Close Encounters

by Carolyn Keene

  Conscious that every minute on the meadow increased the chances I’d be discovered, I debated a moment about looking for more of Bess’s souvenir shards. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw light bobbing on the hill across the way. It looked like someone was walking, holding a flashlight.

  I turned off mine and watched the bobbing light get lower and lower to the ground. Then it disappeared. Someone fell down, I figured. I waited a moment for whoever had fallen to get up.

  They never did, though. It was as if the side of the hill had swallowed them up.

  Puzzled, I returned to my car. Back at the inn I’d look at the map to see what road led to that hill across the way. I hadn’t seen house lights, but maybe a farm lay below the rise. I’d have to check by daylight. Whoever did live there had a good view of the UFO sightings.

  As I climbed into the car, my cell phone rang. Nathan was my first thought, but when I answered, it was George. “Nancy! I figured it out. . . .”

  “Me too,” I told her. “Or at least with Nathan’s help—how they did it. It’s all a hoax, for sure. What did you come up with?” I asked, starting back down the road and attaching my hands-free earpiece to the phone.

  “Thanks to my trusty laptop and all those unsecured Internet connections I told you about, I know not only the how but the who. Get back here ASAP—Oh darn, someone’s at the door.” With that, George hung up.

  What had George found? She sounded excited, nervous, but not particularly frightened. It made me think that whatever she’d learned, she knew Bess would be okay. For fear of being stopped by the cops, I forced myself to stay within the speed limit. I still made it to the inn in record time.

  I raced upstairs and threw open the door. “George!”

  She wasn’t there. The lights were still on. The phone was on the bed, where George had left it with the receiver on the hook. George’s backpack was on the dresser, and her cell phone was still beside it.

  A blast of cold air made me look over at the window. Why had George left the window open? Then I remembered the fire escape. I hurried over to look out. Below, the extension ladder at the bottom of the fire escape had been lowered. It led right to the inn’s service entrance and back parking lot.

  After closing the window, I looked around the room. Nothing was in disarray. Nothing had been stolen. George, however, was definitely missing—and I was pretty sure it wasn’t by her own choice.

  15

  StarWoman

  George hadn’t just gone missing—she had been taken, probably by whoever had snatched up Aldwin and Bess.

  I reached for the phone to call the police, but then remembered Nathan’s suspicions, as well as my own. Anyone in town might be involved in these abductions.

  It was then I remembered George’s laptop.

  When she’d phoned, she had mentioned that she had used her laptop to find who was behind the hoax. I looked around, but it seemed to be missing—or had she stowed it in her backpack?

  I got up to check, and stubbed my toe on something by the side of the dresser. I looked down. It was the typewriter case I’d bought for Ned. That was weird. I was sure I’d put the case up on top of the wardrobe along with Bess’s bag of souvenirs.

  Had George moved it? I picked it up. It was heavy. When I unlatched the cover, I found the laptop inside. Before George had answered the door, she must have stowed it away. Why? I had no idea, but I thanked my lucky stars she had.

  I booted it up. George had mentioned using someone’s unsecured Internet connection. If I could follow her cybertrail, maybe I’d find a clue that would lead to her kidnappers.

  I logged on, using George’s password—she’d shared it with me a while ago. Instantly a little window opened on the right-hand side of the screen, listing networks in range. Two were secured, one wasn’t.

  George had shown me that my phone number activated her sniffer program—the one that allowed her to access someone’s computer through a wireless system and eavesdrop on their cyberconversations. I took a deep breath and punched in the numbers.

  Immediately I found myself looking at an IM exchange. Someone with the screen name Star-Woman was chatting with Lightmaster.

  I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

  StarWoman: Where did u stow her?

  Lightmaster: Underhill. Cramped quarters. Not safe.

  StarWoman: Hang tough. We r almst there.

  All will pay off big time.

  Lightmaster: If we don’t end up doing time.

  StarWoman: No way. Today café nice FX.

  Lightmaster: Last hurrah! RC broke right after. Last time though. Parts unavailable two weeks.

