Close Encounters

by Carolyn Keene

  George broke in. “You’re telling us that you had nothing to do with the sighting this afternoon, and Bess’s kidnapping?”

  Ellie looked confused. “Someone besides Aldwin and his prize hound have gone missing?” I watched her expression morph from shocked to horrified. “Wait, isn’t Bess that blond girl who was in here earlier today?”

  “Yes,” I said. I was finding it hard to read Ellie’s reaction. Either she truly was in the dark about Bess or she deserved an Oscar for Best Actress.

  “I can’t believe it—who’d do that?”

  “We think it’s whoever is behind the hoaxes—and I’m not convinced you aren’t involved with them somehow,” I told her.

  “Are you insane?” she practically shrieked. “I have nothing to do with the hoaxes, and I have no idea what happened to your friend—but if someone abducted her, that’s beyond awful. It’s . . .” She was suddenly at a loss for words.

  Ellie looked and sounded so dismayed that I found myself sure she was telling the truth: She was certainly in the wrong for sabotaging her former business partner, but the woman seemed totally incapable of perpetrating a UFO hoax, let alone kidnapping Bess—

  “Wait,” she said, interrupting my chain of thought. “Not being local, you wouldn’t know this, but Aldwin is famous around here for being a prankster. When he and the dog went missing, I figured he was taking a joke too far. But if your friend has really been abducted, then Aldwin has too.”

  “You have me convinced,” I finally told Ellie. “You don’t know anything about how Bess or anyone else disappeared.”

  “But you did steal those recipes, and unless you want us to turn you in to the police, you’d better return them to Winnie,” George said firmly.

  “No way!” Ellie declared. “I’m not returning them to Winnie, not until I have copies.”

  “Then we’ll have to call the cops and tell them about how you’ve harassed Winnie and her café, trying to drive her out of business.” George pulled her cell out of her pocket.

  “You can’t do that,” Ellie declared hotly.

  “Yes, we can,” I contradicted her. I waited a beat before adding, “Unless you go over there now, own up to what you’ve done, and return the recipes.”

  George spoke up. “If you do, I’ll sweeten the deal for you. I’ll input the recipes into her computer and make a disk for you—if Winnie doesn’t object. But only if you include a good, heartfelt apology with your very sincere confession.”

  “All right,” Ellie said reluctantly. “I’ll go later.”

  “More like now,” George said. She turned to me. “Ellie can drive me in her van. You go ahead and keep looking for Bess. I’ll meet up with you later at the inn.”

  Ellie closed up her shop as I left the store. I pushed the speed limit and headed right out to the Nichols farm.

  When I arrived, I parked in front of the farm stand. The front yard gate creaked as I opened it, and the sound sent the whole kennel barking.

  “Oh, keep quiet,” I cried, feeling annoyed, frustrated, and, deep down, scared about what might have happened to Bess.

  The dogs continued to bark as I knocked on the front door, hoping Addie May was still home waiting for Aldwin’s return. But no one answered. I figured I’d better check the backyard.

  I hurried down the porch steps and rounded the corner of the house, only to find myself eye to eye with the barrel of a shotgun.

  And the shabby man pointing the gun at my chest was none other than Nathan Blackman.

  14

  The Missing Link

  Face-to-face with a shotgun, I swiftly weighed my options—not that there were many. Addie’s truck was not in the barnyard, so it was a good bet I was alone.

  Bolting was out of the question. So was a good karate kick; the gun might go off, and one of us would surely get hurt, if not killed. I had only one choice: I’d have to talk my way out of it.

  Before I could open my mouth, though, Nathan lowered the gun. His scowl, however, remained as dark as the lowering sky.

  “What are you doing here?” he challenged. With his free hand he turned up the collar of his red wool jacket.

  “I might ask the same of you,” I snapped.

  “I live here.” He paused. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I’m looking for Addie May,” I said, trying not to feel foolish. Blackman was right of course. He did technically live on the farm. That didn’t give him an excuse to accost me with a gun, though.

