“Just browsing?” she asked. “Take your time. But if there’s something in particular you’re looking for, feel free to ask.”
“Thanks, we will,” I said. Immediately a display of beaded bracelets caught Bess’s eye. “Would Hannah like one of these?” she asked. Hannah was our housekeeper in River Heights, and she’d been like a second mother to Bess and George ever since she’d become a part of our household.
I examined the bracelets, then shook my head. Bess, however, selected one and left it at the counter with the shopkeeper.
I joined Bess as she examined some items on a table near the counter: baseball caps, sweatshirts, little plastic flying saucers and rocket ships. Also prominently displayed was a selection of really spooky alien masks.
“UFO souvenirs?” I smiled.
The woman behind the counter laughed. “No store in town can afford to be without them. I, at least, tried to have a few of the more unusual and tasteful items, but they can’t help but be what they are.”
“Have the UFO sightings brought you business?” I asked, while Bess sorted through the T-shirts. The Antique Attic seemed to have turned into a souvenir shop too.
The woman just shrugged. “Not much. Especially since the roadblock is only about four miles from here. But my rentals have picked up some,” she added as the phone rang. As she picked up the phone, she gestured toward a corkboard over a shelf full of old books. I sauntered over and looked at the interior and exterior photos and descriptions of some of the rental properties. Most were for ski chalets, but one in particular caught my eye. Sunk into the side of a hill, the dwelling resembled a well-furnished cave.
The storekeeper came up. “Interesting property,” she said. “It’s called Under Hill. I just negotiated a short-term lease for it. It’ll be free in a month or so, I imagine.” Before I could say I wasn’t interested, she introduced herself as Eleanor Dorian. “Better known as Ellie,” she added.
“Nancy, look over here!” Bess said. “I found the perfect present for Ned.”
Ellie smiled at me, then went back to arranging the jewelry. I joined Bess, who was fiddling with the latches on an old black typewriter case.
“Nice!” What a find! My boyfriend Ned had started collecting old-fashioned portable typewriters. Bess had gotten involved in his project using her mechanical know-how to get them back in at least moderate working order. “Is the typewriter inside?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t. Now considered antiques and not just tag-sale junk, the portables had become a bit pricey for my budget.
“No,” Bess answered, finally getting the stiff latches to open. Indeed, it was empty. “And it’s for an old 1920s Underwood.”
“Like the one Ned found at the university flea market!” I decided I had to have the case. Fortunately, because it was in bad shape, it was cheap.
We brought the case and Bess’s alien souvenirs up to the counter. Ellie had already put Bess’s bracelet in a little plastic bag, but even before we paid for it, Bess took it out of the bag and slipped it on. “I’ll take it like this,” she said.
“Was it the UFO sightings that brought you girls here?” Ellie asked as she wrapped Bess’s items.
“No way,” I answered as I pulled out my wallet. “We came to visit a friend.”
“Maybe you know her,” Bess said. “She’s my Aunt Louise’s friend from cooking school. Her name’s Winifred, and she—”
Before Bess could finish the sentence, Ellie froze and looked shocked. “You’re friends of Winifred’s?”
“Sure,” Bess said, sounding confused. “We just met her, but—”
“Whatever,” Ellie said. She practically threw Bess’s package at her. Shoving my change into my hand, she stalked out from behind the display case.
“I think it’s time you left now. Any friend of Winifred Armond’s is not welcome in my shop or home.”
She jerked the door open and, with an overblown dramatic gesture, motioned for us to leave.
After a moment’s hesitation Bess grabbed her purchases and scurried out the door.
Ellie tapped her foot, waiting for me to follow. Her message might as well have been written on a flashing neon sign: GET LOST—OR ELSE.
Or else what, though? I had no idea. I only knew I felt insulted. I had half a mind to storm out without the typewriter case. I was also tempted to throw it at her.
Instead, thinking of how much Ned would love the case, I picked it up, and with all the dignity I could muster, stormed out after Bess.
Bess climbed into the passenger side of my car and slammed the door hard. I was right behind her, slipping into the driver’s seat. “What was that about?” she asked.
“I have no idea!” I said as I reached around and placed the typewriter case onto the backseat. Then I remembered exactly where I’d seen Eleanor Dorian’s face before. My anger instantly melted away. “Or maybe I do, Bess...”
