Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6)

by Margaret Lashley

  Over by the bonfire, Queen Kristie was up to her usual feminine wiles, charming fat guys in robes with her donuts and her doodads.

  Grayson’s eyes were glued to a pair of binoculars, trying to read her lips. “It’s no use,” he said, lowering his spyware. “I can’t hear what Queen Kristie is saying. Jimmy, we’re going to need you to sneak into the meeting.”

  “I can’t,” he said, swatting at a mosquito.

  “Why not?” Grayson asked. “You brought the robe, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. But Tooth ate my fat suit.” He nodded toward the circle of men in robes. “Look at those guys. They’re huge! I can’t blend in anymore.”

  Grayson frowned. “You’re right. You’ll stick out like a toothpick in a sausage factory.”

  “Ward!” Garth said.

  “What? Where?” Jimmy grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Point him out to me!”

  “Uh ... sorry,” Garth said. “I meant WWARD. What would Randi do?”

  I blew out a sigh.

  He’d kick all your rotten heads in, that’s what he’d do!

  “I know,” I quipped. “Why don’t we all just go home, and come back after we’ve gained three hundred pounds?”

  “Three hundred pounds,” Grayson muttered. His eyebrow shot up like Spock’s. “Earl!”

  “Of course,” Jimmy said. “He could get in there unnoticed! And, bless his heart, that man can do the Cruller Holler like nobody’s business!”

  “Then it’s settled,” Grayson said. His glowing green eyes zeroed in on me. “Bobbie, you’ve got to talk Earl into it.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Mercifully, I’d had overnight to figure out how to communicate with my incoherent cousin in a language he’d understand. Unmercifully, I’d had to spend that same overnight curled up in the front seat of Earl’s monster truck—wrapped up inside his Superman sleeping bag.

  I woke up and rubbed my sore neck. Then I peeled out of the bedroll, climbed down out of Bessie, and went in search of a hot cup of java.

  Little did I realize that there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to prepare me for the task I was about to face

  I’D DECIDED ON A POP Tart—hooked to a fishing line.

  I’d slowly, silently slid open the eight deadbolts securing Earl within the monster trap ... then I’d cracked open the door and slid the Pop Tart in sideways.

  Then I’d tiptoed down the hallway and pulled the line taut.

  It didn’t take long for me to see the bobber move.

  “He’s taking the bait,” I whispered to Grayson. He was standing out of sight, holding a fishing net—just in case.

  “I’m ready,” he said. “Just give the signal if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  We’d already worked out that the signal would be me—screaming my bloody head off.

  Suddenly, the line jerked out of my hands. The door squeaked open, revealing Earl standing in his underwear, munching on the toaster pastry, looking like a Kewpie doll that had miraculously survived a poop-factory explosion.

  He spotted me and stopped chewing.

  Time stopped for a moment as Earl and I stood frozen, checking each other out.

  “Earl?” I said tentatively.

  “Bobbie? What happened?”

  I smiled. “It’s a long story. But the good news is, there’s more Pop Tarts where that one came from. And there’s clothes in the bathroom. Go get a shower, and I’ll explain everything.

  WHEN EARL EMERGED FROM the bathroom, he looked normal. But I could tell there was still something off about him.

  “We got any more of those donuts?” he asked.

  Uh-oh.

  I glanced out the window. Grayson was just pulling away in Bessie. I’d told him everything was fine. Why the hell did he choose that moment to finally trust me?

  “Nope, fresh out,” I said, forcing a smile at my big, hungry bear of a cousin. “But we’ve got Pop Tarts.”

  I reached for the box. “I’ll put some in the toaster for you.”

  “No,” Earl said. “I like ’em raw.”

  Good. Because I just remembered that’s where Grayson is going. To get a new toaster to replace the one I busted.

  “Sure. Knock yourself out,” I said, and handed him the box.

  Earl pulled out a foil pouch and tried to take a bite of it.