  He leaned the gun against the side of the house and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, she’s not here.” He jerked his head toward the barnyard. “See for yourself. Her truck’s gone.”

  “Right.”

  “She went into town to check in with the police. Fat good that lot’ll do. She actually thinks they’ll find her brother.”

  Nathan had given me the opening I was looking for. “What do you think?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I’ll tell you what I don’t think. No way aliens whooshed down here to the old farmstead and ’napped an old lame farmer and his dog.” He narrowed his eyes and studied my face. “You think somewhat like I do. There are no UFOs—no real ones, at any rate—secreted back there in them there hills!” He grinned as he mocked a television backwoods accent. Then, as quickly as his grin had appeared, it vanished. “So why are you snooping around here?”

  “Because I think the UFOs are a hoax, and I have a feeling you know something about the whole scam.”

  He surprised me by nodding slowly. “I do.”

  Was he so ready to admit it? Suddenly I was terribly conscious of that gun. If Nathan confessed to perpetrating such a major con, why would he stop at kidnapping just two people? Might as well make it three!

  “Aren’t you going to ask me exactly what I know?” he asked.

  “Please. Tell me,” I said, trying to sound skeptical instead of frightened.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather do that someplace more comfortable.” He looked up toward the sky. “A storm’s brewing, the temperature’s dropping, and standing around, I’m getting cold.”

  Without waiting for my answer, he picked up the gun. Holding it barrel down to the ground, Nathan started back toward the circle of cabins behind the barn.

  When I didn’t follow, he turned around. “Aren’t you coming?” He hesitated, glanced from to me to the gun, then grinned. “Not to worry. I’m not about to hang you out as bait for the so-called aliens. And I won’t hurt you. The gun’s for hunting. I was on my way to see if I could bag a deer when I heard the dogs barking. I came back up here to see who was lurking around the house . . . given what’s been going on here lately. Anyway, I’m not the bad guy here.”

  I wasn’t convinced. At the same time, standing in the cold wind was quickly getting old. I wondered if I actually had a choice. Would he let me just walk away and leave?

  As if reading my mind, he said, “Hey, whatever you decide. Stay. Go. I’m going back to the cabin with or without you.” With that, Nathan turned and stalked past the kennels. The dogs stopped howling and began to whine with delight, their tails wagging furiously as they jumped against the chain-link fence to greet him.

  “Wait up,” I called, making my choice. No way was I going to let the chance go to corner this guy. Besides, if Nathan Blackman put his gun down and out of reach, we’d be on more equal footing if he decided to play rough. I knew a few martial arts moves.

  Inside the cabin he propped the gun against the wall near the window. He shrugged off his jacket and walked over to the tiny kitchen area. “Want something hot?” he asked, plugging in the electric teapot.

  “Sure,” I said.

  While he fussed with mugs, I looked around. The cabin was small but pleasantly decorated, with framed prints on the wall and country curtains on the windows. Pretending to be interested in the delicately printed fabric, I walked over to the window and glanced down at Nathan’s rifle. I wasn’t all that familiar with guns, but could see that the safety was
on.

  At least he wasn’t careless with firearms. I began to think his story about going hunting might have been true.

  The rest of the cabin was simply furnished: A daybed was shoved against one wall, one easy chair sat in the middle of the room, and a couple of end tables that had seen better days sat on either end of the daybed.

  Everything felt tidy and clean—except for the antique writing desk tucked in the corner. An ancient typewriter was barely visible through the chaos of papers, pencils, and coffee mugs that cluttered the surface. Stacks of books were piled haphazardly beside and under the desk and on top of the folding metal chair.

  The typewriter didn’t resemble any in Ned’s collection of old-fashioned portables: It was large, the type I’d seen in old movies set back in the mid-twentieth century. Blackman definitely seemed averse to technology.

  I glanced over as Nathan poured hot water into two mugs, dropped a tea bag in each, and handed me one. “So, you never really answered me. What do you think happened to Aldwin and his dog?” he asked, and sat down on the edge of the daybed. I settled into the one chair.