I turned to face her. “Remember the photo in the café—the one over Winnie’s framed good-luck dollar bill?”
“What of it?” Bess said. “I didn’t really look at it.”
“I did.” I had to smile. “Winnie’s old business partner.” I nodded back toward the shop as I turned the key in the ignition. “That’s her. Ellie is Winnie’s cousin.”
As I pulled out onto the road, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Bess’s lips formed a silent “Oh.”
“So we wandered into what is essentially the camp of the enemy,” I said.
“Huh,” Bess said. “It kind of takes the sting out of it—in a way. It wasn’t personal. Eleanor just doesn’t want to have anything to do with Winnie, or with anyone connected with Winnie.”
“What in the world happened between those two women to make Eleanor so bitter, though?” I asked.
“Maybe it’s a family feud,” Bess suggested.
It was at that moment I checked my rearview mirror. “Bess, we’re being followed.”
Dognapped
Bess craned her neck so she could see who was following us. “It’s a white van. And it belongs to...”
“ Reel TV!” I chimed in.
I laughed along with Bess, but inwardly I wondered—was Izzy’s crew already following us, without our knowing it? The possibility vaguely annoyed me. Izzy had given me the impression we’d check in with the production company at their base before the filming started.
On the other hand maybe the Reel TV van wasn’t tailing us at all. They just happened to be behind us on the same road, headed for the same destination at the very same time.
I’m not so hot on coincidences—so to be safe, I decided to try to lose them. Just ahead the road forked: The main road leading to Brody’s Mountain was to the left. I went right.
“Where are we going?” Bess asked as the road curved sharply around a bend.
“I have no idea,” I answered, checking my rearview mirror. As the road straightened out, I felt a wave of relief; I seemed to have lost the van, and it was simple. “I guess they weren’t really following us.”
“You were trying to lose them?” Bess gasped in disbelief. “But why?” she asked. “We all agreed to let them shoot us.”
“We did,” I conceded. “I just thought we were supposed to meet up with them first at the roadblock—sort of set out the ground rules.”
“What ground rules?”
“I don’t know. But I want to be sure they have a few—like, would you really have wanted them inside the Antique Attic to document Ellie’s little temper tantrum? Or hanging around while we eat?”
Bess considered this a moment. “No, I wouldn’t. But, Nancy, speaking of eating...”
“You can’t possibly be hungry again so soon,” I marveled.
“No, but look up ahead. There’s a farm stand selling pure maple syrup! Let’s stop and get some.”
“Bess!” I wanted to protest about us wasting time, but I quickly realized that I was the one who had chosen this detour. “Okay, but...”
Bess groaned. “I promise, I’ll make it quick.”
Then I remembered how much Dad loved Hannah’s pancakes drenched in syrup. “Me too.” I laughed. “Maple syrup is the perfect present for Dad and for Hannah.” I pulled into the driveway and was greeted by the barking of what sounded like a dozen dogs.
I waited a moment before opening the car door, but when no dogs came running, I figured they were penned up somewhere.
Bess and I climbed out and looked around. “This place is great!” she said. “It’s like out of a time warp!”
The farm was picture-perfect with its two barns, a silo, and a corncrib filled to the brim from the harvest. It hugged the side of a mountain. Steep, newly harvested meadows flanked a wooded area, dark with pines, while the farmhouse and outbuildings sat close to the road.
Clouds were building over the top of the mountain, and a cold wind whistled through the trees. I wrapped my blue scarf more tightly around my neck and said, “I think that’s part of Brody’s Mountain.”
“Which explains those ski chalets,” Bess said. She pointed past the barn, where the driveway continued and branched off, one branch leading up a slope to the meadows, the other leading to a circle of tourist cabins bordering the forest.
I grabbed my purse from the car and followed Bess to the stand. Pumpkins, squash, gourds, and other late-fall produce were attractively stacked in weathered baskets. Several shelves held different-size containers of maple syrup. The stand itself was unmanned.
I hesitated, and wondered if I should scout out the barnyard to see if anyone was around. At first glance the place seemed deserted, except for the sounds of chickens pecking in their coop and a cow lowing in the barn. From where I stood I couldn’t see if a car was parked behind the house.
