Close Encounters

by Carolyn Keene

  “Nancy here is,” Sarah said. Then she introduced me. “This is Captain Rupert Greene. Rupert’s stationed at the barracks just outside of town.”

  Captain Greene seemed to appraise me carefully as he shook my hand. “Someone called you in to investigate?”

  “I’m just here visiting friends,” I told him.

  He nodded, but I sensed he didn’t believe me.

  Mayor Brody chuckled. “Rupert, don’t look so suspicious. A detective on the case might be just what we need.” From his tone I couldn’t tell if the mayor was mocking me. Not that I wasn’t used to officials being skeptical. After all, teenagers aren’t usually known for investigating crimes. Speaking of crimes, though—I wondered if these guys were talking about the UFO sightings.

  “What’s there to investigate?” I was sure I knew the answer, but figured playing a bit dumb wasn’t a bad idea here.

  “Alien invaders!” the captain said, grinning from ear to ear.

  The mayor patted the captain on the shoulder. “Our lawman here likes to joke about our small town being on the front lines of an intergalactic war zone,” he said with a disarming smile. “But don’t let his joshing fool you. He’s taking it seriously enough to cordon off the perimeter of the sightings.”

  Captain Greene let out a hearty laugh. “Ethan’s right. I’m pretty skeptical they’re the real thing.” Then he asked, “Were you around earlier this evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what’s your take on our otherworldy visitors?” His tone was serious, but the shadow of a smile played across his lips.

  I saw I had an ally. The state police captain believed the UFOs were about as real as the man in the moon. “That they have more to do with this world than the stars,” I answered. I wondered if I could convince him to give me access to the area where the UFOs had appeared.

  Mayor Brody’s eyebrows shot up even higher. “You’ve found yourself another skeptic, Rupert.” He turned to me. “You think our UFO sightings are hoaxes, then?”

  Our sightings. That was a strange way of putting it. But I attributed his remark to hometown pride. “Probably,” I answered.

  “Which is why,” Izzy Sanchez said as she joined us, “I want to use Nancy and her friends in our documentary.”

  Captain Greene practically choked on his coffee. “To prove the UFOs don’t exist?” he asked the TV producer.

  “Actually, just the opposite,” Izzy said. She smiled at me. “I confess, I’m an incurable eavesdropper, so I couldn’t help but overhear that you are some kind of detective?”

  Mayor Brody answered for me. “She is.”

  “Amateur detective,” I pointed out. I was trying to maintain a guise of not having much experience, in case it ruffled anyone—but at the rate news was spreading about my sleuthing rep, I feared it was a lost cause.

  “So much the better,” Izzy said. “That’s the perfect touch. The camera will record your efforts to prove that the sightings are a hoax. The drama will be even more intense when the viewers realize, at the same time as you, that they aren’t. The detective bit gives more weight to the whole thing.”

  “Like I said before, I’m not interested.” I turned to ask Captain Greene about visiting the site, but he was already talking with someone else.

  “What can I do to convince you?” Izzy asked. I must say, I admired her persistence. It sure piqued my curiosity.

  “Why me and my friends, again?”

  “Like I told you earlier: You girls are young enough to appeal to our target audience; they’ll identify with you. The three of you will look good on-screen . . .”

  I finished her sentence for her. “And of course, there will be more drama when you convince me these hoaxes are real. But what if I don’t get convinced?”

  She wasn’t about to give up. “If you worked with us, you could move freely around some of the restricted areas—at least while the crew is around.”

  The woman was as dogged as I was. “You sure know how to play a person.”

  “That’s a big part of my job—convincing people to do something they think they don’t want to do.” She paused. I could tell she was waiting for my reply. I wanted to say no, but my need to get to the root of this mystery was too strong. The UFOs were a hoax, and in spite of what Izzy might think, I was going to prove it.

  “So?” she asked.

  “Okay, okay, you got me. I’m game. I can’t speak for George or Bess, though—we’re here together on vacation. If they don’t want to go ahead with the deal, then it’s off.” Of course, I knew Bess would jump at the chance to be on TV, and George would go along with the whole thing, if only because she was always a good sport in the end.

  “All right!” Izzy pumped her fist in the air. A second later she was all business. “I’ll have one of my people leave releases for you to sign in the morning. Part of my crew will be at the roadblock at the foot of the hill leading up to Brody’s Peak Resort. You can hook up with one of the camera teams there before lunch, if possible. It’ll give you a chance to get closer to the scene of your so-called crime.”

  6

  Booted Out

  I’m sure the TV crew won’t bother with me,” George said the next morning after breakfast at the inn. When she looked up from signing her copy of the release Izzy’s people had left at the reception desk, relief was written on her face.

  “True,” Bess said, zipping up her fleece jacket. “Watching you fine-tune Winnie’s computer isn’t exactly the stuff of exciting television.”

  “Ah, but taping you shop—now that could make for some pretty hot TV drama,” George told her as we headed for the parking lot.

  “We’re going shopping?” I asked, looking at Bess.

  She brandished a Brody’s Junction flyer in my face. “We are not only in the land of the bargain clothing outlets, we are also in the heart of major antiquing,” she informed us.

  I checked my watch. “Bess, we’ve already gotten a late start today. We might have to put off shopping until tomorrow.”

  “Not to worry,” Bess said, opening up her tourist map. “The shop I’m thinking of is just east of town, on the same road where the TV crew is headquartered.”

  George laughed. “She’s got all the bases covered, Nancy. You might as well give in.”

  “Believe me, I’m not about to argue with that famous Marvin logic,” I said.

  George left us to go for her morning run, then she’d head to back to the café and Winnie’s computer. After upgrading the firewall she planned on kicking the café’s website up a notch. We’d decided to hook up at Winnie’s in the early afternoon.

  Bess and I went toward the shop. True to her word, Bess’s chosen shopping target, the Antique Attic, was close by. A sign with the word REALTOR was arched over the top of the handcrafted Antique Attic sign.

  “Looks like the perfect place for a quick browse,” Bess said as we parked next to the shop’s pale green minivan.

  “Quick is the operative word here,” I reminded Bess. The storefront had two doors. One door led into the realty office, the other into the antique store.

  A buzzer sounded as we walked in, and a tall woman with salt-and-pepper hair looked up from arranging jewelry in a display on the counter. She was an attractive fortysomething: a spare, nicely dressed woman with great cheekbones. I was sure I had seen her somewhere before . . .

  But where?

  I shook off the thought. I had never been anywhere near here before. How would I know her?

  “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 l
eft 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.”

  7

  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.