A Mischief of Mermaids

by Suzanne Harper

  “What?” she heard Oliver say. “But that’s incredible! It’s been years since the last eyewitness sighting of the Loch Ness Monster!”

  She turned her head in order to see him. Professor Asquith was pacing back and forth on the deck. One hand held his cell phone to his ear, while the other ran through his thick, TV-ready hair.

  As he listened, he glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Malone, his face alive with excitement. “It’s my assistant, the graduate student I sent to Scotland,” he whispered, pointing to the phone. “She’s spotted Nessie!”

  “Oh, how wonderful for you!” Mrs. Malone seemed genuinely pleased about Oliver’s good fortune. “It’s such a thrilling moment when one finally sees a creature one has been hunting for so long, isn’t it, Emerson!”

  “Oliver hasn’t seen it,” said Mr. Malone. “His assistant has.”

  “Yes, and she’s taken a photo, too!” Oliver Asquith turned his phone around so that they could see its screen. Franny and Will crowded next to Oliver to peer at the screen. Even Poppy couldn’t resist the urge to get up and walk over to get a closer look.

  “It looks like a brown blob,” she said critically.

  “Yes, that’s Nessie’s head,” Oliver said.

  Poppy squinted. “Or a close-up of a mushroom,” she said.

  Oliver Asquith closed his cell phone with a snap. “This photo is going to make history!” he said. “And when the actual video airs—well, it could earn the highest ratings of all my specials. Maybe even the highest TV ratings of all time!”

  He gazed around at the Malones and sighed deeply. “Unfortunately, that means that I must leave you,” he said. He was trying to sound sorrowful, but he couldn’t seem to stop grinning.

  “But you just got here!” Franny said in dismay. “And you said you were going to stay for a whole month!”

  “Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans must be put aside when history is being made,” said Oliver Asquith with a heavy sigh. “I must fly to Scotland immediately to oversee the investigation and make sure that the documentary evidence is preserved.”

  “Oh no, how disappointing,” said Mrs. Malone. “We’ve barely had any time to visit!”

  “Still, I’m sure we’ll manage to bear up,” said Mr. Malone, who was looking a great deal more cheerful. “Well, you must have a lot to do to get ready for your trip, Oliver, so we’ll just head on home, with many thanks for your hospitality and wishing you the best of luck on your travels—”

  “Wait.” Oliver held up a hand as if he had just been struck by a happy thought. “The network has paid for the houseboat through the end of the month. It seems like a waste to let it sit in the dock, empty. Why don’t all of you use it—as my guests, of course?”

  “Really?” Will sat up a little straighter. “You mean we can sleep here and use the Jet Skis and everything?”

  Oliver Asquith laughed. “You’re a few years too young for a Jet Ski,” he said. “But you could take out the kayaks if you like, not to mention making full use of the hot tub and the TV—including, of course, the satellite cable—”

  “Oh no, Oliver, that’s much too generous,” Mrs. Malone said, even as her eyes sparkled with delight. “We couldn’t possibly. . . .”

  “Not at all, not at all,” said Oliver Asquith, beaming at her. “It is my pleasure. After all, I’m sure you could use the vacation, Emerson. I know it’s been stressful for you and Lucille, having such a hard time finding a new case to investigate. . . .”

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Malone snapped. “It just so happens that there was a newspaper report last week about a UFO that was spotted near Austin. Lucille and I have already started digging into the story. In fact, it’s going to take up so much of our time that I’m afraid we’ll have to turn down your offer.”

  “What?” Will said in dismay. “Give up the chance to live on a houseboat for a week?”

  “That’s so unfair!” Franny said.

  “We can research UFOs anytime,” Poppy added. “When’s the next time we’ll be able to spend a week on a lake?”

  “I want to stay on the boat,” Rolly said. “I want to see the monster.”

  “For the last time,” said Mr. Malone through gritted teeth. “There is no monster!”