Peeking through the rustic fence that surrounded the property, I saw a stone path that led across the lawn to the house. Deciding I should go and ring the doorbell, I opened the gate, then noticed the sign: NICHOLS KENNELS AND CHATEAU RENTALS.
A NO VACANCY sign dangled beneath. Apparently the UFO sightings had brought business even to this out-of-the-way farm.
“I just figured out why there are so many dogs,” I called back to Bess. “These people are breeders as well as farmers.”
“And the name Nichols rings a bell,” Bess said, holding up one of the containers of maple syrup and showing me the label with the farm’s name. “Where have I heard the name before?”
I’d heard it too. Something about the chateau rentals jogged my memory. As I was trying to recall exactly where I’d heard the name, an elderly man came charging around the corner of the house. He moved with remarkable speed for someone with a pronounced limp.
When he spotted us, he waved his cane in our direction. “My dog’s gone missing,” he shouted. “He’s been dognapped!” He paused. “By those blasted aliens!”
“Dognapped?” I repeated, not sure I’d heard right.
“By aliens?” Bess’s eyes widened. The beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips.
The distress on the man’s face was so obvious that I knew we shouldn’t laugh. I shot a warning glance at Bess. She cleared her throat and turned her face away.
“Don’t just stand there, girl!” he snapped at us. “Do something!”
“Like what?” Bess exclaimed.
“Like use one of those portable phone gizmos... My phone’s out, and so is half the electricity in the house. They zapped everything,” he said.
“‘They?’” I tried to sound serious. “Aliens stole your dog? Are you sure he didn’t just run away?”
The man waved off my comment. “I may be old, missy, but I’m no fool. Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t stand here saying Sherlock was dognapped if I thought he’d escaped on his own.” He tucked his cane under his arm and pulled his wool cap down over his ears. “So are you going to use your phone or not? Every young’un has one. I’m assuming that thing on your belt is a phone, right?”
I unclipped my cell phone from the waistband of my jeans, but I was reluctant to call the police. The dog had probably just run off, and the man was probably caught up in the general local hysteria about the UFOs. “Um, who should I say needs help?”
The man rolled his eyes. He gestured to the sign. “Nichols. Aldwin Nichols, that’s who. Just Aldwin will do. And no need to bother with directions. Everyone knows the Nichols farm. And they all know Sherlock, too. He’s the best tracker in the county. The sheriff and the mountain rescue crew use him all the time,” Aldwin added, sounding rather proud.
Suddenly he looked past my shoulder. “Not them again!” he blurted.
As I turned to follow the direction of his gaze, the Reel TV van pulled up in front of the vegetable stand. As the wheels crunched across the gravel, the sound of baying hounds started up from the kennel.
“You were right,” Bess murmured.
Without warning Aldwin barged past me. “I told you people to stay off my land.” He went right up to the van’s front door and planted himself in front of it, barring the driver from getting out.
A guy wearing a baseball cap rolled down the window. He poked his head out, and I recognized him as one of Izzy’s crew members who was staying at the inn, but I didn’t know his name. Of course, he knew mine. “Nancy, tell him we’re here because we’re filming you.”
Aldwin turned on me. “ You brought them?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t bring them. They’re following us. I’m not sure why exactly, yet.”
The guy reached beside him on the seat, then held a sheet of paper out the window of the van. “Because you signed releases, that’s why.”
“But Mr. Nichols didn’t,” Bess said sweetly.
Aldwin just glowered at the van. “Get out of here now. You’re trespassing, and I’m calling the police.” He reached out for my cell phone, grabbed it, and dialed 911. Once he got someone on the other end of the line, he barked the details of the emergency, then hung up.
The driver of the van ducked his head back in, rolled up the window, and shifted the van into reverse. His partner in the passenger seat was punching numbers into his cell. I watched as they turned around and sped down the road.
“What do you girls want?” Aldwin growled, handing me back my phone.
“Maple syrup?” Bess answered in a small voice.
I jumped in quickly. “And maybe while we’re here we can help you find your dog.”
He gave me a long hard look, then grunted. “What’s your relationship to that bunch?” He gestured toward the van. It was already some distance down the road, rounding the bend and moving out of sight.
“The producer wants to document our reaction to the UFO sightings. Because,” I quickly added, “I think they’re hoaxes.”
