Close Encounters

  Close

  Encounters

  When George, Bess, and I headed to Brody’s Junction, Vermont, to help George’s cousin with her café’s web site and enjoy a brief vacation, we were looking forward to some downtime—not to landing in the middle of a media circus.

  Hundreds of tourists have invaded the town to watch purported UFO sightings. Odder still are reports of townspeople being abducted, and the strange clues that seem to point to little green men as the culprits. All this speculation has the town going wild, and I hope to have a close encounter with some hard facts before things spin entirely out of control. . . .

  Catch my next case:

  Dressed to Steal

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Cover designed by Debra Sfetsios

  Cover photograph copyright © 2006

  by Getty Images/James Porto

  Ages 8–12

  KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com

  Let me introduce myself. I’m Nancy Drew.

  My friends call me Nancy. My enemies call me a lot of other things, like “that girl who cooked my goose.” They actually sometimes speak like that, but what can you expect from criminals? See, I’m a detective. Well, not really. I mean, I don’t have a license or anything. I don’t carry a badge or a gun, in part because I wouldn’t touch a gun even if I could, and also because I’m just not old enough. But I am old enough to know when something isn’t right, when somebody’s getting an unfair deal, when someone’s done something they shouldn’t do. And I know how to stop them, catch them, and get them into the hands of the law, where they belong. I take those things seriously, and I’m almost never wrong.

  My best friends, Bess and George, might not totally agree with me. They tell me I’m wrong a lot, and that they have to cover for me all of the time just to make me look good. Bess would tell you I dress badly. I call it casual. George would tell you I’m not focused. By that she’d mean that once again I forgot to fill my car with gas or bring enough money to buy lunch. But they both know I’m always focused when it comes to crime. Always.

  Nancy Drew

  ET Tourists

  Winnie shrugged. “I can barely keep up with the business. But it’s too much. And with the TV crew, the media, and the increased police presence, Brody’s Junction feels more like Boston than home these days.”

  “TV crew?” Bess repeated, and moved closer to the window. “Is some new show set here?”

  Mary Beth looked up from setting a table and giggled. “You’re kidding, right? Like, you haven’t a clue?”

  For a moment Winnie looked at George, then threw her hands up. “Of course. Why should you girls know what’s going on here? I guess the news hadn’t hit River Heights before you left town.”

  “What news?” George asked, sounding as impatient as I felt.

  Joel made a spooky theatrical sound, then grinned sheepishly as Winnie warned him off with a hard look. “They aren’t from around here, Joel.” She turned back toward us. “It seems we’ve been invaded not just by tourists—but by aliens.”

  girl detective ™

  #1 Without a Trace

  #2 A Race Against Time

  #3 False Notes

  #4 High Risk

  #5 Lights, Camera . . .

  #6 Action!

  #7 The Stolen Relic

  #8 The Scarlet Macaw Scandal

  #9 Secret of the Spa

  #10 Uncivil Acts

  #11 Riverboat Ruse

  #12 Stop the Clock

  #13 Trade Wind Danger

  #14 Bad Times, Big Crimes

  #15 Framed

  #16 Dangerous Plays

  #17 En Garde

  #18 Pit of Vipers

  #19 Orchid Thief

  #20 Getting Burned

  #21 Close Encounters

  Available from Aladdin Paperbacks

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 2006 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  NANCY DREW is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS, NANCY DREW: GIRL DETECTIVE, and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition December 2006

  Library of Congress Control Number 2006922949

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-1245-3

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-1245-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4424-6542-8 (eBook)

  1 Out of This World

  2 Reel TV

  3 Skywatch

  4 Sabotage

  5 A Tempting Offer

  6 Booted Out

  7 Dognapped

  8 Proof Positive?

  9 Trashed

  10 Close Encounter

  11 Unusual Suspects

  12 Alien Abduction?

  13 Unidentified Friendly Object

  14 The Missing Link

  15 StarWoman

  16 Lightmaster

  17 A Big Bang

  1

  Out of This World

  I love the smell of Vermont in November!” my best friend Bess Marvin declared as I drove down the twisty mountain road. In spite of the chilly air, Bess had the window down and her long blond hair glinted in the afternoon sun.

  “Personally I think it all looks a bit bleak,” George Fayne remarked. George, Bess’s cousin and my other best friend, was sitting behind us. Too leggy for the backseat, George shifted restlessly as she added, “This is primo downhill skiing country—and we’re here too early to enjoy it.”

  I grinned to myself. Dark-haired George was definitely from the glass-half-empty side of the Fayne-Marvin family. “If it was ski season, your mom’s friend Winnie couldn’t have spared the time to visit with us,” I told her. “My dad always says this is the time of year when all of Vermont looks like pumpkin pie. We should enjoy it.”

  “Pumpkin pie—now that’s a thought,” George said, immediately heartened by the prospect. “Winnie bakes a mean one. Hope she has it on the menu tonight.” After cooking school Winnie Armond had opened a gourmet café in a small town in Vermont; Mrs. Fayne had become a caterer.

