A Cook in Time Read online

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Did five have any significance you can think of?”

  “Nope.”

  “Where did he live?” The fact that Bertram Lambert lived on Seventh Avenue and the number 7 had been carved on his chest hadn’t been lost on Paavo.

  “On the streets.”

  When he asked where she would have looked for him had she needed to find him, she spit into an old coffee can and asked what it was worth to him.

  Ten dollars got him the answer: the Giants’ new ballpark. Felix Rolfe had found it a good place to panhandle.

  “Beware the new millennium!” Oliver Hardy cried to the people passing Tardis Hall. He waved his UFO brochures. “Join us as we seek the safety of a new world. Learn what the government isn’t telling you: The end is near!”

  A gray-haired African-American man strode by, looking at the hall as he went.

  “This is for you, brother,” Hardy cried, holding out a brochure.

  The man gave Hardy a look of disdain. “I’m no brother of yours unless a miracle happened.”

  Hardy forced a chuckle. “You pay attention to things of no importance, like the color of skin, when soon our differences will be nothing in the face of the enemy of all humankind. We will be side by side, and we will be brothers. Believe me. It’s all here, in this flyer.” He waggled the brochure about Roswell. “And you just might win a hundred dollars, besides.” He pointed to the sign.

  NEW MEMBERS! FREE DRAWINGS!

  $100 TO THE LUCKY WINNER! JOIN TODAY!

  The man studied the brochure a moment. “Does your group also talk about other things? Area Fifty-one, for instance?”

  “Absolutely. Join us. It costs nothing, and even if you never come to a meeting, this is a chance to win a hundred dollars.”

  The man’s brow furrowed as he looked from the brochure to Hardy. “Why not?” He picked up the Bic on the table and filled out a card for the drawing.

  Hardy glanced at the address, phone number, and name—Leon Cole.

  He smiled. The spirit was truly with him on this day.

  “I think you have a wonderful chance of winning, Mr. Cole,” he said. “This phone number is good to reach you at, right?”

  “You call and tell me I’ve won, and I’ll make any damn phone number you want be the right one.”

  The first thing Angie noticed as she entered Tardis Hall was a table with food and beverages spread out on it. Paper cups were next to a punch bowl with lemonade, and platters of thin pretzel sticks and goldfish-shaped crackers were offered. Angie couldn’t imagine serving anything so uncreative. If this was the kind of catering a UFO group was used to, she wouldn’t have to work hard at all to win praise for the party she was planning for Triana. If she went through with it.

  “Hey there! You’re back,” Elvis said. “This is Phil.” He gestured toward the man beside him. “Phil, Angie’s a friend of Derrick’s.”

  Still wearing love beads and sandals, his hair long and frizzy, and now with goldfish-cracker crumbs sprinkling his beard, Phil wiped a hand against his jeans, then held it out to shake hers while mumbling something that she guessed was a greeting.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, then to Elvis, “Is Derrick here yet? Or my friend Connie?”

  “I guess she didn’t come back for my company,” Elvis said with mock dejection to Phil. “I haven’t seen Derrick yet, or Connie. Derrick’s supposed to be here. Maybe they’re together.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Angie said, looking around. There wasn’t a large enough crowd there for Connie to be lost in it. No wonder Algernon was so derisive of NAUTS—unless his crowds weren’t any larger.

  “I’d have noticed if some attractive babe had gone through here, man,” Phil said, his words wispy and languid. “Could Derrick be hiding her? Keeping her to himself?”

  “I don’t think so,” Elvis said.

  “Maybe she hasn’t arrived yet.” Angie wasn’t sure what to do. “I just want to make sure she’s all right—and that Derrick is as well. He was troubled last time I saw him.”

  “That’s his natural state,” Phil said with a lazy smile. “He got what he wanted now that Mosshad’s out of the way. All the glory. All the women.”

  “He’s not out for glory, Phil,” Elvis said.

  “No? You could have fooled me, man. Who was here when the Prometheans started? Me, not him. Who knew Neumann personally and worked with him? Me, not Holton.”

