Moth Busters, Dr. Prepper, Oral Robbers: Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures 1, 2 & 3

by Margaret Lashley

  “Tacos, huh?” Stanley said. “Well, let me tell you. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Topless Tacos.”

  My smile evaporated into a tight, white line.

  Great. And here I’d thought I’d just left all the icky guys behind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT and tried to be a grown-ass woman about the fact that I was going to a topless taco joint with two strange men, both of whom were—to my great irritation—attractive enough to keep my feelings about them seesawing in perpetual conflict.

  Why is it handsome jerks seem to have that mysterious power over women? Or is it just me?

  I’d relinquished my seat to Stanley, so I scooted back to the main cabin of the RV. I plopped onto the couch and conducted an extended test of how much pressure per square inch the enamel on my molars could take before cracking.

  After a while, curiosity overpowered my anger. I leaned forward and craned my ear to listen in on the conversation Stanley and Grayson were having up in the front cab.

  “How long have you worked at Banner Hill?” Grayson asked.

  “Not long. Six weeks or so.” Stanley’s deep voice danced with the lyrical lilt of the Caribbean. “What brings you two to Banner Hill?”

  “We’re looking for a place to put gramps.”

  “Your daddy or the missus’?”

  “What?” Grayson asked. “Oh. We’re not married.”

  I sat up straight and scowled. Had Grayson sounded relieved we weren’t married?

  The nerve!

  Stanley laughed. “Brother and sister, then?”

  “Not a chance,” Grayson said. “We’re partners.”

  Not a chance? What’s that supposed to mean?

  “Uh-huh,” Stanley said. “So, in other words, you two living in sin, huh?”

  “No. Not in sin,” Grayson quipped. “In an RV.”

  Stanley chuckled. “You’re a funny guy, Grayson. I like you. This is a nice little rig you got, too. I had one kind of like it in Haiti.”

  “Haiti?” Grayson said. “Tough place.”

  “It can be.”

  “So, you’re here on a green card?” Grayson asked.

  “Sort of. Workin’ on it, you know? Sometimes you got to pretend. Fake it till you make it, am I right?”

  Grayson laughed.

  “Hey man, do you mind if I slip out of these scrubs? I got a change of clothes in my duffle here.”

  “Not at all,” Grayson said. “But it might be easier in the back.”

  “I heard that. Pretty tight up here.”

  Before I could scoot back on the couch, Stanley’s head popped into the main cabin. My ears burned from being caught eavesdropping.

  “Hey, sister. Just going to get into my civvies.” Stanley held up his duffle bag.

  “No problem,” I said. “I’ll just—”

  Stanley flopped down on the couch beside me. I watched, open mouthed, as he wriggled out of his drawstring scrub pants and tugged them free over his white leather tennis shoes.

  He stood. I gawked at his gorgeous glutes as he yanked his shirt off over his head, revealing bulging biceps and washboard abs that erased Grayson’s six pack right out of my spinning noggin.

  Stanley caught me staring and smiled shyly. “Oh. Sorry, Miss Drex. I hope you don’t mind. I’m so used to—”

  “No worries,” I whispered, barely able to speak.

  I knew it was rude, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the man’s physique. I’d never seen a male specimen so suave he could actually rock an outfit of leopard-print underpants and white shoes and socks. Like a rabid pro-wrestling fan, not even one little part of me wanted to snicker at Jungle Jock.

  “I’ll be quick,” Stanley said, and unzipped his duffle. He tugged out a pair of jeans and a red pullover sweater.

  I watched in awe as his muscular legs, arms and chest disappeared underneath the denim and knit. Then, like some sexy cologne commercial, Stanley untied the beige bandana on his head and shook loose his dreadlocks so they could swing wild and free.

  “Hand me those?” he said.

  “Huh? Oh!” I unfroze, closed my drooling mouth, and handed Stanley the scrubs he’d tossed onto the couch.

  “Thanks.” He shot me that shy, sexy smile again.

  As Stanley stuffed the scrubs into the duffle bag, something fell to the floor. I reached down and picked it up. It was a little leather bag tied with leather strapping—about the right size to hold a handful of pills, or maybe a nickel bag of pot.

