by Joanne Pence
“Derrick,” Angie said, feeling heartsick. “What am I going to do with you?”
“It’s true, Angie,” he said. He stood and walked over to the windows. “Please believe me. At Area Fifty-one, I not only learned Neumann’s beliefs, I saw the scientific basis for them. I learned, to my horror, how true it all is. When I returned to the Bay Area and saw that Algernon had turned Neumann’s work on alien life into touchy-feely, pyramid-loving nonsense, I was disgusted. Algernon has hated me ever since. Now there have been deaths. Horrible deaths. Oliver’s. Maybe Mosshad’s. Others.”
“Others?” she asked, surprised.
“There might be.” His eyes were hollow. “The mutilation murders. There was another, a third one, and it confirmed—” He clamped his mouth shut, his Adam’s apple working as he seemed to swallow over and over. “The newspapers don’t really tell what was done to the murder victims. From what I’ve read about these murders and about cattle mutilations, the patterns are the same. I think your detective friend won’t be able to find who killed those men. He won’t know where to look. He’ll be looking for regular clues, normal methods. But these killers … these killers are not of this world!”
“I’ll help you, Derrick,” she said softly, cautiously. “I’ll find a place for you to stay, somewhere you will feel safe. You’ve been under a strain. I hadn’t realized how much of a strain….”
He folded his arms tightly against himself as a shiver rippled through his body. “I shouldn’t have troubled you with this.”
“What are friends for?” She jumped up. “I’ll talk to my neighbor across the hall. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you.”
Stan opened the hide-away bed in his living room. He didn’t have a big apartment like Angie’s, but only a small living room and an even smaller bedroom. Only because of its small size—and years of rent control—could he afford it. He didn’t mind Angie’s friend staying with him a day or two. He might even have to call his workplace, say he had to stay home a few days to take care of a sick friend. That sounded downright noble of him.
“What are those?” Derrick asked, pointing at the two pieces of aluminum foil on top of the television set.
“Nothing.” Stan snatched them and crumbled them up. “I was just twirling some aluminum foil while watching TV.”
“Oh. For a moment there, they looked like something I’ve seen people do to protect themselves from strange waves in the air.”
Halfway to the kitchen to throw the aluminum foil in the trash, Stan stopped. “I heard your interview on the radio when you talked about that. Angie made me think it was all a put-on.”
“Would I joke about radio waves, sonic beams, or lasers?”
“I, uh, guess not. Do they all cause headaches?”
“Much worse than that. They can make your brain begin to deteriorate—cause the electrical charges to go haywire. Sort of like a short in a wire, if you know what I mean.”
Stan gulped hard. “And those, uh, those people you know who use aluminum foil … does it help?”
“Of course. Otherwise, why would they do it? I suggest not wearing it in public, however. Most people don’t understand.”
Stan nodded slowly. “Angie did say you’re a NASA space scientist, right?”
“Yes, until I took a, um, permanent sabbatical, shall we say? They didn’t like my involvement with NAUTS. Who knows—someday, I might try to go back. That job is looking a lot better at the moment than it used to.”
“I see.” Stan slowly backed out of the living room toward his bedroom. “Well, sleep tight. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“I’ll be fine. I really appreciate this.”
Stan rushed into his bedroom, took the aluminum foil pieces he’d crumpled, and began reshaping them into cylinders as best he could. He stuck them in his ears. Thoughts of shortedout brains spurred him on. If NASA said wearing aluminum foil in the ears was a smart thing to do, that was good enough for him.
18
“This is for you,” Paavo said, handing a colorfully wrapped present to Micky Kowalski, “but you can’t open it until Christmas.”
“Thank you, Uncle Paavo!” The towheaded child gave Paavo a hug, then carried the box, which was almost as big as he, across the living room to the Christmas tree. He gave it a couple of hard shakes before carefully laying it under the tree.
