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

I bit my bottom lip. “You really think it’s possible Jimmy could’ve been abducted, or swallowed up by that hole-in-time thingy?”

Grayson glanced at me, his left eyebrow an inch higher than his right. “Of course, Drex. Why else would we be here?”

I turned away and stared through the windshield at the mountains of garbage heaped high in Garth’s redneck prepper compound. “Good point.” I reached over and mashed the intercom button again. No reply.

“We could try calling Earl,” Grayson said. “But he may not answer in his current state.”

“I’ve got an idea,” I said.

“What?”

I placed a palm on the steering wheel and began tooting out a rousing round of Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits.

Garth came flying out of the RV like he’d just kicked a wasp nest.

“Ha!” I said. “It worked!”

I laughed triumphantly—until I saw Garth’s face.

“Hurry!” the little mullet-head hollered as he skidded to a stop by the gate. He slammed a fist on the control board. The gate began to open.

“What’s happened?” I yelled, rolling down the window. “Is Earl okay?”

“I don’t know,” Garth gasped, out of breath. “He woke up and went berserk!”

Chapter Thirty-Three

After screeching through the gate of the compound, I slammed Bessie into park. Grayson and I jumped out of the monster truck and ran with Garth toward the RV.

“What do you mean, Earl’s gone berserk?” I asked, the back of Garth’s greasy mullet flapping like a dog’s ear as he ran along beside me.

“I don’t know,” he gasped. “He just woke up and started eating everything he could get his hands on!”

My mind screeched to a halt.

Wait a minute. That’s not so unusual...

But Earl playing the bongos was.

I burst into the RV. My cousin was passed out on the couch, his belly the size of a washtub. Every single kitchen cabinet and drawer was wide open. Even the stove was ajar.

My eyes darted to the family-sized bag of Reese’s Pieces on the counter. It was empty.

“Good grief, Garth!” I yelled. “How many of those did he eat?”

He winced. “All of them.”

I glanced around at the carnage. “Geez! I haven’t seen Earl this out of control since he discovered Pamela Anderson was real!”

“Did he say anything while he was conscious?” Grayson asked.

Garth shook his head. “Nothing intelligible.”

“Of course not,” I said. “But did he make words? Form sentences?”

“No. Just grunts. Then he started rampaging through the kitchen. What’s happening to him?”

“Uncertain,” Grayson said. “We should move him to the bedroom.”

“Aw, geez, Grayson,” I said. “You really think that’s a good idea? He already broke my sofa bed.”

Grayson shot me a look. “I’m aware of that.”

“Don’t let him ruin the bed, too,” I pleaded. “Where will we sleep?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Grayson said. “But if Earl wakes up and starts rampaging again, we need to be able to contain him. Now help me lift him into the back bedroom.”

The three of us each grabbed a leg or an arm, but in his current unconscious state, Earl flopped and wallowed around like a king-size waterbed mattress. We couldn’t budge him. During the struggle, the sofa caved in. Lying prone on his back, Earl sunk down between the sagging couch cushions like some sad, redneck stiff in a makeshift coffin.

“It appears we’ll have to leave him on the couch for now,” Grayson said, sweating from exertion. He dropped Earl’s leg like a slab of ham, picked up his laptop, and scooted into the banquette.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Researching Earl’s symptoms,” he said. “I’ll take the animal scratches. You take excessive overeating.”

I scowled. “Why’d you give me overeating? Are you implying—?”

“Uh, excuse me Pandora and Mr. Gray,” Garth interrupted.

I looked over to see him staring at Earl. “Do you think this is what happened to Jimmy, too?”

“Uncertain,” Grayson said. “But we’re going to find out.”

“That’s right,” I said, not totally convinced. I struggled for words to comfort Garth, but just then, my cellphone pinged.

I fished it from my pocket and read the text message on the display. Despite the sweat on my forehead, chills went up my spine.

I saw you last night. STAY AWAY!

Chapter Thirty-Four

“I think we can rule out rabies and cat-scratch fever,” Grayson said, looking up from his laptop.

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t think diseases send threatening text messages.”

“What are you talking about?” Grayson asked.

I read the text message on my phone again, then handed it to Grayson.

I saw you last night. STAY AWAY!

“Hmm. Whoever it is must be affiliated with KFC.”

“Uh ... I wouldn’t use that acronym in public,” I said. “Besides, it could just be a crank text.”

“Unlikely,” Grayson said, looking up from my phone. “No one else knew about what we were up to last night.”

“Uh ... that’s not entirely true,” Garth said, and cleared his throat.

I shot him a death stare. “You didn’t say anything to your ham radio dweebs, did you?”

“Uh ... I only mentioned it to Sherman.”

My molars collided. “Why?”

Garth shriveled. He turned to Grayson. “I had to. You know, to get the oscilloscope.”

“And how did Sherman get my number?” I asked, snatching my phone from Grayson.

Garth winced. “Uh ... It might’ve been part of the barter.”

“Super,” I said. “That means any crackpot on your prepper list could’ve sent me this text.” I tossed my phone onto the table. Earl let out a moan.

I cringed and locked eyes with Grayson. “I really think we need a doctor.”

“I’m a homeopathic physician, remember?” Grayson said.

I frowned. “I mean a real doctor.”

Grayson stood and raised himself to his full six feet, two inches. “I think I know what’s wrong with him.”

“What?” I asked.

“I think Earl’s suffering from hypoactive delirium.”

My nose crinkled. “Hyperactive what?”

“Hypoactive delirium,” Grayson repeated. “It’s when internalized visions and confusion cause a patient to become withdrawn and incommunicative.”

“How’d he get it?” Garth asked, glancing fearfully at Earl in his sofa-coffin. “Is it contagious?”

“No,” Grayson said. “Usually, HD is brought on by psychological trauma. But a severe allergic reaction might also trigger it.”

“Well, he did think he was going to make