The Bigwoof Conspiracy Page 3

  “You look spiffy,” said Lucy.

  “Can I take your coat?” Milo pointed to her orange fishing vest.

  “No thanks, I’m good.” She slipped her hands into her pockets. “So where are the pictures?”

  “Come on, Lucy,” Milo chided. “At least pretend that you came here simply for the pleasure of my company.”

  “Sorry.” She forced a smile. “Business later. Dinner first.”

  They entered to the sound of Spanish guitar music. The whole house smelled like the beach at low tide. The high living-room ceiling was crisscrossed with smooth white beams. Towering windows overlooked a manicured yard surrounded by dense forest, at the edge of which a couple of deer delicately grazed. In the centre of the room sat a translucent glass cube with a fire blazing inside. There was no chimney that Lucy could see.

  A thin woman wearing athletic gear and pearls greeted them as they entered. Her hair was long and smooth, bleached so blonde it was almost silver.

  “Hello,” she chirped. “You must be little miss Lucy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs Fisher,” Lucy replied.

  “Oh, call me Kaitlyn.” She stuck out a hand.

  So many handshakes… Lucy wiped her hand on her jeans and shook. Up close the woman looked older than expected, though her skin was tight and smooth.

  “Thank you for having me over,” said Lucy.

  “Oh, not at all,” said Kaitlyn. “You sprouts look hungry. How about some snacks?” She slipped off to the kitchen, soon returning with a silver platter of appetisers on toothpicks.

  Lucy picked up a purple and grey cube and popped it in her mouth. It was squishy and tasted like garlic. She forced herself to swallow, and hoped at least one of the other things was food she could actually eat.

  “I just love your purple hair,” said Kaitlyn, reaching out two fingers to feel Lucy’s violet tresses. “Very bohemian.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucy. She smoothed her hair behind her ears and wondered if she should dye it green again so people would stop touching it. “I like your hair dye too.”

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet,” said Kaitlyn. She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll leave you two to chat while I check on the oyster soufflé.”

  Oysters. So that’s what the smell is…

  “Yum,” said Milo, leading Lucy to a pair of white-leather armchairs facing the fire cube. “Do you like oysters?”

  “I’ve never actually eaten one,” said Lucy. “My dad calls them ‘sea snot’.”

  Milo burst out laughing. “Don’t mention that to Kaitlyn,” he warned. “She takes her seafood very seriously.”

  “You call your mom Kaitlyn?” said Lucy. She held out her hands and felt the warmth of the techno-magical fire.

  “She’s not my mom,” said Milo. “She’s my latest stepmom. She’s been married to my dad almost three years now. It’s practically a record.”

  “Where’s your real mom?” asked Lucy.

  “She died when I was six,” said Milo. He picked at a blue fuzzball on his sweater. “She had cancer.”

  “Oh man, that’s awful,” said Lucy, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled tightly. “I’ve got my dad. He travels a lot but he takes me wherever he goes.”

  “That must be nice,” said Lucy.

  They stared into the fire cube. Lucy wondered if the logs were real, and if not, where the crackling sound was coming from.

  “My dad should be back from the factory any minute,” said Milo. “He’s sprucing up the whole business. You’ll see, pretty soon people all over the country will be eating Sticky Sweet.”

  “That would be cool,” said Lucy. “Outsiders don’t usually like the piney taste. Is your dad changing the mascot? Clowns are creepy.”

  “No way,” said Milo. “My dad loves clowns.”

  “Great.” Lucy rolled her eyes. She picked up a cracker topped with orange paste from the appetiser tray and touched it to the tip of her tongue. It tasted like carrot. I can do vegetables. She scarfed it down and picked up two more.

  A door slammed in another room and Milo perked up.

  “Something sure smells good in here,” said a deep, razor-sharp voice.

  A tall man with a square chin and greying hair strode into the living room. Kaitlyn kissed him on the cheek and slid his suit jacket off his broad shoulders. She draped it elegantly over her arm, then took his briefcase and disappeared down the hallway.

  Mr Fisher loosened his tie and ruffled his son’s hair like in one of those black-and-white TV shows from the fifties.