Paavo and the boy’s mother, Katie, shared a smile. “That was very thoughtful of you,” she said as she poured some coffee for him. He sat on the sofa; she, on a rocking chair beside it. “I’ve appreciated the way you’ve kept tabs on Micky. All the inspectors have, but you especially.”
“I’ve enjoyed it.” Paavo looked at the boy. “Matt would be proud of him.” The sense of loss that hit Paavo whenever his thoughts turned to his old partner struck again. He and Matt had gone through the police academy together, served as rookies, and then ended up in Homicide just months apart. They were partners and best friends. Then one night, while on duty, Matt was killed.
As if Katie sensed where Paavo’s thoughts had turned, she made a fuss about cutting him a piece of mince pie. “Eat up. I know it’s one of your favorites.”
“You still remember,” he said with a smile. Katie was of medium build and a little overweight. She had a gruff exterior but a heart that was even bigger than Matt Kowalski’s—and he was one of the biggest-hearted men Paavo had ever known.
“Of course I still remember,” she said. She took a big bite of the pie. “So tell me, have you gotten all your Christmas shopping done?”
“There’s not much to do—Micky, Aulis, and Angie. I’ve taken care of the first two.”
“But not Angie?” Katie laughed. She had a deep-throated, raspy laugh. Matt used to say it held the promise of good times and good sex. He contended it was what had made him fall head over heels in love.
“Angie’s a tough one to shop for,” Paavo said. “She’s got everything money can buy. If you have any suggestions for what I should get her, I’d sure appreciate it.”
Katie gave him one of her long, hard, serious stares, the kind that Matt had sworn kept him toeing the line. Then her eyes softened. When she spoke, her voice was husky. “I’ll tell you one thing, Paavo Smith. You just make damn sure you make it home to her, safe and sound, every night. Don’t you go doing what Matt did. That’s the best present you can give her. And me and Micky will stay happy that way, too.”
Paavo was stunned; then, without letting himself think twice about it, he stood up and gave her a hug. “I love you, Katie.”
“Sit down, you big lug, before you get me crying. Eat your pie!”
“Angie! This is for you.” Stan and Derrick stood at her door the next morning, each holding one end of a seven-foot Douglas fir Christmas tree.
“Oh my God!” she cried.
“I knew you wanted one, Angie,” Stan said. “We couldn’t see you lugging it up in the elevator.”
“You’re quite right. Thank you.” She had planned to ask Paavo to help, but the way his schedule was going, it’d be Easter before he found the time. “Bring it in.”
She hurried to the living room and moved aside a chair. “Place it in front of that wall. No, more to the right. Now back. Great.” After Stan and Derrick helped her rearrange the furniture and shift the tree a few more times, it was right where she wanted it.
“We’ll even help you trim it,” Stan said. “Of course, that would put us past lunchtime, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet, but …”
Angie’s eyes lit up. “It’s a deal. You trim, I’ll cook.” She ran to the closet to get lights and ornaments.
“I hate to mention this, Angie,” Stan said, “but your hands have a greenish tint. You weren’t slimed by an alien, were you?”
“It’s food coloring,” Angie said, distinctly unamused by his joke. “It’s ruined my French manicure and I’m in no mood to discuss it.”
“Ah, sounds like you’re baking!” Stan sidled past her and headed for
the kitchen.
“Is Stan right?” Derrick asked as he followed Stan.
“He is. I’m making little green space monster cookies.”
She picked up the rolling pin and used it to shoo Stan away from the cookie dough. He liked to eat it raw. A monster-shaped cookie cutter sat on the counter.
“I’ll finish these up before making you a nice brunch.”
“No hurry, Angie,” Stan said. “We’ve got all day.”
The doorbell rang.
“Now who?” She wiped her hands and went to answer.
“Hi!” Connie stood in the doorway with a big bag from Athena’s. “You’ve been feeding me lately, so I thought I’d return the favor. Dolmas, moussaka, and fides pilaf.”