  I winced. “Um ... you gotta unwrap it first, Earl.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Earl settled into the banquette. I handed him a mug, but remained standing. The way his body was wedged into the booth, I figured that, if I needed to, I could make a run for the door before he could get free from it.

  “So, how you feeling?” I asked.

  Earl’s eyes spun in his tired face. “Wrung out like a week-old wash rag. And so hungry I could eat a broccoli sandwich—without cheese.”

  I smiled. “That’s pretty hungry.”

  His face grew blank. “But I’d rather have me a donut.”

  “Uh ... right. You mentioned that. Here, have another Pop Tart.”

  I gave Earl another open pouch of pastries. While he munched them, I broached the subject of our mission, trying to ascertain if he was up to the challenge.

  “Earl, do you remember the mission we’re on?”

  “Mission,” Earl said, a flicker of recognition dancing in his eyes. “We’re lookin’ for worm buttholes, right?”

  “Uh, sure. Cosmic ones.”

  Earl stared up at the ceiling. “You know what, Bobbie? I was thinkin’. What if the Earth is like our old fillin’ station back home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. What if we was the last stop for a fill up until you got to the other side of the Milky Way?”

  “Well, that’s an interesting—”

  “I sure could use a donut.”

  I stared at my cousin. His face was blank again.

  Crap. Maybe Grayson’s right. Bacteria may be the only thing driving his thought processes.

  As far as I could tell, Earl was in no shape to be crashing a party, much less a crazy intergalactic donut convention. I gave up on that idea and concentrated on part two of my mission—collecting a saliva sample.

  According to Grayson, I needed Earl to lick or drool on something that wouldn’t absorb his saliva.

  I walked over to the kitchen drawer and pulled out the Tootsie Pop Grayson had stashed there. I glanced at the clock. It was quarter to nine.

  Nearly three hours to go to win my bet with Grayson. I closed my eyes and pictured Earl how he looked as he’d emerged from the back bedroom. I didn’t even want to think about the rest of the room.

  I unwrapped the sucker.

  Just one lick. Who would know?

  My fingers began to tremble. I raised it toward my lips.

  “I want a donut,” Earl said.

  I whirled around to find him standing just a foot from me.

  “Here,” I said, shoving the sucker at him. “Have a Tootsie Pop. You’ll feel better.”

  Earl grabbed it from my hand and crunched it between his massive molars. Then he pulled the bent paper stick from between his lips.

  “I’ll take that,” I said, grabbing it and dropping it in a baggie.

  “I want a donut,” Earl repeated. “I want a donut!”

  “Sure,” I said. “You wait here. I’ll go get you one.”

  Then I snuck out of the RV and locked my poor cousin inside.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  When Grayson returned, Earl was still rampaging around in the RV. I had no idea what my poor cousin was doing in there, but it was obvious he was no happy camper.

  “Hmm,” Grayson said, watching the RV shudder from the pounding Earl was giving it from inside. “I suppose this means I’ll be unable to ascertain whether you passed our little Tootsie Pop challenge.”

  “Really?” I said. “That’s what concerns you about this?”

  I
put my hands on my hips and struck a defiant pose. Then remembered I had nothing to be defiant about.

  “Oh. I did it,” I said, reaching into my shirt pocket. I pulled out the baggie containing the lollipop stick and dangled it in front of Grayson’s nose.

  He smirked. “So you succumbed to the whims of your bacterial brethren, I see.”

  “No!” I said. “Earl did. I think you’ll find it’s his saliva on the stick.”

  “Really?” Grayson’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “You better hope so. Otherwise, I just bought a bucket and hair net with your name on them.”

  “I’M IMPRESSED, DREX,” Grayson said from his perch on the picnic bench. He held up a rainbow-colored test panel. “You were telling the truth. The saliva on the Tootsie Pop stick matches Earl. He’s a secretor. You’re not.”

