Close Encounters (Nancy Drew (All New) Girl Detective Book 21) (6 page)

I examined the bracelets, then shook my head. Bess, however, selected one and left it at the counter with the shopkeeper.

I joined Bess as she examined some items on a table near the counter: baseball caps, sweatshirts, little plastic flying saucers and rocket ships. Also prominently displayed was a selection of really spooky alien masks.

“UFO souvenirs?” I smiled.

The woman behind the counter laughed. “No store
in town can afford to be without them. I, at least, tried to have a few of the more unusual and tasteful items, but they can’t help but be what they are.”

“Have the UFO sightings brought you business?” I asked, while Bess sorted through the T-shirts. The Antique Attic seemed to have turned into a souvenir shop too.

The woman just shrugged. “Not much. Especially since the roadblock is only about four miles from here. But my rentals have picked up some,” she added as the phone rang. As she picked up the phone, she gestured toward a corkboard over a shelf full of old books. I sauntered over and looked at the interior and exterior photos and descriptions of some of the rental properties. Most were for ski chalets, but one in particular caught my eye. Sunk into the side of a hill, the dwelling resembled a well-furnished cave.

The storekeeper came up. “Interesting property,” she said. “It’s called Under Hill. I just negotiated a short-term lease for it. It’ll be free in a month or so, I imagine.” Before I could say I wasn’t interested, she introduced herself as Eleanor Dorian. “Better known as Ellie,” she added.

“Nancy, look over here!” Bess said. “I found the perfect present for Ned.”

Ellie smiled at me, then went back to arranging the jewelry. I joined Bess, who was fiddling with the
latches on an old black typewriter case.

“Nice!” What a find! My boyfriend Ned had started collecting old-fashioned portable typewriters. Bess had gotten involved in his project using her mechanical know-how to get them back in at least
moderate
working order. “Is the typewriter inside?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t. Now considered antiques and not just tag-sale junk, the portables had become a bit pricey for my budget.

“No,” Bess answered, finally getting the stiff latches to open. Indeed, it was empty. “And it’s for an old 1920s Underwood.”

“Like the one Ned found at the university flea market!” I decided I had to have the case. Fortunately, because it was in bad shape, it was cheap.

We brought the case and Bess’s alien souvenirs up to the counter. Ellie had already put Bess’s bracelet in a little plastic bag, but even before we paid for it, Bess took it out of the bag and slipped it on. “I’ll take it like this,” she said.

“Was it the UFO sightings that brought you girls here?” Ellie asked as she wrapped Bess’s items.

“No way,” I answered as I pulled out my wallet. “We came to visit a friend.”

“Maybe you know her,” Bess said. “She’s my Aunt Louise’s friend from cooking school. Her name’s Winifred, and she—”

Before Bess could finish the sentence, Ellie froze and looked shocked. “You’re friends of Winifred’s?”

“Sure,” Bess said, sounding confused. “We just met her, but—”

“Whatever,” Ellie said. She practically threw Bess’s package at her. Shoving my change into my hand, she stalked out from behind the display case.

“I think it’s time you left now. Any friend of Winifred Armond’s is
not
welcome in my shop or home.”

She jerked the door open and, with an overblown dramatic gesture, motioned for us to leave.

After a moment’s hesitation Bess grabbed her purchases and scurried out the door.

Ellie tapped her foot, waiting for me to follow. Her message might as well have been written on a flashing neon sign:
GET LOST—OR ELSE.

Or else what, though? I had no idea. I only knew I felt insulted. I had half a mind to storm out without the typewriter case. I was also tempted to throw it at her.

Instead, thinking of how much Ned would love the case, I picked it up, and with all the dignity I could muster, stormed out after Bess.

Bess climbed into the passenger side of my car and slammed the door hard. I was right behind her, slipping into the driver’s seat. “What was
that
about?” she asked.

“I have no idea!” I said as I reached around and placed the typewriter case onto the backseat. Then I remembered exactly where I’d seen Eleanor Dorian’s face before. My anger instantly melted away. “Or maybe I do, Bess. . . .”

I turned to face her. “Remember the photo in the café—the one over Winnie’s framed good-luck dollar bill?”