“Sounds wonderful. Come on in. Join the party.”
“What party? Oh! Look at that tree! It’s enormous!” Connie said as she headed for the kitchen with the food. “How did you ever get it in—”
She stopped talking as she saw Derrick Holton standing by the sink. “Derrick! What a surprise! What are you doing here?” As soon as she asked the question, she realized the answer could be potentially embarrassing. She turned around and glanced at Angie with one of those what-in-the-hell-is-going-on-and-why-didn’t-you-tell-me-about-it-before-this looks. Angie shook her head.
“I’m staying with Stan,” Derrick said.
Connie hadn’t noticed Stan standing by the counter eating green cookie dough. She gawked, her gaze bouncing from him to Derrick, as if she couldn’t imagine a more unlikely pair.
“I’m getting ready for Algernon’s party,” Angie said.
“Who’s that?” Stan said, a little garbled because the cookie dough stuck to his teeth.
“Algernon?” Derrick turned pale. “Are you still working on a party for that fraud?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Connie said, helping her put the cut cookies onto a tray. “Why is Cookie Monster green, Angie?”
“These aren’t Cookie Monsters,” Angie said. “They’re supposed to be Martians. Fat Martians. I’m also going to make some round gray cookies that will be, of course, flying saucers.”
“It sounds really hokey, Angie,” Stan said.
“Oh? You think you could do better?” His eye caught her rolling pin and he backed away.
“You don’t think anyone will be insulted by these cookies, do you, Derrick?” she asked.
“It’s a charming idea, Angelina. The kind that is very typical of you,” he said. Connie rolled her eyes. “Of course, I think I’ve mentioned to you that aliens are gray, not green.”
“How does anyone know?” Connie asked.
“Don’t ask,” Angie said, finishing rolling out the last bit of dough. Stan took the bowl and used his finger to get out the few remaining crumbs. Angie faced Derrick. “Do you have any suggestions for what I should serve that would be in keeping with a UFO theme?”
He thought a moment. “No one has ever seen aliens eat. That’s the problem. They’re interested in cattle, but not as food.”
“Interested in cattle? It sounds kinky.” Stan laughed.
Connie took over the cookie making so Angie could whip up some brunch for the men.
“Actually, it is kind of kinky,” Derrick admitted. “Lots of farmers have found cattle out on the open range, drained of all blood and strangely mutilated. No one has ever had a good explanation. The vets officially report that wolves or mountain lions did it, but everyone knows their reports are false.”
“How do you know that?” Stan asked.
“Do you really want to ask?” By now, Angie had learned that everything in UFO lore seemed to be grotesque, scary, or sexual. She pulled more ingredients for the brunch from her refrigerator. Her warning had come too late.
“The aliens, or whoever,” Derrick began, “take a cow or bull and remove its lips, nose, ears, udder, and, er, other body, er, openings.”
“Why do anything so horrible?” Connie asked.
“Probably to study them—like we study lab animals. Aliens don’t have all the body parts animals do, and they’re curious. That’s why humans get so scared when we’re abducted.”
“You’re frightening me, Derrick,” Connie said, her eyes round as marbles.
“You should be frightened. ETs have no human emotions, no feelings. As far as they’re concerned, we’re little better than cattle. They might well have already done things as bad, or worse, to humans. Look at all the people who turn up missing each year. Look at all the horrible murders committed by people we’ve said had to be less than human. Well—”
“Enough, Derrick,” Angie cried as she prepared mock hollandaise sauce while the eggs cooked and the English muffins toasted. Normally she made real hollandaise, but not for people who showed up at the last minute and told her horrible stories. Even if they came bearing Christmas trees.
She had just set out brunch for Stan and Derrick, and the Greek food for herself and Connie, when she heard a loud knock on her door. She knew that sound. Homicide Inspector Paavo Smith had come to call. Her first reaction was joy, but then she looked at the two men seated at her dining room table, eating their eggs Benedict with fresh strawberries on the side.