  “What’s this?” I asked, handing it back to him.

  “Oh, shit,” he said. “Don’t tell nobody, okay?”

  “Tell who what?” I shot him a look I hoped was stern but still cool and sexy. “Are you doing drugs?”

  Stanley’s eyes widened. “No!” He tucked the little bag away in his jeans pocket. Then he glanced around and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “It’s voodoo.”

  My left eyebrow raised an inch. “Voodoo?”

  “Yeah. For protection.”

  My eyes grew wide. “Protection from what?”

  Stanley glanced out the little window above the couch at the scenery whizzing by. He bit his lip and gave me a tight, close-lipped smile.

  “Looks like we’re almost there,” he said. “I better go give your man Grayson some directions.”

  Then, before I could reply, Stanley and his duffle bag disappeared into the front of the RV.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “TURN HERE,” STANLEY’S voice emanated from the front cab of the RV.

  My fingers curled around the couch’s armrest. A second later, I lurched sideways as Grayson hooked a hasty left. Once both of my butt cheeks were back on the couch, I turned and stood with my knees on the cushions. I glanced out the window above the couch. A sign for One Mile Stretch Road whizzed by.

  A moment later, the RV came to a halt in front of a low-slung, concrete-block building. It was painted gunmetal gray. A dark-blue awning proclaiming TOPLESS TACOS hung over the front of the building like the Neanderthal brow-ridges of every caveman jerk who patronized the place.

  I sneered.

  So this is what a topless place looks like. Figures.

  I clamped my jaw shut and stomped over to the side door of the RV. Stanley and Grayson were waiting for me in the parking lot. As I climbed out, Stanley shot me a tight-lipped smile. His eyes seemed to plead, “Let’s keep this whole voodoo thing our little secret, okay?”

  I scowled at him.

  Why do all the good-looking guys have to be pervs?

  Stanley flinched at my angry expression, then quickly recovered his smile. “You two are in for a treat,” he said. “Follow me.”

  I prepared my women’s rights speech in my head as he led us inside the building. But when I looked around, I was surprised to find that inside, the place actually looked like a legitimate restaurant.

  I stared at the gleaming, red tabletops wondering where the dance poles were. The only tempting pictures on the walls featured empanadas and nachos. Not a scantily-clad bimbo in sight.

  A cute, young woman in rather modest attire for a strip club came up to us carrying four menus.

  Can’t count to three, huh, honey?

  “Sit anywhere you’d like,” she said brightly. “I’ll be right back to take care of you.”

  I bet you will.

  I plopped down in a chair and glared at the menu like The Church Lady in an SNL skit. Then I read something that made me want to belt out a chorus of Amazing Grace.

  “Oh, look, Grayson,” I said cheerily. “TOPLESS stands for tomatoes, onions, peppers, lettuce, extra cheese, salsa and sour cream. Isn’t that clever?” I shot him my best stick that in your face and suck it grin.

  Grayson’s wandering eyes settled on the menu. “Oh.”

  “What’s good here,” I asked my new best friend, Stanley.

  He shot me the kind of tentative smile reserved for people with severe mood disorders. “Um ... the tofu tostadas are su
per yum.”

  “Hmm,” Grayson grunted.

  I smiled to myself. The disappointed look on Grayson’s face would keep me grinning for at least the next three months.

  AFTER TAKING A BITE of his Mahi taco, Grayson finally let go of his grudge and gave Topless Tacos the thumbs up. He washed down his mouthful with a sip of ginger beer and said, “Solid recommendation, Stanley. And, like I promised, lunch is on me.”

  Stanley let out a tinkling laugh. “Glad you like it, man.”

  The door to the restaurant opened, snuffing out Stanley’s good humor like a paper match in a hurricane. Our new friend stared blankly at the man coming through the door.

  It was a uniformed police officer.

  The cop glanced our way and nodded at Stanley. “Johnson,” the policeman said curtly, then headed to the cash register to pick up his take-out order.

