Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Box Set

by Margaret Lashley

  Grayson poured the coffee while we waited on the good folks of Alachua County Sheriff’s Department to provide luxury armed transportation for Eugene Hollister back to whatever dark holding cell they had waiting for him. From the sounds emanating from the bedroom of the RV, Hollister was none too happy about it, either.

  “What about Mandy and Mildred Vanderhoff?” I asked Agent Hicks. “Who’ll be working on their cases?”

  “The Sheriff’s Department, I suspect. But right now, they’re both missing persons. I hate to say it, but thousands of people go missing every day, Ms. Drex. Cases with bodies take precedent.”

  “But Vanderhoff ... she was killed in her house. Her body was there.”

  Hicks took a sip from his mug. “Did you see it?”

  I shook my head. “No. I saw blood, but no body.”

  “Neither did anyone else.” Hicks took a peek out the small window beside the banquette. “Looks like my ride is here. Thanks for helping me capture Hollister, but we’ll need y’all to clear out of the RV while we get him loaded.”

  We tumbled out of the RV. Earl headed for the bathroom in the service bay. Grayson walked toward the woods that lined the parking lot. I followed him over there.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet, Grayson.”

  He sighed. “There goes a cool million, easy. Nothing I can do to stop it, either.”

  “Wait. You still think Eugene Hollister’s the Mothman?”

  “Not the Mothman. A Mothman. I think there’s more than one out there, Drex.”

  I grimaced. “Really?”

  “The guy we knew as Paulson. Where is he? Who is he? I agree with you. He and Hollister were working together.”

  “Okay. But why?”

  “Lots of species join forces for survival. Safety in numbers, you know. But they especially gather together during mating season.”

  My nose crinkled. “Mating season?”

  “Consider this, Drex. What if our Paulson impersonator had chosen Mandy Vanderhoff as his mate, and you were supposed to be Hollister’s?”

  I nearly choked. “What! That’s crazy, even for you, Grayson! And why me and Mandy?” I shot him a look. “And don’t say it’s because they like redheads.”

  Grayson’s lip twisted. “Only half of one percent of all the people on the planet are redheads, Drex. Why would these guys have gone to all the trouble to find you and Mandy unless there was something about you two that set you apart? What if redheads possess certain unique genetic traits that allow Mothmen to produce offspring with them?”

  “Geez! If that were true, why didn’t they take Terry Paulson when they had the chance?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Maybe they tried. She could’ve been killed in the struggle to abduct her. Maybe she was sterile. Or had a hysterectomy. Or maybe there were three Mothmen, not just two.”

  I shook my head in exasperation. “Or maybe there were none. You never give up, do you, Grayson?”

  He smiled thoughtfully. “Now what would be the fun in that?”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  AFTER GIVING OUR STATEMENTS to the Sheriff’s Department officers on the scene, we were summoned by the deputy in charge of the transport detail.

  “You must be Detective Drex,” he said as I approached his vehicle. He laughed and shook his head. “Hicks said you were a looker.”

  Considering the bald dome I was sporting under Lucky Red, I didn’t know if I’d just been complimented or insulted.

  The man held up two Glocks. “Which one of these belongs to you?”

  “The nineteen, thanks.” I took my gun and stepped back from the window of his vehicle.

  “And this one’s yours, I presume, Detective Grayson. By the way, Chief Engles sends his regards.”

  “Thanks.” Grayson grabbed his Glock and headed toward the garage. I followed, hot on his heels.

  “What’s this business with Chief Engles?” I called out behind him.

  Grayson turned to face me. “That’s on a need-to-know basis, Drex.”

  I bit down so hard the tendons in my neck stood out. “You know, Grayson, this Paulson imposter we’ve been chasing? He’s not a Mothman. He’s probably just like you—another weirdo chasing down imaginary monsters.”

  Grayson’s face was unreadable. “Why would he pretend to be Terry Paulson?”

  I gave him half an eye roll. “Don’t try to tell me you’ve never pretended to be someone you’re not.”

  Grayson smiled softly. “Fair enough. But for the record, I think you’re wrong. I think he’s another Mothman.”