She pulled open the door, holding it in such a way that he could see into her living room but not the dining area.
“Hello, Angie,” Paavo said. She saw by his clothes—jeans, oxford shirt, no tie, and black leather jacket, the collar turned up against the chilly fog—that he was off work that day. Her pulse quickened. He looked much more edible than the food Connie had brought. This would have been the perfect time for them to spend hours together, if only she were alone.
“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Something smells good,” he said. When she didn’t step aside for him to enter, his brow creased. “I see you’ve got a tree already. A big one. Would you like me to leave, Angie?”
“Of course not!” With a baleful glance over her shoulder at the motley crew, she stepped back from the door. “Come in. I have company.”
He walked into the apartment. The three people at the dining room table gave awkward little waves. He glanced at Angie but didn’t say a word.
She tried to smile. “Derrick is staying with Stan for a few days,” she said, lightly resting her hand on Paavo’s arm. “Want to join us? We’ve got plenty of Greek food. Connie brought it.”
Paavo’s gaze leaped from her to them. He strode into the dining room. “Sure.” Angie’s place setting was at one end of the table. Derrick sat at the other and Stan and Connie on each side. Paavo took an extra chair from the side of the buffet and placed it beside Connie. He hung his jacket on the back of it. Three pairs of eyes widened at the sight of his shoulder holster and gun.
He sat down. Connie smiled. Stan squawked a hello. Derrick nodded. Angie dashed into the kitchen to grab a plate, napkin, and fork, and a glass for iced tea. She spread them before Paavo and he took a little food.
Conversation at the table had ended. Everyone gave full attention to eating.
After a while, Paavo said, “Holton, I hear you’re staying with Bonnette.”
“Yes,” Derrick said, nodding. He seemed a little confused by the harsh glare Paavo was giving him.
“Why is that?”
Derrick cleared his throat nervously. “Well … things are happening. Strange things. I’m a bit nervous, I guess.”
“Have you heard from Mosshad yet?”
Derrick looked at Angie for help. She concentrated on her moussaka. “No. I tried calling. There’s still no answer.”
“Did you go to his house?”
“No. He lives in an apartment.”
“Do you know his address?”
“Yes. I went there once.”
“But not since he’s been missing?”
“I phoned. He’s not there.”
Paavo wiped his lips with his napkin and placed it beside his dish. “We should check his place out, Holton.”
“Oh …
but …” Derrick turned to Angie again.
She shrugged.
Paavo stood and put on his jacket. “Thanks for the meal, Connie.” He eyed Holton. “Are you ready?”
Derrick shoveled the last of the eggs Benedict into his mouth and nodded as he stood. Then he gulped down his coffee.
Paavo walked to the front door and opened it. “Let’s go, Holton. We want to be sure the man isn’t lying there ill, don’t we?”
Angie stood, not leaving the table, but waiting for Paavo to make some sign, some gesture, that he wanted to speak with her.
“Yes, I, er …” Derrick glanced woefully at Angie. “Glad you like the tree, Angelina. I’ll call you.”
“Bye,” she called.
Paavo lifted one eyebrow slightly as he glanced back at her, then followed Derrick out the door.
Angie stood frozen, looking at the shut door, then sank into her chair. She didn’t even notice as Connie patted her on the shoulder.
Holton sat scrunched against the passenger door of Paavo’s small Austin Healey.
“Which way?” Paavo asked, starting up the car.
“Head for Alemany. He’s just off it, on Ocean Avenue.”
They rode in silence. Holton hugged his jacket tight against him. “It’s freezing out. Looks like a cold December.”
“It’s about fifty out there,” Paavo said.
“Yes, but it’s a damp fifty. That makes it colder.”
Paavo glanced at him and said nothing. The temperature inside the car seemed to drop even further.
“How much chance is there Mosshad has gone off on his own and is all right?” Paavo asked after a while.
