I nodded toward the picture. “Who’s the gnome?”
Garth blanched as if I’d slapped him. “That’s not a gnome. That’s my Svengali.”
I picked up the photo and studied the guy’s face. His eyes seemed to twinkle like jolly old St. Nick’s. “Is this Gandhi?”
“No,” Garth croaked. “But close. They both believed in truth and non-violence.”
I glanced up at Garth, losing my patience. “Okay. So, who’s the old dude?”
He blew his nose and almost smiled. “Pandora, you’re looking at a picture of Randall James Hamilton Zwinge.”
My nose crinkled. “Who?”
“What?” Grayson yelled from the kitchen. He sprinted into the living room and nearly knocked me over as he grabbed the photo from my hand. He stared down at picture, then up at Garth.
“You met The Amazing Randi?” Grayson asked.
Garth nodded. “Well, yeah. He’s actually my uncle, twice removed. Jimmy was named after him. So was I.”
My nose crinkled. “I thought your name was Gary.”
“That’s my middle name. My first name is Randall.”
I winced. “My condolences.”
Garth nodded sadly. “So you heard about him passing, then.”
“Oh.” I sat up straighter. “Well, yes. And I’m also sorry you got named Randall.”
He shrugged. “Could’ve been worse.”
“How?”
“Ask my cousin, Zwinge.”
I grimaced, then shifted uncomfortably. “Uh ... I heard Randi died of natural causes.”
“Yeah,” Garth said. “He didn’t have any choice in the matter.” He turned to Grayson and winked a bloodshot eye. “As you know, he didn’t believe in unnatural ones.”
He and Grayson grinned at each other, then laughed like a pair of nerdy hyenas.
Seriously?
“Sorry to break up the fun,” I said. “But what’s going on with your brother Jimmy?”
Garth’s grin evaporated. “That’s just it. I can’t say for sure.”
Garth coughed again. I covered my mouth with my hand. “Does he have the same plague you do?”
“No,” Garth said, shaking his head vehemently. “Jimmy’s not sick. I mean, not the way I am. He’s just been...I dunno...acting weird lately.”
“Weird like what?” Grayson asked. “We need specifics.”
Garth shrugged. “I dunno. He’s been acting all sneaky.”
“Sneaky?” I asked. “We drove all this way because Jimmy’s acting sneaky?”
“Something’s wrong with him, I know it!” Garth said. “He’s been making secret phone calls. Sneaking out at night. Stuff like that.”
I smirked. “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”
Garth’s greasy eyebrows rose an inch. It was obvious the idea had never occurred to him.
“Maybe you’re right, Pandora,” Garth said. “But, I mean, who would go out with him?”
I drew a mental image of Jimmy. He was a slim, well-built young man with all his facial features in the right place. For rural Florida, he was a hunk.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Lots of women are suckers for a man in uniform.”
“Maybe,” Garth coughed. “But I think it’s something else.”
“You told us over the radio a friend of his disappeared,” Grayson said.
“You think Jimmy killed his friend and is trying to cover it up?” I blurted.
“What?” Garth gasped. “No! I think he’s joined some secret club or something. Maybe even a cult.”
I nearly blanched. Uptight, by-the-book Jimmy in a toga, dancing and chanting in some kind of cult? No way!
On the one hand, it didn’t make sense. But then again, Jimmy teetered on the edge of two worlds. By day, he was a rookie cop. By night, he shared a prepper compound with a known conspiracy nutter. That was a pretty huge seesaw to ride—both socially and professionally.
Then I remembered that during our last investigation, Garth’s loose lips about our alien abduction theories had gotten back to the police station where Jimmy worked. The poor guy had gone from golden child to laughingstock in under sixty seconds.
“A cult?” Grayson asked. “Why do you think that?”
“Because he’s not the same person anymore,” Garth said.
“What do you mean?” Grayson asked. “Has he experienced a sudden personality change?”
Garth winced. “Sort of.”
“Hmm,” Grayson said. “Perhaps Pandora’s right. Murder suspects often exhibit—”
“He didn’t do it!” Garth yelled. “I know my brother!” He shrunk back in his seat. “Sorry, Mr. Gray. No disrespect, but I know something’s wrong with him. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“We’re trying to help,” I said. “What other evidence do you have?”
“Only this.” Garth picked up a remote and clicked on the TV monitor. “Here. Take a look at this surveillance footage.”
The TV set pinged on. Fuzzy, black-and-white static filled the screen. A few seconds later, the pixelated snow cleared and the wide derriere of a pudgy, shaggy-haired guy hoisting himself into a battered old pickup came into view.
“Isn’t that Jimmy’s old truck?” Grayson asked.
Garth sniffed. “Yeah.”
“Who’s the fat guy? A thief?” I asked.
“No,” Garth croaked. “That’s Jimmy.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Jimmy’s once square jawline had gone round and jowly. His dimpled chin had duplicated itself. In the months since I’d seen him, Garth’s brother had to have packed on forty pounds, minimum.
“Intriguing,” Grayson said. “What do you think he’s gotten involved with?”
I sneered. “It certainly ain’t Weight Watchers.”
“He won’t tell me,” Garth said. “Jimmy only said that he’d found a ‘life-changing opportunity.’”
Yeah. To get diabetes...
“Play the video again,” Grayson said.
Garth fumbled with the remote and reset the video. “He hasn’t come home for days. I need you two to find him. Figure out what he’s up to.”
“I’d say about two-fifty,” Grayson said.
I elbowed my partner, then turned to Garth. “Why don’t you just contact his friends on the force?”
Garth blanched. “And get Jimmy fired? They already think he’s a flake, thanks to me.” He shook his head. “No. I need your help. Jimmy blew up like that practically overnight.”
Grayson studied the video. “If that’s true, there’s definitely something abnormal going on. Any ideas where Jimmy’s been going or doing?”
Garth sighed. “None. I asked him a couple of times. All he would say was he was ‘Going out.’ I’ve been too sick to tail him.”
My nose crinkled. “How are we supposed to find him without any clues?”
“I did a thing,” Garth
