Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) Read online

  “That’s good to know, Mr. G,” Earl said between his teeth like a bad ventriloquist. “Then why can’t I move?”

  Grayson pulled his cellphone from his shirt pocket. “I need to get some pictures of this area without your size thirteen boot prints all over it.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” Earl said. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  While Grayson documented the scene with his cellphone camera, I took a minute to figure out why he thought the place was noteworthy. After all, it was just a clearing in the woods.

  Then I figured out what the fuss was about. In the center of the clearing was what appeared to be a circular patch of scorched earth. And the vegetation in the clearing itself wasn’t naturally short. It had been pressed down, as if an elephant had been rolling around on it.

  As I glanced around, I realized the flattened area was perfectly round—just like a primitive crop circle.

  My gut flopped.

  “What could’ve done this?” I asked, only half wanting to know the answer.

  “You thinkin’ them space-hole critters landed here?” Earl mumbled through pursed lips, voicing my secret fear.

  “Perhaps,” Grayson said, snapping off another shot. “By the way, you can move now.”

  “Whew!” Earl said, and shook out his shoulders as if he’d just bench-pressed a cow.

  Grayson tucked his phone away and pulled out his EMF detector. “Now I just need to get a reading on the area.”

  As Grayson walked the perimeter of the clearing, scanning it with the detector, I held my breath in anticipation. Then I spotted something in the grass that made me laugh out loud with relief.

  “Ha!” I cried, giddy with relief. “A cigarette butt!”

  “Hmm,” Grayson said, walking over. He knelt down for a closer examination. “That’s odd.”

  “What?” I quipped. “That a space alien would smoke cigarettes?”

  “No. That a lifeform intelligent enough for interdimensional travel would choose unfiltered cigarettes when there are so many other healthier options.”

  My shoulders went slack. “Are you serious?”

  As I watched Grayson pluck the cigarette butt from the ground with tweezers and drop it into a baggie, my faith in intelligent lifeforms faded away.

  “Does Jimmy smoke?” Grayson asked.

  I frowned. “Not that I know of.”

  “How about Thelma’s cousin? What’s his name?”

  “Wade,” Earl said.

  “Right,” Grayson said. “So, does Wade smoke?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask Thelma.”

  All of a sudden, a weird whine filled the air. My eyes darted up at the sky. Were we about to be beamed up?

  “Dear God! What is that?” I whimpered.

  Grayson’s cheek dimpled. He waved the EMF detector around in a circular motion. “Well, boys and girls. It appears we have ourselves a fluctuation.”

  “What’s he talkin’ about?” Earl asked me.

  Grayson took another step toward the center of the clearing. The needle on the device jerked to the right. “We could be looking at the telltale signature of a tear in the time/space continuum,” he said. “But I’ll need to measure for time dilation to be sure.”

  My nose crinkled. “Time dilation? How do you do that?”

  Grayson tipped his fedora with an index finger. “Well, first one sets up a laser to measure the speed of light in a given location, thus creating a catch point, or target. Then one sets up the laser in a secondary location and shoots the beam through a prism set up at the catch point. The prism bends the light beam and projects it back to the second site. If there’s been an anomaly or ripple in time and space, the speed of light will differ from one location to the other.”

  “Huh?” Earl and I grunted simultaneously.

  Grayson sighed. His arms went limp at his sides. “A discrepancy in the speed of light would mean time is passing differently in one spot versus the other. Like I told you before, this opens up the possibility for unconventional physics, where any number of unexplained phenomena can occur—including wormholes.”

  “Golly, Mr. G.,” Earl said. “Seems like a lot a work just to find some old worm’s butthole. I know a guy sells baitworms for three bucks behind the Piggly Wiggly.”

  “Not a worm’s hole, you dingbat!” I growled. “A wormhole.”

  Earl frowned. “What’s the difference?”

  “Ugh! Never mind.” I turned to Grayson. “Look, do you have one of these time-measuring gizmos?”

