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

“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.”

My gut flopped.

Crap! Maybe he’s right...

I cringed. My mind swirled, searching for a way to backpedal out of this mess. “I just meant tha—”

Crrssstttcrk. Crrrchh.

From the driver’s cab, the sound of static crackled through the air. As my mouth hung open mid-syllable, a familiar voice buzzed over the ham radio.

“Operative Garth to Mr. Gray. Come in, Mr. Gray. Over.”

I glanced at Grayson. He appeared as relieved as I was.

“Hold that thought,” Grayson said, then scrambled out of the banquette toward the driver’s seat. I followed behind him, then flounced into the passenger seat a few feet away.

“Gray here,” Grayson said, clicking a button on the microphone. “Come in, Operative Garth. Over.”

“Mr. Gray! Thank God!” Garth almost shouted.

His normally nerdy, laid-back voice sounded awash with urgency—and something else. Panic, perhaps?

“Is Pandora with you?” he asked. “Over.”

“Yes,” I shouted.

“She’s here,” Grayson said. “Over.”

“I need your help. Over.”

“What kind of paranormal activity are we talking about?” I asked. When Garth didn’t reply, I added a hasty, “Over.”

“My brother Jimmy. Something’s wrong with him. Over.”

Grayson’s eyebrow crooked into a triangle. “Has he sought medical treatment? Over.”

“I ... I don’t know. Four days ago, he and a friend of his went fishing. I found out today that his friend is missing.” Garth’s voice trailed off. “Jimmy’s been acting really weird ever since. Over.”

“Weird how?” I asked. “Over”

His voice cracked. “It’s hard to explain. Over.”

“We need more specifics,” Grayson said. “Over.”

“I can’t. Not over the radio. Over.”

Those last words from Garth caused my own eyebrows to shoot up an inch.

From what I knew of Operative Garth, he’d never had a problem yammering over the ham radio about everything from vampires to alien invasions. What could possibly be so weird about Jimmy’s behavior that Garth couldn’t mention it over the airwaves? I exchanged glances with Grayson. He seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“Is Jimmy in danger? Over,” Grayson asked.

Garth cleared his throat. “If what I think is true, we all are.”

“What do you mean?” Grayson asked. “Over.”

“Uh ... hold on,” Garth said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Jimmy just—”

The signal went dead.

“Operative Garth?” Grayson prompted.

No reply.

“Operative Garth?” Grayson barked again into the microphone. “Come in, OG. Over.”

We sat in the cab in silence for a full minute. Static was the only response we could raise on the radio.

I locked eyes with Grayson. “Is your radio broken?”

He fiddled with a few buttons on the black box mounted under the dashboard. “No. It’s operating normally.”

I bit my lower lip. “Then Garth’s radio must’ve died.”

“Let’s hope it’s as simple as that.” Grayson pulled his cellphone from his shirt pocket and dialed Garth’s number. “He’s not answering.”

“Let’s give him a couple of minutes,” I said. “He sounded off somehow. Maybe he’s just ... you know ... indisposed.”

“That must be it,” Grayson said, clicking off the phone. “I’m sure he’s all right.”

But in the silence that followed, neither one of us believed it.

Chapter Four

The toothless old woman in green polyester pants stared at us like we were crazy, then clutched her purse tighter to her body and steered her shopping cart toward the other side of the Walmart parking lot.

“Hush!” I hissed at Grayson. “You’re scaring the locals.”

“All I said was that aliens are—”

“Hush!”

After Operative Garth had gone mysteriously radio silent, Grayson had been unable to reach him, despite numerous attempts. The strange little prepper wasn’t answering his cellphone, either.

At the time, Grayson and I had been camped out in the Walmart parking lot in Chiefland, Florida. Needless to say, neither of us had required further encouragement to pull stakes and head out of town. After leaving a message on Garth’s phone, we started packing up and setting our sights on Plant City—home of a giant strawberry water tower and Garth and Jimmy’s junk-filled prepper compound.

I smiled apologetically at the old lady as she hobbled by, pushing her unwieldy, wobbly-wheeled shopping cart. She shook her head at us and avoided eye contact.

Great. I’m the weirdo here.

I hissed at Grayson. “For the last time, Garth was not abducted by aliens!”

“I disagree,” Grayson said, hoisting a cooler up the steps of the RV. “Like Schrodinger’s cat, it’s a plausible theory until proven otherwise.”

“No, it’s not!”

Grayson shoved the cooler inside the decrepit Mini-Winnie. “Then what’s your explanation for Garth suddenly going incommunicado?”

“It could be anything,” I grumbled. “But say ‘alien abduction’ one more time and I’ll render you incommunicado!”

Grayson’s eyebrow rose an inch. “I don’t see why you have to get all huffy about it. I’m merely speculating on possible scenarios.”

“Ugh!” I snatched up a cheap lawn chair. Grayson had set up a pair so we could dine alfresco amid the ambiance of asphalt and exhaust fumes. I folded it savagely, then handed it to Grayson.

“Those boys live in