  “It might be nice to spend some time on the water,” said Mrs. Malone wistfully. “The sound of waves is so soothing, isn’t it? And so conducive to thinking—”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” said Mr. Malone, staring at her. “You’ve always become violently sick whenever we’ve had to go to sea. Remember that summer we searched for Atlantis?”

  “Only too well,” Mrs. Malone said, turning a little green at the memory. “But I only get seasick when I’m actually at sea, dear. Lakes are an entirely different matter!”

  “Please, Emerson,” said Oliver Asquith. “I’d hate to think of all that money that the network spent renting this boat going to waste. It would cheer me up a great deal to think of all of you enjoying yourselves in the sun while I’m trying to stay warm on a cold Scottish lake.”

  Mr. Malone glared at him. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, “but Lucille and I have lots of work to do. Far too much work to spend a whole week sunning ourselves on your boat.”

  There was a brief, dismayed silence.

  Then Mrs. Malone said, in a musing voice, “That’s true, dear, we do have work to do. However . . .”

  Poppy, Will, and Franny turned to her. When Mrs. Malone used that particular voice, they knew that she had had An Idea. And not just any random, ordinary, run-of-the-mill idea, but An Idea that she herself would have modestly called a “brain wave.”

  “I’ve been trying to remember the details of the latest UFO sighting,” she went on. “I think . . . I’m almost sure . . . yes, it’s coming back to me now! I do believe that the UFO was spotted very near here.” She held a hand up to shade her eyes, then pointed toward a road that ran along the lake’s edge. “I just read the case file yesterday . . . yes, I think that road over there is the very spot where the witness’s car mysteriously stalled!”

  She let her voice trail off in a suggestive way.

  Poppy, Will, and Franny held their breaths.

  “Well,” said Mr. Malone meditatively. “It’s true that being in the middle of the lake would give us an unobstructed view of the sky.”

  “And there aren’t any streetlights out here,” said Will quickly. “No light pollution. Easier to see the aliens.”

  “It must get really, really, really dark at night,” Franny chimed in.

  “Plus, a lot of UFOs are spotted near water,” said Poppy, crossing her fingers. She didn’t actually have any evidence of this, but it seemed like a reasonable hypothesis. After all, she thought, seventy percent of the Earth’s surface is covered by water, so the odds were in her favor. . . .

  Mrs. Malone smiled gently at them. “It’s wonderful to see such enthusiasm from all of you when it comes to one of our investigations,” she said.

  “Yes,” agreed Mr. Malone. “And rather peculiar, I might add.”

  He looked suspiciously at Poppy, Will, and Franny. They did their best to look back with expressions of great sincerity and earnestness.

  It must have worked. After a brief pause, Mr. Malone said more briskly, “Still, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Given the importance of the work Lucille and I are doing, I think we would be foolish not to accept your offer. Thank you, Oliver. We’ll be sure to acknowledge you when our paper is published.”

  He glanced around at his family’s beaming faces. “But remember, we’re not staying on this boat to play,” he warned them. “We’re here to conduct an investigation, and you’ll all have to help out.”

  “We will,” said Will.

  “We’ll do everything you ask us to,” said Franny.

  “And we’ll keep our eyes on the skies at all times,” Poppy added. “We promise.”

  And that, she thought, was a completely safe pledge to make, because there was absolut
ely nothing weird to see out here on the lake. Nothing at all.

  Chapter

  THREE

  The Malones raced home to pack, then returned to the dock loaded down with duffel bags, telescopes, cameras, DNA testing kits, fishing poles, magnetometers, and a special large box packed with first-aid supplies.

  To their delight, they also brought Henry Rivera, their next-door neighbor and now good friend, back with them as well.

  “Hey, Franny, do you need some help with that?” Henry asked as Franny wobbled by. She was dragging an oversized suitcase with one hand and holding the handles of two smaller tote bags with the other.

  She put the luggage down on the dock with a thump and wiped her forehead. “Thank you, Henry, that’s very nice of you,” she said. She turned a scornful look on Will. “It’s good to know that some boys know how to act like gentlemen.”

  Will snickered, and Henry’s ears turned scarlet.