  We were now on our way to visit Winnie, but I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get there.

  Scenic as the mountain road was, I was getting impatient. Had I taken a wrong turn back at the Burlington airport? And why was the traffic so heavy? I couldn’t do much about the traffic, but I could check our directions.

  Just when I was about to pull over and look at the map, Bess spotted a sign.

  “You are now entering Brody’s Junction, Vermont,” she read aloud.

  George cheered.

  “All right!” I said. I hate being lost for long.

  Bess took in the view. “Brody’s Junction sure is worth the long drive. It’s exactly like a Hollywood set for a New England country town!”

  “If you edited out the traffic,” George remarked.

  “A real-time special effect—too bad you can’t work that kind of movie magic on your laptop!” I said. She took up the challenge good-naturedly. “When we get to Brody’s Junction, I’ll give it a try—or at least attempt to program a kill-the-traffic computer game.”

  After passing through a small covered bridge, we emerged
in the heart of the town. Made up of mainly wooden two- and three-story buildings, Brody’s Junction’s main drag looked like tourist heaven.

  Past the line of cars and SUVs, I spied the steeple of a white clapboard church rising above the tree-lined town square. Beyond the town lay steep-sided hills dotted with barns, silos, and cows. Looming over everything was a tall rugged mountain, its sides scarred with ski runs. Towers for the idle lifts glinted like gold in the afternoon light.

  A state trooper directing traffic stopped us at a congested intersection.

  “Here’s a traffic mystery for you, Nancy,” George teased. “Winnie said this was off-season. Why, then, all the cars?”

  The suggestion made me laugh. “I hate to admit it, George, but when it comes to unraveling the riddle of traffic jams, even I’m clueless.”

  Maybe I should explain the mystery bit. My name is Nancy Drew, and back home in River Heights I have a rep as a pretty good amateur detective—solving real crimes and helping cops capture bad guys. My friends sometimes rib me about my tendency to land smack in the middle of a whodunit even when I’m on a shopping spree or just hanging with them and having fun.

  Frankly, at the moment nothing about this quaint town seemed at all mysterious—except the traffic. I had to agree with Bess, the place did look like a movie-location scout’s dream: Craft shops, art galleries, an ice cream parlor, bakeries, and upscale clothing boutiques lined each side of the street.

  At the end of the next block I spotted a green and white awning. “George, that’s the place—Winifred’s Café—right?”

  “Right,” George answered. “She said there’s extra parking behind the restaurant.”

  I flicked on my right-turn blinker and pulled into one of the few empty spots in the lot.

  Like many of the other storefronts Winifred’s Café was housed in a gleaming white clapboard building. Bay windows framed the entrance. The luscious aromas of something baking wafted out onto the street through the screen door.

  “This place smells like heaven!” Bess remarked as she tried the handle on the door. In spite of a CLOSED sign the door opened to the jingle of little bells. A woman looked up from behind the counter. “We’re closed . . . ,” she started to say, then spotted George. “George Fayne, I can’t believe you’re finally here! I had almost given up on you guys,” she said. She hurried over, hugged George, and grinned warmly at Bess and me. She introduced herself as Winnie.

  She was in her early forties, with the figure of a twenty-year-old, seriously curly dark hair, and a fresh, rosy complexion. Her brown eyes sparkled as she ushered us farther into the restaurant. A waiter was setting up the tables for dinner, and a young man in an apron was writing that night’s specials on a chalkboard. He looked about the same age as Ned, my boyfriend back home. He was lanky with dark blond hair, and when he turned to greet us, I noticed his unusually large green eyes, framed with dark lashes.

  Winnie introduced the man as Joel, her apprentice, and the waiter as Mary Beth. “I’m so glad you finally got here,” Winnie said. “Better call your mom. I just got off the phone with her, and she’s worried.”

  While George took her cell and phoned home, I decided it might be good to call my dad. He was glad to hear from me, but he hadn’t expected me to phone home so soon. When my friends and I are on short breaks like this, I sometimes forget to even call—I’m having too much fun.

  After I’d shut my phone and put it into my pocket, I went to explain the traffic problem we’d had to Winnie, and to ask about the unexpected crowds in town. She seemed flustered, though. Stressed. And I couldn’t help but wonder if somehow our visit, though expected, was ill timed.

  “I could scare up some coffee and sandwiches for you now, if you’re hungry,” she offered. “Though it might be better to get settled into your digs first. Can you hold off until dinner? I’ve reserved a table here for the three of you for the late seating—‘late’ meaning eightish.

  “Sorry I can’t put you up myself,” she explained, “but my apartment above the restaurant is small, and I haven’t got a spare room. Fortunately, I made reservations a month ago for you at the Under Mountain Inn—before the crowds hit. The inn’s old, but modernized, so you’ll be comfortable. It’s within walking distance from here and all the shopping.”