  I studied Stanley’s face. The casual air about him was gone. In its place was a quiet, almost secretive determination. The best way to explain it was that Stanley had the look of a man who knew there was no such thing as a free lunch, but had decided to take his chances anyway—and lost.

  The cop picked up his food and headed for the exit. He opened the door, then, when he was halfway out, said aloud to no one in particular, “Be careful of the company you keep.” Then he disappeared out the door.

  I glanced over at Grayson, wondering if the cop’s remark had been meant as a joke, random advice, or a not-so-subtle warning. And who had he intended it for? Stanley? Grayson? Me?

  “What’s up with that?” Grayson asked Stanley.

  “Officer Holbrook,” Stanley said. “He’s the cop who took down all my reports when my stuff got stolen outside of Banner Hill. I get the feeling he thinks I’m a liar.”

  “That’s bull-crap,” I said. “If he’s not treating you right, why don’t you report him?”

  Stanley sighed. “Don’t pay to stir up troubled waters when you got no piss-pot to bail your boat out with.”

  Geez. This guy mixes up metaphors worse than Grayson.

  “I understand perfectly,” Grayson said.

  Of course you do.

  I felt an eye roll coming on, but stopped it when Grayson locked his green eyes on mine.

  “You can’t look to the law for help when you’re not exactly abiding it yourself, am I right Stanley?”

  I shifted my gaze over to Stanley. He was nodding his dreadlocks. “Exactly, man.”

  Wait a minute. Is mixing metaphors an actual language? A kind of secret, male-to-male communication? If so, these two guys could be code-talkers.

  “Well, you don’t need to confess your sins to us,” Grayson said to Stanley. “We operate outside normal parameters, ourselves.”

  Stanley’s head cocked to one side. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’re parano—”

  Grayson kicked my shin. “We’re paranoid about getting gramps into a good nursing home.”

  Stanley chewed on that information while I rubbed my shin. Finally, he said, “You look like good folks. Take my advice. Find another place for gramps. I wouldn’t put my Pop Pop in Banner Hill. No way.”

  “Because of the voodoo problem?” I asked, my eyes darting to catch Grayson’s reaction to my insider knowledge.

  Stanley shot me a what the hell are you talking about look. Grayson followed suit.

  I scowled. So much for winning one for the Gipper.

  “Voodoo?” Grayson asked.

  Stanley glanced around, then hunched his head down closer to his shoulders. “Something weird going down over there at the Banner, man.”

  “What do you mean, weird?” Grayson asked. “Have they been serving Spam more often?”

  Stanley eyed Grayson like he was either a genius or a fool. I knew the look. I had it down pat myself.

  “No. The men folk we been taking care of ....” Stanley sighed. “It’s like something’s sappin’ the life juices out of ’em.”

  “So your voodoo charm isn’t working?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Grayson. My partner stared at me as if I might be crazy.

  So that’s how it is? You’re not gonna give me one ounce of credit for knowing about the voodoo?

  “Voodoo charm?” Grayson asked, turning to Stanley. “Are you worried about the khakua?”

  Stanley frowned. “No, man. Voodoo don’t work like that. They called a plumber. The toilets were all fixed last week.”

  I would’ve laughed if it hadn’t been for the tragic fact that less than an hour ago, I’d actually considered these guys to be among the most attractive and intelligent I’d come across in years.

  Years!

  Stanley pulled the tiny leather pouch from his pocket and showed it to Grayson.

  Grayson eyed it skeptically. “So, what’s the voodoo bag for?”

  Stanley’s eyes darted around the restaurant, then he leaned in across the table. “For the haint,” he whispered.

  Grayson’s brow furrowed. “Who’s ‘the haint’?”

  Stanley shot me an incredulous look. I shrugged and said, “He’s from up north.”

  Grayson turned to me, a confused look on his face.

  The man knows about a New Guinea khakua demon but not Southern haints? Ugh!

  I groaned. “He means the place is haunted, Grayson.”

  Stanley licked his lips and rubbed the little leather bag between his thumb and forefinger. “She’s right,” he whispered. “There’s some kind of spirit roaming the halls of Banner Hill, and it’s out for blood.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “A MALEVOLENT SPIRIT is loose at Banner Hill?” Grayson’s green eyes lit up like twin traffic lights. “Tell me more.”