  “By gizmo, you’re referring to an oscilloscope, I presume,” Grayson said. “And no. I’ll have to borrow one.”

  My eyebrows collided. “Borrow one? From who?”

  Grayson shook his head. “Sorry to break it to you, Drex, but Dr. Who isn’t real.”

  My jaw pressed down at fifty million pounds per square inch. “I meant—”

  Just then, a raindrop splatted on my forehead like cosmic birdshit.

  “No time for long discussions,” Grayson said, looking up at the sky. “I need to collect soil samples from around this ring before the scene is completely compromised.”

  “What difference does it make?” I argued. “It’s already rained on it at least once.”

  Grayson nodded toward the clearing behind me. “Not that kind of rain, it hasn’t.”

  I turned around and nearly swallowed my tongue. Earl had unzipped his pants and was peeing directly into the center of the blackened patch of earth.

  “Earl!” I screeched. “For crying out loud! Stop it! Stop it right now!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time Earl’s monster truck rolled back into Garth’s compound, it had stopped raining again. Grayson and I jumped out of the truck and headed to the RV. It was time to process the evidence we’d gathered at the mysterious, circular clearing we’d discovered along Whirlwind Trail.

  “I’m sorry about Earl,” I apologized again as I unloaded the sample vials from Grayson’s field kit. I laid them on the banquette table and rummaged around for a test-tube stand amid a cardboard box full of science-looking junk Grayson had hauled from a cabinet in the hallway. “I had no idea he was gonna piss all over the evidence.”

  “You can’t be held responsible,” Grayson said, plucking the stand from my hand. He dumped the contents of each vial into individual test tubes and stuck them, one by one, into holes in a clear-plastic tray. “It’s not Earl’s fault. He hasn’t been properly trained.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I sighed and glanced out the small window above the table. Earl was hosing the mud off Bessie’s huge tires. “You know it took my aunt six years to potty-train him. Teaching him to be a detective could take decades.”

  When Grayson didn’t respond, I looked back over him. His face was stone-cold serious as he opened the eyedropper cap on a small, brown bottle and began adding drops to the open test tubes.

  “You think that circle we found was made by some kind of electromagnetic force?” I asked.

  “Possibly,” Grayson said absently. He picked up one of the test tubes and swirled it around. “Then again, Native Americans believe places exist where the veil between the spirit and man are at their thinnest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Vortexes, Drex,” Grayson said, his eyes darting briefly to me, then back to the test tube. “Doorways to the realms of the Star People.”

  I swallowed hard. “Star People?”

  “Yes. Ancestors of humanity who brought us here from the stars and continue to visit us today.”

  My nose crinkled. “You sound like some New-Age kook, Grayson.”

  He shrugged. “I like to keep an open mind.”

  “Really? What happened to your ‘swamp gas’ theory from last night?”

  “I traded it in for phosphorus.”

  My right eyebrow rose. “I’m not following you.”

  “See this sample here?” Grayson held up a test tube containing water as blue as Ty d Bol.
“It indicates high levels of phosphate.”

  “Wow,” I deadpanned. “You discovered phosphate in an old phosphate mining area. Shall I alert the media?”

  Grayson blew a breath out his nostrils. “I have a point.”

  “Okay,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “I’m all ears.”

  Grayson eyed me skeptically. “Take that pond we saw. It was dug from phosphate rock. Phosphate contains phosphorous. And phosphorous is the key element needed to create phosphorescence—the stuff that makes glow-in-the-dark stickers glow.”

  My brow furrowed. “Are you saying that’s what made the glowing ring we saw in the forest last night? Phosphorous? I thought you said it was a portal—made of intergalactic microwave ovens, or something like that.”

  Grayson winced as if I’d just pinched his brain. “The two have to be related somehow. I need to take readings of the glowing phenomenon. We should go out again tonight and see if it makes another appearance.”

  “And get sucked into another dimension, like that Paulides guy says? Uh ... no thanks.”

