Secrets of Ugly Creek (3 page)

“He’s not mine.” Although the idea wasn’t unpleasant. “I’m holding on to him for my photographer.” Ace was my photographer at the moment. It wasn’t a lie.

“He’s cute.” McFain’s expression grew serious. “It’s a waste of time for
Capitol
Spy Weekly
to send a reporter to do a story on me doing a documentary on a little town in Tennessee.”

“It’s interesting because this is such a different type of thing than you’ve done before.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “What, you think, I’ll find some deep dark secret here in Ugly Creek?”

A touch of fear skittered up my spine, and I fought to keep my expression bland. “Is that what you’re here for?”

“No.”

Just then Ace came trucking over. “I’m Ace Ellison, photographer. Sorry about the dog, he’s mine.” He had a leash in one hand and reached for Gizmo with the other. “I rescue animals when I’m not taking pictures.”

Ace attached the dog to the leash, then leaned down to pull a camera out of his bag.

I heard, “Get down!” just before a stone the size of a man’s fist smacked into a nearby tree.

Before I could figure out what was happening, I was on the grass and Gibson McFain was on top of me, protecting me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Ace was down too, and was holding Gizmo close to him.

For a moment, I thought the danger was over, but then another stone hit the chair McFain was standing in front of seconds before. I put my head down and waited for the next flying rock. But nothing happened. We waited.

Mac pulled out his cell and called nine-one-one, and we waited some more.

By the time the sheriff got there, the three of us were carefully getting to our feet. Deputies spread out and checked the area but found nothing but a mass of footprints impossible to sort out.

“There was that protesting little guy from earlier,” McFain pointed out.

“Duffy’s a hothead sometimes,” the sheriff said, “but he wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

Personally, I wasn’t so sure anybody was trying to hurt us. Whoever lobbed those suckers didn’t land ’em anywhere near a person. A tree. A chair. Then they took off. “I think somebody just wanted to scare Mr. McFain.”

McFain’s features tightened. “I’m not scared. I’m angry.”

“Whoever it was, they’re gone now,” the sheriff said. “I’ll talk to Duffy and some other folks. Maybe we can put a face to this little fiasco.”

“I’d appreciate it.” McFain turned to Ace and me. “I believe it would be prudent to conduct this interview at the bed and breakfast where I’m staying.”

“I’ll take Gizmo home and meet you there.” Ace grabbed the little ball of fur and headed out.

“Are you all right?”

I’m sure the surprise at his concern showed in my eyes when I looked at Gibson McFain. “Fine, thank you.”

“Let’s get out of here before something else happens.” He put a hand on my lower back, and warm chills shot through me. Who’d have thought Mr. Hollywood was a gentleman?

As I walked with him toward our cars, something occurred to me. The voice warning us to get down didn’t sound like either Ace or Gibson McFain. “Nope, couldn’t be,” I muttered.

“Did you say something?”

“Just wondering who could be throwing rocks,” I said.

“You and me both.” We reached my car, and he walked on toward his.

As I drove away, I considered the possibility that a dog could talk. It was a crazy idea, but then this was Ugly Creek. Home of the impossible.

****

I waited until I saw Ace heading toward the door of the B&B before I got out of my car and followed. The last thing I wanted right now was to be alone with Gibson McFain.

Rosemary’s Bed and Breakfast was decorated with soft colors and homey furnishings. I immediately felt comfortable, which was obviously the point. McFain and Ace were talking in the huge front room when I walked in.

McFain smiled and I smiled back, then scolded myself for being so nice to a guy without scruples.

We went into a smaller sitting room for the interview. Ace clicked a couple of shots, then loaded his stuff. “Sorry, gotta go.”

In spite of my plan, I was alone with Gibson McFain. Crap.

Get over it
, I lectured myself.
I have a job to do
. Oddly lacking an opening question, I flipped through my notes looking for something to ask. What the heck was wrong with me? Poking into people’s lives was second nature to me.

“B negative,” Mac said.

“What?” I was sure I had misheard.

“You were trying to think of something surprising to ask me, so I thought I’d give you my blood type.” The edges of his lips twitched.

I smiled a little in spite of myself. “There are a lot of tiny Southern towns. Why did you pick the two you did for your new documentaries?”

“I’m hoping these two will be the first of a series of films. To answer your question, Dayton, Tennessee was obviously because of the Scopes “Monkey” Trial where, in July, 1925, the teaching of evolution in public schools was challenged in court. The trial was a publicity stunt, you know. It was supposed to put Dayton on the map, and it worked—although I doubt the perpetrators foresaw exactly the reputation their beloved town would receive over the years.”

“I’ve read about that. William Jennings Bryan and Clarence Darrow were the lawyers, right? They were like rock stars back then.”

He nodded. “Yes, they were, and Dayton was descended upon by reporters and sightseers from all over the country.”

“So part of one documentary is going to be about the Scopes Trial?”

“Not really. More the repercussions from the trial and how the town has used the publicity to increase the tourist trade.”

“What about Ugly Creek?”

His eyes lit up, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“When I was a kid,” he said, “my parents took my sister and me here on vacation. I thought Ugly Creek was the coolest place I’d ever seen. I was determined to come back, and not only have I done that, now I have the ability to share the town with the world.”

The flattering words threatened to sidetrack my thoughts, but I pulled back to the question at hand. “Why the big change from political reporting to small town.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Something that looked a lot like regret. “I’m actually coming back to my roots. My first ‘documentary’ was a videotaped record of an archeological dig. I enjoyed the experience and began looking around for interesting subjects.”

“Your first film was a dig?”

“Yes. I majored in anthropology.”

“And you wound up in DC?”

