room with me, it was as out of reach as if it had been on Mars.
Hot bodies. Is Grayson a perv?
I glanced over at my partner. He was sitting on the bed, happily filling a Mason jar with Reese’s Pieces. I shook my head.
What am I supposed to do with that information?
I took a deep breath and carried on with my life like a hapless victim of Stockholm Syndrome. “So, how do these induction coils work?” I asked.
Grayson looked up from the jar brimming with pill-shaped, bright yellow, orange and brown candies. “By taking advantage of the Earth’s natura
l electromagnetic field.”
“You mean like radio waves?”
Grayson set the jar full of Reese’s Pieces on the nightstand. “Same principle, different medium.”
I nodded. “Wow. There must be a lot of technology packed inside those tiny little coils.”
“Not really.”
Grayson clamped a chip-clip on the open end of the industrial-sized bag of Reese’s Pieces. “An induction coil is really nothing more than a core of metal with wires wrapped around it. The Earth’s molten core means it’s one big induction coil itself, radiating electromagnetic energy. We’re just tapping into the motherlode, if you will.”
I forced a smile. I still didn’t quite get the technical mumbo-jumbo, but I guess it didn’t matter. It was only my lousy life at stake.
“Uh, Grayson—”
“I talked to Sherman, Mr. Gray,” Garth said, poking his head into the room. “He’s prepared the digital oscillator as you requested.”
“Excellent.” Grayson rubbed his hands together. “We just finished up in here. Drex, do you want to come along?”
“Uh ... gee, thanks,” I said. “But I just reached my nerd quotient for the day. Besides, Earl may need help installing the water pump. I used to be a mechanic, remember?”
Garth stared at me with what I assumed was his come-hither look. Either that or the poor dweeb was about to lose his lunch.
“You know, Pandora,” Garth said, pushing his glasses up on his red nose, “with your skills you’d be the perfect post-apocalyptic mate.”
“Gee. Thanks, Garth.”
I forced a smile, recalling the last compliment the doomsday prepper had given me.
It had been about my nice, extra-wide breeder hips.
I COULD STILL MAKE out Bessie’s tailgate on the asphalt road when I slammed the RV side door and headed for the back bedroom. With Earl chauffeuring Garth and Grayson to Sherman’s mom’s house, I finally had a few minutes to myself.
Alone.
And I needed to make every second count.
Like a ninja on crack, I sprinted down the hall past the bathroom and nearly did a cartwheel over the bed. I landed with my keister parked on the mattress beside the nightstand.
Sweet!
I was about to get my hands on that mystery folder labeled Experiment #5.
“Come to mamma,” I said, and yanked open the drawer.
The folder was gone.
“Nooo!” I wailed.
Either Grayson had no idea of my intentions and had simply moved the folder somewhere else, or he was totally aware of my busy-body snooping and had decided to foil it.
“Crap.” I needed somebody on my side.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit speed dial.
“Yeah?” a raspy voice grunted.
“Hey, Beth-Ann”
“Bobbie? Hold on. I gotta get Gladys under the dryer.”
“Okay.”
While I waited, I padded to the kitchen, unwrapped a Tootsie Pop, and began scrounging around the RV for the folder.
“What’s up?” Beth-Ann asked.
I plucked the sucker from my mouth. “Beth-Ann, I think I may not have too long to live.”
“What?” she gasped. “Is that tumor thingy in your head acting up?”
“Huh? Oh. No. But this crazy case we’re working on. I don’t know if it’s survivable. Tonight, we’re going out to investigate ... uh ...”
“What?”
I winced. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“Come on. You can tell me.”
I glanced out the kitchen blinds, then whispered into the phone. “Aliens.”
“Did you say aliens?” Beth-Ann said. “As in little green men?”
“Yeah only they’re not green. And they’re not little.”
Beth-Ann laughed. “Is that Tootsie Pop I hear clacking around in your mouth laced with LSD?”
“Ha ha. No.”
“Okay. Seriously, Bobbie. Why do you think tracking down aliens is potentially deadly? To be honest, it doesn’t sound any crazier than all the other stuff you’ve survived since you hooked up with Grayson.”
My best friend’s lack of surprise confounded me. “Well, this time is different.”
“How?” she asked, her voice sounding like a challenge.
I frowned. “Well, for one thing, I just found out my life is the hands of people who think ET is real.”
“Big deal. Lots of people think aliens are real, Bobbie. In fact, isn’t that the whole point of your mission with Grayson?”
I frowned. “Well, sort of. But I’m not talking about believing in aliens in general, Beth-Ann. I mean these guys think the alien in that movie, ET the Extraterrestrial is real.”
“Aww, come on, Bobbie!”