  “Hey there, kiddo,” he said. He lifted Milo off the chair in a bear hug, then set him down and reached out a hand to Lucy, who was at this point quite prepared to shake it. “You must be Milo’s new friend.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. “This is a really sweet house.”

  “Good eye,” he winked. “One of those Internet kids built it around the turn of the millennium.” He took out his smartphone, platinum like Milo’s, and pressed a few buttons. The music changed to 1940s croon and a glowing shelf filled with crystal bottles folded down from a smooth white wall. Mr Fisher walked over and clinked a large ice cube into a glass, then poured himself something yellowish.

  “Interesting hair,” he said to Lucy. “Very bold.”

  “Thanks,” she said. For some reason she felt the need to sit up straighter.

  “Lucy’s dad works at the factory,” said Milo. “Do you know him?”

  “What’s his name?” asked Mr Fisher.

  “Silas Sladan,” said Lucy.

  Mr Fisher shook his head. “He must work on the floor.” He took a sip of his drink, the ice tinkling gently in his glass.

  “My dad said you changed the name of the company,” said Lucy. The Sticky Sweet Sticky Pines Sweetener Company employed many of the residents in the Big Crater Valley. It had been around for over a hundred years. “You’re calling it Nu Co., right?”

  “The Sticky Sweet Sticky Pines Sweetener Company only sells sweetener,” said Mr Fisher. “We plan to get a little more creative with it. We’re also changing the name of the sweetener to Nucralose.”

  “Nucralose,” said Lucy. “That sounds kinda like the name of the sugar molecule: sucrose.”

  Mr Fisher’s eyes twinkled. “You know your science.”

  “I told you she was smart,” said Milo.

  “My mom’s a science teacher,” said Lucy.

  “How delightful.” Mr Fisher raised his glass.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Kaitlyn sang from another room.

  They migrated to a dimly lit room with a magnificent view of the Big Crater Mountains. The music followed uninterrupted, emanating from unseen speakers as they took their seats around the table.

  The food was unlike anything Lucy had ever encountered. She could identify nothing but bread rolls and a bowl of rice, which, on closer inspection, might not actually be rice. She scooped some on to her plate and hoped it tasted as bland as it smelled.

  “So what are you crazy kids up to this evening?” asked Mr Fisher.

  “I’m gonna show Lucy my art project,” said Milo.

  “Pardon me?” said his father.

  “Going to,” Milo corrected himself.

  “What are you working on now?” asked Kaitlyn. “Abstract sculpture?”

  “I thought he was doing stand-up comedy,” said Mr Fisher. “Didn’t we just buy him a ukulele?”

  “Photography,” Milo informed the table.

  “That’s my boy,” chuckled Mr Fisher. “Always broadening his horizons. Smart as a whip. Tests extraordinarily well.” His steely-blue eyes turned to Lucy. “Are you also a photographer?”

  She felt like he was trying to see inside her head.

  “She thinks I might have caught a picture of Bigfoot,” Milo answered for her.

  Lucy kicked him under the table.

  “Bigfoot, eh?” Mr Fisher chuckled. “I haven’t heard of a good old-fashioned Bigfoot sighting in a long time. Go
od for you. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, it was boredom.”

  “I totally agree,” said Lucy, feeling more comfortable. These people know what’s up.

  “My my, you eat like a bird!” sang Kaitlyn. She heaped something lumpy and grey over Lucy’s not-rice.

  “But the creature she described sounds way weirder than Bigfoot,” said Milo. “We’re calling it Bigwoof.”

  “We’re doing that officially now?” said Lucy.

  Mr Fisher raised an eyebrow. “Bigwoof?” he asked. “You must have a wild imagination.”

  “Not really, sir,” Lucy responded. “It’s real. I saw it with my own eyes. It had the craziest howl…”

  “You know,” Milo mused, “I actually could have a picture of it on my camera, assuming it exists. I was using this wide-angle lens—”

  “And where did you see all this, exactly?” Mr Fisher interrupted.