  I grimaced. “But that would mean ....”

  “He’s still out there.”

  I thought of my happy place. Grandma Selma. Then something clicked in my mind.

  Grandma Selma. At the cabin. Was Grayson right? Did Hollister project her image into my mind? If so, he could’ve easily done the same with the image of the man I knew as Paulson. Hollister could’ve been both men.

  I cleared my throat. “Maybe he’s not, Grayson. What if Eugene Hollister is actually a shapeshifter? What if he and the man who pretended to be Paulson are the same guy? Then there’d be only one Mothman, and he’s in federal custody.”

  Grayson’s right eyebrow ticked up. “Well, I didn’t see that one coming from you, Drex.” He rubbed his chin. “Huh. I suppose it’s possible. If Hollister can turn into a moth and fly, putting on a different human face should be child’s play.”

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and I shivered as we walked together back to the service bay. Earl was busy surveying the RV for damages caused by our stakeout last night, and I was still searching for a normal, pedestrian answer to the bizarre events of the past week.

  “Something still bugs me,” I said to Grayson. “Those weird phone calls to Mildred Vanderhoff. What reason would a creature like the Mothman have for following her around and asking her dumb stuff like what year it was?”

  “I think he went there to see if Vanderhoff would recognize him or his voice. You know, to see if he needed to eliminate her as a witness.”

  I frowned. “Maybe.”

  Grayson poked me in the ribs. “Or the phone calls could’ve been little green men pulling a couple of cosmic fast ones.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Little green men? Gimme a break, Grayson! Why would beings from outer space dress in old-fashioned clothes? Or use outdated landline phones to communicate with us? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  Grayson raised an eyebrow playfully. “Who knows, Drex? Maybe they were using an outdated issue of Travel Guide to the Galaxies. Or maybe their time machine was on the fritz and screwed up the dates. Like you said, the guy did ask what year it was.”

  I shot Grayson a look that made him wince. “He was probably just trying to make Vanderhoff look crazy. Like he tried to do with me.”

  “That’s one theory,” Grayson conceded. “But how about this? Just suppose for a minute that we’re dealing with a couple of juvenile delinquent aliens who stole daddy’s flying saucer, and are out on a joy ride. Why not prank a few humans along the way? You know, like you did to Vanderhoff when you were a kid.”

  I shot him a scowl. “Ugh.”

  Grayson grinned. “Or, think about this. What if this whole thing was some superior beings’ attempt to blow our squirrelly little minds and leave us to ponder the exact questions you’re asking right now?”

  I shook my head. “Come on, Grayson. There’s got to be a logical explanation for this. What did that guy say happened? The one who wrote The Mothman Prophecies?”

  Grayson smiled. “John Keel. He concluded his investigation by citing Socrates. ‘The more I learn, the less I know.’”

  “That’s real helpful,” I said sourly.

  “In the end, Keel decided that the whole Mothman debacle had been some kind of game.”

  I scowled. “A game?”

  “Yeah. Keel realized that as soon as he figured out some element of the game, the other side changed the rules. You kno
w, you chase a red-eyed, flying creature, they replace it with lights in the sky. You chase the lights, they send strange men door-to-door asking inane questions.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Superior intelligences. Perhaps even the universal mind itself.”

  I shook my head. “That’s crazy.”

  Grayson shrugged. “Perhaps. But as my personal hero, Charles Fort, speculated, ‘If there is a universal mind, must it be sane?’”

  My jaw came unhinged. “Even if all this has all been a game, why Point Paradise? Why now?”

  Grayson shrugged. “This kind of thing is nothing new, Drex. Or even that uncommon. Since recorded history, mankind has been plagued by the unexplained. Monsters, magical beings, visitors from the stars.”

  “That’s true,” Earl said, emerging from the RV. “I found a two-headed turtle in Wimbly Swamp last year. Remember, Bobbie?”

  Grayson laughed. “A two-headed turtle here, a Wendigo there. A mermaid in the ocean. A reptilian humanoid in an underground tunnel. What if all of these things were sent here to shake us up? To boggle our minds? Simply for the amusement of some higher intelligence who gets off on making us squirm?”

