The mayor glanced at the crowd again. Where I only saw curious people, she must have seen skeptical constituents. She cleared her throat and stood up straighter, her face making it clear that she had come to some kind of decision.
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to be able to let you all go into town.”
“Why not?”
“These…costumes. They’re too realistic. It’s downright unsettling. Could cause a public disturbance.”
I turned to the aliens. “You hear that? Great job on the costumes, everybody! Our masquerade party is going to be the best ever this year.”
“What does unsettling mean?” said Lizard Boy.
“It means you look great! Just like a real alien.”
The Tourists grinned and high-fived and really played it up. The Pink Blob raised his stumpy arms in celebration and shook, his body jiggling all over. The Air Painters linked arms and danced in a circle, fuzz floating through the air. Mrs. Crowzen clacked her claws and turned this way and that, the sun glinting off her plates.
“See?” I said to the mayor. “It’s all in good fun. We’d really like to go into town now, if you don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “No. It would be more than a little unnerving for the citizens and would disturb the peace, at the very least. Surely you remember the angry mob that descended upon the bed-and-breakfast last summer?” She gave me a pointed look. “Nothing of the kind will happen on my watch again. In fact, we may need to send Sheriff Tisdall and his colleagues down to search the bed-and-breakfast after a stunt like this. It is my sworn duty to look out for the best interests of Forest Grove, and I take that very seriously.”
Perfect. Time to unleash the secret weapons.
I hunched over the red wagon and lifted the blanket that was hiding the cargo. Tisdall stepped forward, his hand moving to the butt of his gun, but he relaxed when he saw what was in the wagon.
“Actually, I think our plan is very much in the best interests of Forest Grove.” I lifted one of Tate’s clunky surveillance cameras and handed it to Amy. Then I hoisted the other one onto my shoulder. “We’re going to make a commercial. To drum up business for sci-fi fans that might want to stay at the bed-and-breakfast, you know? But I was thinking it could actually be more of an advertisement for the town of Forest Grove itself.”
“A commercial?” The mayor blinked a few times. “For Forest Grove?”
“Yeah.” Amy stepped forward, adjusting the lens. The mayor got that Bambi-in-the-headlights look that hits people when they suddenly realize they’re on camera. “To show people that Forest Grove is welcoming to the science-fiction enthusiast.” She gestured at our alien guests. “There are a lot of them out there, you know.”
“Ever seen how many people show up in full costume to those Star Trek conventions? Or Comic-Con?” I said. “Thousands.”
“Tens of thousands,” Amy continued. “And the people who end up coming here will spend lots of money at shops and restaurants.”
“We plan on filming at different locations around town, showcasing as many local businesses as possible. Should be a real boost for tourism around here.” I dropped my voice so only the mayor could hear. “You probably wouldn’t mind that happening on your watch.”
The mayor cleared her throat, glanced at the ground for a moment. “Well…I don’t know…this is all very sudden.…”
I looked at the crowd again. I recognized a guy leaning over the fence in the next yard. “Hey, Mr. McClure. You’re the owner of Outdoor Adventures downtown, right? You guys run river-rafting tours on the Nooksack?”
He looked startled to be singled out of the crowd. But he quickly recovered. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Well, this commercial we’re making will run all over Washington State, including Seattle. Lots of people in that city need a getaway, for sure. Hundreds of thousands of potential customers will see this ad. Maybe a million.” I pointed the camera at him. “What do you think—would you mind if we mentioned your business? Maybe got a shot of one of the Intergalactic Bed and Breakfast ‘aliens’ here with one of your rafts?”
“Huh. Never had the budget for a fancy TV commercial before.” Mr. McClure looked around at his neighbors, then finally nodded. “Sure. That just might be good for business. You all go ahead and stop by.”
“And, Mrs. Vaughn,” Amy called to a woman across the street. “You run the Forest Grove Bakery, yes? Maybe we could get footage of our customers enjoying your pastries. We could make them famous all over the state!”