  So Nathan had been right. Whoever Lightmaster was had disguised a remote control hobby plane as a UFO.

  Underhill . . . underhill. Why did that ring a bell?

  As I watched the screen, the IMs stopped. Had StarWoman figured out she was being sniffed?

  On the off chance that was true, I closed up George’s machine and put it into my backpack. When I left the room, it was coming with me. If George had other leads stored on her computer, I couldn’t risk someone stealing it.

  As I put Ned’s typewriter case back up on top of the wardrobe, the sight of Bess’s souvenir bag triggered my memory. “Under Hill!” I gasped out loud. Of course. It was the name of that rental property posted in Ellie’s shop. The pictures had grabbed my attention. It was built into the side of a hill, and Ellie had said someone was renting it for a few weeks.

  Earlier, when I had watched that bobbing flashlight disappear into the side of the hill, I had thought someone had fallen. Unlikely as it seemed, that someone had probably entered an underground house. If that person was Lightmaster, then I knew where to find Bess and George.

  I had no intention of waiting until morning. I pulled out a map, and in a few minutes I’d located the back road leading to the meadow—the same one I’d been on earlier. From there it was easy to figure out what township road led to the hill across the way.

  I grabbed a hat, a warmer sweater, and a larger flashlight. Then, grabbing my pack, I plunged into the hall and, as I was wriggling into my parka, ran right into Izzy.

  “Hi. How are things going?” she asked.

  “Um, okay. But I’m in a rush.” Suddenly I remembered her room was next door to ours. StarWoman was the perfect screen name for an egotistic TV producer. . . .

  Was her running into me just an accident?

  Izzy gave a dramatic little shiver. “I can’t imagine going farther than that blazing fireplace downstairs on a night like this. It’s starting to snow,” she added.

  “I didn’t realize,” I said, then saw Izzy’s gaze travel from my hat to my heavy sweater to my parka. “I only heard it was threatening,” I explained. “But I can’t talk now. I—um—have a date.”

  Her finely shaped eyebrows arched up. Obviously I wasn’t dressed for a date . . . unless it involved some serious outdoor activity by moonlight.

  Then, with incredible timing, my cell phone rang.

  “Your date!” Izzy suggested as I answered it.

  “It’s me. Nathan!”

  “Oh, hi there!” I tried to sound breezy. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “You were?” He sounded totally perplexed. He was silent a beat, and then, “Oh, you’re not alone.”

  “No, no, not at all.” I tried to sound light and frivolous, but my stomach was churning. I couldn’t let Izzy know I had figured out that she was at least half of the scam team. That she knew where Bess and George were.

  “I figured out why the UFOs appear over that meadow. There’s an experimental house built into the side of a hill—”

  I cut him off. I didn’t know how long I could fake this conversation, and Izzy gave no sign she intended to leave me alone in the hall. “I know about it, actually.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “Do you know who rented it recently?”

  “No,” I responded excitedly, and managed what I hoped was a coy smile. “Tell m
e all about it.”

  “A guy from California who’s part of the Reel TV crew.”

  Lightmaster, of course. I could barely keep my expression neutral. “Isn’t that great? You’ll have to give me every last detail when I meet you for dinner.”

  “Dinner? Oh—yes. Well, I’ll go right over there now and check the place out. If we miss each other, I’ll find you somehow. You’ll know I’m around by my whistle.” He demonstrated into the phone, and nearly blew out my eardrum in the process. Finally he stopped and asked, “Do you know how to get there?”

  “I think so.”

  Nathan briefly gave me directions that more or less jibed with what I’d figured out from the map. He told me he’d be driving Addie’s truck, as he had no car of his own. He’d wait at the scenic overlook. Then I snapped my phone shut and tried to look apologetic as I said to Izzy, “My date. He got held up. I’m going to meet him now.”

  I half expected Izzy to try to delay me. Instead she said, “Have fun, then,” and walked back toward her room.