  I grimaced. “Geez. That’s a dismal prospect.”

  Grayson grinned. “Or maybe they do it to spark our imaginations. To see what we’re capable of as a species. To keep things interesting for them and us. Either way, I, for one, want to keep on playing.”

  I studied Grayson. “Why? It’s a game for lunatics!”

  Grayson straightened his shoulders. “Because one day, I want to win a round. How about you, Drex? Don’t you want to play along?”

  I pressed my molars together and sighed in contemplation.

  Grayson and me versus the quite possibly insane cosmic consciousness.

  I’ve played worse odds.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  THE LIGHTS BLINKED back on in my apartment. Grayson had placed a phone call half an hour ago. That’s all he would tell me.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Grayson asked me.

  I groaned. “God, I certainly hope not.”

  “Tacos, Drex. I think we need one more run to El Molino before I blow this Popsicle stand.”

  I smirked. “Point Paradise isn’t big enough to have a Popsicle stand. But okay. I’ll borrow Bessie from Earl. We need to pick up the last few parts for your RV anyway. I don’t know how you got them delivered in two hours ... and right now, I don’t want to know.”

  Grayson grinned. “You’re learning. It’s better not to ask.”

  “IT’S TIME TO FISH OR cut bait,” Grayson said as he dragged a chip through a bowl of El Molino’s famous salsa. “Are you going to join my little traveling sideshow or not?”

  I winced with indecision. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, what are you sure of in this little slice of heaven we call life?”

  Really?

  I shot Grayson some side-eye. “I know I don’t want to stay in Point Paradise.”

  Grayson frowned. His voice took on an unfamiliar, serious, business-like tone. “Sorry, Drex. That’s not a good enough reason to join me. I want a partner with a burning desire to explore the unknown. Not someone simply looking to escape their current circumstances.”

  My brow furrowed. “I understand. Can you give me another hour or two to think it over?”

  The waitress delivered a huge plate of tacos. Grayson and I eyed them greedily. He reached for one and I grabbed his hand.

  “Well? Can I have just a little more time to let you know?”

  Grayson locked eyes with me. “Why? What’s the hesitation?”

  “I have obligations here.”

  Grayson nodded and grabbed a taco. “I tell you what. You can have until the first signs of indigestion kick in. Fair enough?”

  I smiled faintly and nodded. “Fair enough.”

  AFTER THE HUMONGOUS amount of tacos Grayson and I put away, I knew my time was running short. Sure enough, as soon as the flashing yellow light that marked Point Paradise came into view, Grayson belched.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Well, looks like your time’s up. Are we going to be partners or not?”

  From the driver’s seat of my cousin’s monster truck, I spotted Earl working away in the service bay. My Southern guilt took over.

  “Listen. I want to, Grayson. But I can’t leave Earl in this financial mess.”

  Grayson looked at me wistfully. “I understand.”

  As I maneuvered Bessie’s huge tractor tires into the parking lot, Earl came out toting a paper bag.

  I rolled down the window. “What’s that?”

  Earl grinned. “Your trade for the tacos.”

  My face scrunched warily. I handed my cousin his lunch, and grabbed the paper bag he offered in exchange. I opened it cautiously and took a peek inside. My nose was assaulted by the stench of half a dozen balls of poop.

  “Argh!” I smashed the bag closed and looked over at Earl.

  He grinned and laughed like a redneck hyena. “Hahaha! Gotcha, Bobbie!”

  “Earl, for the last time, you’re fired!”

  “What is it?” Grayson asked. “What’s in the bag?”

  I shoved the paper sack across the bench seat at Grayson. “See for yourself.”

  Grayson opened it and yelped. “Where’d you get this, Earl?”

  My cousin grinned. “Compliments of one Mr. Eugene Hollister.”

  Grayson stuck his nose in the bag and sniffed.

  Yep. Total sicko. And to think I was seriously thinking about entrusting my life to this guy ....

