Nessie Quest

by Melissa Savage

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “You forgot to say over. Over.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Do you happen to know what time it is? Over.”

  “Five o’clock. Over.”

  “Right. Five o’clock…in the morning. People are still sleeping at five o’clock in the morning. Like me—I was sleeping. Over.”

  “Thaaat’s a roger, Denver,” he says, completely unfazed. “But Nessie news never sleeps, so get yourself oot of your scratcher an’ put on your baffies an’ get ready for the day. Over.”

  “Is that code or something? Over.”

  “Nae, it means get oot of bed and get your slippers on because this is a counterespionage Nessie emergency. Over.”

  I yawn. “Uh-huh.”

  “This is what we call a preemptive strike in the news business,” he tells me, and then his voice comes over the radio in a whisper. “I have a top-drawer bobble. Over.”

  I stare at the speaker. “Excuse me? Over?”

  “Didn’t you memorize your codes yet? It’s a top-drawer bobble. Real top drawer too. Over.”

  I stare at the speaker. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about right now.”

  “Are ye tellin’ me that ye didna memorize any of your codes yet? It’s a top-drawer bobble. Real top drawer too. Over.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I tell him. “I interviewed Mr. Farquhar and the Loch Watchers and I have it all recorded so we can edit it for the podcast. Just wait until you hear it. I got some really good information. Over.”

  But he’s way too focused on his top-drawer business to care about my Loch Watcher findings.

  “Top-drawer bobble equals top-secret intel.” He’s back to whispering again. “Over.”

  “So what’s so top-secret that you couldn’t wait until sunup? Over?”

  “A price cut on salami is on the horizon but the sale is null an’ void,” he tells me. “He needs to be neutralized. Over.”

  “Huh?”

  He breathes an exasperated sigh into the radio speaker. “Reporters/secret agents at the Jug need to know the codes to prevent information interception. Over.”

  “Yeah, yeah, live them, be them, da, da, da,” I say. “But can’t you just tell me in regular English this one time? Over.”

  “And compromise our lead in the Nessie Race? Never. Over.”

  “Just this once and I promise I’ll learn the codes,” I say. “And I mean, is there really a lead in this thing? Plus I will guarantee you there is no one listening at five in the morning. Over.”

  “That’s negative. I was on channel three this morning and overheard Jasper Price on his CB radio. He’s plannin’ a media event based on a photo taken from yesterday. Over.”

  “Who’s Jasper Price? Over?”

  “A rival Nessie tour. Over.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it?’’

  “From what I heard his methods are highly suspect,” he tells me. “And you’re not to be the one to neutralize the hoax before it gets too far. Over.”

  “Uh-huh, and how do you know all this?” I ask.

  Silence.

  “By spying, right?” I ask.

  “Sometimes you’re forced to infiltrate the enemy camp,” he informs me.

  “So, you spied.”

  “I’m telling ye, he’s settin’ up a hoax an’ that’s the important thing to focus on. Over.”

  “How do you know all this for certain? Over?” I ask.

  “In 1967, this bloke by the name o’ Dick Raynor got a good bit o’ footage that captured the most famous movin’ images of the monster to date. It was taken near the village o’ Dores an’ many people believed it was Nessie, except fourteen years later, he realized he hadna shot the monster a’tall. In the film, it looked like a silver line across the black water, but it was really a group o’ birds called mergansers,” he explains.

  “The mother bird flits across the top o’ the water, kickin’ up spray in spurts, and then stops and waits for the bairns to catch up. From a distance, it appeared to be a long creature with a large wake. For fourteen years, many thought this to be real footage. Jasper Price is plannin’ to use the same type of video an’ pass if off as a monster sightin’. Over.”

  “How do you know so much about all this? Over?”

  “Mamo Honey kens. She kens everythin’ there is to know aboot the race an’ the monster an’ everythin’ in between. Over.”

  “So then why did she quit? Over.”