  As I walked to the car, the snow was already falling, thick and heavy. Before I left the lot, I took out the laptop and googled Frankie Lee’s name. His website popped up instantly. He wasn’t only an award-winning cameraman, he was one of the top special effects people in Hollywood. He was based in LA and was single; without a family, he sure didn’t need to rent a large house for the duration of the Reel TV shoot. A secluded house in the middle of a meadow was ideal for someone like him—and for working a UFO scam. He had the perfect credentials to be the culprit.

  I was sure of it: Frankie Lee was Lightmaster.

  Nathan’s directions were good. As I neared the turnoff for the house, my headlights lit up a nicely lettered sign on a post next to the mailbox: UNDER HILL HOUSE. An arrow pointed to a driveway. I drove a bit farther, and pulled into the scenic overlook where Nathan said he’d be waiting. When I arrived, however, there was no Nathan, and no pickup truck. I figured the snowstorm had slowed him down.

  I gave him a couple of minutes, but I couldn’t just sit, doing nothing. I got out, yanked my hat down over my ears, and started up the long, steep driveway.

  The surface was slick, and the wind-whipped snow blurred my vision, but eventually I reached the top. Once there, I expected to find some sort of building—perhaps a garage—to orient me as to where the entrance to the house might be. Instead the blacktop ended in a snowy field. If there were outbuildings anywhere, the architect had cleverly hidden them. I shielded my eyes from the wind and squinted. Suddenly I spied a light that seemed to float up from underground. A window, I realized—and someone was home. Slipping and sliding, I made my way toward the window and peered inside. Interior steps led down into what looked like a cozy but spacious living room. I figured the steps must lead from the outdoor entrance—which should be somewhere to my left.

  Behind me I heard the sound of boots crunching on the ice.

  “Nathan,” I whispered, and turned around.

  A scream rose to my lips as I encountered a masked figure. It towered over me, its alien features twisted and cruel. Its clawlike hand gripped something long and heavy. I watched spellbound as it lifted its arm, which then seemed to move downward toward me in slow motion. I tried to duck. Too late, I realized in horror, as the world went black.

  16

  Lightmaster

  Nancy. Nancy. Are you alive?”

  I opened my eyes. “Bess?” My words came out slurred, and my mouth felt as if I’d chewed on a ball of wool.

  Why did Bess look so worried? Then I realized—it was Bess! “Bess, you’re okay.” I sat up, and my stomach lurched. I thought I might throw up.

  I managed to contain my stomach, but the sudden movement made the dimly lit room spin. In a moment the dizziness passed, leaving me aware of a pounding headache.

  Beneath my palms the floor felt damp and cold. Cement, I realized. The room was lit by a single very low-watt lightbulb that cast deep shadows on everything.

  “What happened?” I asked as Bess rubbed my back.

  “Someone bopped you over the head.”

  The image of that twisted horrible mask flashed before my eyes. Then I remembered. “It was tall.”

  “Very,” Bess said as I tried to work the crick out of my neck. It was then that I spotted George. She was lying in the corner and resembled a limp bundle of rags.

  “George,” I cried out. I struggled to my feet. After a few steps I found my balance and made my way toward her. Even in the dim light I could see she looked extremely pale. I knelt and rubbed her wrists.

  “She got clobbered worse than you.” Bess sounded frightened. “She’ll be all right, won’t she?”

  As if hearing Bess’s question, George stirred and moaned.

  Bess sighed with relief. “That’s the first time she’s moved since they brought her here.”

  “I bet she has a concussion,” I said, shaking George gently. “Hey, Fayne, wake up. You can’t sleep, not now. It’s bad for you.”

  “Tired,” George muttered.

  “Me too, but you can’t afford to be.” With Bess’s help I eased George up into a sitting position. She opened her eyes and groaned. “My head hurts.”

  “It should,” Bess said. She got up and brought over a small plastic bottle of spring water. She opened it. “Drink some of this, George.”

  Apparently our captors didn’t want us to die of thirst.

  “What about Aldwin and the dog?” I asked, suddenly realizing we three seemed to be alone.

