Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) by Margaret Lashley (interesting books to read .TXT) 📗

his mug. “Well, before we began discussing bi-cranial amphibians, I was researching interdimensional portals.”

“Why?” Earl asked. “You think ol’ Jimmy got sucked up into that thang?”

I laughed. “With any luck, you will, too.”

Earl grinned. “Cool!”

“I need to run some tests of the area’s electromagnetic field,” Grayson said, ignoring us. “But given the visual anomaly we observed last night, plus the fact that Jimmy has apparently vanished, an interdimensional portal seems to best fit the evidence at hand.”

My nose crinkled. “Wait a minute. You agree with Earl? You think Jimmy got sucked up into that glowing microwave hole?”

A knock sounded at the side door. I slammed my coffee cup down on the counter and shot Earl and Grayson my best wait till your father gets home evil eye. “Not a word about this to Garth. You hear me?”

Before I could take a step, the side door opened. A frizzy blond mullet attached to a buck-toothed head poked itself inside.

“Miss Pandora,” Garth said, sounding like Kermit with emphysema. “Good morning, m’ lady.”

“Hi,” I replied, noticing, with gratitude, that he’d washed his Kentucky waterfall. “Looks like you’re feeling a little better today.”

Garth smiled weakly, then coughed until he nearly strangled. “Some, thanks.”

“Come in,” Grayson said.

Garth wiped his nose on his sleeve and shuffled inside. I handed him a cup of coffee, then remembered my red face and the slight case of nausea I had that morning. I scowled.

Could I have caught this twerp’s creeping crud?

“So, what happened last night?” Garth asked, holding his cup with both shaky hands. “Did you find Jimmy?”

“Not exactly,” Grayson said. “He may have slipped into another dim—”

I sealed Grayson’s lips with a death ray, then turned and gave Garth an apologetic smile. “What Grayson meant to say is that Jimmy gave us the slip.”

Garth’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“Howdy, Garth,” Earl said. “You look like you’re wrastlin’ with the flu bug.”

“Oh. Hi, Earl. Sorry,” Garth said, pushing his glasses up on his red nose. “I didn’t know you were helping out with the investigation.”

Earl grinned proudly. “Well, you know—”

“He’s not,” I said. “We got stuck in the mud last night and had to be towed. That’s the only reason Earl’s here.”

“Stuck in the mud?” Garth asked, flopping onto the broken couch like a damp sack of dirty laundry. “Where’d you lose his trail?”

“His signal blinked out about five or six miles south of here, off Turkey Creek Road.”

Garth winced. “Crap.”

“Agreed,” Grayson said. “Battery drainage is a sign—”

“That you can’t trust cellphone reception around here,” I finished.

“You’re right,” Garth said, crestfallen. “But it was the only thing I could think of to do. Jimmy only came home for a few minutes at a time—mostly to check the mail and get a shower. I didn’t have time to rig anything more elaborate. Plus, I’m not exactly at my mental or physical best at the moment.”

I would certainly hope not.

“Any word from him last night?” I asked.

Garth sighed. “No. I was hoping he’d come home again before my phone batteries died. Or at least long enough for me to recharge them.” Garth blew his nose into a hanky. “So, where were you on Turkey Creek Road when he gave you the slip?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” I said.

“I seen a sign,” Earl said. “Somethin’ about a mallard park, I think.”

“Oh,” Garth said, perking up a bit. “I bet you were out by the old Hi-Ho area.”

“Could’a been,” Earl said. “But I didn’t see no ladies of the evenin’ out there.”

Garth’s head cocked to one side. “That’s a local nickname for Edward Medard Park. It’s an old phosphate mining area. Full of hills and holes—hi ho. Get it?”

“Oh,” I said. “Cute. But right now, we need to focus on our next steps.”

Garth bobbed his head like a low-rent gangster. “Ward, man.”

I cringed. “I believe the ghetto slang term is ‘word,’ Garth, not ‘ward.’”

Garth cocked his head at me. “No. I meant WWARD. As in, ‘What Would Amazing Randi Do?’”

“Ah!” Grayson said. “Of course!”

“Seriously?” I muttered, shaking my head. “If I was Randi I’d run away and join the circus.”

Garth snorted, blowing a snot bubble. “Good one, Pandora.”

Grayson laughed, too.

“Uh ... sorry guys,” I said. “I don’t get it.”

Garth’s mouth fell open. “I thought you knew, Pandora. Uncle Randi never finished high school. He dropped out and joined a traveling carnival.”

My gut fell four inches. “You’re kidding.”

Garth wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Nope.”

I shook my head. “But I thought Randi was this big cheese in the scientific world.”

“He was,” Garth said. “But he never went to college, either. When he was in his late fifties, he was awarded a MacArthur fellowship. You might know it as a ‘genius grant.’”

Earl gasped. “Your uncle was a bona fide genius?”

Garth beamed with pride. “He was when it came to debunking paranormal and pseudoscientific claims.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Earl said, nodding in admiration. “What got him all stoked up over provin’ ghoulies and haints was fakes?”

Garth shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess we’ve all got to believe in something. Uncle Randi decided to believe in not believing.”

“Huh?” Earl’s head tilted sideways like a confused puppy.

Grayson sat up in the banquette and rubbed his chin. “You know Garth, your uncle said something during one of his last public interviews that’s always stuck with me.”

I snorted. “What? Don’t forget the Crazy Glue?”

Grayson carried on, ignoring my quip. “The Amazing Randi told the reporter, and I quote, ‘I suffer from this obsession that I have something important to do.’”

Garth grinned. “And what could be more important than proving the paranormal doesn’t exist?”

Grayson locked eyes with Garth, then the two men spoke in unison: “Proving that it does!”

I shook my head.

It’s true. Great dopes do think alike.

Grayson pulled out his cellphone. “On that note, I took—”

Oh, no! Not the photos from last night! If Garth sees those...

“Look,” I said to Garth. “I think it’s time you left.”

“But I want to help,” he protested as I yanked him up off the couch.

“You need your rest,” I said, giving him the bum’s rush out the door.