  My nose crinkled. I didn’t know what being a secretor meant, but as long as I wasn’t one, I didn’t care.

  “Told you,” I said. “Were you able to isolate any alien bacteria?”

  “No.” Grayson closed the test kit. “That’s going to take some serious lab work.”

  I smirked. “Speaking of serious work, get ready to join the bucket brigade, Bozo.” I grabbed a marker and started writing Grayson’s name on the shiny new pail he’d bought at Walmart. “Ha!” I laughed. “Who’s the sucker now?”

  “In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I bought you this,” Grayson said, handing me a Walmart bag.

  I peeked inside. It was loaded with Tootsie Pops. I felt like a turd.

  “You shouldn’t have,” I said.

  His cheek dimpled. “I know. But I’m a sucker for a gal with sweet gut bacteria.”

  I nearly blushed. For Grayson, that was tantamount to a marriage proposal.

  “Uh, Grayson. I’ve got some bad news. Earl’s way too out of it to be of any use infiltrating Queen Quaalude’s Cruller meeting. What are we gonna do?”

  “I’m not sure.” Grayson rubbed his chin. “I suppose we could ask Sherman—but he has to be home by eight-thirty.”

  Seriously?

  “Uh ... yeah,” I said. “I don’t think his mother would let him, anyway.”

  Grayson sighed. “You’re probably right. But no matter. If we can locate the portal today, infiltrating the meeting would be a moot point.”

  He stood up and waved for me to join him.

  “Come on, Drex. Let’s go.”

  My nose crinkled. “Where?”

  “To locate the portal—or did I not just say that?”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  By this time, it wasn’t hard to find Whirlwind Trail—or the clearing. We just followed the trampled trail left by my galoshes and Grayson’s and Earl’s muddy clodhoppers.

  “Spooky,” Garth said.

  He was right. Without Queen Kristie and her Cruller Crew dancing around in it, the clearing felt oddly abandoned. That didn’t stop Grayson from marching right into the middle of it.

  “It was right about here that I set up the time dilation experiment,” Grayson said, standing at the edge of the burned-out bonfire. “This area showed a six-percent discrepancy in the speed of light.”

  “Whoa,” Garth said. “That’s heavy-duty.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Jimmy asked.

  “According to Einstein, it means anything is theoretically possible—including portals leading to other dimensions.” Grayson placed his hands on his hips. “Now, where are you, you sneaky little devil?”

  “Um, Mr. Gray,” Jimmy said. “Not to rain on your parade or anything, but if there’s a time portal around here, why don’t the robed guys get sucked up into it?”

  “Yeah,” Garth said. “Why don’t we get sucked up?”

  “It could be any number of reasons,” Grayson said. “But I believe Queen Kristie has control of it somehow. Perhaps she’s waiting for the men to ripen before she plucks them and takes them back to Krull.”

  “Ripen?” I asked.

  “As we all noted last night, the men have obtained impressive girths,” Grayson said. “Human toro-belly could be quite the delicacy on the intergalactic black market. If so, don’t forget that Queen Kristie’s getting paid by the pound.”

  “I bet that’s why she gave them the robes,” Jimmy said. “She didn’t want them to realize they don’t fit in their clothes anymore.”

  “That doesn’t appear to stop some people,” I muttered. “I’ve seen things at Walmart I’ll never be able to un-see.”

  “True dat,” Garth said, then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Speaking of fat, does anyone smell bacon?” Jimmy asked.

  “I don’t,” I said. “But then again, my nose may be broken from having to smell Earl in the RV.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do,” Grayson said, sniffing the air.

  Jimmy walked over by Grayson and sniffed. Then he toed at the ashes of the bonfire—and kicked out what looked like a human arm bone.

  “Huh,” Grayson said. “My money was on raw flesh. I hadn’t thought of barbeque.”

  “Good grief!” I shouted. “If Queen Bimbo’s barbequing these guys, who’s to say we won’t be next?”