  “The probability of that happening is extremely unlikely, Drex.”

  “Really?” I argued. “You said yourself that thousands of people have disappeared without a trace. Face it, Grayson. You can’t guarantee it won’t happen to us, too.”

  “True. But Paulides took the time to map out the major locations of the disappearances. Florida didn’t make the list.”

  My arms fell to my sides. “Are you saying there’s finally something crazy going on that isn’t happening here in Florida?”

  Grayson nodded. “Yes.”

  I smirked. “How’s that possible?”

  Grayson shrugged. “We don’t have any quartz.”

  I blanched. “What? Is that some kind of cosmic go-juice or something?”

  Grayson sighed. “Did you not attend a single science class in school? I’m talking about rocks, Drex. Quartz rocks. According to Paulides, one of the commonalities of the sites where people disappeared was the presence of rocks or boulders with significant quartz content.”

  I chewed my lip and tried to look smart. “What’s so special about quartz?”

  “It’s a natural conductor.”

  I smiled. “You mean like Yo-Yo Ma?”

  Grayson shook his head and handed me the tray of test tubes. “Here, empty these and wash them out. There’s nothing remarkable about the soil—unless you count the ash from the cigarettes.”

  I took the tray and noticed one of the tubes had turned bright yellow. “What about this one?”

  “Oh. That’s just urea.”

  “Urea?”

  “Earl’s urine.”

  “Gross!”

  I headed toward the sink. A knock sounded at the door. It cracked open and Garth’s head popped inside.

  “Any news about Jimmy?” he asked, then coughed.

  “Sorry. No,” I said.

  I set the test-tube tray on the counter and my cellphone rang. “Hold on,” I said, and walked over to the banquette table where it lay. I glanced at the display. “Huh. Looks like a local number.”

  “That’s Jimmy!” Garth wheezed over my shoulder.

  “Put it on speaker,” Grayson said from across the room.

  I mashed the button. “Hello?”

  “Bobbie?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Yes. It’s me. Jimmy? Where are you?”

  “No time to talk,” he whispered. “Listen carefully. Whatever you do, don’t—”

  “Cough, cough, cough!”

  Garth had chosen that exact moment to hack out half a lung.

  “What was that?” I said into the phone. “Sorry, Jimmy. Could you repeat that?”

  The line clicked off.

  “Crap!” I said.

  “Hit redial,” Garth sputtered.

  I mashed the button and the three of us stared silently at the phone, listening to it ring until it clicked to voicemail. A mechanical voice told us Jimmy’s mailbox was full.

  “He’s not picking up,” I said.

  Garth looked up with pleading, watery eyes. “What do you think that means?”

  “I dunno,” I said. “But on the bright side, Jimmy’s still alive.”

  “Yes,” Grayson said. “But from the sound of it, he’s in more trouble than I thought.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jimmy’s mysterious call had put our investigation back to square one. He hadn’t been swallowed up by a wormhole—unless intergalactic rights allowed you one phone call home. Instead, it was more likely a game of hide and seek. Jimmy was alive and well—but for some reason he didn’t want us to find him.

  At least, that’s the impression I’d gotten from his tone over the phone, anyway. Instead, Jimmy had tried to warn me of something. But what? Garth’s cough had obliterated his message.

  “What do you think Jimmy was talking about?” I asked Garth. “He said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t—’ Don’t what?”

  “I dunno,” Garth said, then wiped his nose on his flannel sleeve.

  “Why’d he hang up?” I asked.

  “Perhaps he thought his message had been received,” Grayson said. “Being a cop, Jimmy’s savvy enough to know his location could be tracked via his phone, so he made it short and quick. He’s obviously turned off the GPS tracking option so we can’t find him. But we still have one advantage, while it lasts.”

  “What’s that?” Earl asked.

  “Jimmy still isn’t aware that Operative Garth’s planted his own phone inside his brother’s gym bag.”

  “How do you know that?” Earl asked.

