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

the Superman sleeping bag over toward the middle of the bench seat.

As Grayson and I heaved ourselves inside, I noticed a piece of paper laid up on the dashboard. I grabbed it and read the odd words scrawled on it with a thick, black marker.

“Stay Away,” I said.

“Sorry,” Grayson said. “I didn’t have a chance to shower this morning.”

“No.” I handed him the note. “That’s what this note says. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grayson read the two-word message and rubbed his chin. “Hmm. It’s possible that your cousin’s been deemed unsuitable, based on the recruiting standards of the Kristie’s Frickin’ Cruller organization.”

I grimaced. “Geez. You think they ran his credit?”

“Uncertain,” Grayson said. “But this development certainly thickens the plot.”

“How so?”

“Whoever wrote this warning obviously knows who Earl is—and where he’s staying.”

Grayson turned and locked eyes with me. “It appears, Drex, that things have just gotten personal.”

Chapter Thirty-One

In the stark light of day, the swampy trail in the woods that had led us to believe in portals and space aliens now appeared mundane—and our intergalactic theories embarrassingly preposterous.

As I stared at the graffiti-covered propane tank and the washed-out root ball of a pine tree beside it, I shook my head in amazement at my mind’s silly machinations.

Spaceships and aliens. What the hell had I been thinking?

“Hurry up,” I called to Grayson. “I want to get back and check on Earl.”

He was a few paces behind me, rifling through the palmettos and weeds along the trail, searching for the lost oscilloscope.

“Just one more place to look,” Grayson said as he reached the top of the ridge where I stood. Then he hiked past me toward the clearing where the bonfire had been last night.

I stomped sullenly after him to the edge of the clearing.

“I think we were over there,” I said, spotting a trail of trampled plants in the thicket surrounding the clearing. I headed down it, with Grayson following a few yards behind me. Or so I thought ...

“Ah, there it is!” I heard him say.

I whipped back around. Grayson was in the clearing near the fire pit. I tromped back toward him.

“I just looked over there,” I called out. “How’d I miss it?”

As I approached, Grayson bent down and grabbed up the yellow gizmo. “Intriguing.”

“Yeah. It’s truly fascinating that you found it,” I said. “Now let’s get the hell out of here!”

“No,” Grayson said. “I meant this.”

He shoved the o-scope at my face. The needle was jumping like a kangaroo in a bouncy house.

My lip snarled. “What does that mean?”

Grayson grinned. “It means that just because something looks like it could be a portal doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

Oh, crap.

Grayson slipped his backpack from his shoulders and handed it to me.

“Here,” he said. “Hold my gear.”

AFTER FIFTEEN MINUTES of swatting mosquitos and watching Grayson fiddle with his equipment like a mad scientist, I was jonesing for a Tootsie Pop and a can of Off!

“Are you almost done?” I asked, watching him aim the o-scope at some contraption he’d set up on a tripod. He’d positioned the tripod in the center of the black circle where the bonfire had raged last night.

“You know, Grayson, for someone measuring the speed of light, you sure do move slow.”

“Precision is critical,” he said, his eyes never leaving the device. “Ah. There.”

I perked up. “You’re done?”

“Yes.” Grayson studied the o-scope. “Interesting. The device recorded a discrepancy of six percent.”

“That’s impressive,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what the hell was going on. “What exactly does that mean?”

Grayson glanced up at me. “It means that from where you currently stand, time appears to be moving slower than from where I stand.”

I certainly couldn’t argue with that.

“Great,” I said. “So, can we go now?”

Grayson looked back down at the o-scope and shook his head. A dimple formed a divot in his cheek.

“This discrepancy in the speed of light is impressive,” he said. “It indeed opens up the theoretical possibility for unexplained phenomena.”

I grimaced. “You mean, like, a time portal?”

Grayson looked up and grinned. “Given the data, we can’t rule it out.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“That’s the one,” Grayson said as I maneuvered Bessie down the narrow, rural road. He pointed at a prim and proper trailer home surrounded by a yard full of colorful whirly-gigs. “Stop here.”

I shifted the monster truck into park. Grayson rolled down the passenger window and slipped the yellow oscilloscope into a battered mailbox shaped like the head of a deformed manatee.

“Okay,” he said, slamming shut the unfortunate sea cow’s mouth. “Let her rip.”

“Ugh,” I said. “Do I have to?”

Grayson turned and stared at me. “It’s imperative.”

I rolled my eyes and began mashing the truck’s horn, honking out what Grayson called, “the secret code.” I glared past Grayson at a family of pink pigs with whirligig wings as I tapped out, Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits.

Curtains moved in the front window of the trailer. The face of what I took to be a French bulldog appeared. A meaty hand rose beside the round, jowly face and shot us a thumb’s up, then disappeared behind a drape of flowery chintz.

My upper lip hooked skyward.

“Sherman?” I asked.

Grayson shook his head. “His mother.”

Grayson blew out a breath as if a giant weight had been lifted from him. “The o-scope’s back home in one piece,’ he muttered, sinking into the seat. “Thank God.”

This from a man who chased down Mothman and Bigfoot?

I smirked inside.

I guess nobody ever truly resolves their mommy issues.

I opened my mouth to ask Grayson what Sherman’s mother had done to put the fear of God into him, but decided to spare myself the idiotic details. Given we’d already discovered a clandestine donut cult, Earl half-dead in a ditch, and a rip in the time-space continuum, I’d experienced enough weirdness for one twenty-four hour period.

WHEN WE ARRIVED BACK at Garth’s, no one answered the intercom button at the security gate.

“Hmm,” Grayson said, rubbing his chin. “We can’t call Garth on his cellphone. It’s still with