  “Will ye focus?” he says. “I’m tellin’ you that the clishmaclaver is that Jasper Price plans to present this same footage as evidence to get ahead in the race. Over.”

  “So basically…you’re saying he’s lying about the whole deal. Over,” I say.

  “Right,” Hammy Bean says. “Can ye infiltrate the Monster Chaser and try to see what you can get from Jasper Price this mornin’? He’s usually gettin’ the boat ready by seven o’clock. It can be a totally different story for the autumn newsletter, another angle. He’s goin’ to ruin the integrity of the race with a hoax like that. Over.”

  “I’m on it,” I say.

  “Roger that. Meet me at the Nessie Quest booth at ten so I can hear that interview and the one with the Three Bears an’ Price Cut on Salami? Over.”

  “Who? Over?”

  Another sigh. “Jasper Price, Monster Chaser. Over.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. “Ten, um, ten—”

  “Gads! It’s four, ye dunderheid, it’s ten-four. Study your codes! And remember to say over, will you?”

  “Okay, okay, geez,” I say. “Denver is over and out.”

  I can’t go back to sleep after Hammy Bean’s wake-up call, so I decide to start my story, seeing as I have so many interesting supporting characters.

  Not to mention one elusive lake monster.

  Whatever the thing is supposed to be.

  I open up my laptop and rest my fingers on the keys.

  Horror

  PAGE ONE

  No one thought a summer in Scotland would turn into a nightmare vacation with a terrorizing prehistorical dinosaur stalking the small town of Fort Augustus and taking its children in the dead of night.

  Hmm. Maybe.

  Realistic Fiction

  PAGE ONE

  It all started with a plain old fish.

  Booooring.

  Fantasy

  PAGE ONE

  It was a nocturnal fire-blowing dragon that flew over the small town of Fort Augustus, searching for children to take back to its nest. Dinner for later.

  A possible contender.

  “Adelaide Ru?” Mom calls from the kitchen.

  I look at the clock on the side table and realize I’m already late for my Salami assignment.

  Mom cracks the door and pokes her messy bedhead through it. “Want an orange scone and some tea?” she asks.

  “Can’t,” I tell her, pushing the comforter aside. “I’ve got to get out to Jasper Price’s boat before his first tour.”

  She nods, yawns and then slides her slippers toward the kitchen.

  Sci-Fi

  PAGE ONE

  Everyone knows two things about Fort Augustus, Scotland. An alien ship has landed at the bottom of Loch Ness and townspeople have gone missing ever since. But it’s twelve-year-old Adelaide Ru who learns the real truth, that aliens now walk the streets of the small town in human form, surviving solely on orange-flavored pastries.

  Definitely a possibility.

  * * *

  On my way down the heavenly steps in St. Benedict’s Abbey, I cross my fingers that Dax is on the stairs with Ole Roy.

  But he isn’t, so I head straight to the dock to find the Monster Chaser.

  Romance

  PAGE ONE

&nb
sp; Dax pulled his jean jacket off and wrapped it around Ada Ru’s shoulders. His seaweed eyes met hers. He was smitten at the very first sight of her that first day at St. Benedict’s Abbey.

  And she was smitten with him too.

  * * *

  Jasper Price is already at the dock, polishing the shiny brass rails that circle the whole outside of the Monster Chaser. He’s a tall, skinny man with a sunburned forehead and mirrored sunglasses.

  “Excuse me, please. I’m Ada Ru Fitzhugh, a reporter with the Nessie Juggernaut.” I point to my Press hat. “Can I have a word with you on your latest findings?”

  He shades his glasses with the back of his hand and looks up at me.

  “Pardon me, lassie?” Jasper Price says.

  “I said that I’m Ada Ru Fitzhugh, a reporter for the Nessie Juggernaut. Do you mind going on the record about your latest…findings?” I hold up my iPhone and push the red button.

  He just stares at me. “How did ye know aboot it?” he finally asks.

