Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) by Margaret Lashley (ereader for android TXT) 📕

“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?”

Grayson’s moustache twitched. “Well ... we’ll burn that Einstein-Rosen Bridge when we get to it.”

My gut went slack.

That’s exactly what I was afraid of...

I CAME OUT OF THE BATHROOM to discover Grayson duct-taping one of his stupid mystery gadgets to the back of Earl’s camo hunting vest.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Getting ready for tonight.” Grayson ripped a piece of duct tape with his teeth. “We’re sending Earl in as first contact.”

“What?” I gasped.

Confusion, fear, paranoia and envy played Twister in my head. “Wait a minute. Did you choose Earl because he did better than me on your stupid EEG machine?”

I knew I was arguing against my own best interests, but I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want the job of Martian Greeter. Far from it. But Earl and I had been rivals for thirty years. The force of habit was so strong in me that I didn’t want my cousin to best me at anything—not even death by  alien probe.

I scowled at Grayson. “You think Earl’s better than me. Admit it!”

Grayson shrugged. “In some ways, yes. He’s more—”

“Cool under pressure?” I grumbled.

“Well, Drex, I have noted you’ve shown a remarkable ability to defy conventional scientific theories.”

I softened, feeling flattered. “Really?”

“Yes.” Grayson smirked. “For every action you have an unequal and opposite overreaction.”

I scowled. “Ha. Ha.”

“But regarding Earl,” Grayson continued, his voice fading to a whisper, “I was thinking more along the lines of him being more expendable than you.”

“Oh.” I winced with guilt, and glanced over at the banquette. Earl was snarfing down Reese’s Pieces from a Mason jar—with a fork.

Maybe it really is for the best...

“What’d he say?” Earl asked, looking up at me. “I couldn’t hear him over the crunching.”

“Uh ... Grayson said you’re indispensable,” I lied.

Earl grinned, revealing teeth stained in every color no one ever wants their teeth to be. “Is that true, Mr. G.?”

Grayson glanced at Earl, then back to me. “As far as you know.”

“Ha ha!” Earl giggled excitedly. “Grayson thinks I’m better’n you, Bobbie! Na-na-na na-na!”

Resentment bitch-slapped my guilty conscience into submission. “Yes, Earl. You won this one, fair and square.”

But this victory rang as hollow as my poor cousin’s head.

If Earl really did end up becoming Earth’s intergalactic ambassador, it could quite possibly spell the end of the world as we knew it.

And I didn’t feel fine.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was 6:15 p.m.

T-minus forty-five minutes and counting.

At seven o’clock, we would all be heading out to prank call a mixed race of alien creatures that were probably billions of years older than us and trillions of times smarter.

What could possibly go wrong?

For our last supper, I’d ordered Hungry Howie’s Crazy Bread and six bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. I’d figured, what the hell. If I was going to die, I wanted to go out with as many regrets as possible.

“I thought I told you to clean those up,” Grayson said, reaching into a bag of Crazy bread on the kitchen counter.

He nodded toward the windowsill. I glanced at the rack of test tubes I was supposed to have washed yesterday. I’d stashed them up there to do later. Perhaps this time, procrastination really would pay. With any luck I’d be dead by dawn, and it wouldn’t matter.

Score.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve been a little busy given the—you know—alien invasion and stuff.”

Grayson’s green eyes studied me like I was a new species of algae. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself tomorrow.”

I poured another pink glass of wine and muttered under my breath, “If there is a tomorrow.”

Grayson’s eyebrow arched. “You don’t think we’re going to be able to pull this off?”

I sighed and glanced over at Earl, who was dutifully completing his TV “assignment.”

“No offense, Grayson. But in what universe does watching reruns of ALF qualify as an in-depth course on communicating with aliens? We have no real strategy!”

Grayson grabbed me by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Drex. Historic moments can’t be orchestrated—merely experienced.”

“Really?” I said, a tinge of hope returning to my soul. “Who said that?”

Grayson locked eyes with me. “I did. Just now. Are you having trouble hearing?”

I closed my eyes and let the breath drain out of me.

It’s official. We’re doomed.

I CHECKED THE PROVISIONS in my purse again.

One Glock. Thirty