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

cracked open the door and slid the Pop Tart in sideways.

Then I’d tiptoed down the hallway and pulled the line taut.

It didn’t take long for me to see the bobber move.

“He’s taking the bait,” I whispered to Grayson. He was standing out of sight, holding a fishing net—just in case.

“I’m ready,” he said. “Just give the signal if you need me.”

“Okay.”

We’d already worked out that the signal would be me—screaming my bloody head off.

Suddenly, the line jerked out of my hands. The door squeaked open, revealing Earl standing in his underwear, munching on the toaster pastry, looking like a Kewpie doll that had miraculously survived a poop-factory explosion.

He spotted me and stopped chewing.

Time stopped for a moment as Earl and I stood frozen, checking each other out.

“Earl?” I said tentatively.

“Bobbie? What happened?”

I smiled. “It’s a long story. But the good news is, there’s more Pop Tarts where that one came from. And there’s clothes in the bathroom. Go get a shower, and I’ll explain everything.

WHEN EARL EMERGED FROM the bathroom, he looked normal. But I could tell there was still something off about him.

“We got any more of those donuts?” he asked.

Uh-oh.

I glanced out the window. Grayson was just pulling away in Bessie. I’d told him everything was fine. Why the hell did he choose that moment to finally trust me?

“Nope, fresh out,” I said, forcing a smile at my big, hungry bear of a cousin. “But we’ve got Pop Tarts.”

I reached for the box. “I’ll put some in the toaster for you.”

“No,” Earl said. “I like ’em raw.”

Good. Because I just remembered that’s where Grayson is going. To get a new toaster to replace the one I busted.

“Sure. Knock yourself out,” I said, and handed him the box.

Earl pulled out a foil pouch and tried to take a bite of it.

I winced. “Um ... you gotta unwrap it first, Earl.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”

Earl settled into the banquette. I handed him a mug, but remained standing. The way his body was wedged into the booth, I figured that, if I needed to, I could make a run for the door before he could get free from it.

“So, how you feeling?” I asked.

Earl’s eyes spun in his tired face. “Wrung out like a week-old wash rag. And so hungry I could eat a broccoli sandwich—without cheese.”

I smiled. “That’s pretty hungry.”

His face grew blank. “But I’d rather have me a donut.”

“Uh ... right. You mentioned that. Here, have another Pop Tart.”

I gave Earl another open pouch of pastries. While he munched them, I broached the subject of our mission, trying to ascertain if he was up to the challenge.

“Earl, do you remember the mission we’re on?”

“Mission,” Earl said, a flicker of recognition dancing in his eyes. “We’re lookin’ for worm buttholes, right?”

“Uh, sure. Cosmic ones.”

Earl stared up at the ceiling. “You know what, Bobbie? I was thinkin’. What if the Earth is like our old fillin’ station back home.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. What if we was the last stop for a fill up until you got to the other side of the Milky Way?”

“Well, that’s an interesting—”

“I sure could use a donut.”

I stared at my cousin. His face was blank again.

Crap. Maybe Grayson’s right. Bacteria may be the only thing driving his thought processes.

As far as I could tell, Earl was in no shape to be crashing a party, much less a crazy intergalactic donut convention. I gave up on that idea and concentrated on part two of my mission—collecting a saliva sample.

According to Grayson, I needed Earl to lick or drool on something that wouldn’t absorb his saliva.

I walked over to the kitchen drawer and pulled out the Tootsie Pop Grayson had stashed there. I glanced at the clock. It was quarter to nine.

Nearly three hours to go to win my bet with Grayson. I closed my eyes and pictured Earl how he looked as he’d emerged from the back bedroom. I didn’t even want to think about the rest of the room.

I unwrapped the sucker.

Just one lick. Who would know?

My fingers began to tremble. I raised it toward my lips.

“I want a donut,” Earl said.

I whirled around to find him standing just a foot from me.

“Here,” I said, shoving the sucker at him. “Have a Tootsie Pop. You’ll feel better.”

Earl grabbed it from my hand and crunched it between his massive molars. Then he pulled the bent paper stick from between his lips.

“I’ll take that,” I said, grabbing it and dropping it in a baggie.

“I want a donut,” Earl repeated. “I want a donut!”

“Sure,” I said. “You wait here. I’ll go get you one.”

Then I snuck out of the RV and locked my poor cousin inside.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

When Grayson returned, Earl was still rampaging around in the RV. I had no idea what my poor cousin was doing in there, but it was obvious he was no happy camper.

“Hmm,” Grayson said, watching the RV shudder from the pounding Earl was giving it from inside. “I suppose this means I’ll be unable to ascertain whether you passed our little Tootsie Pop challenge.”

“Really?” I said. “That’s what concerns you about this?”

I put my hands on my hips and struck a defiant pose. Then remembered I had nothing to be defiant about.

“Oh. I did it,” I said, reaching into my shirt pocket. I pulled out the baggie containing the lollipop stick and dangled it in front of Grayson’s nose.

He smirked. “So you succumbed to the whims of your  bacterial brethren, I see.”

“No!” I said. “Earl did. I think you’ll find it’s his saliva on the stick.”

“Really?” Grayson’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “You better hope so. Otherwise, I just bought a bucket and hair net with your name on them.”

“I’M IMPRESSED, DREX,” Grayson said from his perch on the picnic bench. He held up a rainbow-colored test panel. “You were telling the truth. The saliva on the Tootsie Pop stick matches Earl. He’s a secretor. You’re not.”

My nose crinkled. I didn’t know what being