“Why not do both?” I said idly, still thinking of Althea. “Asking them what they’d put in a time capsule is a little subjective, though. I like the idea, but how will we decide on the winner? There won’t be any right or wrong answers. I guess you’d want to preserve whatever you think is important, and that’s a very personal thing.”
“That’s exactly what I thought, Dr. Maggie,” Kevin piped up. “I think maybe we could go for the most original suggestion—”
“But who’s to decide what’s the most original?” Vera Mae interjected. “It’s a matter of taste, isn’t it? What appeals to me might not appeal to you. And some people might not have any ideas at all. They don’t know anything about time capsules or why people bury them in the first place. Whatever the contest is, it has to have broad appeal. We want to have the maximum number of entries because that means we’ll have more people tuning in every day, to see if they’ve won.”
“I wonder if anyone knows where the idea first started,” I said.
Kevin jumped in. “Time capsules go back at least five thousand years to Mesopotamia,” he said.
I practically reeled back in shock. It seemed Kevin was a boy wonder. Who knew?
“People buried time capsules in vaults and hid them inside the city walls. And more recently, there was a famous time capsule at the 1939 World’s Fair. They put some crop seeds and a microscope in that one, and I think they even included a newsreel.” He scrunched up his face, deep in thought. “Let’s see. I believe there was a dictionary, an almanac, and a Sears, Roebuck catalog in there, as well.” He gave a bashful smile. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can recall off the top of my head. But I can check this all out, if you’d like.”
Vera Mae and I stared at each other for a moment.
“Like? I’d like that very much. Kevin, you are amazing,” she said, clasping him by the shoulders. “I wish we could hire you full-time, right this minute.”
“Well, thank you, Miss Vera Mae, but you know I have to go to broadcasting school first.” His face lit up in a smile. “Maybe you can keep me in mind when I graduate, though. I’d love to come back here to work. I’d be part of the WYME family.” If Kevin had been wearing his trademark Larry King suspenders today, I think he would have snapped them at this point.
I had a brainstorm. “Kevin, how would you like to do a preinterview with Dr. Grossman, the history professor? It would be good practice for you, and I bet you could ask him all the right questions.”
“You want me to do a preinterview?”
“Yes, that’s what they do on all the big talk shows. The national ones. You just have a mock interview, like you were on the air with the guest. Once you hear what he has to say, you can weed out all the boring stuff and get the guest to concentrate on three or four really good stories. That’s all you need for a great interview. That’s what they used to do on the Johnny Carson show.”
“Golly, Dr. Maggie, I’d love to do that.” Kevin broke into a wide grin. “And Professor Grossman is really well-known, isn’t he?”
I nodded. “He’s an expert in his field. I bet he knows all about how people first came up with the idea of time capsules and why they’re still around in the twenty-first century. He’s got all the book smarts and he knows amazing facts and figures.”
“The audience would probably like that,” Kevin offered.
“But here’s the problem, Kevin.” I paused. “And it’s a pretty big one.”
“Problem?” His face clouded, his eyes focused on my face.
“The facts and figures aren’t going to be enough. He’s going to need direction. A
lot
of direction. And I’m counting on you being able to guide him toward the interesting stuff.” I gave him a meaningful look. “Interesting, not boring. That’s what we’re looking for.”
“Oh, yes, I see what you mean. The good stuff.”
I smiled. “That’s it, Kev, the good stuff. You know, the audience would really eat it up if you could get him talking about some juicy tidbits associated with time capsules. Maybe he can think of some scandals associated with them. Or maybe dark secrets came to light, or a big surprise was revealed. That’s the kind of thing our listeners want to hear. Everybody loves a mystery.”
“I can do that,” Kevin said. He immediately grabbed a legal pad and started making notes. “Scandals, secrets, surprises. Got it. The good stuff.”
“That’s exactly what we’re looking for.”
“And here’s another good angle,” Vera Mae jumped in. “Get him talking about what sort of things people tuck away in them. That would go along with the contest we’re running. Like Maggie said, you might have to sift through a lot of boring academic stuff to get to the juicy tidbits.”
