Secrets of Ugly Creek

by Cheryel Hutton

  I decided to change the subject before Liza got mad at me for real. “Is Steve pushing you too hard at work? I’d be happy to smack him a good one.”

  Liza’s clear laugh caught the attention of one of the sound people, and he sent the two of us a serious glare. She lowered her voice. “That’s one of the perks of working for your husband at his computer programming and forensics business. He won’t push too hard if he knows what’s good for him after the lights go out.”

  “Got him tied around your little finger, huh?”

  “You betcha.”

  I tried to think of something else to talk about. I didn’t want to hear any more about Liza and Steve’s great life. Yeah, okay, it reminded me that my four closest friends were married. Liza to Steve, and recently Stephie to Jake. Everybody was married but me. Oh crap, I wasn’t going there.

  “Let’s move back away from where they’re working,” I suggested. I figured we’d do the sound guy a favor while gaining more privacy so I could speak to Liza about something more important than my pathetic single state.

  We walked back into a grove of trees where we were out of the way, and I could talk more freely. “You know Mr. McDuffy has a point.”

  Liza frowned and gave her head a shake. “What are you talking about?”

  My stomach did a twist, but I didn’t let that stop me. “Ugly Creek is special.” I sent her a look that I hoped communicated all that I meant.

  She raised one eyebrow. “Yeah. So?”

  “So is it really a good idea for strange folks to be poking around with video cameras?”

  Liza did a quick glance around us before she spoke. “Maddie, Ugly Creek has been keeping its secrets safe for a long time.”

  I leaned toward her. “Not from the likes of Gibson McFain.”

  Liza’s forehead wrinkled. “Yeah, I heard what he did to Senator Carson. Lies, corruption, even found out she had a mentally disabled sister she’d paid a fortune to keep tucked away and secret. What a mess.”

  “That’s what he does, Liza. That’s why I wanted Ace to do the photography, not somebody from Capitol Spy Weekly. Unfortunately he doesn’t want the gig.”

  “Too bad Stephie’s on her honeymoon.” Liza grinned.

  “On a cruise, no less. I can’t even contact her.”

  My friend’s eyes widened and her mouth slacked. “You wouldn’t ask Stephie to come home from her honeymoon to take a few pictures. I don’t believe that.”

  “This is serious crap we’re talking about here.” I sighed. “But no, I wouldn’t. She and Jake deserve happiness.”

  A quick bark caught my attention, and I saw a hairy mutt about twenty feet away. He seemed to be looking at me, then deeper into the woods. “What is he doing here?”

  “Who?”

  “That dang dog of Ace’s.” I took off toward the mutt, afraid that he’d run from me, but he just stood there. As I got closer, I saw him look deeper into the woods, then back to me. He did it a couple of times, and I worried that he was about to run.

  He continued to stand still, looking at me, then into the woods. Of course, my gaze followed his, and I gasped in spite of myself. Leaning against a tree maybe thirty feet from us was a young Bigfoot.

  With no idea what else to do, I scooped up the dog and headed back to my friend. As I walked, I held the varmint out away from my navy blue Donna Karan suit.

  “Oh how cute!” Liza squealed. “Can I hold him?”

  “Sure, you can have all the fur and muddy paw prints.”

  “Oh, you are adorable.” She took the dog from me and cuddled him in her arms, seemingly oblivious to the fur attaching to her awesome jacket. Diane Von Furstenberg, maybe?

  I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Liza, Abukcheech is in the woods. Hiding behind a tree.”

  Liza’s eyes widened. “I’ll pass the word to Steve, and make sure word gets to Abukcheech’s parents.”

  Ah, so Steve was part of the communication network. “The whole tribe needs to be extra careful.”

  “They will be. They’re used to hiding.” Liza put a hand on my arm.

  “They aren’t used to the likes of Gibson McFain. When he decides to find something out, he finds it out. And puts it on film.”

  The dog barked.

  “I’ll tell Steve.”