  “We will be—humanity will be—if we don’t stop her,” Grayson said.

  We all stared at the cracked bone lying amid the ashes. A deepening dread made my gut gurgle.

  “Think, troops,” Grayson said. “We need to find that portal and shut Queen Bimbo’s butcher shop down tonight—before anyone else ends up dead.”

  I chewed my lip. “Uh ... Grayson, would it help to go back and borrow Sherman’s o-scope thing again?”

  “Sure,” he said, exchanging glances with Garth. “But I think the men concur, it’s not worth the risk.”

  Chapter Sixty

  I stared at the three men as they poked around Queen Kristie’s Kannibal Kampfire.

  Great. Humanity’s at stake, and our only line of defense are three doofuses who’re afraid of a little old lady who looks like a bulldog.

  Boy, has she got them trained.

  Wait. Maybe that’s it!

  “Uh, Grayson ... do you think maybe Queen Kristie isn’t having these guys do team-building exercises, but instead is training them?”

  The guys all stopped poking around and looked over at me.

  “Training them for what?” Jimmy asked. “Size XXXL sweatpants?”

  “No,” I said. “To trust her.”

  The three of them simultaneously gasped.

  “Trust a woman?” Garth asked. “That’s not possible, is it?”

  My last nerve gave out. “Excuse me, twerp! You believe in Klingons but not—”

  Hold on! You’re better than this, Bobbie!

  I shut my mouth, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and started again.

  “Look. Queen Kristie’s training the guys to walk on coals, right?” I asked.

  The guys nodded.

  “So, what if those are just the baby steps?” I said. “What if her ultimate goal is to desensitize them to fire. You know, reduce their fear of flames.”

  “To what end?” Grayson asked.

  “So they’ll follow her orders,” I said. “What if these guys are gradually being brainwashed into demonstrating their ultimate proof of loyalty—by running into the bonfire at her command?”

  “That would explain the charred bones,” Jimmy said. “I just found another one.”

  “But what’s the point of it all,” Grayson asked. “Other than to watch the men suffer? Which, I’ve heard, is a favorite pastime of women.”

  I ignored his remark. “What if the bonfire wasn’t just a bonfire? What if it was also the opening of the portal you’ve been searching for?”

  Grayson’s jaw dropped. “Of course! What better place to hide a portal than where no one in their right mind would dare to tread!”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Grayson shook his head. “Ingenious. Having them run across hot coals as the baby steps to the ultimate leap of faith.”

&n
bsp; “And this may just be the latest batch,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Grayson asked.

  “This could’ve been going on a long time. Think about it. The Native Americans named this Whirlwind Trail. What does it look like when someone’s sucked up into a portal?”

  Grayson locked his green eyes on me. “Like they went up in a whirlwind.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  We returned to the compound to find a box leaned up against the chain-link gate. Garth hopped out of the back of Bessie and dragged it out of the way, then hit the secret code to open the chain-link barricade.

  “Uh, some help over here?” Garth called out as Grayson parked the truck. I hopped out and saw the little nerd trying to pull the two-foot square, six-foot long box up the driveway.

  “What’s in there?” I asked.

  “I dunno,” Garth said. “It’s for Commander Grayson.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to call him that.”

  “No,” Garth said. “That’s what’s written on the Amazon shipping label.” He turned to Grayson, who was walking up to join us. “Is it some kind of secret weapon? A missile, maybe?”

  “No,” Grayson said. “It’s my new mattress.” He picked up the box like it was full of feathers, and marched toward the picnic table.

  Garth and I scrambled after him.

  “Now that we’ve located the portal, we need to figure out how to seal it shut for good,” Grayson said, laying the box on the picnic table. “Any ideas?”

  “Uh ... none off the top of my head,” I said.

  Grayson took out a pocketknife and slit the box open. The mattress burst out of the split seam like a busted roll of Pillsbury biscuit dough. It unfurled and sucked in air until it flattened out and had completely covered the table top.