  “That’s a very good question,” I say. “We have what you call a nose for Nessie news, Mr. Price. And at the Jug we’re good at…ah, shall we say undercover work. Do you care to comment, sir, on the pictures you plan to present to the media later today?” I hold the phone closer.

  He keeps staring, until he finally pulls himself up out of the boat and stands directly in front of me on the dock.

  “Who are your sources?” he demands with his hands on his hips.

  “A reporter never reveals her sources,” I inform him. “But I will tell you this: our investigative work has concluded that you have taken pictures of the merganser birds and plan to pass this off as official evidence. Like Dick Raynor, except as we all now know, Dick Raynor discovered his error fourteen years later and told the truth. Because real scientists are out for the truth, Mr. Price. Not to win a race at all costs. So my question is, care to comment on your false findings?”

  He breaks out in a slow smile. “That’s rubbish.”

  “Far from it,” I say. “And we would like to give you the opportunity to comment on the story we’re planning for our new podcast, available for download wherever you get your podcasts.”

  His smile slips off his lips into a scowl that seems stuck for good. “A podcast?”

  “That’s right, and we have lots and lots of subscribers, thousands the last I looked, and I’m sure they would all be very interested in knowing that you’ve turned the Nessie Race into something it is not,” I inform him. “Now, would you like to go on the record or not?”

  He takes his mirrored sunglasses off and bends down to meet my eyes, peering at me with a dark scowl under bushy eyebrows. “Nae,” he sneers. “An’ tell yer wee friend to stay off channel three.”

  I swallow and push Stop on the phone. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Uh-huh,” he grumbles.

  “Well, my business is done here,” I tell him with a salute. “You have yourself an orange day.”

  Then I turn and head down the dock without ever once looking back until I make it to the canal side. I pull my walkie-talkie off my belt and push the button.

  “Denver to Captain Green Bean,” I call into it. “Come in, Captain Green Bean. Over.”

  “Captain Green Bean here. Over,” Hammy Bean says.

  “One Salami…neutralized,” I tell him.

  “Well done, Denver. Over.”

  “I can’t wait for you to hear this. I definitely think I got him to reconsider his…evidence,” I tell him. “I don’t expect to be hearing anything about any merganser birds now that I’m through with him. And you want to know what he said? He said to tell you to stay off channel three. Over.”

  “He kens who I am?”

  “Of course he does. He said it, didn’t he? Over.”

  “I guess so. Well done, Denver! Top-notch reportin’!” Hammy Bean sings out. “Rendezvous at Nessie’s home base in fifteen acorns. Over.”

  I stare at the radio.

  “Ye dinna have any clue what I just said, do ye? Over.”

  “Thaaaat’s a roger, Captain Green Bean.”

  “Meet me at the booth in fifteen minutes. Over and out.”

  My Nikes are so excited about the whole Jasper Price thing, they feel like sprinting to the Nessie Quest booth, but Hammy Bean won’t be there yet, so they sprint to Ness for Less for a can of Coke and a Kit Kat bar first.

  When I push open the front door, the bell on the top dings. There is a mom with a little boy on her hip squeezing melons in produce, an older lady smelling loaves of bagged bread in the bakery and two teenagers reading car magazines in the corner. Quigley Dunbar III stands behind the register and Dax is sitting on the counter strumming on Ole Roy. And I think, I mean, it’s possible I actually caught him singing too. But if he was really and truly doing it, he stopped as soon as he saw me.

  “Hi, Mr. Dunbar the Third,” I call.

  “Hello, Ada Ru.” He waves a hand in the air. “I hear you’re acquainted wi’ young Dax here?”

  “Yep,” I tell him. “Hammy Bean hired us both for the Nessie Juggernaut.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he says. “Dax is playin’ some o’ the jingles he’s workin’ on for his new radio show. Has he played them for ye yet?”

  “Ah…no,” Dax mumbles. “Not yet.”