  “Because he had to get within wifi range to call Bobbie,” Grayson said, then flashed Earl the display on his cellphone. “As soon as he was within range, the GPS app began signaling again.”

  I glanced at the red blip moving across Grayson’s phone display. “Where is he?” I asked.

  “He’s heading south on Turkey Creek Road,” Grayson said, slipping the phone into his shirt pocket. “Bingo. Let’s roll.”

  THE SUN WAS HANGING low in the sky as we peeled out of Garth’s compound and sped down the rural backroad in the direction of the red blip marking Jimmy’s position.

  “What’s the game plan, Mr. G.?” Earl asked, swerving to avoid a flattened roadkill possum.

  “Ward,” Grayson said, staring out the windshield and tapping his chin with a long, tapered index finger.

  My nose crinkled. “What would Amazing Randi do?”

  Grayson stopped tapping and stared at me. “No. I meant that waitress’ cousin. What’s his name?”

  “Wade,” I said.

  Grayson gave a quick nod. “Right. We should keep an eye out for him. I feel more certain than ever he’s involved in whatever Jimmy’s gotten himself tangled up with.”

  I winced at the thought. “You thinking drug dealing or something like that?”

  Grayson pushed up the brim of his fedora with the same spidery index finger. “Intergalactic drug trade. I hadn’t considered that.”

  “Pill-pushin’ pimps from Pluto!” Earl blurted with glee.

  I shook my head. “Speaking of tangled up in problems, why on Earth did Earl have to come with us this time?”

  “We need Bessie,” Grayson said. “Unless you want to get stuck in the mud again. I told Earl we might have to go in the back way, like we did last night.”

  Earl snickered.

  I turned and shot him a glare that could explode molten lava. I raised my fist. “Say one word and you’re gonna be the next missing person on that Paulides guy’s list.”

  Earl sucked his lips inside his mouth and shifted Bessie into overdrive.

  Grayson checked the GPS tracker again. “Slow down, Earl. Looks like we’re closing in on Jimmy.”

  “You got it, Chief,” Earl said, easing up on the pedal.

  Suddenly, Grayson slapped the dashboard with his palm. “Dammit!”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Beat’s me,” Ear
l said. “I didn’t hit a turtle nor nuthin’.”

  “The signal vanished,” Grayson said. “Pull over, Earl. Now!”

  Earl hit the brakes and eased Bessie on to the soggy shoulder of the road. Grayson rolled down the window.

  “The last point the GPS tracker indicated was somewhere over it that direction,” Grayson said, pointing to a patch of cypress swamp.

  I grimaced at the marshy muck on the side of the road. “What do we do now?”

  Grayson tucked the phone into his pocket. “Elementary. Put on our duckies and wade.”

  “Great.” I reached for the insect repellent sitting in the holder by Earl’s YETI drink cup. “Stay here and guard the truck, Earl.”

  Earl pouted. “But I wanna see me one a them angora boar’s asses.”

  “Aurora borealis,” I said through gritted teeth. “And that wasn’t what we saw last night!”

  Earl eyed me skeptically. “Then what was it?”

  “Most likely an emission of natural phosphorescent,” Grayson said.

  “You mean like that over there?” Earl asked, and pointed out the windshield.

  I glared at my cousin. “I’m not falling for that stupid joke, burrito breath.”

  “Yes, exactly like that,” I heard Grayson say.

  I turned and stared. There in the woods to our right was the same reddish-orange glow I’d seen last night.

  My mouth fell open.

  “Good spotting, Earl,” Grayson said. “Looks like we’ve found the right spot.”

  “All right!” Earl hollered, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s roll!”

  “No,” I said. “I told you. You’re staying here. Right, Grayson?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Let him come.”

  “Why?” I whined.

  “Like I said before. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “Yeah,” I grumbled. “But you forget. Earl doesn’t count.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Do we really have to do this tonight?” I asked, pulling on a pair of rubber galoshes I’d had the foresight to bring after ruining my cowboy boots tromping through the mushy terrain last night.