“You do, do you?” He snorted. He passed through the gate to the front yard and waited for us to follow him. Then he looked at Bess. “And you, blondie—what do you think?”
I cringed. Bess hated being called “blondie.” I could feel her tense up—but she surprised me by smiling at Aldwin.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “What do you think?”
He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Until today I thought it was all hogwash. But now, after what happened here last night when those lights starting circling up yonder, over the hill—well, I’ve become a believer.” He limped up the stairs onto the porch. “You can see for yourself, though.”
He led us out to the barnyard. The kennel occupied a large area, out of sight of the road. I noticed it was divided into three parts, two of which had several large individual dog runs. At the sight of us, young bloodhounds raced up to the fencing, their baying shifting into expectant whines and barks.
“Down, you critters.” Aldwin poked his fingers through the links. The dogs scrambled to lick his fingers. “It’s not feeding time.”
A smaller third pen held a doghouse. I noticed the gate had been left open. The doghouse and pen were unoccupied.
Aldwin walked up to the empty pen. “Like I told you, he’s gone missing.”
“But what makes you think he was abducted?”
“By aliens,” Bess added, examining the cage. “You said he’s a really good tracker. Is it possible that a hunter stole him?”
Aldwin snickered. “Do you really think a tough watchdog like Sherlock is going to just head off with some stranger?”
I wasn’t about to argue—but any dog can be lured by a raw juicy steak. And wasn’t an alien a stranger? “Okay, so he wouldn’t let a stranger take him, but obviously someone—or something—did, Aldwin. What makes you think it had to do with our supposed space visitors?”
Aldwin leaned against a stump and launched into his story. “Sherlock’s been acting kind of off for about four weeks now... That’s when the first UFOs came to town. He’d been baying at nothing and heading back that way into the woods,” he said, pointing to the area where we’d sighted the supposed UFOs the other night, “anytime he was left off his lead.”
“That’s unusual?” Bess asked. She was petting one of the dogs through the fence.
“For him? Absolutely. He’s trained to stay in the barnyard when he’s loose.”
“When he went into the woods, did he seem to be tracking something or someone?” I asked.
Aldwin nodded. “Mind you, whatever he was tracking, he never ventured far into the woods. I figured someone was probably camping where they shouldn’t. Illegal campers usually set up just far enough into these woods not to be visible from the house or the road. The forest is deep, and it’s too easy to get lost.
“Sherlock is pretty protective of the farm and generally stays within its bounds. Occasionally he crosses into the state forest that surrounds and borders us, but not by more than twenty yards or so.”
I made a mental note to scope out the forest while it was still light today, or tomorrow. Anyone camping would leave some kind of evidence. Sherlock sniffing out campers certainly made more sense to me than his being dognapped by UFOs.
“But, like I said, Sherlock seldom goes out of the barnyard. But lately he’d started going over there pretty regularly. I didn’t think a whole lot of it, until last night. I was in the middle of my chores when those lights turned up again over the mountain.” Aldwin stopped and pointed at me. “Like you, I thought they were some kind of trick. But Sherlock started howling—set the whole pack baying. I managed to get him inside his pen and tied him up good. All at once there was a big blast of light. Never seen that happen before. Scared me a bit. I raced into the house to call the police. In the middle of dialing, though, the electricity went out, the phone died, and Sherlock stopped howling.”
“We didn’t lose electricity in town,” I told him.
“You didn’t?” He seemed surprised. “Maybe I did because the farm’s closer to those UFOs.”
Bess nodded. “That makes sense. They probably emitted some sort of electrical interference.”
Aldwin gaped at Bess. I had to smile. Not only was Bess going along with Aldwin’s story like any good detective would, but she was also showing off her gift for all things mechanical. She adores delving into the mysteries of how things work and is a real Ms. Fix-it.
Aldwin finally went on. “This morning when I checked the dogs, Sherlock was gone. At first I thought I’d left the pen open, but the latch was still closed, and there were no dig marks beneath the fence. And here, look for yourself—no animal around these parts leaves tracks like this.”
He showed me into Sherlock’s pen. Tracks crisscrossed the soft ground. Some I recognized as paw prints from a rather large dog, which I assumed were Sherlock’s.
