I finally came out of the woods about three hundred feet from my car, I could see it in the distance, and there was nothing to do but to trudge through the dusty road in that direction. I was looking forward fondly to a shower, food, and a nap.
My phone buzzing didn’t help my exhaustion any. “Hi, Steve.”
“What do you think you’re doing, talking to Shaylee?”
I stopped in the middle of the rarely traveled, dirt road. “Good grief, I’m not even back to my car yet.”
I head a sigh through the phone. “I’m serious, Maddie. There’s a delicate balance between us and other groups. You need to leave it to the experts to handle things.”
I ground my teeth. Where was he and his experts when I needed them? “I was trying to help.”
“Maddie…”
I started walking again, tossing up dust with every stomp. “I know you think I’m nuts, but I’m worried about them.”
“Channels, Clark. You have to go through channels for things like this.”
“I tried. Nobody listened.” I hung up the phone and jerked open the door of my car. Tears stung my eyes, and I swiped at my face.
Great, now I’d made a good friend angry, and he would tell Liza, and she would be mad too. Maybe I was wrong and everybody else was right.
No. I couldn’t set back and let the non-humans be put in danger.
No matter what I lost in the process.
****
I paced back and forth, trying like crazy to push my mental gerbil off its wheel. I was getting tired of thinking the same thing over and over. There had to be something I hadn’t thought of yet. “Why won’t they listen to me?”
“Maybe because you’re hysterical?” Gizmo looked up at me from where he sat on my bed.
“I’m not hysterical,” I told him.
“Not now.”
I eyed the little fuzzball. “I don’t get hysterical.”
“No comment.”
He couldn’t be right. Not a chance. Right? “You’re a pain in the rear, mutt.”
“Hey, don’t be questioning my lineage, human. I am not a mutt! I’m a full-blooded dachshund from a documented line going back to Germany. How about you?”
I sank onto the bed next to the pain in my butt. “Apparently I’m the only one worried about what Mac McFain could do to this town.”
“Personally, I’m more concerned about Kate Stone. She’s using the mayor.”
“To get info for Mac.” I stood and turned away from the dog. As crazy as it sounds, I didn’t want the dog to realize I had the hots for McFain.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
I glared at the little furball. “What is up with people thinking McFain is an angel? He’s proven himself to be a real menace.”
Gizmo was quiet long enough it got on my last nerve.
“And…”
The dog dropped his chin on his front paws. “Aren’t you a reporter too?”
I so wanted to wring his cute little neck. “There’s a difference between reporting the facts and going out of your way to hurt people.”
“Hurt people by reporting the facts about them?”
I swallowed back the retort. I wasn’t about to have an argument with an animal who couldn’t possibly understand the nuances of my chosen profession. “I need to think,” I told him, and headed to the screened-in porch at the back of my mom’s house.
Sitting out there usually cleared my mind. And my mind was desperately in need of clearing. That little pain in the rear couldn’t possibly be right. If he was right, then what happened to McFain could have happened to me. Still could.
I’d have no reason to hate the guy. He was just doing his job. He might have had no idea what the consequences of his actions might be.
I stood and went out the screen door. There, surrounded by nature, I considered whether or not I might be wrong about McFain. That was ridiculous, right?
What was wrong with me? Why was I even considering what a dog had said to me? There was no way in the world the dog could be right.
Could he?
Chapter 9
Filming went well the next morning, and even into the early afternoon. Four armed security guards manned posts at corners of the shoot area. I’m not sure if they made me feel safer or more anxious, but I understood Mac had to do something.
Since nothing happened during the morning, I went to lunch with a more optimistic attitude. Maybe there wasn’t going to be another attack. I finally began to relax, and I could tell from Mac’s face that he was relaxing too. He was enjoying himself, I realized. He really did like what he was doing. The question was, did he like Ugly Creek, or was he hoping to find something more to film? Something that would make him even more famous?
I had to admit, the old train station was a great place to spend time. Abandoned a hundred years ago, the building was being repaired and made into a small museum. Tourists should love the place. I know I did. And being featured on the documentary should bring in even more folks.
I hoped so. As much as we loved our secretive ways, tourism was the lifeblood of Ugly Creek. Though this was true of a lot of small Southern towns, it was more so for us—since we discouraged industry. It was one thing to have people coming and going, but quite another to have newcomers moving in and getting to know the area well. They might find out things they didn’t need to know.
There was a rustling sound at my feet, and I looked down to see Gizmo looking up at me. I’d barely picked him up when my cell rang. It was my mom.
“Maddie, I can’t find Gizmo. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone. Any idea where he might have gone?”
“He’s here, Mom. He’s sitting in my lap as we speak.”
There was quiet at the other end, almost like she’d hung up. “How in the world?” she sounded almost breathless. “I just saw him not five minutes ago.”
I looked down at the odd ball of fur in my lap. He was looking as innocent as I’ve ever seen a mutt. “No clue. Maybe he’s magic.”