  “I’m not a gentleman,” he protested. “I’m a, a . . . what’s the opposite of a gentleman?”

  “A scoundrel, a bounder, a cad?” suggested Poppy.

  “Yes, that’s what I am,” said Henry. “I’m a cad who happened to notice that Franny’s suitcases looked kind of heavy, that’s all.”

  “That’s what I mean,” said Franny. “You saw someone in need and you offered to help. Unlike some people”—she nodded toward Will—“who simply stand by and let the tired and poor struggle on their own.”

  “Hey, you pack ’em, you carry ’em,” said Will carelessly. “That’s my motto. Why do you need all those suitcases anyway? We’re just going to be swimming and kayaking.”

  Franny tossed her head so that her long gold curls flashed in the sun. “That’s no reason not to look one’s best,” she said, surveying Will with a look of distaste. “I’d think you would be ashamed to be seen wearing that outfit.”

  “It’s not an outfit,” snapped Will. “It’s clothes.”

  He glanced down. His T-shirt told the story of his recent activities (faded ketchup blotches from a food fight with Henry; “Twilight Mist” stains from when he had, under protest, helped Mrs. Malone paint the front porch; dirt and grass stains from an ambitious attempt to build a tunnel from the house to the toolshed; and several rips from the day he climbed the tallest oak tree in the woods). His khaki shorts had also suffered in these adventures, plus he had now worn them for a record seven days in a row.

  “And anyway,” he said, “what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  She raised one eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just came back from five months in the wilderness.”

  “Awesome,” he said stoutly. “That’s exactly the look I was going for.”

  Franny rolled her eyes. “Just promise you’ll stay far away from me. I’d like to make some new friends, thank you very much, and I don’t want them scared off by my little brother.”

  “No problem,” said Will. “I’ll get started right now. Come on, Henry. Let’s move far, far away and get the magnetometer out of the car.”

  As the boys moved away, Poppy asked Franny, “Who do you think you’re going to meet in the middle of the lake?”

  As if in answer to her question, a boy with white-blond hair sped past on a Jet Ski, leaving a ripple of water in his wake. He was moving fast, but he still managed to flash a smile in their direction. Franny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled back.

  “Oh,” said Poppy. “Right.”

  Franny tossed her head. “You don’t need to sneer,” she said. “What’s wrong with making new friends?”

  Nothing, Poppy thought. The problem is that we never stay anywhere long enough for them to become old friends.

  “We don’t need to make any new friends,” said Poppy. “We have Henry.”

  “Henry is nice,” Franny admitted, “but he’s just one person.”

  “One is enough,” said Poppy. “If it’s the right person.”

  “That’s what you think now,” Franny said darkly. “But you feel differently when you get to be my age.”

  She put on a quoting voice. “A young person needs at least three close friends who will offer support and a listening ear in order to make it through the stresses and traumas of middle school.” She paused long enough to give Poppy a significant look. “And I’m going to be in a brand-new middle school! That means I’ll have twice the trauma! I’ll probably need a half dozen good friends just to make it to high school without suffering serious psychological damage!”

  Mrs. Malone, clutching a telescope and tripod in her arms, staggered past just in time to hear the end of this.

  “You’re not still going on about middle school trauma, are you?” said Mrs. Malone, giving her a harassed look. “Honestly, Franny, going from sixth to seventh grade is not quite the same as climbing Qomolangma in search of Yeti. Poppy, where did you put the night-vision goggles? I can’t find them anywhere.”

  “They’re in the trunk of the car,” said Poppy. “Hold on, I’ll get them.”

  As she ran down the gangplank, she passed Mr. Malone, who was carrying a stack of books about the Roswell UFO crash.

  “Watch out!” gasped Mr. Malone, whose armful of books tilted precariously as Poppy ran past.

  “I can take some of those, Mr. Malone,” said Henry.

  “That’s all right, I’ve got it,” gasped Mr. Malone. The top book slipped. Mr. Malone reached up to grab it, which disturbed the balance of the whole pile. A half dozen books began tilting, as if in slow motion.