  Grayson let out a whoop of delight. “Earl, you’re not fired. Drex! Get out and come with me.”

  “What for?”

  Grayson didn’t answer. He just made a beeline for the RV.

  I climbed down out of the cab and followed him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, watching Grayson fiddle with a piece of wood paneling on the wall above the RV’s banquette. He peeled away a section of paneling. I nearly fainted. Row upon row of dollar bills were stacked between the joists in the wall like insulation. He grabbed a six-inch thick bundle and handed it to me.

  “Is this enough to buy your freedom?”

  I blanched. “What? Why would you do that for me?”

  “I’m not doing anything for you, Drex. It’s payday. You and Earl earned this money. You wouldn’t believe how much Mothman scat goes for on the black market.”

  My mouth fell open. “You mean ... I could be free?”

  “Sure. As long as money’s the only thing holding you back.”

  I chewed my lip. “Well, I also need to get my full P.I. license.”

  Grayson grinned. “I think I can help with that. What do you say? You ready to play the game?”

  “The game?”

  “Yes. The game for lunatics, as you put it.”

  I smiled up at Grayson. “Yeah. I’m ready to play. But unlike you, I don’t care about winning. I just want to find the jerks who’re running the show and rip ’em a new one.”

  Grayson laughed. “Hey. To each his own.”

  AFTER THE SHOCK OF seeing more cash than I knew existed on Earth wore off and my legs were able to hold my weight again, Grayson and I emerged from the RV to find Earl pacing around the wrecked chassis of my father’s vintage Mustang.

  He wagged a finger at me. “You sure did a number on your dad’s car, Bobbie. It’s gonna take me ages to fix it.”

  I shot him a wry smile. “Yeah. You might want to check the air filter while you’re at it.”

  Grayson laughed.

  Earl opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Listen, Earl. The parts to finish off the RV are on the front seat of Bessie. Grayson wants to leave tonight, so I suggest you work on his vehicle first.”

  “Yes, boss man.” Earl surveyed the massive damage to the Mustang and let out a low whistle. “Looks like I’m gonna need me a bigger bag of Fritos, Bobbie.”

  I
shrugged. “Is that so? Well, you’re gonna have to go to the A&P all by yourself, Earl. I quit.”

  My cousin’s eyes grew wide beneath his shaggy bangs. “What? You can’t quit on me, Bobbie. You’re the boss man.”

  “Watch me.” I handed him a paper sack.

  He took it absently. “But you’re a born grease monkey, like me.”

  “No, Earl. I thought I was. But turns out, I am so totally not.”

  Earl pouted. “You just gonna up and leave me here all alone, holding this sack of poop?”

  “Look inside, Earl.”

  He shot me a wary glance, then opened the sack. One peek inside and his face turned as green as the stacks of money filing the bag. He looked up at me, his mouth hanging open like a screen door off its hinges.

  My heart pinged.

  Man, I thought it would feel better to finally win a round with him.

  I scowled. “Earl, just finish up the repairs on Grayson’s RV. And you can have Dad’s Mustang. I won’t be needing it anymore. I’m going with Grayson.”

  Earl took a long look at Grayson, then at me. “You sure about this, Cuz?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m a lousy mechanic. And a lousy boss. Dad was right to pick you over me. I’m going upstairs to finish up some stuff.”

  “But—”

  I whirled around, suddenly angry as wet hen. “Don’t you get it Earl? You won. You can have this whole stinking place!”

  “Win?” Earl asked. “Wait, Bobbie. You got this all wrong. Your dad didn’t pick me over you.”

  “Yes he did. Dad always wanted a son. I turned out to be a lousy girl. So he picked you instead.”

  Earl shook his head. “Your dad didn’t kick you outta the garage because you were a girl, Bobbie. Don’t you think he kinda figured that one out the day you were born?”

  I scowled. “Then why? Why else would he turn his back on me the day I hit puberty?”

  Earl scratched his head. “I thought you knew why.”

  “Because I turned into a girl.”

  “No, Bobbie. That ain’t it at all. On your eleventh birthday, your mom got drunk as a skunk and finally told your dad the truth.”