Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) Margaret Lashley (ink ebook reader txt) 📖

“That’s odd,” Grayson said. “The cellphone reception must not reach much further than those woods.”

“Or Garth’s phone just gave up the ghost.” I handed Grayson his cellphone. “So, what are we gonna do now, Da Vinci?”

Grayson tucked the phone into his shirt pocket. “What all good detectives do on stakeouts, Drex.”

Curiosity furrowed my brow. “Discuss the case?”

“No. Break out the snacks.”

Grayson’s gaze shot downward. I followed his line of vision and found myself staring at a scruffy little Igloo cooler on the floorboard beside my seat. Garth had handed the cooler to Grayson as we were leaving his trailer.

My spidey senses tingled. “What’s in there—besides flu virus and salmonella, I mean.”

Grayson smirked. “Open it and find out.”

I bristled. “Why don’t you open it?”

“Because I’m the boss.”

Ugh! That’s the same stupid line Carl used to say.

“Fine,” I hissed. “But if some stupid alien puppet pops outta there, I’m whacking you upside the head with it.”

Grayson laughed. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Sure, it’s not.” I reached over and cautiously slid open the lid, keeping the cooler at arm’s length. I blinked at the contents once. Then twice.

“Twinkies and Pepsi?” I asked.

Grayson grinned. “Well done, Garth.”

“Seriously?” I said sourly. “I think we just solved the mystery of why Jimmy’s as big as a hippo.”

“No,” Grayson said. “You don’t understand. That’s a tribute to his uncle.”

My nose crinkled. “His uncle’s a hippo, too?”

“No.” Grayson pulled a can of Pepsi from the cooler and cracked the tab with a whoosh. “You don’t know the story?”

“Obviously not,” I said, grabbing a pack of Twinkies and wiping down the cellophane to get rid of the cooties.

“Ah,” Grayson cooed. “Then I’ll tell you.”

His eyes glowed with a faraway look—an expression I’d only seen on his face once before, when he was talking about a chance encounter with Gene Roddenberry.

“Ah, what?” I griped.

“You see, Drex,” Grayson waxed philosophically, “legend has it that once—when The Amazing Randi was staking out the trash cans of a purported faith healer—he spent days in his car, surviving on nothing but Twinkies and Pepsi.”

My gut flopped.

Good grief. I hope it doesn’t come to that...

I’D JUST CRAMMED THE last Twinkie in my mouth when I saw it. A faint, pinkish glow emanating from the swamp—right in the general area where Jimmy’s old truck had been when the GPS signal disappeared.

I checked my watch, figuring it must’ve been around midnight.

It was 8:39 p.m.

I groaned, then nudged Grayson, who was draped over the steering wheel, passed out in a sugar coma.

“Wake up,” I whispered.

He grunted, then cracked open an eye. “What?”

I nodded toward the woods. “What’s that?”

Grayson shot up in his seat. “What’s what?”

“See it?” I pointed a finger at the passenger window. “That weird glow over there. Coming from the woods.”

Grayson leaned across me for a better view. “Yes. I see it!”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

Damn. I hadn’t just been imagining it.

I grimaced. “Uh ... what do you think it is?”

Grayson snatched a pair of binoculars from the dashboard and pointed them in that direction. “Swamp gas?”

I nearly fell out of my chair. “Swamp gas? Seriously? You of all people?”

Grayson hung the binocular strap around his neck and reached for the door handle. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”

I cringed. “I thought we were going to wait for Earl.”

Grayson turned to face me. “Earl? Seriously? You of all people?”

My face collapsed like a lemon soufflé.

“Touché,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Nine

“The glow looks like it’s coming from that direction,” I said, my cowboy boots slogging through the ankle-deep mud a few paces behind Grayson.

I took a last glance back at the RV as we left the cleared shoulder edging the road and slipped into the surrounding forest.

Immediately, my senses were overwhelmed.

The fresh, sharp smell of pine mingled with the odor of rotting cabbage to fill my nostrils. My ears pricked to a cacophony of frog calls and insect chirps. Their orations nearly drowned out the gloppy, sucking sound our boots made with each footstep as we cautiously picked our way around cypress knees in the dark, shin-deep muck.

The cypress canopy blotted out the moonlight. I could barely see a thing. In my haste to keep up with Grayson, I’d forgotten my flashlight. I’d fired up the one on my cellphone, but he’d quickly ordered me to turn it off to conserve the battery.

Stumbling behind Grayson, just out of range of the circle of light cast by his flashlight, the thought of what else might be lurking in the swamp made me edge closer to him until I was almost riding on his back.

In the woods to our left, a loud, baritone call rang out in the darkness, like the belch of a drunken giant. The sound stopped Grayson cold. I ran straight into the back of him.

“Sorry!” I whispered.

“I wonder what would cause that?” Grayson asked.

“I can’t see. If you’d let me turn on my cellphone—”

“Not you,” Grayson said. “That.”

He directed his light beam down the trail about fifty feet ahead of us. Then he turned off the light.

I grabbed him. “What’d you do that for?”

“Shh. Wait and see. Let your eyes adjust.”

I held my breath and reached for my Glock, expecting a pair of glowing red eyes or a set of sharp, yellow fangs. Instead, slowly but surely, an oval ring of light appeared in the trees. It glowed with a faint orange-red light, and appeared to be hovering six or eight feet off the ground.

“Intriguing,” Grayson said.

I dug my nails into his shoulder. “Intriguing my ass! What the hell is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Grayson took another step toward the mysterious, glowing ring.

“Wait!” I said, unable to take my eyes from the object. The center of it was dark as night, and about the size of hot-tub turned on its side.

“You’re right,” Grayson said. “We should exercise caution. Shame I didn’t bring my radiation detector.”

“Radiation?” I gasped. “Are you saying we’re getting nuked?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

I tucked my Glock in