  Stanley glanced around, checking to see if anyone else was listening. Topless Tacos was empty except for us and another couple across the room. From the way they were shoveling nachos into their maws, I figured they couldn’t hear us over the sound of crunching tortilla chips.

  Stanley must’ve surmised the same. He leaned in over the table. His dark-brown eyes shifted from mine to Grayson’s, then back again. “I seen her myself. That’s why I gots me this protection amulet.”

  “What’s inside it?” I asked, nodding at the little leather pouch.

  “Don’t know.” Stanley shook his head. “If you look inside, you break faith. The voodoo spell won’t work.”

  “Come on. That’s bull,” I said.

  “Faith is the basis of all belief systems,” Grayson said.

  I opened my mouth to argue the point, then shut it. Maybe he was right.

  “I probably don’t need this thing, anyway,” Stanley said, twirling the pouch by its leather string. “Old Mildred don’t worry me too much. After all, it was her who gots me my job in the first place.”

  “Old Mildred hired you?” Grayson asked. “Are you referring to Ms. Draper or Ms. Gable?”

  “Neither,” I said. “Old Mildred’s the haint, right Stanley?”

  Stanley smiled at me. “That’s right.”

  “So you’re saying a spirit got you your job at Banner Hill?” Grayson asked.

  “Round about, yeah.” Stanley nodded. “Nina, a friend of mine, told me about the job opening at Banner Hill. She said they were looking for a male nurse, on account of Old Mildred.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Grayson said.

  Stanley smiled slyly. “Old Mildred’s a green-eyed devil, like you Grayson.”

  “Me? I’m no devil.”

  “He means she’s the jealous sort,” I said, translating for Grayson again. He might’ve been book smart, but Grayson didn’t know his idioms or colloquialisms worth a crap.

  “That’s right,” Stanley said. “Old Mildred’s jealous as the day is long. She don’t like no other women hangin’ around. She done run off the last three women they hired at Banner Hill. That’s why they took a chance on me. I was the only guy who applied.”

  “No way,” Grayson said.

  Stanley’s eyebrow went up. “Look around for you
rself. All the night nurses and orderlies there are men folk.”

  Huh. And here I thought that was because of the icky guy requirement.

  “What about the manager, Ms. Gable?” Grayson asked.

  “She don’t work nights. Flies out of there at dusk like a bat out of hell.”

  “Have you actually seen Old Mildred?” I asked Stanley.

  “Yeah. Seen her plain as I’m seeing you right now.”

  A shiver crawled up my spine. “It doesn’t scare you—working with a ghost lurking around in the building? What if Old Mildred decides to take you next?”

  Stanley studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “She won’t. We got us an arrangement.”

  “What sort of arrangement?” Grayson asked.

  “The Schultz, man.”

  Grayson nodded. “I see.”

  “The Schultz?” I asked.

  “I know nothing, I see nothing,” Grayson said. “Like that sergeant on Hogan’s Heroes.”

  Somehow, I managed not to roll my eyes. “Oh. Right.”

  Stanley nodded. “I let Old Mildred do her thing, she lets me do mine. I set that right with her my first night on the job.”

  “How?” I asked. “What happened?”

  Stanley glanced around the restaurant again. It was empty except for us and the trail of nacho crumbs that had fallen from the laps of the couple who’d just left.

  “On my very first shift, I was walkin’ down the hall in the middle of the night and felt something coming up behind me. I turned around and that’s when I seen her. Old Mildred. She was all hunched over by the exit door, starin’ at me.”

  “How do you know she was a spirit?” Grayson asked.

  “She was all fuzzy-like,” Stanley said. He raised his hands and spread them out before him like a fan. “She was surrounded in this dim, purplish light. I knew right then and there I had to choose.”

  “Choose whether she was a ghost or not?” I asked.

  “No, man.” Stanley shook his head. “Choose whether or not I wanted to keep my apartment. The rent was due in a week. I needed the paycheck. I decided on the spot to make my peace with Old Mildred.”