  “Oh, it was past the creek out that way,” Milo pointed. “Halfway between our house and Lucy’s.”

  “Interesting,” said Mr Fisher. He checked his phone. “Oh dear. It seems I missed a call.”

  “Wow, you get reception here?” asked Lucy.

  “I get reception everywhere.” Mr Fisher stood and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Apologies, darling. The food was delicious, as always.” He paused on his way out and placed a heavy hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “What did it look like?”

  “Bigwoof?” Lucy asked, still chewing a rubbery oyster. She glanced at Milo, who nodded in encouragement. She swallowed. “It was amazing. Tall and hairy and weird, like a gorilla-bulldog-amphibian-hybrid thingy.”

  Mr Fisher stared thoughtfully out the window. “Bigwoof,” he mused. “What will you kids think of next?”

  Milo’s second-floor bedroom was spacious and sparse. The bed was neatly made, the pale-blue walls decorated solely with a photo of Milo and his father on a sunny beach. A red-and-white striped chaise longue sat below an arched window. The only clutter occurred on the desk, which was littered with coloured pencils, electronic gewgaws and some black-and-white photos of pigeons and skyscrapers. A thin laptop sat at the centre, hooked up to a larger monitor.

  Lucy whistled. “Nice big room you got here, Fish.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Fish? Is that a nickname?”

  “It’s shorter than Fisher,” Lucy shrugged. “Plus, it’s what your house smells like. No offence.”

  He nodded in approval. “I’ve never had a nickname before.” He unravelled a cable and plugged the camera into the computer. “So how many pictures do you want to see? There are over four hundred.”

  “These could be the most important photographs in the history of mankind,” said Lucy. “What do you think?”

  Milo laughed. “I guess we’ll be here for a while. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

  She kicked off her boots and sat cross-legged in a swivel chair, spinning around once for good measure.

  Milo enlarged the first image: a close-up of a green-and-yellow-streaked banana slug.

  “Hey, that’s not bad,” said Lucy. “You really caught something in its eyes.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled, clicking over to a pair of squirrels eating peanuts. “See anything interesting?” He zoomed in on the background and started scrolling around.

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Two down,” said Milo, “four hundred and twenty-three to go.”

  Around photograph two hundred and thirty-eight Lucy’s eyes started to cross. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

  “Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” said Milo. He seemed like someone who could stay up for days and remain as chipper as a chipmunk. “Let’s take a break. Do you like hot chocolate?”

  “Hot chocolate as in regular hot chocolate?” asked Lucy.

  “Yep,” said Milo.

  “Who doesn’t?” said Lucy. “But I’m not taking a break.”

  “OK, Inspector Sladan. You keep going, I’ll be back in a flash.” He ran downstairs.

  Lucy stifled a yawn and looked at her watch. It was already seven thirty. Her parents had made her promise she’d be home at eight o’clock on the dot. There was no way they were getting through all the photos that night. She slipped on her glasses and clicked through some more pictures. She stopped at number two forty-nine.

  At first she mistook it for a shadow behind a moss-covered boulder. But then she noticed a familiar shape among the trees. She zoomed in and her stomach did a backflip. There it was. Clear as day and dark as night. A lanky, hairy, horrible, half-humanoid creature, standing among the trees and staring up at the sky. Lucy could almost hear its eerie wail.

  She clasped her hand over her mouth and jumped out of her chair in amazement. “No. Flippin’. Way.” Finally!

  She heard someone enter the room behind her. “Fish, you won’t believe what I found!”

  “Something intriguing, I presume?”

  Lucy whipped around. Mr Fisher stood in the doorway, sipping a mug of hot cocoa.

  “M-Mr Fisher,” she stammered.

  “What do we have here?” he asked. He set his mug by the computer and inspected the photograph.

  “It’s Bigwoof,” Lucy uttered uncontrollably. “It’s a real-life monster, right there in the flesh! Can you believe it?”

  “Hmm.” He leaned closer to the screen. “Well, would you look at that?” he said. “It seems my boy caught a picture of a bear. Milo’s a fine photographer, isn’t he?”