“And have you ever seen those crazy commercials that go viral on the Internet?” I said. “Forget the state; you could be famous all over the world.”
“Oooohh, famous? Really?” When Amy swung the camera in her direction, Mrs. Vaughn smoothed out her frumpy housedress. “You don’t say. Well, yes, I would like that. Have to change first, though. Freshen up a bit.” She giggled like a nervous little girl.
“Of course,” Amy said.
“Well”—I looked back at the mayor—“how about it?”
She still looked unsure, although I knew she must have been feeling the tide turning among all of those taxpaying registered voters. “I’m not entirely certain of the protocol. I think you probably need a permit for something like that…?”
“Good point. That’s why we were going to stop by your office first.” Time to go for the kill. “In fact, we decided that it would be best if you were actually in the commercial. The Voice of Forest Grove. We could film you taking our customers on a guided tour around town.”
“It would convey that personal touch we’re going for in this ad,” Amy said. “You know, the homey hospitality folks can find here. Even the most out-of-town tourists”—she swept her hand toward our colorful entourage—“are welcome in Forest Grove. You’d be the perfect person to illustrate that message.”
A flush crept across the mayor’s cheeks. “I’ve only ever been on cable access TV, when they broadcast the city council meetings.” She lifted her fingers absentmindedly to her hair, fluffing it up, putting it into place. “I’ve never been in a bona fide commercial before.…”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be great,” I said.
The faint trace of a smile played on the mayor’s lips. “So I would be a spokesperson of sorts? For the whole town?”
“Exactly,” I said.
“Actually,” Amy chimed in, “more like an actress. Or a model.”
“Oh, my. A model? I don’t think…” The mayor fumbled with one of the buttons on her jacket, then pulled down on its bottom hem, straightening out the creases. I fiddled with the lens on my camera, tilting it this way and that, as if I were trying to get the best angle on her. “That is to say, I’ve never—”
“Can I be in your commercial too?” someone shouted from a nearby yard.
“What about us?” yelled a kid.
“We can do skateboard tricks!” one of his friends added.
“I own the hardware store,” another called. “We could get hard hats and power tools for your friends there, be a great shot for your commercial. Right beside the sign, out in front of the store.”
The Pink Blob sidled up to me. “I think it’s working,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“Yeah,” I said. “Earthlings tend to temporarily lose their minds when you point a TV camera at them.”
The Blob chuckled. “I noticed.”
I looked over at Kanduu. “You can write that one down and put it in your report,” I whispered.
Amy called to the crowd, “We’ll try to get as many people in the commercial as we can, I promise.”
I turned back to the mayor. “So how about it? Think you might be able to speed up that permit process for us?”
“Oh, who needs to fuss with a lot of paperwork,” the mayor said brightly. “I’d be happy to give you a guided tour of Forest Grove for your big commercial!”
If you ever take a group of space aliens on a public outing, I recommend bringing a camera crew,
police escort, mayoral presence, and crowd of onlookers.
Grandma once told me that she used the outer space theme so that her business could “hide out in the open.” As I filmed the Pink Blob giving squishy high-fives to kids lining the edge of the street, I realized that it didn’t get any more open than this.
Word of our arrival preceded us. As we entered the core of downtown, business owners and customers alike came out to watch from the sidewalk. The mayor snapped into administrator mode, clearing a path through the onlookers and enthusiastically explaining the benefits of our commercial to anyone who would listen. She kept calling it “our gift to Forest Grove.”
It really was like a parade. If Kandeel was anywhere around here, she was going to see us.
And the magic of the cameras continued to work wherever we pointed them.
Everyone wanted to be in our commercial. The townsfolk all had eyes for that little red recording light, no doubt more concerned with how they were going to look on TV than with any aliens.
The mayor also helped to set up our shots. We stopped outside the barbershop, where Mr. Gill posed with a big smile and his scissors, pretending to trim up the antennae sprouting out of the kids’ heads for an “alien haircut.”