  “Thanks.” I saw a familiar head. “There’s Ace over there. Wanna give him back his mutt?”

  “Sure.”

  Just as Liza turned, cute and furry jumped out of her arms and right into mine. “Fine, I’ll take him.”

  Liza giggled as I headed toward Ace. I would have told her off, but the soft, warm feel of the little dog snuggled against me quickly calmed my temper. Yeah, he was getting fur on me, but that’s what my lint brush was for, right?

  I headed toward the photographer.

  He must have heard me coming, because he turned and looked my way. “Where did you find Gizmo?”

  “He was in the woods.” I reached to give Ace back his dog, but the fuzzy bundle scrambled up onto my shoulder.

  “So his name is Gizmo, huh?” The name fit with his brown coat and the stripe of white from his nose to his forehead, which made him look like the Gizmo character in the movie Gremlins.

  “I should change his name to Houdini. I have no idea how he gets out of the fence.” Ace tried to pick him off my shoulder, but Gizmo ducked away from his hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with that dog.”

  “It’s okay, he’s pretty cute and stuff.” I put on what I hoped was my best smile.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Ace scratched Gizmo’s head.

  “What kind of dog is he?” When have I ever been interested in dog breeds?

  “He’s a mini dachshund.”

  Gizmo licked my cheek, and I laughed in spite of myself. As I put a hand up to wipe at the spot, I caught a glimpse of my watch. “Crap, I gotta go. I have an interview with Mr. McFain.” I tried again to hand Cute Stuff to him, but Gizmo clung to me. I just didn’t have the heart to force him.

  Ace eyed the camera I had around my neck. “Did you ever get a photographer?”

  I looked at my shoes as I shook my head. “No.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  I met his eyes then. “I know. I just…well, you’re local. And Ugly Creek’s a little…different.”

  He sighed. “Look, how about I grab a couple of shots to go with your interview.” His gaze went hard. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for bringing me my dog. Speaking of which, I have a leash in my car. I’ll meet you.”

  My furry fashion accessory and I headed toward the filming area. McFain and a tall, dark-haired woman were having a discussion. From the body language, I’d say it was not the friendliest chat in the world. My interest button flashed, and I slowed my steps while pretending to be highly interested in a nearby pine tree. I soon edged near enough to them I could hear their conversation.

  “Kate, you work for me, not the other way around,” McFain said.

  “Good leaders listen to the people around them.” She turned and stomped away, right in my direction.

  The woman almost knocked me down, and I’m not sure she ever saw me at all. I remembered her from the welcome, Kate Stone, Gibson McFain’s assistant. I wondered what had wadded her thongs.

  Mr. McFain stepped toward me, his expression guarded. “Hello, Madison Clark, from Capitol Spy Weekly.”

  “Hello again, Mr. McFain.” I shifted Gizmo so I could hold out my hand. I was actually surprised when he was willing to shake hands.

  “I told you to call me Mac.” He held out his fingers so Gizmo could sniff him, then scratched the dog’s head. “Interesting partner you’ve got there.”

  “He’s not mine.” Although the idea wasn’t unpleasant. “I’m holding on to him for my photographer.” Ace was my photographer at the moment. It wasn’t a lie.

  “He’s cute.” McFain’s expression grew serious. “It’s a was
te of time for Capitol Spy Weekly to send a reporter to do a story on me doing a documentary on a little town in Tennessee.”

  “It’s interesting because this is such a different type of thing than you’ve done before.”

  He chuckled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “What, you think, I’ll find some deep dark secret here in Ugly Creek?”

  A touch of fear skittered up my spine, and I fought to keep my expression bland. “Is that what you’re here for?”

  “No.”

  Just then Ace came trucking over. “I’m Ace Ellison, photographer. Sorry about the dog, he’s mine.” He had a leash in one hand and reached for Gizmo with the other. “I rescue animals when I’m not taking pictures.”

  Ace attached the dog to the leash, then leaned down to pull a camera out of his bag.

