Beneath the Mall of Madness (A Jaspar Windisle Mystery Book 1) (30 page)

“I’ve never been to Louisiana,” I said.

“Hmm. Well, it’s something to think about,” she said. “Enjoy your trip home, Mr. Windisle.” She went back to the hotel.

“You go, man,” Zebulon said after the door closed behind her. He’d been in the gazebo, smoking.

“What?” I asked.

“The crazy math lady likes you,” he said.

“Ah. I guess she does.”

“So does this mean that a trip to Louisiana is in your future?”

“No way,” I said. “She’s trying to lure me to a crypto-zoology convention. It’s hardly a hot date.”

“In that case why not come back here? It may not look like much now, but Washington is also beautiful in the spring. You also have all those old maps to sort, and Theresa will have some more dead pets for you to raise by then. I overheard her asking her dad for a hamster.”

“You’re not really selling it,” I said. He patted me on the back.

“It’s something to keep in mind,” he said. “See you later.”

“Sure,” I said. “See ya.”

***

After getting onto the highway, my drive was uneventful. Sparks fluttered around the car gazing at the changing scenery. When I crossed the border between Oregon and California, I stopped to stretch my legs and get something to drink. The weather was already warmer, and the skies were partly cloudy instead of overcast. I took off the pirate coat and threw it into the back seat. A few hours later I stopped at a hotel to spend the night. It wasn’t nearly as opulent as The Gates of Sleep. It didn’t have bloody lettering or theme food either. After making sure the room held no surprises, I opened the trunk of my car to get my suitcase.

A fluffy cloud of white exploded out of the trunk, knocking me over. As I stared up at the portal penguin, who was barking at me eagerly, I thought I’d be returning to Towenridge sooner than I’d expected.

Amanda Folmer first discovered her interest in cryptids while growing up in the Pacific Northwest, and discovered how weird reality can be while serving in the Navy. She firmly believes that the truth is out there, probably under an interesting rock, or behind that tree over there. In one of her own stories, she would be the first to get eaten.

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