The woman who taught dance-aerobics classes at the local gym rounded up some extra headbands and leggings for the Air Painters. We filmed a nice scene of the fuzzy aliens as they gracefully flitted around a group of sweaty grown-ups to techno music.
The little old ladies who ran Sew and Sew, the fabric and knitting supply place, brought out several of their homemade creations—shawls and hats and blankets—and draped them all over Mrs. Crowzen. She obliged them by strutting in front of the camera, turning this way and that to show off the knitted goods. She seemed to enjoy the spotlight as much as the humans.
While we filmed our “commercial,” Sheriff Tisdall was always on the outer perimeter of the action, monitoring the proceedings through scowling eyes.
Hopefully we would spot Kandeel before he did. As we pointed the cameras at the festivities, Amy and I constantly scanned the surrounding buildings. The little girl alien had to be somewhere close.
“I can’t believe this is working,” I whispered.
“It’s not over yet,” Amy answered. “We still need to actually find her.”
“There’s no way she can miss all of this commotion. She’ll find us.”
Our tour around town continued. At one point we passed in front of a big Victorian house with a sign announcing that it was Miss Kitty’s Bed and Breakfast. It was pretty weird to see the tasteful paint job and the crowd of guests politely watching from the front porch. Human guests. Man, how boring.
We also came upon the group of old-timers who sat outside Dunlop’s Diner every day. They all still wore the classic lumberjack combo of jeans and flannel shirts and suspenders even though their working days in the woods were decades in the past. From what I could tell, their main daily activity was sipping coffee while arguing about the upcoming season of Forest Grove High football.
They elbowed each other as we walked by, and there was lots of head shaking and smirking.
“Would you take a look at this, Jed?”
“Those are some pretty outlandish duds those folks got on there.”
“Not something you see every day.”
“Not something you’d want to see every day.”
“Leastways not in Forest Grove.”
One of the old-timers leaned over the railing and poked at where the Blob’s shoulders would be if the Blob had shoulders. “Just where you folks from, anyhow?”
The Blob glanced at me. I nodded, hoping he’d remember the answer we rehearsed.
“New York City.”
The group exploded with guffaws and knee slaps.
“Haw!”
“That explains it, all right.”
“Edna tried to get me to take her all the way out there once.” Jed cocked one bushy gray eyebrow and studied the aliens. “Glad I said no.”
The mayor whisked us away from Dunlop’s. “Don’t pay them any mind,” she muttered.
But nothing could dampen the festive air downtown. We jumped at the offer from the owner of the Big Scoop ice cream parlor to film an impromptu sundae-eating competition, since it was the last place anyone could remember seeing Kandeel. And even though they’d had ice cream earlier in the day, the kids shoveled it in, hot fudge dripping down their scaly faces while the crowd cheered them on. Just a slice of small-town Americana. Plus, you know, aliens.
But I still didn’t see Kandeel anywhere, no matter how carefully I examined the brickwork along the buildings or the wood grain of the sidewalk benches, looking for the slightest hint of movement.
We continued filming all over town, including stops at the bookstore, auto body shop, and beauty salon. Mrs. Crowzen ended up with a much better makeup job than her clown mask. But she was still minus one student.
I was starting to feel extremely uneasy. I had been so focused on pulling off the undisguised alien parade that I hadn’t thought about what would happen if we weren’t successful in finding our missing Tourist. As usual, I didn’t have a Plan B.
Our last possible stop was in front of the toy store, pretty much the only business that hadn’t been filmed yet. By this time we had enough footage for a three-hour documentary on Forest Grove.
I was barely even pretending to look through the viewfinder anymore. I pointed the camera in the general direction of the hula hoop contest the toy shop owner had set up for the aliens while I scanned the surrounding area. I made sure to search the upper floors of the downtown buildings; Kandeel might have blended in and climbed up there, where she could look down at the strange town and maybe feel a little more safe.