  “Neumann?” Angie asked.

  “He was the founder of the Prometheans,” Elvis explained. “NAUTS broke off from the Prometheus Group after Neumann died.”

  “After he was killed, you mean,” Phil said, his flat eyes boring into Angie. “The government killed him. Just like they did my buddies in ’Nam. Just like they probably killed Mosshad.”

  “No one knows the government killed anybody,” Elvis said to Angie. She was growing increasingly alarmed by Phil’s words, not because she believed them, but because Phil so obviously did. Elvis turned to Phil. “Who said Mosshad is dead? He’s apparently hiding out somewhere. He’ll show up.”

  “He’s dead.” Phil’s eyes shifted. “All the good ones are. Algernon or Holton—which will die, and which will live? They’ll see to it that the good one dies. They always do. From the time of JFK. It’s always that way.” His dark gaze met Angie’s. “Trust nobody. Especially not Algernon.” He glanced at Elvis. “Maybe not even our own leader. Not even Holton.”

  He walked away.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Elvis said. “He’s an example of better living through chemistry. Don’t listen to anything he says.”

  “Is it true Mosshad is still missing, though?” Angie asked.

  “Derrick knows what he’s doing,” Elvis said.

  Derrick?

  “Hello.” Oliver Hardy joined the group. His gaze shifted nervously from Elvis to Angie. He flicked his daisy-patterned tie. “I don’t know if you remember me.”

  “Of course I do, Oliver,” she said.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Elvis said. “I’ll see if I can find Derrick and your friend for you,” he said to Angie before he walked away.

  Angie turned to Oliver. She was alone with him again, and something about him, frankly, made her nervous. She scanned the small group once more for Connie.

  “I guess you and Derrick are an item?” Oliver asked, stepping closer.

  “We’re not.” Her tone was curt. “I knew him a few years ago.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t go out with him now!” He sounded almost angry.

  “I’m seeing someone else.” She clamped her mouth shut as if to say, End of story.

  Instead he twisted his head from side to side. “Not that I’d notice. If you were my girlfriend, I’d be with you.”

  Fat chance. “I’m afraid he’s busy. He’s a homicide inspector,” she said pointedly. “He’s investigating those mutilation murders.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened. “Mutilation murders?”

  Sheesh, as if the whole city isn’t talking about them. “The ones on the front page of the paper.”

  “I don’t read the news. It’s too depressing. Especially horrible murders of young women. I keep away from them. I’m too sensitive for this world, I’m afraid.”

  She seemed to be hearing a lot about sensitive males these days. “They aren’t young women, they’re men.”

  His face turned milky white. “Men? Are you sure?”

  “That’s what the papers say. I don’t know the second one’s name—but I’m sure it was a man found at the Giants’ stadium. The first one, though, had a name easy to remember—Bertram Lambert—sort of singsongy, don’t you think?”

  She stopped speaking. Oliver had gone from pale to green and now looked as if he was going to be ill. “What’s wrong?”

  “N-Nothing.”

  “Did you know Mr. Lambert?”

  “Me? No. Never heard of him. Not at all. You said these men were mutilated, but no
t like cattle mutilations, right?”

  Her head began to spin. “Cattle mutilations? Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Uh, nothing. Go on.”

  She didn’t want to talk any more to him about this or anything else. “Paavo won’t give me the details, and they’ve been kept out of the paper. All I know is, the mutilations were quite horrible. I can’t tell you anything more than that.”

  “Oh my.” He pressed his hand to his stomach. “Excuse me, please. I told you things like that upset me. That’s why I don’t read or listen to the news anymore.”

  He turned and rushed away from her, practically stumbling his way into the auditorium. She supposed he was either going to sit down and calm himself or continue through the auditorium to the backstage area, where Derrick and some of the others might be.