“What of it?” Bess said. “I didn’t really look at it.”

“I did.” I had to smile. “Winnie’s old business partner.” I nodded back toward the shop as I turned the key in the ignition. “That’s her. Ellie is Winnie’s cousin.”

As I pulled out onto the road, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Bess’s lips formed a silent “Oh.”

“So we wandered into what is essentially the camp of the enemy,” I said.

“Huh,” Bess said. “It kind of takes the sting out of it—in a way. It wasn’t personal. Eleanor just doesn’t want to have anything to do with Winnie, or with anyone connected with Winnie.”

“What in the world happened between those two women to make Eleanor so bitter, though?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s a family feud,” Bess suggested.

It was at that moment I checked my rearview mirror. “Bess, we’re being followed.”

B
ess craned her neck
so she could see who was following us. “It’s a white van. And it belongs to . . .”

“
Reel TV
!” I chimed in.

I laughed along with Bess, but inwardly I wondered—was Izzy’s crew
already
following us, without our knowing it? The possibility vaguely annoyed me. Izzy had given me the impression we’d check in with the production company at their base before the filming started.

On the other hand maybe the
Reel TV
van wasn’t tailing us at all. They just happened to be behind us on the same road, headed for the same destination at the very same time.

I’m not so hot on coincidences—so to be safe, I decided to try to lose them. Just ahead the road
forked: The main road leading to Brody’s Mountain was to the left. I went right.

“Where are we going?” Bess asked as the road curved sharply around a bend.

“I have no idea,” I answered, checking my rearview mirror. As the road straightened out, I felt a wave of relief; I seemed to have lost the van, and it was simple. “I guess they weren’t really following us.”

“You were trying to
lose
them?” Bess gasped in disbelief. “But why?” she asked. “We all agreed to let them shoot us.”

“We did,” I conceded. “I just thought we were supposed to meet up with them first at the roadblock—sort of set out the ground rules.”

“What ground rules?”

“I don’t know. But I want to be sure they have a few—like, would you really have wanted them inside the Antique Attic to document Ellie’s little temper tantrum? Or hanging around while we eat?”

Bess considered this a moment. “No, I wouldn’t. But, Nancy, speaking of eating . . .”

“You can’t possibly be hungry again so soon,” I marveled.

“No, but look up ahead. There’s a farm stand selling pure maple syrup! Let’s stop and get some.”

“Bess!” I wanted to protest about us wasting time, but I quickly realized that I was the one who
had chosen this detour. “Okay, but . . .”

Bess groaned. “I promise, I’ll make it quick.”

Then I remembered how much Dad loved Hannah’s pancakes drenched in syrup. “Me too.” I laughed. “Maple syrup is the perfect present for Dad and for Hannah.” I pulled into the driveway and was greeted by the barking of what sounded like a dozen dogs.

I waited a moment before opening the car door, but when no dogs came running, I figured they were penned up somewhere.

Bess and I climbed out and looked around. “This place is great!” she said. “It’s like out of a time warp!”

The farm was picture-perfect with its two barns, a silo, and a corncrib filled to the brim from the harvest. It hugged the side of a mountain. Steep, newly harvested meadows flanked a wooded area, dark with pines, while the farmhouse and outbuildings sat close to the road.

Clouds were building over the top of the mountain, and a cold wind whistled through the trees. I wrapped my blue scarf more tightly around my neck and said, “I think that’s part of Brody’s Mountain.”

“Which explains those ski chalets,” Bess said. She pointed past the barn, where the driveway continued and branched off, one branch leading up a slope to the meadows, the other leading to a circle of tourist cabins bordering the forest.

I grabbed my purse from the car and followed Bess to the stand. Pumpkins, squash, gourds, and other late-fall produce were attractively stacked in weathered baskets. Several shelves held different-size containers of maple syrup. The stand itself was unmanned.

I hesitated, and wondered if I should scout out the barnyard to see if anyone was around. At first glance the place seemed deserted, except for the sounds of chickens pecking in their coop and a cow lowing in the barn. From where I stood I couldn’t see if a car was parked behind the house.