So it took me completely by surprise when Amy elbowed me and whispered, “There she is.”
“Where?” My eyes darted all over the block.
“There!”
Turns out I should have been looking through the camera lens after all, because Amy pointed right where we were filming. Sure enough, there was Kandeel, clutching her brother inside one of the rotating hula hoops.
“How did she get there?”
“No idea. But as you said yourself—she is freaky good at hiding.”
“However she pulled it off, it’s definitely time to get out of here.” I stepped in front of the hula-hooping space creatures and addressed the crowd. “Thank you so much for everything, Forest Grove. We’re going to head back to the b-and-b now. We sure appreciate all your hospitality.”
The crowd groaned.
“But you didn’t get any footage around City Hall.”
“How about the library?”
“Or the farmers’ market?”
I raised my hand for silence. “I think we have all the shots we need, and then some. It’s going to be a great commercial. I’m really looking forward to seeing you all get famous.” That got some laughs and a few cheers.
While I talked to the crowd, Amy rounded up the Tourists, herding them toward the road that would lead us back to Grandma’s.
The aliens made the most of their red carpet treatment, waving to the crowd and shaking hands along the way.
As we started to make our way out of the crush of people—with our mission accomplished and the finish line nearly in sight—my nerves caught up with me all at once. I had been so amped up to pull this off that the adrenaline must have kept away the nervousness. Now that it looked like we were going to get out of this safely, my body was going through a delayed reaction—shaky legs, sweaty palms, the whole deal. I just tried to look straight ahead and keep walking to calm down. We’d be home in a few minutes.
The crowd was fairly quiet as we were leaving, so Sheriff Tisdall’s voice really carried when he said, “Just what is that dog doing to those flowers?”
Every head in the crowd turned to look where Deputy Tisdall was pointing.
Cottage Cheese Head was blowing kisses to his new earthling admir
ers while Snarffle’s leash trailed from his other hand. The little purple alien was chomping away on a bush of rhododendrons that lined the sidewalk, his tail spinning like a propeller. Yikes. With everything going on, I had forgotten to give him his third before-dinner snack, and rhododendrons were one of his favorites.
Not good.
“Whoops. Sorry about that.” I grinned sheepishly at the mayor. “Must be feeding time. We’ll run him back to the b-and-b and get some dinner into him. But we can pay for the flowers.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” She tapped the camera on my shoulder. “The town can always use some of those new tourism dollars to buy another rhodie bush.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Tisdall sauntered through the crowd into the middle of our little clearing. He sneered at me and then looked at the mayor. “I’m not overly worried about the flowers in this town. They’re not exactly a matter of public safety.”
“Then what, exactly, is your point, sir?” the mayor said.
“My point”—he jerked his thumb at Snarffle—“is that dogs don’t eat flowers.”
The mayor and I, along with everyone else in town, examined Snarffle. He grinned and wagged his long tongue, happy to be the center of attention. A clump of pinkish-white petals stuck to the slobber on his cheeks.
“Especially not that many,” continued Tisdall.
Indeed, half the bush was already gone.
“That is rather unusual…” said the mayor.
“Now, I might believe that you could take a dog and dress him up in a little outfit.” Tisdall turned to look at me, but you could tell by his voice that he was really addressing the entire crowd. “But I don’t buy that a dog—a real one, mind you—would be eating a bunch of flowers like that.”
I stepped forward. “We’ve been meaning to take him to obedience school, but just haven’t found the time to—”
“I’m not finished.”
Tisdall sauntered by the outer space lineup and stopped in front of the Pink Blob. “What’s this material made of, anyway? Never seen anything like it.” Tisdall reached out and squeezed a handful of the alien’s belly, the jellylike skin making a squelching sound as it oozed between the deputy’s fingers. The Blob threw up his stumpy arms and giggled hysterically.
Aliens in Disguise Page 11