  George put her hand on Winnie’s shoulder. “Hey, whatever! I’m sure the inn’s great. But why all the tourists? Isn’t it off-season?”

  Winnie made a face and dropped her voice. “I should be grateful. We need the business around here after the past two years. There’s been no snow . . . and it’s been too warm for the snowmaking machinery to work well. Ski season’s been a total loss, and then this year, with the summer drought followed by all that October rain, leaf season was a disaster. The whole area is depressed.”

  “It sure doesn’t look it now.” I motioned to outside the bay window. People strolled down the sidewalks, dipping into stores. The cars were moving at a crawl.

  “Exactly. Which is why I should be happy.” Winnie shrugged. “And I am . . . at least financially. I can barely keep up with the business. But it’s too much. And with the TV crew, the media, and the increased police presence, Brody’s Junction feels more like Boston than home these days.”

  “TV crew?” Bess repeated, and moved closer to the window. “Is some new show set here?”

  Mary Beth looked up from setting a table and giggled. “You’re kidding, right? Like, you haven’t a clue?”

  For a moment Winnie looked at George, puzzled, then threw her hands up. “Of course. Why should you girls know what’s going on here? I guess the news hadn’t hit River Heights before you left town.”

  “What news?” George asked, sounding as impatient as I felt.

  Joel made a spooky theatrical sound, then grinned sheepishly as Winnie warned him off with a hard look. “They aren’t from around here, Joel.” She turned back toward us. “It seems we’ve been invaded not just by tourists—but by aliens.”

  2

  Reel TV

  Aliens?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.

  “As in people from other countries?” George suggested.

  Joel jumped right in. “Nope.” He looked gleeful. “More like creatures from another planet.”

  “As in UFOs?” George looked dubious.

  “As in UFOs,” Winnie repeated, sounding a little flat. For some reason she didn’t seem to share Joel’s enthusiasm for their extraterrestrial visitors.

  “Right!” Bess caught my eye. Her expression mirrored my own skepticism. “Aliens, like in the movies.”

  I waited for Winnie to start laughing.

  She didn’t.

  “You’re kidding, right?” This had to be some kind of joke.

  She shook her head. “It isn’t. Not that I’m convinced they’re real,” she added quickly. “But lots of people are buying into it.” She motioned out the window. A white van with a national cable network logo was stopped at the light. It sported a satellite antenna on top.

  “The media sure hope the UFOs are the real deal,” Joel pointed out.

  Just then, someone called from the kitchen. “Scarletti, get in here. . . . Something’s weird with this sauce.”

  “Duty calls. Be right there,” Joel shouted back. “See you guys,” he said, as he disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

  Winnie let out a tired sigh. “And that’s the problem. . . . Everyone is so distracted and excited by all the craziness—TV crews, crowds, reporters—they’re making mistakes.” She gave a meaningful glance to Mary Beth, the waiter, who was still setting up for dinner. “My waiters are constantly poking their heads outside to check the sky for spaceships. The one saving grace is that the customers are equally distracted. But in the long run I’m wondering if these UFOs are going to hurt the dinner trade.”

  “The aliens turn up at dinnertime?” George said with a straight face.

  Winnie cracked a smile. “Seems that way. They favor nighttime. Though I recall t
here was at least one daytime sighting.”

  Why mainly at night? I wondered, as George spoke up. “Looks to me like your visitors from outer space have put Brody’s Junction on the map.”

  “UFOs in Vermont?” Bess started to giggle. “It’s too much. Little green men, deciding to land in the Green Mountain State!”

  “Maybe they’re little red men wearing green snowsuits,” George suggested.

  “Martian fashionistas!” I laughed.

  “Laugh if you want,” Mary Beth said, looking up from behind the counter. She had picked up a fresh supply of napkins. The real fear in her voice wiped the smile right off my face. “But the state police, the sheriff, the mayor, and the crew of a reality TV show are taking them seriously. Even the FBI has sent investigators.”

  “The FBI?” Maybe this was a bigger deal than we were making it out to be.

  “Yes, even the FBI,” Winnie said, then turned to give some instructions to Mary Beth.

  The possibility of UFOs and all the publicity surrounding sightings explained away the mystery of the traffic and the increased police presence in the small town. “How come it’s not on the national news?” I asked.

  Winnie shrugged. “The first sightings didn’t cause much of a stir. Most folks around here thought the kids reporting seeing UFOs on a Friday night had either been partying too hard or were playing pranks. Even when they had pictures.”

  “There are pictures?” Bess looked interested.

  “Computer generated,” George predicted. “Altered through a photo program.”

  “No one’s been able to tell either way, though the FBI took the photos with them for forensic studies.”

  “Which proved what?” I asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Winnie answered. “Or at least no one is talking about what they might have found. But there are experts from NASA in town, plus all this press—which leads me to think they probably turned up something. The national media will be broadcasting this news this weekend, for sure. Joel tells me the latest local blogs are full of the reports. I’m surprised you didn’t come across them, George,” Winnie said.