“Great,” I grumbled. “Rain. Just what we need.”
“What you worried about, Bobbie?” Earl said. “You ain’t made of sugar.”
I sneered at my cousin. “I was thinking of you, Earl—but not of sugar. What’s that other thing that melts in the rain?”
Earl grunted. “Har har.”
The sky opened up like a high-velocity carwash, reducing visibility to the split-second between wiperblade swipes.
I frowned. “Slow down, Earl. If this keeps up, we’re never gonna be able to find where you pulled us out of the muck.”
“Never mind that,” Grayson said. “Look for the sign.”
“Juanita’s Casa del Tacos?” I asked, reading a giant billboard as we passed by at fifteen miles an hour.
“I meant the sign for Edward Medard Park,” Grayson said. “I think it’s just up ahead on the right.”
Sure enough, the forest-green-and-brown sign for the state park appeared at the edge of the woods like a soggy beacon in the gray monsoon. Directly across the street on the left, above the door of what appeared to be a repurposed gas station, a neon sombrero blinked like an acid-flashback from a trip long ago and far away.
Eat here and get gas...
Grayson frowned and pursed his lips. “I’m making an executive decision. Earl, take a left into Juanita’s parking lot. We’ll grab a snack and wait until the rain eases up.”
“Tacos?” I shot Grayson a sideways glance. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
Grayson adjusted his fedora and sat up a bit straighter. “No. Just a fortunate coincidence.”
I shook my head. “You’re lying, Grayson.”
Grayson glanced over at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I know you. And you don’t believe in coincidences.”
Chapter Thirteen
It had been exactly twenty-seven hours since Grayson last pulled over for tacos. I glanced up at the neon sombrero and resigned myself to impending heartburn. It wasn’t even Tuesday, for crying out loud.
“Good thing you’ve got your priorities in order,” I said, yanking open the door to Juanita's Casa del Tacos. “We fill our guts with chips and salsa while Jimmy’s tire impressions get washed away in a monsoon.”
“The rain’s already done its damage,” Grayson said slipping past me and into a booth by the fogged-up front window. “Besides, scientific evidence supports better brain function with proper nutrition.”
I stifled an eye roll and scooted in across from him. “I don’t think tacos count as one of the four basic food groups.”
“They do around here,” a plump, middle-aged woman said with a laugh.
She swiped at her dark-brown bangs as she shuffled up to us, then paused to shift the gum she was cracking to one side of her mouth before she spoke again. “So, y’all know what you want?”
“Let’s keep it simple,” Grayson said before Earl or I could speak. He nodded to a chalkboard sandwich board propped up by the front door like a “wet floor” sign. “We’ll have today’s special, the Familia Grande Taco Extravaganza.”
Our server’s left eyebrow flat-lined. “For just the three of you? Normally, that feeds a family of five.”
“I hope it’s enough,” I quipped. “These two count as two people each. Maybe three.”
The waitress laughed. “Sounds like y’all got yourselves a big appetite. Any big plans to go with it?”
“Yep,” Earl said, grinning proudly. “We’re on a case.”
The woman grin skipped a beat. “A case? You guys cops?”
Earl smiled smugly. “No ma’am. Detectives. We’re lookin’ for us a fella went missing in the ol’ Hi-Ho out yonder.”
“Earl!” I hissed, and kicked him under the table
The waitress studied us for a moment. “I see. Anything to drink with that?”
“Three Dr Peppers,” I said, smiling up at her weakly.
“I’ll get your order in,” she said, and headed for the kitchen.
“Did you see that reaction?” Grayson said. “Something’s up with her.”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t read much into it. Earl has a negative effect on women.”
“Perhaps,” Grayson said. “But I believe she knows something.”
“What?” I quipped. “That Earl’s full of crap? Every gal with half a brain knows that.”
Grayson’s jaw tensed. “I meant about the disappearances.”
“Shh,” I whispered. “Here she comes. Earl, keep your trap shut!”
Earl frowned. “What’d I do?”
“Here you go,” the waitress said. “Three Dr Peppers.” She unloaded a trio of quart-sized, red-plastic glasses from her tray, then lingered as we each grabbed a drink.
“Uh ... y’all need straws?” she asked, poking three paper-wrapped straws at us.
“No,” I said. “We’re fine.”
“Uh ... okay.” she said, tucking them back into her apron pocket. “This fellow you’re looking for. His name isn’t Wade, is it?”
“No,” Grayson said. “Why would—”
“It’s Jimmy!” Earl said, earning him another kick in the shin from me.
“Why do you ask?” Grayson said to the waitress.
She glanced out the window, then back toward the kitchen. Then she leaned over and whispered, “Your friend Jimmy ain’t the first to go missing from the old Hi-Ho.”
“No?” Grayson said. “Who else is missing?”
The waitress chewed her lip. “I can’t say for sure. But you know, usually by this time a day we’re half full up with customers. Over the past week or so, a bunch of our regulars have quit showing up.”
My upper lip hooked skyward. “Uh ... how often do you change the grease?”
Grayson shot me a look, then turned back to the waitress. “These regular customers. Did they have anything in common?”
“Yeah,” she said. “They ate here.”
Grayson took a breath. “I mean besides that.”
“Oh. Well, they liked to hunt and fish around here.”
“In the Hi-Ho?” I asked.
“Well, yeah,” she said. “I mean, it’s right across the street.”
“Have you heard any stories of strange phenomena going on in the park?” Grayson asked.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like a port-a-potty from outer space,” Earl blurted.
I kicked him again. “Hush!”
The waitress’ drawn-on eyebrows raised like McDonald’s arches. She glanced around the empty restaurant again, then leaned over our table. “Just old Indian legends and whatnot,” she said. “They say that place is an ancient Native American burial ground.”
“Technically, this whole country is,” Grayson said dryly. “Anything else?”
“Just what my cousin Wade told me,” she said. “He said