  I heard, “Get down!” just before a stone the size of a man’s fist smacked into a nearby tree.

  Before I could figure out what was happening, I was on the grass and Gibson McFain was on top of me, protecting me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Ace was down too, and was holding Gizmo close to him.

  For a moment, I thought the danger was over, but then another stone hit the chair McFain was standing in front of seconds before. I put my head down and waited for the next flying rock. But nothing happened. We waited.

  Mac pulled out his cell and called nine-one-one, and we waited some more.

  By the time the sheriff got there, the three of us were carefully getting to our feet. Deputies spread out and checked the area but found nothing but a mass of footprints impossible to sort out.

  “There was that protesting little guy from earlier,” McFain pointed out.

  “Duffy’s a hothead sometimes,” the sheriff said, “but he wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  Personally, I wasn’t so sure anybody was trying to hurt us. Whoever lobbed those suckers didn’t land ’em anywhere near a person. A tree. A chair. Then they took off. “I think somebody just wanted to scare Mr. McFain.”

  McFain’s features tightened. “I’m not scared. I’m angry.”

  “Whoever it was, they’re gone now,” the sheriff said. “I’ll talk to Duffy and some other folks. Maybe we can put a face to this little fiasco.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” McFain turned to Ace and me. “I believe it would be prudent to conduct this interview at the bed and breakfast where I’m staying.”

  “I’ll take Gizmo home and meet you there.” Ace grabbed the little ball of fur and headed out.

  “Are you all right?”

  I’m sure the surprise at his concern showed in my eyes when I looked at Gibson McFain. “Fine, thank you.”

  “Let’s get out of here before something else happens.” He put a hand on my lower back, and warm chills shot through me. Who’d have thought Mr. Hollywood was a gentleman?

  As I walked with him toward our cars, something occurred to me. The voice warning us to get down didn’t sound like either Ace or Gibson McFain. “Nope, couldn’t be,” I muttered.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Just wondering who could be throwing rocks,” I said.

  “You and me both.” We reached my car, and he walked on toward his.

  As I drove away, I considered the possibility that a dog could talk. It was a crazy idea, but then this was Ugly Creek. Home of the impossible.

  ****

  I waited until I saw Ace heading toward the door of the B&B before I got out of my car and followed. The last thing I wanted right now was to be alone with Gibson McFain.

  Rosemary’s Bed and Breakfast was decorated with soft colors and homey furnishings. I immediately felt comfortable, which was obviously the point. McFain and Ace were talking in the huge front room when I walked in.

  McFain smiled and I smiled back, then scolded myself for being so nice to a guy without scruples.

  We went into a smaller sitting room for the interview. Ace clicked a couple of shots, then loaded his stuff. “Sorry, gotta go.”

  In spite of my plan, I was alone with Gibson McFain. Crap.

  Get over it, I lectured myself. I have a job to do. Oddly lacking an opening question, I flipped through my notes looking for something to ask. What the heck was wrong with me? Poking into people’s lives was second nature to me.

  “B negative,” Mac said.

  “What?” I was sure I had misheard.

  “You were trying to think of something surprising to ask me, so I thought I’d give you my blood type.” The edges of his lips twitched.

  I smiled a little in spite of myself. “There are a lot of tiny Southern towns. Why did you pick the two you did for your new documentaries?”

  “I’m hoping these two will be the first of a series of films. To answer your question, Dayton, Tennessee was obviously because of the Scopes “Monkey” Trial where, in July, 1925, the teaching of evolution in public schools was challenged in court. The trial was a publicity stunt, you know. It was supposed to put Dayton on the map, and it worked—although I doubt the perpetrators foresaw exactly the reputation their beloved town would receive over the years.”

  “I’ve read about that. William Jennings Bryan and Clarence Darrow were the lawyers, right? They were like rock stars back then.”

  He nodded. “Yes, they were, and Dayton was descended upon by reporters and sightseers from all over the country.”

  “So part of one documentary is going to be about the Scopes Trial?”

