“Don’t be preposterous,” Grayson said, tossing the lawn chair inside the RV.
I blanched. “I’m the one being preposterous? Let me remind you—the only reason we’re in this stupid parking lot in this stupid town is because you wanted to search for stupid ‘secret Native American treasure.’”
Grayson shrugged. “I fail to see what’s preposterous about that. Chiefland calls itself ‘The Gem of the Suwanee Valley.’”
My upper lip hooked skyward. “So?”
“Think about it, Drex. Chiefland. Gems. I was merely following the intellectual thread hidden in plain sight. You know. Like they did in The Da Vinci Code.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Since arriving in Chiefland two days ago, the closest thing to an “intellectual thread” we’d discovered was the town’s quirky quilt museum. And the closest thing to an “ancient relic” was the person running it.
I grabbed the second lawn chair and kicked it until it collapsed. “Get this straight in your head, Grayson. There are no chiefs in Chiefland, and no aliens in Plant City!”
Grayson sniffed. “You’re entitled to your opinion, Drex. And I’m entitled to mine.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Grayson silenced me with the wag of a spidery index finger. “Without additional facts, there’s no point in postulating further about either subject. Agreed?”
I let out a breath. “Agreed.”
“Good. Are you ready to go?”
“I couldn’t be any readier.”
“Grab the lantern over there and let’s roll.”
“Why don’t you grab—” I began, then stopped myself. Remembering my covert mission to get to Point Paradise for a haircut by Beth-Ann, I sweetened my tone. “I mean, ‘Got it, chief.’”
I grabbed the lantern and smiled at Grayson. “You know, since we’re heading out, do you think we could make a pit stop in Point—”
Grayson’s cellphone rang. He glanced at the display. “I better get this.”
“Who is it?” I asked. “Garth?”
Grayson shot me a quick glance. “That’s on a need-to-know basis, Drex.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the RV—totally unaware that I’d missed whacking him in the ass with that lantern by less than three inches.
I WAS STILL GRINDING my teeth when the RV’s half-bald tires spun up a cloud of dust across the Walmart parking lot.
After clicking off his mysterious phone call, Grayson hadn’t had the courtesy to offer me a single word of explanation. Instead, he’d jammed the keys into the ignition and peeled out of the lot like he’d just gotten word the last taco stand on the planet was closing in two minutes.
“What the heck’s going on?” I demanded, my arms folded over my chest. Miffed at being ignored and left out of the loop, I was determined to make Grayson trust me—even if I had to use every deceitful trick in the book.
“He’s dead,” Grayson said, tucking his cellphone into his shirt pocket.
I gasped. Then I wilted with horror. “Dead?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Grayson shook his head and pulled onto the highway. “What a tremendous loss to paranormal research.”
I sat back in the passenger seat, stunned. A tear came to my eye. I scrounged in my purse for a Tootsie Pop to console my aching heart.
Garth had been a harmless, goofball nerd. Sure, he’d been a weirdo conspiracy chaser. And he hadn’t exactly given Brad Pitt anything to worry about, either. Garth had been short and wiry, with thick, black glasses, a frizzy, bleached-blond mullet, and buck teeth that would’ve made a donkey cringe in shame. But all in all, he’d been a pretty decent guy.
Plus, he’d always thought I was a babe.
“Poor guy. How’d he die?” I asked.
Grayson sighed. “Age-related causes.”
I stuck the Tootsie Pop into my mouth, barely able to conceive of the notion. “He seemed so young. I thought he was in his late twenties, tops.”
Grayson nodded solemnly. “The truly inspired do often seem to defy the effects of time.”
“So, how old was he?”
“Ninety-two.”
I choked on my sucker. “Garth was ninety-two?”
Grayson shot me a look. “Garth? No. I’m talking about The Amazing Randi.”
My eyes shot twin death-rays at Grayson. I’d have hurled my Tootsie Pop at him if it hadn’t been my last watermelon-flavored one. “Who the heck is Amazing Randi?”
“What?” Grayson gasped and nearly ran the RV off into the ditch.
After regaining control of the vehicle, he turned and stared at me as if I’d come from another planet. “Not Amazing Randi. The Amazing Randi. He’s only the greatest scientific skeptic and paranormal debunker who ever lived!”
“Debunker?”
Grayson let out an indignant grunt. “Really, Drex. I’m sure I mentioned him before. He co-founded the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry?”
I shrugged. “Uh...not ringing any bells.”
“Don’t you remember? The Amazing Randi’s mission in life was to challenge and disprove paranormal and pseudoscientific claims from around the world.”
My upper lip hooked skyward. “Uh, no offense. But from what I’ve seen, there’s a ton of guys out there doing the same thing. You and Garth included. What was so great about Randi?”
“The Amazing Randi,” Grayson corrected again. “Well, for one, he put his money where his mouth is.”
I smirked. “That must’ve made it hard for him to eat.”
Grayson eyed me as if I’d just had a seizure. “I’ll give you a pass this time. But only because of your utter ignorance.”
“Gee, thanks.” I stifled an urgent eye roll and decided to play nice. “So tell me, Grayson. How did The Amazing Randi put his money where his mouth is?”
“By creating the James Randi Educational Foundation. It offers a million dollars to anyone who can prove their own supernatural powers or the presence of a supernatural being.”
The million dollars prompted something in my brain. “Oh, yeah. I remember you saying something about that not long after we met.” I smirked. “I bet the thought of getting a million bucks really brings the kooks running.”
“They’ve examined a few claims over the years,” Grayson conceded.
“Let me guess. No winners yet?”
Grayson let out a sigh so deep his chest sunk inward. “No.