Aldwin saw me staring at some footprints leading from the opening of the pen to the doghouse. He pointed to his own boots. “Those there are mine. But I didn’t want to step over those tracks there... I was hoping the troopers would come and check them out.”
I hunkered down to examine the ground. Besides the paw prints and boot prints, there were others—the strangest tracks I’d ever seen.
Proof Positive?
I noticed the ground was dotted with geometric marks: circles, hexagons, squares, diamond shapes. On closer inspection I noticed there was another kind of print—not paw print, nor geometric mark, nor boot print. These prints were from webbed feet, each one about four inches long.
The sort of print a duck might make.
I was about to ask if Aldwin had ducks, wondering why he hadn’t noticed, when something about them caught my eye. Sure they were webbed, but unlike bird prints these had evenly spaced ridges. They looked like something from a factory; they were definitely not the work of Mother Nature.
“What do you think, Nancy?” Bess asked. I hadn’t noticed her enter the pen behind me. She crouched lower and touched my shoulder. “What made these?”
“I have no idea,” I answered.
“Me neither,” Aldwin said. “But maybe these folks do.”
I looked up in time to see a trooper car pull up to the farm stand.
Captain Greene climbed out. I was relieved to see him. Maybe he’d have a practical explanation for Sherlock’s disappearance and for the mysterious prints.
He shoved his hat onto his head and ambled across the yard. “Aldwin, what’s up?”
“Sherlock,” Aldwin exclaimed. “He’s gone missing.”
“You called me to look for your dog?” Captain Greene frowned. “That’s not like you.”
“Maybe not, but it’s not like Sherlock to get dognapped either.”
“Dognapped?”
“By aliens,” Aldwin stated.
“Dognapped? By aliens?” Captain Greene folded his arms over his burly chest and studied Aldwin’s face. I suspected he was waiting for Aldwin to laugh. “Aldwin Nichols, are you trying to pull a fast one?” the captain finally said.
“Rupert, I know this sounds crazy, but old as I am, I’ve still got all the tools in this shed,” he said, patting his forehead. “You know that.”
“What I know is that you love practical jokes.” He paused. I imagined he was waiting for Aldwin to admit the dognapping was a prank. Aldwin just kept his lips pursed.
The captain lifted his eyebrows. “You claim Sherlock is the victim of an alien abduction?” the captain asked, still incredulous.
“I swear it’s true. Ask the girls here. I showed them evidence.”
The captain caught my eye. I just shrugged.
Then Aldwin launched into his story. I watched the captain’s expression shift from amused to confused to downright skeptical. “No one else lost electricity, Aldwin; there’s got to be an explanation.” The captain turned to the other trooper. “Caleb, go check out the phone lines and electric wires going into the house.”
“I checked already,” Aldwin said. “Nothing’s been cut, if broken lines are what you’d be looking for. I’m happy to show you exactly what I didn’t find!”
While he and Caleb circled to the back of the house, Captain Greene turned to me. “Nancy, what brought you here?”
“Shopping, actually,” Bess said, and she introduced herself. I had forgotten that she hadn’t met the captain the night before.
Captain Greene tipped his hat in an old-fashioned gesture, then turned back to me. “Of course the whole story doesn’t hold water.”
“You don’t believe him either,” I said.
“It’s a pretty outrageous claim. Still...” The captain rocked back on his heels, then lifted his shoulders. “I’m beginning to wonder. This is the first claim of an abduction. If it weren’t Aldwin making the accusation, I’d say it’s just hysteria. But he’s a pretty down-to-earth fellow. I’ve known him since I was knee-high to a termite. He may be a prankster, but he’s no liar. Besides, he generally likes to stay out of the spotlight.”
Bess chuckled. “We noticed. He sure chased off that TV crew.”
“Good for him,” the captain said. “Forget you heard me say that, though. Lots of people in town are thrilled with the idea of Brody’s Junction being the location for a reality TV show.”
“I’m sure the TV crew will be back when they hear about a dognapping,” I said.
“Yep,” the captain agreed. “Once the grapevine starts buzzing with news of Sherlock’s abduction, they’ll be back for sure. This time, though, they’ll keep off Aldwin’s property. They’ll set up on the road or on state land and use those high-powered cameras. And I won’t be able to stop them. The mayor’s given them pretty broad rights with their permits.”