  “Not really. More the repercussions from the trial and how the town has used the publicity to increase the tourist trade.”

  “What about Ugly Creek?”

  His eyes lit up, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

  “When I was a kid,” he said, “my parents took my sister and me here on vacation. I thought Ugly Creek was the coolest place I’d ever seen. I was determined to come back, and not only have I done that, now I have the ability to share the town with the world.”

  The flattering words threatened to sidetrack my thoughts, but I pulled back to the question at hand. “Why the big change from political reporting to small town.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Something that looked a lot like regret. “I’m actually coming back to my roots. My first ‘documentary’ was a videotaped record of an archeological dig. I enjoyed the experience and began looking around for interesting subjects.”

  “Your first film was a dig?”

  “Yes. I majored in anthropology.”

  “And you wound up in DC?”

  He chuckled. “Still not sure how that happened.”

  My stomach twisted. This was so not what I’d expected to hear. “So now you’re doing anthropology again?”

  “Yes. And it’s good to be back to what I wanted to do in the first place.”

  I managed a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thank you.” He stood. “Now if you will excuse me, I have to meet with my team to discuss tomorrow’s shoot. We need to talk about safety and security.”

  We shook hands, and his warm touch kicked my breath into a higher gear. I let go, smiled, and headed out of there before he realized I was lusting after him. How unprofessional—not to mention embarrassing—would that be?

  I drove back to Mom’s wondering if I needed to have my hormone levels checked. Reacting like that to a man I seriously did not trust was irritating to say the least. I gave myself a stern lecture about how Gibson McFain was a danger to my beloved hometown.

  The lecture worked. By the time I got to Mom’s house, I was borderline panicky. I had to protect Ugly Creek, no matter what—or who—was the cause of danger.

  Chapter 3

  When I got back to my mom’s house and saw the pink Cadillac in the driveway, I knew my stressful day wasn’t over. Henry Thomas was there. Unfortunately, not the E.T. dude either. Henry was Mom’s boyfriend. There were just so many things wrong with those words. Besides, what kind of man drives a pink car? Sure I knew the story, he loved the car, got a fantastic deal. I wonder why
? Yes, that was sarcasm.

  Not that I have a problem with pink. I love pink. But a car? Really? And a middle aged man driving a pink Cadillac was just really, really wrong. Couldn’t he paint it? I mean really, what was wrong with this guy?

  I pushed open the front door. “Mom, I’m home.”

  My beautiful, intelligent, talented mother came toward me. The big smile on her face warmed my heart. “How did your day go, Maddie?”

  “It was interesting.” The events of the day pressed down on me.

  Mom’s eyebrows rose. “What happened?”

  We moved into the living room, and I tossed my purse into the nearest chair. “Somebody threw rocks at McFain.”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, was anybody hurt?”

  “No. Actually, I think it was more a scare tactic than a real attempt to hurt anybody.”

  “There are folks who don’t think a movie is such a great idea,” a male voice said.

  Bald except for a fringe around the back of his head, my mom’s “friend” wasn’t fat, but was pudgy soft in the middle. He wore brown pants and shoes and a white button-down. Old man exuded from him, and the idea of him with my mother creeped me out. Mom told me once that there were only a couple of years difference in their ages, but I didn’t believe her. How could this old man be anywhere near my young, beautiful mother’s age?

  “Henry is joining us for dinner,” Mom said.

  “Great.” I swallowed back the irritation. Why couldn’t my mom and I have a quiet dinner and conversation? Why did this old man have to join us?

  I washed up, and we sat at the table.

  Mom turned to Henry. “So you’ve heard people don’t want the documentary to be made?”

  He nodded. “Several folks have said they feel that way, Margaret.”

  “But the production people are spending their money here. And when the documentary goes out, we should get a boost in tourist dollars.”

  “Money is important, true. But other things are more important, like protecting the Dyami.”

  I dang near choked on my potatoes. Dyami, is another word for the awesome Bigfoot creatures that are native to our area.