“Juicy tidbits.” Kevin actually wrote that phrase down and circled it. And added two stars next to it.
“I have to warn you, Kevin,” Vera Mae went on. “I’ve heard Professor Grossman speak at the Rotary Club, and take it from me, this guy is as dry as dirt. He knows his stuff, though. So if you can convince him to jazz it up a little, that would be great. You’ll have to do it tactfully, of course.”
“Tactfully.” Another circle and stars. “I’ll do my best,” Kevin said. “Has anyone contacted him yet?”
“I have a call in to his secretary. She said if he can cancel one of his classes he’ll be here for part of the show tomorrow.” Vera Mae looked at her clipboard and heaved a sigh. “As it stands, we’re going to go with Chantel today. I didn’t have a choice.”
Chantel!
I didn’t say a word, but she must have caught my expression, because she glanced into the hallway and then lowered her voice to a near whisper. “You know, listeners have been calling in every day, asking when she’s going to guest host the show again. I don’t think Cyrus is that keen on her, but he can’t ignore the phone calls and e-mails. He has to give the listeners what they want.” She gave Kevin a little nudge and made a little lip-zipping gesture. “This is strictly confidential. You didn’t hear that from me, sonny.”
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Vera Mae. I didn’t hear a thing.” Kevin’s eyes were wide and his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. Even though Kevin is an intern, he’d have to be as thick as a brick if he hadn’t noticed how everything at the station revolves around ratings. Cyrus has to keep the sponsors happy, and the only way to do that is to keep the ratings up. It’s just a matter of dollars and cents.
“So what’s the topic for today?” I decided to snare another doughnut before the rest of the staff found out Vera Mae’s secret stash.
“It’s a little woo-woo.” Vera Mae said, wrinkling her nose. “Not my cup of tea, but these shows are always popular, and Chantel will be in her element.”
“Woo-woo?” Kevin raised his eyebrows.
“Supernatural. Paranormal. Things you can’t explain. Crop circles. Satanic bar codes. Government plots. Space aliens. It was Maggie’s idea. I ran it past Cyrus and he loved it.”
“Oh, you mean like things you read about in the
National Enquirer
.”
Vera Mae laughed and slapped Kevin on the back. “Ain’t that the truth! But Cyrus likes to pretend we’re in the news and information business, Kev, so don’t let him hear you say that.”
“I came up with the idea, but I don’t really know anything about conspiracies,” I protested. “I really need time to read up on it.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, now, Dr. Maggie,” Kevin said. “You know you don’t need to read up on anything. Miss Chantel will talk enough for both of you. I guarantee it.”
Truer words were never spoken.
“Sandra on line one wants to know about crop circles,” Vera Mae said into her open mike. We were only five minutes into the show and the switchboard was lit up like a Christmas tree. It seemed our listening audience just couldn’t get enough of things that go bump in the night; we already had eight callers on hold.
“Crop circles? I’ll take it!” Chantel sang out. “This is one of my areas of expertise, Maggie.”
Areas of expertise? You’d think were talking about gene splicing.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, sliding over the fact that it was, after all, my show. The woman was as slick as extra-virgin olive oil.
“Be my guest.” I tried not to grit my teeth, reminding myself that jaw clenching led to a bout of TMJ, a painful condition that requires me to wear a bite plate every night.
“I’ve heard they’re a sign from space aliens.” Sandra’s voice raced across the line. “But if they’re smart enough to make those circles, wouldn’t you think they’d know enough to leave a message in English, so we really know what they want? As far as I can tell, all they do is flatten down a whole bunch of wheat or barley to make a circle design. I could do that myself with a weed whacker, but why bother? Why would aliens zip down to earth from another planet just to do that?”
Chantel gave a little tinkly laugh. “I see your point, my dear, but you have to remember, space alien culture is completely different from our own. And when you say ‘circles,’ you have to remember that some of these designs are quite intricate. Have you ever seen the double triskelion in Milk Hill, England?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Sandra said.
“Well, it’s a work of art, my dear. It took four hundred and nine circles to make the design.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that,” Vera Mae offered. I looked up just in time to see her wink.