  “The same thing that just happened to my best friend Bess,” I said, carefully watching his face. “Someone kidnapped them.”

  For a moment he seemed to turn to stone, then he slowly put his mug down on the table. “Someone else has gone missing? A girl?” He sounded and looked appalled. “This has gone too far,” he said very softly, looking down at his hands.

  “What? What exactly has gone too far?”

  His head snapped up. He stared at me, understanding written on his face. “You think I had something to do with all this?” When I didn’t respond, he shot me a look of pure disgust. “How could you?”

  “You yourself admitted just now that you have some kind of inside knowledge about the UFO hoax,” I told him.

  He bristled. “I didn’t say that. I have an idea of how the con men are pulling it off, but that doesn’t mean I’m involved in it—or that I’m sure exactly who is involved. But when it comes to the abductions, I’m as much in the dark as you.”

  “Convince me.”

  “How can I convince you about something I don’t know?” He glared at me.

  “Start with what you do know.” I needed to find Bess fast, but I had no idea where to look. Nathan seemed my best lead yet. I had to hear him out. Maybe he’d let something slip that would help me find her.

  “Did you see the sighting in town today?” he asked.

  I was surprised he had, but I simply nodded yes.

  “Me too—from here. This time our visitors’ ship made noise, as I’m sure you noticed. The daytime ones always do. Here’s why.” He got up and, in spite of the state of his desk, quickly located a catalog. “I ordered this shortly after the first daytime sighting.” He handed me the catalog.

  It was for remote control model planes. “What do these have to do with . . .” I broke off as the truth dawned on me. Hobbyists operate remote control planes from the ground. The planes themselves are large—usually transported by their owners on trailer hitches or in the back of pickup trucks. I looked at Nathan Blackman with newfound respect. The man was brilliant. “Someone altered these planes to make them look like UFOs.”

  “One plane. It would take a lot of work, but it could be done,” Nathan pointed out. “The planes are usually built from kits to begin with. A clever, very handy person using lightweight materials could probably make the plane look like your typical science-fictional flying saucer.”

  I put aside the catalog and looked at Nathan. “And the planes are noisy. There’s a model plane airport back home. Neighbors always complain about the racket.”

  “Of course, at night there is no noise. Whoever’s perpetrating the hoax isn’t using those remote control planes at night. They’re using some other trick, so that there’s no noise. A little spookier. Not sure what that could be, but I’m working on it.”

  “I’m impressed,” I told Nathan. “But what made you even think of ordering this catalog?” If the man was smart enough to think up such a scheme, surely he could find an accomplice to help him work it out. If Bess hadn’t also gone missing, I would have bet on Aldwin—now that I’d learned he was the town prankster. He’d make himself appear abducted with Nathan’s help. But Aldwin wouldn’t have kidnapped Bess, I was sure of that.

  “The daytime sightings have been in several locations. That means someone can cart the remote control UFOs around. The nighttime ones are always only over the meadow. Why? I haven’t been able to figure it out. Two different methods of faking it—I’m sure of that much.”

  I had to point out the obvious. “You do realize that telling me this makes you even more suspect?”

  “When it comes to figuring out how to fake it, sure. But not of kidnapping anyone. Besides, if I were the bad guy here, why would I let you in on my supposed secret? To top it off, you’re looking at a guy who can’t even program a VCR or work a DVD player, let alone build a model plane.”

  He was so blunt I found myself inclined to trust him—but I needed to know more. “I heard you came here to write,” I told him.

  Nathan then told me he usually booked the Nichols cabins while he was on deadline for a book. Instead of peace and quiet, this time he found himself in the middle of a circus, thanks to the UFO sightings. He almost left, but found himself intrigued at first by the townsfolk’s reactions, then by trying to figure out how the sightings were faked.

  Intriguing as his story was, it didn’t bring me closer to finding Bess, and I told him so.

  “Whoever’s behind this has upped the ante in a pretty nasty way,” he said, scratching at his beard. “But why?” Then he answered his own question. “I bet her good looks up the publicity ante as well.”