  “They aren’t here?” George sounded surprised.

  Bess shook her head. “They must be hidden somewhere else.” Then Bess told us she hadn’t been hit on the head, but smothered with what sounded to me like ether. “I woke up here,” she concluded, “feeling queasy, but I barely had a headache. Last thing I remembered doing before that was going out to the Dumpster behind the café to put out the trash.”

  “Did you see who grabbed you?” I asked, getting up and slowly walking around. Moving helped clear my head. If we were ever to get out of wherever we were, I needed my wits about me.

  “I never saw them. I think there were two men, though. One voice sounded a lot like the mayor’s.”

  “I remember that too,” George contributed. Holding on to my arm, she struggled to her feet. She tenderly rubbed the back of her head. “Ouch,” she exclaimed, and then held out her hand. It was covered with blood.

  “You’re bleeding,” Bess gasped.

  “I’m okay,” George insisted, but she sat back down.

  George was hurting more than she let on. I sensed she needed medical help, fast. First, though, we had to get out of there.

  “When do they bring you food?” I asked Bess. Maybe that would be an opportunity for us to overcome our captor.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve only been here a few hours. They brought it once.”

  “Who was it?” George asked.

  Bess shrugged. “They wear masks. One was a man, though. I know that much. Tall, too.”

  I looked around. Whoever was keeping us had made off with most of my stuff, including my backpack with George’s computer in it. When I checked the pockets of my parka, I realized they’d taken my cell phone, too.

  I felt my way around the room, seeking a way out. One wall was filled with tall metal shelves that appeared to be empty. Since the room even had a small half bath, I figured it was the basement of the house and not a root cellar. I worked my way back to George and Bess and told them about Under Hill House, Frankie the cameraman, and Izzy’s treachery.

  “I can’t believe they went that far just to get footage for a show,” Bess remarked.

  “I can. Ratings drive the TV money game,” George said. “Still, kidnapping goes far beyond a prank. And I’m worried about Aldwin and Sherlock. What ever happened to them?”

  I had no idea, but I had a very bad feeling about what might happen to us. “Look, we’ve got to get out of here. There must be a door, a window—someth
ing, somewhere.”

  “Oh, there’s a door all right,” Bess said. “Check it out if you want. I tried to open it earlier. Whatever it’s made of, I can’t get it to budge.” Bess helped me feel my way along one of the walls. Finally my hands encountered the door. As Bess had said, it was locked, and too sturdy to knock down. Without a credit card or my penknife, any attempt to open it would have been futile.

  I began to lose heart. Knowing George needed help, however, made me determined to find a way out. Some instinct prompted me to check out that shelving unit more carefully. I ran my hands over the shelves. At first I found nothing but dust and cobwebs. But then, as I reached up higher, my hand encountered something cold and metal. A toolbox, I realized.

  “Bess, we’re in luck. Come over here and help.” I picked up the box and wanted to cheer. It was heavy—probably full of tools.

  I handed it to Bess. She put the box under the light and opened it.

  “Whoever cleaned this place out for rentals must have missed it. It was on a high shelf,” I told her.

  Bess quickly rummaged in the box, then looked up, grinning. “That door has met its match,” she declared. Armed with a claw hammer, a short crowbar, and screwdrivers, she set to work on the door.

  “Be quiet. We don’t know who’s around,” I warned.

  “Not to worry,” Bess said. She tapped a slim piece of metal between the door and the door frame. Then, slowly, she worked it up toward the lock. A second later we heard a satisfying click, and with a twist of the heavy handle the door swung open to reveal a staircase.

  Bess and I went back and helped George to her feet, then went through the door. A decidedly colder draft of air blew through the room.

  With Bess on one side of her and me on the other, George slowly negotiated the narrow earthen steps. At the top of the stairs our way was barred by another door. When I pushed this door, it yielded easily and opened onto a swirl of snow and wind. Icy pellets stabbed at my face. I shielded my eyes, but the cold air felt wonderful.