Chantel must have caught the wink, because she shot a dagger glare at Vera Mae. “You have to remember, Sandra, whoever made those circles—and I firmly believe it was made by our alien friends—communicate through symbols. They may not have a recognized spoken language. So the symbol, the circle, is highly significant to them. It’s up to us to come up with the correct interpretation.”
Chantel looked pleased with herself. I was surprised she had all this information on tap, but apparently she did. “There’s a message there. We just need to be sensitive enough to understand it.”
“And what might that message be?” Vera Mae asked from the control room. Her voice was as sugary as maple syrup, but Chantel raised her eyebrow, refusing to take the bait. I’m sure Chantel runs into a lot of nonbelievers in her line of work, and she’s probably figured out the most effective way to deal with them.
“I hope you can tell us what it is,” Sandra piped up. “If space aliens go to all the trouble of flying down to earth and making these circles, I’d be interested in hearing what they have to say.”
Chantel stiffened. I knew from her other appearances on my show that she hated to be put on the hot seat and she knew how to wriggle her way out of difficult questions. “I can understand your feelings, Sandra,” she said, oozing empathy. “But it’s a complex issue. No one knows for certain what the message means,” she said, hedging her bets. “They could be saying ‘we come in peace,’ or ‘join us in harmony,’ or—”
“Or we’re gonna eat you alive?” Vera Mae chuckled. “Remember that billboard that caused such a ruckus in California? It was advertising a local gym. The picture showed an alien that looked like he was straight out of Roswell with a big head and bulging eyes. The caption said, ‘When they come, they’ll eat the fat ones first.’ People got so upset over it, they took the billboard down.”
Chantel threw Vera Mae a death glare. “That’s simply outrageous, and ridiculous.” She was practically bouncing out of her seat in indignation, her bracelets clanging together, playing havoc with the volume meter. This time I didn’t bother pointing it out to her; I decided to just sit back and enjoy the show.
“I have never sensed any malevolent vibes from space aliens.” She’d turned an unhealthy shade of beet red and her voice was shaky. “Not the slightest. Never!” Her voice cut through the air like a knife. “And I’ve been researching this issue for several years.”
I wondered what kind of research Chantel could be doing on the topic of space aliens but decided to let that one ride. We were on a roll, it seemed. Vera Mae’s prediction was right on target; the audience couldn’t get enough of this stuff.
The very next question was about Area 51, the famed “alien body” site in southern Nevada. If you believe the hype, extraterrestrials crash-landed in Roswell, and their remains were taken to Area 51, which is actually part of a military site, for examination. Some theories insist that none of the aliens survived the crash and that autopsies were performed on their bodies. Other versions claim that a few space aliens survived and joined with the United States to work together on research projects.
Our next caller seemed unable to make up her mind what she really believed. “Just help me figure this out,” Darlene from Boca pleaded with Chantel. “If there really was a massive government cover-up, I want to write to my congressman. Unless he’s a space alien himself, of course.”
The first hour passed quickly. Chantel sidestepped a question on supermarket bar codes. It seemed half the audience thought they were satanic and the other half thought they were part of a government plot to control our minds. Chantel left the answer open and promised to ask Michael, her trusty spirit guide, for some information.
We were nearly into a break when Lurleen from Darien asked about telekinesis. “I wonder if it’s a trick, or if some people just have learned a way to control objects,” she asked. “I think I may have a poltergeist in my house because things are moving around all the time. Sometimes it’s big things, like a chair, and sometimes it’s something small, like a salt and pepper shaker.”
“Telekinesis is a respected area of scientific research,” Chantel said. “Of course, movies have blown the idea all out of proportion, and a lot of these poltergeist claims are false. They make for good entertainment, but they’re not scientifically valid.”
“You know, a lot of studies show that a child or adolescent is often behind these incidents,” I broke in. “The parents refuse to believe that their little darling is acting out to get attention, and the next thing you know, they’ve hired a team of psychic investigators to rig up cameras and audio equipment throughout their house. The results are always inconclusive. But once you remove the kid from the home, the events magically stop. I think that says it all.”