  “Wait, what?” asked Lucy, looking back at the picture, confused. “That is definitely not a bear.”

  “Looks like one to me,” he responded. With a quick flick of his wrist, his cup toppled over, depositing its frothy chocolate contents all over the computer and camera.

  Lucy could only look on in horror.

  “Oh dear.” Mr Fisher shook his head. “Look at this mess. I’ll have to clean it up before the electronics are destroyed. Not to worry.” He unplugged the laptop and the precious photo disappeared from the monitor. He swept up the camera too, and headed for the door. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  Without another word, he disappeared down the stairs, leaving Lucy standing alone in shocked silence.

  A furious anger bubbled under her skin. She tried to piece together what had just happened and how it had happened so quickly. What the—Why? Why would he do that? It took every ounce of self-control to keep from screaming.

  Milo cleared his throat from the hallway. “Um. Lucy?” He entered the room sheepishly, carrying a tray of cheese and crackers and a couple of steaming mugs. “I just saw my dad…” He looked so nervous she almost felt sorry for him. “He said it was an accident. He’s really sorry,” he faltered.

  Lucy stared at the ceiling to keep her tears from spilling on to her cheeks. “I had it,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Had what?”

  “The picture. Number two forty-nine. It was right there. And now it’s gone.”

  “You saw a picture of Bigwoof?” asked Milo.

  Lucy nodded.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a bear? My dad said—”

  “It wasn’t a BEAR.”

  Milo stepped backwards, sloshing hot chocolate on to the tray.

  Lucy counted to ten so she wouldn’t throw her boot at the darkened computer monitor. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just… Your dad spilled his drink on purpose. I saw him.”

  Milo frowned and set the tray on the desk. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “The picture was right there.” She stared longingly at the darkened screen. “I had it.”

  Milo’s expression was a mix of pity and confusion. “Look, Lucy, I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for what you think you saw. I mean, it would be amazing if monsters were actually real, but at the end of the day, the world’s a pretty predictable place.”

  “Monsters don’t have to be supernatural, Fish. There’s all kinds of weird things out there.”

  “Fair enough,” he smiled. �
��We’ll get the camera back soon, and if Bigwoof’s there, we’ll find him. I promise.”

  “If you say so,” she mumbled. She checked her watch. “Crud. I have to go.”

  “But you didn’t have any cheese and crackers.” Milo pointed to the tray.

  “Well, I am pretty hungry.” Lucy grabbed a hunk of something crumbly, put it on a cracker and took a bite, then immediately spat it out on to the floor. “I thought you said this was cheese,” she gagged, spewing crumbs everywhere.

  “Yeah,” Milo sighed, “that was the Point Reyes Blue.”

  Lucy skidded to a stop on her dirt driveway, out of breath, at eight minutes past eight. She was pretty sure she could talk her way out of being less than ten minutes late without getting into too much trouble. Sometimes she wished her parents cared about her just a tiny bit less.

  She burst through the front door at full speed. “Sorry I’m late, I—”

  Her mom paced anxiously behind the island in the kitchen. Her dad sat on a stool, the landline to his ear. They both looked extremely serious.

  Uh-oh.

  “Hey, sweetie,” said her mother. She gave Lucy a tight squeeze. “Go join your sister, OK? We’re on the phone with the sheriff. I’ll explain everything later.”

  The sheriff? How much trouble am I in? Lucy’s heart sank. Could this day get any worse?

  She slumped into the living room. Willow was on the floor next to the wood-burning stove, working on a jigsaw puzzle of a great white shark.

  “What’s going on?” Lucy asked.

  “You know Mrs Stricks?”

  “The teacher or her wife?”

  “Teacher,” said Willow.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean ‘gone’? I just saw her today. She gave me a cookie.”

  “Her wife called and said that Mrs Stricks never came home after school.” Willow looked up at her big sister, worried. “Do you think she disappeared? Like the others?”

  “I … I dunno, Will.”

  Lucy felt like she was sinking in quicksand. What is going on? It couldn’t all be a coincidence. The disappearances. The lights in the sky. The monster in the woods. It all seemed connected. But how?