He chuckled. “Still not sure how that happened.”

My stomach twisted. This was so not what I’d expected to hear. “So now you’re doing anthropology again?”

“Yes. And it’s good to be back to what I wanted to do in the first place.”

I managed a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” He stood. “Now if you will excuse me, I have to meet with my team to discuss tomorrow’s shoot. We need to talk about safety and security.”

We shook hands, and his warm touch kicked my breath into a higher gear. I let go, smiled, and headed out of there before he realized I was lusting after him. How unprofessional—not to mention embarrassing—would that be?

I drove back to Mom’s wondering if I needed to have my hormone levels checked. Reacting like that to a man I seriously did not trust was irritating to say the least. I gave myself a stern lecture about how Gibson McFain was a danger to my beloved hometown.

The lecture worked. By the time I got to Mom’s house, I was borderline panicky. I had to protect Ugly Creek, no matter what—or who—was the cause of danger.

Chapter 3

When I got back to my mom’s house and saw the pink Cadillac in the driveway, I knew my stressful day wasn’t over. Henry Thomas was there. Unfortunately, not the
E.T.
dude either. Henry was Mom’s boyfriend. There were just so many things wrong with those words. Besides, what kind of man drives a pink car? Sure I knew the story, he loved the car, got a fantastic deal.
I wonder why?
Yes, that was sarcasm.

Not that I have a problem with pink. I love pink. But a car? Really? And a middle aged man driving a pink Cadillac was just really, really wrong. Couldn’t he paint it? I mean really, what was wrong with this guy?

I pushed open the front door. “Mom, I’m home.”

My beautiful, intelligent, talented mother came toward me. The big smile on her face warmed my heart. “How did your day go, Maddie?”

“It was interesting.” The events of the day pressed down on me.

Mom’s eyebrows rose. “What happened?”

We moved into the living room, and I tossed my purse into the nearest chair. “Somebody threw rocks at McFain.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, was anybody hurt?”

“No. Actually, I think it was more a scare tactic than a real attempt to hurt anybody.”

“There are folks who don’t think a movie is such a great idea,” a male voice said.

Bald except for a fringe around the back of his head, my mom’s “friend” wasn’t fat, but was pudgy soft in the middle. He wore brown pants and shoes and a white button-down. Old man exuded from him, and the idea of him with my mother creeped me out. Mom told me once that there were only a couple of years difference in their ages, but I didn’t believe her. How could this old man be anywhere near my young, beautiful mother’s age?

“Henry is joining us for dinner,” Mom said.

“Great.” I swallowed back the irritation. Why couldn’t my mom and I have a quiet dinner and conversation? Why did this old man have to join us?

I washed up, and we sat at the table.

Mom turned to Henry. “So you’ve heard people don’t want the documentary to be made?”

He nodded. “Several folks have said they feel that way, Margaret.”

“But the production people are spending their money here. And when the documentary goes out, we should get a boost in tourist dollars.”

“Money is important, true. But other things are more important, like protecting the Dyami.”

I dang near choked on my potatoes. Dyami, is another word for the awesome Bigfoot creatures that are native to our area.

“The people of Ugly Creek have been protecting our Bigfoot tribe for generations. Not to mention they do a good job of protecting themselves,” Mom said.

“Not from the likes of a Hollywood filmmaker,” Henry said. Dang, he was on
my
side? That was unexpected.

“Gibson McFain ruined the reputation of Senator Carson, and she had a severe heart attack because of it.” I found myself looking into Henry’s eyes and hoping for backup. “What if he does that here?”

“There aren’t scandals like that here,” Mom said. “If he wanted something like that, why not stay in DC and bother the politicians, or go to New York or L.A. where things are more interesting?”

“Because we have the Dyami, among other things,” Henry said before I could comment.

Mom chuckled. “Finding Bigfoot is hardly the kind of thing a man like Gibson McFain would be interested in.”

“Who knows what he’s interested in?” Henry shoved in a bite of meatloaf.

“He’s interested in anything that gets him notoriety,” I said. “Proving the existence of the Dyami would do that—while destroying the Dyami way of life, and maybe our town too.”

“The Bigfoot tribe has been warned,” Mom said. “They know how to stay hidden.”

“Abukcheech was at the filming,” I said, gaining a stare from both the others. “He’s just a kid, I know he doesn’t understand. But that’s the point. A Bigfoot is a Bigfoot. He stayed back behind a tree, but I got a look at him. What if one of the documentary people had.”

Henry stood. “I’ll go make sure Nootau and the rest of the Dyami know.”

“Liza said Steve would get word to them.”

Henry nodded. “Good man, Steve. Still, won’t hurt to talk to Nootau.” With that, Henry took off.

As I watched him leave, I decided he might not be quite the old man I’d thought. “Sorry Mom, I didn’t mean to run him off.”

She smiled. “You are so much like your dad, always worrying about taking care of the town.”

I swallowed the tears. Like my dad, the hero, the man who had given his life to save others. The man who had been loved and respected by the whole town. It was the nicest thing anybody had ever said to me.

****

Later that evening, I did some Internet digging—yes, I should have done that before I started the job. I found McFain was actually Dr. McFain, since he had a PhD in anthropology from the University of Tennessee.

So he
was
back to anthropology. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he’d come to Ugly Creek. If there was an odd culture to study, this was it. Ugly Creek had more than its share of different. He’d been in the general area for several years while at the university. He might know more than he let on. Especially since there was that photo of a Bigfoot that had slipped out a few months ago. Due to Ugly Creek’s network, the photo had been discredited and dismissed, but maybe McFain somehow figured out it was real. Maybe the photo reinforced something he’d already been aware of, or maybe it just got him thinking. Who knew?