  “Why do you share your words with Mr. Dunbar the Third and not with anyone else?” I ask him.

  “QDT is a professional musician,” Dax informs me. “And a music teacher.”

  “You are?”

  “Aye, I was a music teacher for forty-two years an’ I’ve played in many folk bands around town as well, lass. An’, well, young Dax here is pure deid brilliant at playin’ that guitar.”

  “So you’re his teacher?” I ask.

  “Not officially.”

  The bell on the door dings and an old woman in a shawl and pushing a shopping cart walks in.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Beliani,” Quigley Dunbar III calls out to her.

  “Good mornin’,” Mrs. Beliani calls back.

  I take a Coke from the cooler near the register and a Kit Kat bar from the candy section and set them on the counter. “I’ll take these, please,” I tell Quigley Dunbar III.

  He grabs the glasses hanging by a chain on his chest and slips them across his nose while he slowly pushes buttons on the register.

  “That will be one pound an’ thirty-one pence, please.”

  I pull coins from my jeans pocket, put all of them on the counter and push them in his direction.

  Dax slides the coins off the counter. “Haven’t you figured out the money yet?” he asks, going through them, taking a few from the pile and giving the rest back to me.

  “Oh, big whoop,” I say. “Mr. Dunbar the Third doesn’t mind.”

  “Not in the least, lass,” he tells me with a smile, dropping the right coins in the right compartments and closing the drawer.

  “I heard you haven’t even memorized your codes yet,” Dax says, shaking his head at me.

  “For your information, I’ve interviewed five people already on Nessie sightings—what have you done?”

  “Me?” He smiles smugly. “You mean besides almost being done with the intro for the podcast? I’ve started your precious Harry Potter series. I’m already on book two. Annnnd…what else? Oh, I learned all the Nessie Juggernaut codes.”

  I blink at him.

  “The codes? Since when do you need to know them?”

  “Since yesterday, when Hammy Bean decided to assign me a radio too.” He takes it from his belt loop to show me the same gray camouflage walkie-talkie.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Why do you get one?” I demand.

  “Because the music man flies south when it’s time to milk the cow even though the raccoon walks alone.�
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  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Memorize your codes,” he tells me.

  “Well, I bet you don’t know who Price Cut on Salami is.”

  “Jasper Price,” he says.

  “What about the Three Bears?”

  “The Loch Watchers.” He smiles.

  “Oh, so what,” I snap.

  He just grins even bigger and goes back to messing with the strings on Ole Roy.

  “Well, I better get going,” I tell Quigley Dunbar III. “I have a very important meeting with Hammy Bean to discuss”—I turn to Dax—“very important business.”

  Dax slips off the counter and slides Ole Roy across his back. “Me too,” he says.

  “What do you have to meet him for?”

  “I’m going on my first Nessie Quest tour with him and Mamo Honey.” He smirks. “Have a groovy day, QDT.” He waves as he heads out the door.

  I follow on his heels.

  “I would go too,” I tell him. “If I wanted to, I would.”

  “Uh-huh,” he says, taking those same long strides.

  I scramble to keep up with him. “Did he tell you I didn’t have the tidbits to go on that boat? Because I have them. I have plenty of them. I’m filled to the brim with tidbits.”

  “So you say,” Dax says flatly. “Excessively.”

  That’s when an idea for the perfect first page comes to me.

  Murder Mystery

  PAGE ONE

  The lake monster eats the boy whole. And the boy’s name was Dax Cady.

  * * *

  Just when Dax and I end up at the Nessie Quest booth, I hear Hammy Bean talking to a dad buying tickets for his whole brood of kids to take the first scheduled tour.

  “My Mamo Honey is the captain o’ the Nessie Quest,” I hear Hammy Bean saying. “I stay with her while my parents are busy bein’ missionaries overseas. They bring food and water and other resources to the lads and lassies in Uganda and the Congo. That’s why they arna here helpin’ us run the business. They’re changin’ the world.”