“Funny. See you at dinner.” There was a click as she hung up the phone.
“She thinks I’m kidding,” I told Magic Mutt.
“What is that noise?” He sniffed the air.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Probably below the threshold of human ability.”
Probably he was nuts.
But then I heard it, a deep rumbling, so low pitched it almost seemed I felt the sound rather than heard it.”
“It’s coming from the woods,” Gizmo said.
I looked around me to make sure nobody was paying attention, then quietly headed toward the forest’s edge. The humming noise got louder as I got farther into the trees, but I didn’t see anything.
There. I saw a tiny corner of a large round object hovering several yards to the right, very near the tops of the trees. After a quick look around to make sure nobody was following me, I headed toward the area.
I was scouting around when a movement caught my eye. I looked and a tiny creature peeked at me from behind a tree. Little gray creature with big eyes. Alien? It sure as heck looked like it. Holy crap.
The creature looked to my left at the same time I felt a presence there. I looked, and there was Gibson McFain, staring wide-eyed at the alien. I froze, staring at him. But when I saw him reach toward his jacket pocket, I reacted on instinct, knocking the object he reached for out of his hand.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It was then I realized the object I’d knocked onto the ground was an eyeglasses case. “I’m sorry.” I reached down for the case, but he beat me to it.
“I thought you were going for your phone,” I tried to explain, “for the camera.”
Mac glared into my eyes, and I cringed. “My best friend is a photographer,” I told him, as if that explained everything. Actually, to me it did.
He shoved the glasses on his face, glanced toward the spot where the alien had been moments ago, then glared at me agai
n. “Thanks for keeping me from seeing something truly amazing.”
Turning, he stomped back toward the taping area.
I looked back toward the tree where I’d seen the creature. Nothing. Of course.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked the forest, God, the universe, TPTB, who or whatever was listening.
There was no answer, not that I really thought there would be. Sighing, I headed back to do my job.
Mac didn’t look toward me the rest of the day. It would be hard to get information from a man who was ignoring me, that was all I was worried about. I will not admit to missing his smile. I will admit I felt a little bad about tackling him. Maybe more than a little.
It was almost sundown when Mac called a halt to the filming. I went home, managed to talk to Mom for a while, then went out to the back porch to think. That damn Gibson McFain was about to make me crazy. I felt bad about knocking his glasses out of his hand. At least they were in a case and they didn’t seem to be hurt. I can’t figure out why he didn’t go for his phone. I’d seen him use it, and the thing looked top of the line. I’m quite sure it had a camera function. Why wasn’t that his first instinct? It would have been mine.
I dropped my head to my hands and wondered if I was going crazy.
Thirty minutes later, I was pulling up at Rosemary’s Bed & Breakfast to do the right thing. I hoped.
Inside the B&B was a small sitting room, or at least that’s what Rosemary called it. I waited there for long enough that I was beginning to wonder if Mac would meet with me. I was considering how much longer to give him when he walked in the door.
Arms crossed, face firmly in show-no-emotion mode, he stood looking at me. “Madison.”
The best thing was to dive right in, kind of like taking off a sticky bandage. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? Attacking me, or being wrong?”
Irritation swirled through me. “That’s not fair.”
He raised a single eyebrow.
My irritation grew. “Look, my best friend really is a photographer. I’m used to her always reaching for her camera.”
“So you didn’t want a photograph taken of what? An alien?”
Irritation was becoming anger. This was ridiculous. “I have no idea what we saw.”
He studied me, my face, my eyes. It was all I could do not to wiggle. “You’re hiding something.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I forced myself to look directly into his eyes.
His small smile had my hands fisting.
“So, there are secrets in this little town,” he said.
“No, there aren’t.”
His smile widened. “The lady protests too much, methinks.”
I smiled back. “O, but she’ll keep her word.”
He moved until he was so close I could smell his warm, spicy scent. “So you like Shakespeare?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” His hands grasped my shoulders and edged me toward him. His warm, firm lips touched mine. My body became molten lava.
For the space of three heartbeats, I was totally lost. Reality swirled around us, but not touching us. It was wonderful. It was crazy.
I shoved at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He stepped back without letting go of me. “What we’ve both wanted since I yanked you out of that mud.”
“You’ve lost it.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
When he pulled me close again I didn’t fight him. Only a knock at the door separated us.
Kate Stone shoved in and glared at me so hard she looked constipated. “What’s she doing here?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I was just leaving.”
I pushed past Stone and out the door.
Back in my Aveo, I wondered if I wasn’t the one who had lost it.
****
After dinner, I sat on Mom’s back steps and spent a good hour going over in my mind every minute I’d spent with Mac, and every word we’d said to each other. Then I called Liza to see what she had to say about the events. And to find out if she was, in fact, angry with me.
“We saw this little creature,” I told her a few minutes later, “but he didn’t seem interested in taking a picture or getting it on film or anything.”
“Is he a good kisser?” Liza asked.