We walked with the captain over to the dog pen. He gentled the baying hounds with his voice. “Down boys. It’s just me.” They seemed to know him and paid no attention as he examined Sherlock’s pen. I didn’t know if I felt relieved or disappointed when he declared the prints were nothing like anything he’d come across.
He walked out of the pen, but didn’t latch it. “I’ll have Caleb cordon off the area, then get some of those Feds to check this out. Maybe they should dust the latch for prints, then photograph the tracks—maybe even make plaster casts.”
As we headed back to the cars, Caleb and Aldwin were still in conversation on the porch. “Are you still thinking of checking out the meadow where the sighting took place?” the captain asked me.
“I’d like to. Izzy said if we were going to be filmed, I’d have more access to the area.”
“Not to the meadow. It’s sealed off like a crime scene,” he said. “You still need official permission.”
“From you, I bet,” Bess said.
“Yes, and I’m more than happy to have you look at it, Nancy. I spoke to Winifred about you, and she told me you really are a serious detective back in River Heights. It’ll be good to have an unprejudiced eye look over things.”
“I don’t know if I’m unprejudiced,” I admitted. “I’m going to need some pretty serious convincing that this whole deal is for real.”
The captain checked his watch. “You’d better get over there before noon. The weather looks like it’s going to close in quickly. Before long, snow could blanket the area.”
“What about Izzy’s crew?” Bess reminded me.
“Trust me, they’ll find us soon enough,” I said, not really in the mood to make Izzy’s life easier.
Bess picked up three small jugs of syrup at the stand, leaving the money in the coffee tin. Meanwhile, the captain radioed ahead to alert his men. After the call, he told me, “The FBI folks are all so tight-lipped about all this spaceship business, it makes me wonder if there really is something to it.”
He gave us an alternate route to the meadow, to elude the Reel TV crew, then we left. The trip was short; soon we emerged at a paved county road, blocked off by trooper cars.
After checking my ID the officer in charge let us pass. “Oh, you can go through,” he said. “You’re the girls the captain just radioed me about.”
Half a mile down the road we reached our destination. The perimeter of the meadow was cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape. We parked on the shoulder and got out. Only one of the police cars nearby was occupied. When we pulled up, a trooper got out to check our IDs, but he seemed to have been expecting us.
As I tucked my driver’s license back into my wallet, he told us we could explore the meadow’s borders and get a pretty good look at burn marks on the grass. But he warned us not to go under the police tape and not to touch anything.
“The FBI is still collecting evidence,” he said. I looked and saw a black unmarked car parked farther up the road. No agents were in sight.
“This place gives me the creeps. I’m glad I’m not on night shift,” he said.
I wondered if the UFO sightings happened only at night, but before I could ask, his radio crackled to life, and he ducked back into the car to answer it.
“So what exactly are we looking for?” Bess asked as we clambered up the embankment. It was tough work. The meadow had been harvested recently, and sharp stubs of cornstalks jabbed through my jeans. Between the harvested rows, the furrows were deep, and even with hiking boots it was hard to walk. Poor Bess was wearing only thin-soled sneakers.
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “I want to see those burn marks close up. But I also wonder if anything dropped off those supposed UFOs that might give us a clue as to who made them.”
Bess laughed. “You refuse to believe they really are from outer space.”
“Why would UFOs—supposing there are such things—bother coming to an obviously less technologically advanced place like Earth? Tell me that. Also, why would the aliens kidnap a dog?”
“Because they don’t know enough about us—maybe they think dogs are the dominant species on our planet.”
I was about to protest, when I caught the expression on Bess’s face. Her eyes were laughing, and she was barely suppressing a grin. “Bess Marvin, I’m serious.”
“I’m not,” she admitted cheerfully. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe these sightings might be for real.”
“Then you can help try to prove it. Let’s split up. You head over that way.” I pointed to where the meadow dipped down the side of the hill. “I’ll check out the edge near the woods.”
With a cheery wave Bess began making her way around the margin of the field just outside the police tape. The meadow dipped, putting Bess out of my sight line. I set off, not sure what I was looking for.
After walking a few yards, I spotted a distinctly charred area of flattened grass and cornstalks. It extended about two feet from just inside the cordon.