“You know, Pandora,” Garth said, pushing his glasses up on his red nose, “with your skills you’d be the perfect post-apocalyptic mate.”
“Gee. Thanks, Garth.”
I forced a smile, recalling the last compliment the doomsday prepper had given me.
It had been about my nice, extra-wide breeder hips.
I COULD STILL MAKE out Bessie’s tailgate on the asphalt road when I slammed the RV side door and headed for the back bedroom. With Earl chauffeuring Garth and Grayson to Sherman’s mom’s house, I finally had a few minutes to myself.
Alone.
And I needed to make every second count.
Like a ninja on crack, I sprinted down the hall past the bathroom and nearly did a cartwheel over the bed. I landed with my keister parked on the mattress beside the nightstand.
Sweet!
I was about to get my hands on that mystery folder labeled Experiment #5.
“Come to mamma,” I said, and yanked open the drawer.
The folder was gone.
“Nooo!” I wailed.
Either Grayson had no idea of my intentions and had simply moved the folder somewhere else, or he was totally aware of my busy-body snooping and had decided to foil it.
“Crap.” I needed somebody on my side.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit speed dial.
“Yeah?” a raspy voice grunted.
“Hey, Beth-Ann”
“Bobbie? Hold on. I gotta get Gladys under the dryer.”
“Okay.”
While I waited, I padded to the kitchen, unwrapped a Tootsie Pop, and began scrounging around the RV for the folder.
“What’s up?” Beth-Ann asked.
I plucked the sucker from my mouth. “Beth-Ann, I think I may not have too long to live.”
“What?” she gasped. “Is that tumor thingy in your head acting up?”
“Huh? Oh. No. But this crazy case we’re working on. I don’t know if it’s survivable. Tonight, we’re going out to investigate ... uh ...”
“What?”
I winced. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“Come on. You can tell me.”
I glanced out the kitchen blinds, then whispered into the phone. “Aliens.”
“Did you say aliens?” Beth-Ann said. “As in little green men?”
“Yeah only they’re not green. And they’re not little.”
Beth-Ann laughed. “Is that Tootsie Pop I hear clacking around in your mouth laced with LSD?”
“Ha ha. No.”
“Okay. Seriously, Bobbie. Why do you think tracking down aliens is potentially deadly? To be honest, it doesn’t sound any crazier than all the other stuff you’ve survived since you hooked up with Grayson.”
My best friend’s lack of surprise confounded me. “Well, this time is different.”
“How?” she asked, her voice sounding like a challenge.
I frowned. “Well, for one thing, I just found out my life is the hands of people who think ET is real.”
“Big deal. Lots of people think aliens are real, Bobbie. In fact, isn’t that the whole point of your mission with Grayson?”
I frowned. “Well, sort of. But I’m not talking about believing in aliens in general, Beth-Ann. I mean these guys think the alien in that movie, ET the Extraterrestrial is real.”
“Aww, come on, Bobbie!”
“I’m serious! They just left to go buy Reese’s Pieces—to use to lure the space aliens into the RV.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm,” Beth-Ann said, hesitating before her next question. “So, you’ve seen the aliens yourself?”
I winced. “Sort of.”
“And they looked like ET?”
“No! I mean ... I only got a quick glimpse of them before my phone battery died.”
“So ... what did they look like?”
I swallowed hard. “One of them looked like a Conehead.”
Beth-Ann choked. “From Saturday Night Live?”
“Uh ... yeah. Kinda. Geez, Beth-Ann. What should I do?”
“Uh ... consume mass quantities?”
“Thanks a lot,” I said over her laughter.
“Come on, Bobbie. How should I know what to do with an alien?”
I shook my head. “I’m doomed, aren’t I?”
“Cheer up. Maybe the Reese’s Pieces will work.”
“How do you figure that?”
“With any luck, these Conehead guys will turn out to be as addicted to sugar as you are.”
I scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Beth-Ann laughed. “Asks the girl with the ball of sugar in her mouth.”
“Hey. Tootsie Pops help me think. And right now, I need to figure out a way to avoid a starring role in Grayson’s production of Aliens vs. Idiots.
“Hey. Pony up, girlfriend. Give yourself more credit. You survived so far. You can survive this, too.”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Beth-Ann. I can only put on my big girl panties so many times before the elastic breaks.”
“Broken elastic is okay,” she said. “The only thing you need to avoid is showing your ass.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I never found that blasted file folder labeled Experiment #5.
After I hung up with Beth-Ann, I was in the middle of rifling through Grayson’s cabinet full of secret potions for the second time when I heard the crunch of tires on gravel. I peeked out the window. Earl’s monster truck was rolling into the compound.
I straightened the bottle labeled Alien Parasite Remover, closed the cabinet, smoothed my spikey hair with my hands, then traipsed over to the side door. Then I flung it open and smiled demurely, doing my best June Cleaver impersonation.
“Hi guys!” I said cheerily as Earl, Grayson and Garth climbed out of the truck.
“You feelin’ all right?” Earl asked, eyeing me with suspicion. “You don’t look right.”
I ditched the fake smile. “Did you get that water pump fixed?”
“Sorta. I rigged up somethin’ using some spare parts I pulled off an old Chevy pickup I found around back.”
“Hmm ... this thing you rigged up,” Grayson said. “Are you sure it will function within normal parameters?”
Earl shrugged. “It ain’t permanent, but it ought a hold till we can get the old jalopy back to the shop in Point Paradise.”
“Why do we have to take it all the way back there?” Grayson asked.
“Well, that’s where the gen-u-wine replacement pump is. Lemme tell ya. Parts for a 1967 Minnie Winnie don’t grow on no trees no more.”
Earl grinned and pointed a thumb at the chest of his own blue coveralls. “But lucky for you, Mr. G., I got ahold of one from the JC Whitney catalogue. I ordered the last one they had eight months ago, when you come to town