  “Drat!” said Mr. Malone as he backpedaled, trying to keep the books balanced. At the last possible moment, just as he was about to step backward off the gangplank and fall into the lake, Henry neatly lifted the top of the stack from Mr. Malone’s arms, allowing Mr. Malone to regain his own balance.

  “Thank you, Henry,” he gasped. “Of course, I had everything under control, but still . . . thank you.”

  “Would you cut it out, Henry?” said Will from the side of his mouth. “You’re going to make me look bad.”

  Once they got all their gear stowed and clothes put away, the Malones gathered on the deck.

  “What should we do first?” asked Will. “Go swimming? Try the waterslide? Take out the kayaks?”

  “The answer is none of the above,” said Mr. Malone. “Not until you all help me put this up on the outside of the cabin.”

  Poppy, Will, and Franny turned to see Mr. Malone unrolling a long, unwieldy canvas that he had carted from home.

  “Don’t just stand there gaping!” he called out. “Come over here and lend a hand.”

  Dragging their feet, they walked over to where the canvas, now unrolled, was covering a large section of the deck.

  The dark blue canvas was twenty feet square and covered with line drawings of aliens. Some had large heads and narrow eyes, some were squat and dumpy, some were tall and thin, some had eight long, thin fingers on each hand and some had tentacles. Various types of spacecraft—flying saucers, strange trapezoid shapes and what looked like dirigibles—were drawn around the border.

  “What,” asked Franny, “is that?”

  “A present from Wilbur,” said Mr. Malone. He stood up, beads of sweat rolling down his face. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his T-shirt, blinking nearsightedly. “It arrived yesterday from Berlin.”

  “That explains a lot,” muttered Will.

  Professor Wilbur Sutterwaite had spent his long and controversial career studying UFOs. Mr. Malone had taken a seminar course from the professor as part of his junior year abroad and they had stayed in touch ever since, exchanging chatty letters filled with news about their families, crop circles, career moves, mysterious ship disappearances, travel plans, and famous unsolved UFO sightings.

  “Of course, we should have known,” said Will. “Is he still collecting stories about those green glowing spheres that keep floating around the sky in Argentina?”

  Mrs. Malone clucked her tongue in exasperation. “I do w
ish you children would pay a little more attention to dinner table conversation, instead of making mashed potato forts and pelting them with peas,” she said. “I know I told you all about how he had to flee South America after that unfortunate misunderstanding—”

  “You mean when he hiked up a mountain and found that little cave?” asked Poppy.

  “The cave that he camped out in?” added Will. “The one that turned out to be a sacred temple of the moon?”

  “And then had to run back down the mountain to escape from an angry mob?” finished Franny.

  “That unfortunate misunderstanding?” asked Poppy, driving the point home.

  “All right,” Mrs. Malone said testily. “I see I was wrong. Apparently, you do pay attention. Although I don’t see what you all think is so funny. The poor man was a nervous wreck for six months.”

  “At any rate, he’s moved on,” said Mr. Malone. “He’s investigating crop circles now. He’s come up with some very interesting data. Did you know that electronic equipment often fails when it’s taken near a crop circle?”

  “Maybe that explains why none of the people who claim they’ve seen a crop circle appear right before their eyes have actually managed to film it,” murmured Poppy.

  “Eyewitness accounts are just as good,” said Mr. Malone. “In fact, that was Wilbur’s inspiration for this poster. He hired a police sketch artist to take all those descriptions of aliens and their spacecraft and make drawings of them. And this is the result!”

  He waved a hand proudly at the poster.

  Franny stared at it in disgust. “That is probably the single most uncool thing I have ever seen,” she said. “And that is saying a lot, considering that I have spent the first thirteen years of my life in this family. Please please please don’t tell me you’re actually going to hang that up. Everybody who comes within a hundred yards of our boat will see it!”

  “Exactly! That was your father’s idea, and it was an absolute brainstorm,” said Mrs. Malone happily. “You see, the more people who notice the poster, the more awareness we will raise about the possibility of alien visitations. And the more people who are watching for aliens, the more sightings we’re likely to get.”