If she’d been physically present, I’d have strangled her. As it was, I could only grip my cell phone tighter and clinch my teeth. “He’s great.” Big understatement. “Did you hear the part about the little gray critter?”
“I heard. So, he’s not the major loser you thought he was. I didn’t think you’d fall for a loser. I’ve got more faith in you than that.”
“I’m not falling for him. The point is I still don’t know how much to trust him.”
“Time will tell. Now for the important stuff. When are you going to see him again?”
A movement near the boundary between the yard and the woods pulled my attention from the conversation. What I saw there had me sucking in air. “Gotta go, Liza. There’s an alien in the backyard.”
Chapter 10
I put down my phone and slowly moved toward the little creature standing ten feet from my mother’s back porch. “Hello, I won’t hurt you.”
“I know. We have observed you, and believe you might be able to assist us.”
“Me? I don’t know anything about aliens.”
“You need no knowledge. What we are in need of is what humans call psychic ability.”
Okay, this was seriously crazy. “I’m not psychic.”
“All humans are, to one extent or another. We believe we can link our ability to human ability and structure a chain of sorts in order to get our ship restarted.”
“You can’t start your ship?”
“We are having difficulty, yes. There was some damage on our last landing. The only way to express the problem to you is to say we used up our ability in repair and now cannot lift off.”
“I’ll be glad to help you if I can, but I’ll bet Aunt Octavia would be more help.”
His, or maybe her, head inclined. “Anyone you believe helpful would be welcomed.”
The screen door behind me opened. Mom stood there, staring at the little guy and me. “He needs psychic help,” I told her.
“Aunt Octavia,” Mom said. “I’ll call her.” She pulled out her phone just as the doorbell rang.
“Should have known.” Mom smiled and headed back into the house.
Two minutes later, Mom and Aunt Octavia came down the steps and into the back yard. I wasn’t terribly surprised that Liza wasn’t far behind them. Her car must have sprouted wings—or a jet engine.
Auntie went right over to the little creature. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he (she?) said.
As the three of us more-or-less normal humans looked on, the alien and the psychic discussed the problem in terms I could only guess at. Finally, it was decided that we would all meet the alien tomorrow morning in the woods near where Mac and I first saw him.
“Are you sure you need us?” I asked Aunt Octavia after the alien had gone.
“Absolutely, it will take all of us to get the ship going. After the first liftoff, it will be easier. But the first time will take a big boost of energy, and we humans have very little compared to them.”
“Even you?” I admit I was surprised by this. I’d have thought she’d have enough psychic energy to boost that ship off without any help.
She chuckled. “I don’t have more energy than anyone else. I’ve just learned to channel that energy better.”
I was contemplating that when Aunt Octavia announced she needed to go home and prepare. Soon Liza also left, and Mom went off to her painting. Left alone, I went up to my childhood bedroom and spent some time putting the finishing touches on my article on Mac and his documentary.
I was almost finished when my phone chirped. My boss. “Hello, sir.�
�
“Can you give me one good reason for you to stay any longer?” Mr. Grainger’s voice, even through the phone, could make people fear for their lives.
“Sir, I believe there are things still to be learned.”
“I’m sure there are, but I don’t want to pay you—and a photographer—to find out. Unless you have evidence McFain is hiding a body down there, you need to get yourself back to DC.”
It was tempting. Getting away from that pain in the ass man, leaving behind the talking dog, letting somebody else take care of the non-humans. I knew I couldn’t do that. “You remember this is my hometown, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Could I take some vacation time and stay here a little longer? Please?”
“Oh, good grief.” He sighed. “You do have the hours banked. But Haven has to come home.”
“Not a problem.”
We hung up, and I headed down to dinner. I wasn’t hungry, though. Mr. Grainger had just put the moldy cherry on my sour dessert day. I trudged downstairs feeling confused, frustrated, and seriously irritated.
We were enjoying a nice, nerve-soothing meal of homemade vegetable soup, when a knock at the front door ended our serenity. “Are you expecting anyone?” Mom asked.
“No.” Please, God, don’t let it be Mac.
“Hmm, maybe it’s Henry.”
I waited at the table in case she was right. Then I heard an irritatingly familiar voice and charged toward the foyer.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Clark,” the medium-height, blond man said.
“Nice to meet you too, Greg.”
There he was, Gregory Allen Starling, III. The man I’d told to go to hell just six weeks before. “Greg?”
His smile was million-dollar, probably literally—I’d seen his elementary school pictures. “Hello, my sweet Madison.”
I didn’t smile back. “What are you doing here?”
The smile didn’t waver. “What a way to treat a man you’re crazy about.”
More like a man who made me crazy. “I’m surprised to see you.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I missed you, princess. And I wanted to apologize for being so inconsiderate.”
He was sucking me in. Like a proverbial moth to that damn flame, I was flying toward destruction. Then I remembered. “By inconsiderate, you mean kissing Penny Montage, right?”
Secrets of Ugly Creek Page 6