“I’m serious! They just left to go buy Reese’s Pieces—to use to lure the space aliens into the RV.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm,” Beth-Ann said, hesitating before her next question. “So, you’ve seen the aliens yourself?”
I winced. “Sort of.”
“And they looked like ET?”
“No! I mean ... I only got a quick glimpse of them before my phone battery died.”
“So ... what did they look like?”
I swallowed hard. “One of them looked like a Conehead.”
Beth-Ann choked. “From Saturday Night Live?”
“Uh ... yeah. Kinda. Geez, Beth-Ann. What should I do?”
“Uh ... consume mass quantities?”
“Thanks a lot,” I said over her laughter.
“Come on, Bobbie. How should I know what to do with an alien?”
I shook my head. “I’m doomed, aren’t I?”
“Cheer up. Maybe the Reese’s Pieces will work.”
“How do you figure that?”
“With any luck, these Conehead guys will turn out to be as addicted to sugar as you are.”
I scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Beth-Ann laughed. “Asks the girl with the ball of sugar in her mouth.”
“Hey. Tootsie Pops help me think. And right now, I need to figure out a way to avoid a starring role in Grayson’s production of Aliens vs. Idiots.
“Hey. Pony up, girlfriend. Give yourself more credit. You survived so far. You can survive this, too.”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Beth-Ann. I can only put on my big girl panties so many times before the elastic breaks.”
“Broken elastic is okay,” she said. “The only thing you need to avoid is showing your ass.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I never found that blasted file folder labeled Experiment #5.
After I hung up with Beth-Ann, I was in the middle of rifling through Grayson’s cabinet full of secret potions for the second time when I heard the crunch of tires on gravel. I peeked out the window. Earl’s monster truck was rolling into the compound.
I straightened the bottle labeled Alien Parasite Remover, closed the cabinet, smoothed my spikey hair with my hands, then traipsed over to the side door. Then I flung it open and smiled demurely, doing my best June Cleaver impersonation.
“Hi guys!” I said cheerily as Earl, Grayson and Garth climbed out of the truck.
“You feelin’ all right?” Earl asked, eyeing me with suspicion. “You don’t look right.”
I ditched the fake smile. “Did you get that water pump fixed?”
“Sorta. I rigged up somethin’ using some spare parts I pulled off an old Chevy pickup I found around back.”
“Hmm ... this thing you rigged up,” Grayson said. “Are you sure it will function within normal parameters?”
Earl shrugged. “It ain’t permanent, but it ought a hold till we can get the old jalopy back to the shop in Point Paradise.”
“Why do we have to take it all the way back there?” Grayson asked.
“Well, that’s where the gen-u-wine replacement pump is. Lemme tell ya. Parts for a 1967 Minnie Winnie don’t grow on no tre
es no more.”
Earl grinned and pointed a thumb at the chest of his own blue coveralls. “But lucky for you, Mr. G., I got ahold of one from the JC Whitney catalogue. I ordered the last one they had eight months ago, when you come to town and had me overhaul the whole engine.”
“I see,” Grayson said. “Why didn’t you install it then?”
Earl grinned, apparently too stupid to even notice the trap he’d set for himself. His beady eyes darted first to me, then to Grayson.
“Well now, as I recall, you two was in kinda a rush to get outta town, remember? Put me in a tight spot, you did. I had to make me some executive decisions. The old water pump was workin’ fine back then, so I let it be.”
Grayson nodded. “Well, I hope I wasn’t charged for—”
“Is that Sherman’s precious oscilloscope?” I asked, gazing admiringly at the gadget in Grayson’s hand. The rectangular gizmo looked a lot like the EMF detector. The only difference was it was a little bigger, and the plastic casing was the kind of garish yellow usually reserved for rubber bathtub duckies.
“Yes,” Grayson said, holding up the oscilloscope for my inspection. “A beauty, isn’t she?”
“Uh ... sure.” I reached out to touch it. Grayson slapped my hand away.
“No touching,” he said. “It’s a loaner, after all.”
I shook my head. “Unbelievable. You really don’t trust me, do you?”
Grayson pulled the o-scope close to his body. “Drex, you broke the toaster this morning shoving a fork down it. You’re not exactly what I’d call a technological savant.”
I scowled. “Fine. But answer me this. We already found the spaceship. Do you really even need that thing anymore?”
“Yes,” Grayson said defensively.
“For what?”
“For documentation purposes, okay?”
I sneered. “Whatever.”
Boys and their toys.
I spun on my heels and headed back toward the RV. But then a thought hit me. I turned back around.
“Hey, Grayson,” I said.
He looked up from fiddling with his new gadget. “What?”
“If we actually do manage to trap an alien in the RV, what are we gonna do with it?”
Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) Page 11