  “Publicity for whom? The town, the Reel TV people . . . ?”

  “Sure, why not. Like they say, follow the money—and it’s big-time bucks for the TV crew, and—”

  I stopped him in midsentence. “Wait. Izzy, from the TV crew, saw that Bess had taken a souvenir from the location of the UFO sightings.”

  Nathan cocked his head. “Up by the meadow? Now that’s interesting. So your friend found a clue there. Whoever took her wanted to be sure that evidence never came to light.”

  “I know, I know!” I cried. “But the problem is, where did they take her? I’m not even sure who ‘they’ are. It could be Izzy’s crew. But who knows who else Bess showed her treasure to.”

  Nathan got up. “I don’t know, but I do know this much. Every one of the nighttime sightings happened over that meadow. Someone has some way of hanging out there. And it isn’t obvious to anyone, even now with the FBI on the case.”

  As Nathan spoke, I began to get a niggling feeling. Something I saw or heard earlier in the day held the missing clue, but what? I looked out the window. Daylight was fading fast. It was late afternoon, and between the cloudy skies and the short early winter day, it was growing dark.

  “I’m going back there now,” I said, zipping up my jacket.

  “It’s going to be dark soon!” Nathan warned.

  “That’s why I’m going now. No one can see me,” I told him.

  Nathan reached for his jacket and his gun. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No. I’m better off on my own.” I wasn’t sure whom I could trust now. Nathan’s suspicions had raised my doubts about all the town officials, as well as about the Reel TV people. And a small doubt lingered in my mind about him.

  He jotted down his phone number on a piece of paper. “If you need help, call.”

  I said I would, then even gave him my cell phone number before I set off.

  It was dark enough to turn on headlights, but not quite dark enough to explore the meadow unseen. I decided to check in with George as promised, and at the same time pick up warmer gear since a storm was brewing.

  Minutes out of the Nichols’s driveway, a distant bright light in the sky caught my eye. For a moment I thought it was a plane, but
it began to circle lower and lower.

  Another UFO hoax?

  I kept driving toward town, but then I realized the shiny disklike object wasn’t hovering over the meadow. Instead it seemed to be traveling in the same direction I was, just high up over the road.

  I began to have the impression it wanted me to follow it. “Nancy Drew, you’re losing it!” I told myself, but my curiosity wouldn’t let me ignore it. What harm could it do to pursue this latest version of the hoax? In fact, I suddenly realized, maybe whoever was manipulating it would accidentally lead me to themselves, and even to Bess.

  Almost as soon as I decided to follow, the saucer picked up speed and veered to fly above a side road, one that traversed the forest just west of the roadblocks. Caught up in chasing it, I turned onto the dirt road, which quickly turned into something closer to a rutted track as it climbed up the steep side of the mountain.

  My car’s engine was up to the task. Its low-slung profile wasn’t. Just when I thought I’d have to give up and somehow back my way down, the road widened slightly. The flying object seemed to explode in a flash of blue light, then was gone. Just ahead, my headlights illuminated the wide expanse of the meadow. Instantly I doused my headlights. For sure they would have been visible to anyone for miles.

  Clouds covered the stars, and it took a moment to get my bearings. It wasn’t until I stepped out of the car that I realized the world suddenly seemed silent. Suddenly—because the UFO I’d just encountered hadn’t been silent at all. It hadn’t whooshed like the one earlier, but through my car window I had heard it emitting a low-pitched constant but loud hum.

  Then I thought of the bear. I was about to turn around and drive away when I told myself any bear would have been quickly scared off by the car and by the flash of light in the sky.

  Working up my nerve, I headed for the meadow. I took out my penlight and aimed it at the ground. Glowing in the dark just ahead was the yellow police tape. I ignored it and stepped beneath.

  The circumference of the charred circle of grass was only a few feet away. I bent down to pick up a small piece of singed cornstalk—but it wasn’t singed at all. It was sticky. When I looked at my hand, my fingers were covered with paint. It looked and smelled like the kind of red-orange paint used to rustproof metal.