Peeking through the rustic fence that surrounded the property, I saw a stone path that led across the lawn to the house. Deciding I should go and ring the doorbell, I opened the gate, then noticed the sign:
NICHOLS KENNELS AND CHATEAU RENTALS.

A
NO VACANCY
sign dangled beneath. Apparently the UFO sightings had brought business even to this out-of-the-way farm.

“I just figured out why there are so many dogs,” I called back to Bess. “These people are breeders as well as farmers.”

“And the name Nichols rings a bell,” Bess said, holding up one of the containers of maple syrup and showing me the label with the farm’s name. “Where have I heard the name before?”

I’d heard it too. Something about the chateau
rentals jogged my memory. As I was trying to recall exactly where I’d heard the name, an elderly man came charging around the corner of the house. He moved with remarkable speed for someone with a pronounced limp.

When he spotted us, he waved his cane in our direction. “My dog’s gone missing,” he shouted. “He’s been dognapped!” He paused. “By those blasted aliens!”

“Dognapped?” I repeated, not sure I’d heard right.

“By aliens?” Bess’s eyes widened. The beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips.

The distress on the man’s face was so obvious that I knew we shouldn’t laugh. I shot a warning glance at Bess. She cleared her throat and turned her face away.

“Don’t just stand there, girl!” he snapped at us. “Do something!”

“Like what?” Bess exclaimed.

“Like use one of those portable phone gizmos. . . . My phone’s out, and so is half the electricity in the house. They zapped everything,” he said.

“‘They?’” I tried to sound serious. “Aliens stole your dog? Are you sure he didn’t just run away?”

The man waved off my comment. “I may be old, missy, but I’m no fool. Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t stand here saying Sherlock was dognapped if I thought he’d escaped on his own.” He tucked his cane under
his arm and pulled his wool cap down over his ears. “So are you going to use your phone or not? Every young’un has one. I’m assuming that thing on your belt is a phone, right?”

I unclipped my cell phone from the waistband of my jeans, but I was reluctant to call the police. The dog had probably just run off, and the man was probably caught up in the general local hysteria about the UFOs. “Um, who should I say needs help?”

The man rolled his eyes. He gestured to the sign. “Nichols. Aldwin Nichols, that’s who. Just Aldwin will do. And no need to bother with directions. Everyone knows the Nichols farm. And they all know Sherlock, too. He’s the best tracker in the county. The sheriff and the mountain rescue crew use him all the time,” Aldwin added, sounding rather proud.

Suddenly he looked past my shoulder. “Not them again!” he blurted.

As I turned to follow the direction of his gaze, the
Reel TV
van pulled up in front of the vegetable stand. As the wheels crunched across the gravel, the sound of baying hounds started up from the kennel.

“You were right,” Bess murmured.

Without warning Aldwin barged past me. “I told you people to stay off my land.” He went right up to the van’s front door and planted himself in front of it, barring the driver from getting out.

A guy wearing a baseball cap rolled down the window. He poked his head out, and I recognized him as one of Izzy’s crew members who was staying at the inn, but I didn’t know his name. Of course, he knew mine. “Nancy, tell him we’re here because we’re filming you.”

Aldwin turned on me. “
You
brought them?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t
bring
them. They’re following us. I’m not sure why exactly, yet.”

The guy reached beside him on the seat, then held a sheet of paper out the window of the van. “Because you signed releases, that’s why.”

“But Mr. Nichols didn’t,” Bess said sweetly.

Aldwin just glowered at the van. “Get out of here now. You’re trespassing, and I’m calling the police.” He reached out for my cell phone, grabbed it, and dialed 911. Once he got someone on the other end of the line, he barked the details of the emergency, then hung up.

The driver of the van ducked his head back in, rolled up the window, and shifted the van into reverse. His partner in the passenger seat was punching numbers into his cell. I watched as they turned around and sped down the road.

“What do you girls want?” Aldwin growled, handing me back my phone.

“Maple syrup?” Bess answered in a small voice.

I jumped in quickly. “And maybe while we’re here we can help you find your dog.”

He gave me a long hard look, then grunted. “What’s your relationship to that bunch?” He gestured toward the van. It was already some distance down the road, rounding the bend and moving out of sight.