  The doors were already open, so people could take their seats. She checked her watch—not that it did much good in Time-Stands-Still Hall. After her first visit to this place, she’d had to buy a new watch battery. She still didn’t see Derrick or Connie. Where were they? Since they’d probably show up for the lecture, she entered the auditorium. Although she hadn’t wanted to listen to more weird alien talk, she didn’t want to abandon Connie to the tender mercies of this strange crowd. Connie was too vulnerable now, being divorced and alone, with the holidays approaching. Angie watched out for her friends.

  No sooner had she sat down in the back row of the auditorium than a familiar face appeared. “Hello, Malachi,” she said to the gaunt, bearded man she’d met at her first visit to Tardis Hall. He was again dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks. “Are you here to see another abduction?”

  “Absolutely.” He gave her a wink. “I haven’t had so much fun in years.” She laughed. She had no idea if he took the abduction seriously or not, but he was having a good time with it no matter what.

  “But why are you here again?” he asked. “Surely you have better things to do than to spend time with people who have so much trouble dealing with this world they search for a better one in the stars.”

  She was surprised to hear him say that. “You’re being a little unfair. These are simply people with an overblown imagination.”

  He grinned. “I stand corrected … somewhat.”

  She was starting to like him. “Last time we talked you told me about the rift between Derrick and Algernon. I met Algernon. What a piece of work.”

  Malachi chuckled. “Algernon is all show. He wouldn’t know a flying saucer from a turnip. And frankly, I believe he’s more interested in women than in any EBE, which isn’t to say an alien chick would be safe around him. Why do you care about Algernon? You surely don’t want to join the Prometheans, do you?”

  She felt a little peculiar telling a stranger something she hadn’t yet told Paavo. On the other hand, she wouldn’t care if Malachi learned her business idea was a failure. She would care if Paavo found that out. “I’ve been asked to cater a theme party for Algernon’s book launch. Since I have a new business, I wanted to do it right. The right theme, the right food. But with this Algernon, I just don’t know….”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, you won’t go wrong with these people if you use the crash at Roswell as your theme. Everyone is fascinated by it … and by what happened after the crash.”

  “After?” she asked. She hadn’t yet heard a word about after the crash. From the corner of her eye she saw Derrick step up to the microphone. Where was Connie?

  Malachi smiled secretively. “Just think of the sudden blossoming of technology in our society—the rudimentary things we had before World War Two, and how, a very few years after, we’re in a computer and technological age unimaginable just sixty years ago.” As Derrick began to speak, Malachi dropped his voice to a whisper. “Fiber optics, integrated circuits, lasers, even Saran Wrap—they all had to do with Roswell.”

  Angie wanted to ask more, especially about Saran Wrap, but the speaker was introduced to some applause, and he immediately began his lecture. Derrick stepped backstage instead of joining the audience. Angie wondered if Connie was back there, too.

  The speaker had a high, thin voice that rose and fell as he spoke, making his words a bit hard to follow. He showed slides of Mars and spoke of how a replica of a human face had been built by ancient aliens who used it to remind those who ventured to Earth of their true home. The face was on the Cydonia region of Mars. Space missions did their best to avoid that region because the U.S. government thought it would cause panic and religious chaos if people saw buildings on another planet.

  In 1998, NASA photos showing the face to be nothing but rock formations were proven false. They were doctored photos of another part of Mars, not the Cydonia region at all. It was more lies from the government, the speaker said.

  Angie wondered how, if no clear photos existed, people knew the face on Mars had been manufactured and was anything other than a bunch of rock formations.

  But the speaker never explained, and no one ever asked. She was tempted to ask the question herself, except that she was there to observe, not to question. And anyway, after the speaker’s boring speech, she was having trouble simply staying awake. As soon as there was a break, she’d go backstage and look for Connie and Derrick herself.

  Turning off the lights once again, the speaker showed more slides, droning on and on about the beings who built the face, how intelligent they were, and where they were now. No one knew the exact answer to the last issue, she discovered, but they knew the beings were near because they were constantly coming down to Earth and abducting people. She yawned, gave up the fight, and closed her eyes.

  Before long, someone was shaking her arm. She hadn’t realized her eyes were shut, but she opened them to find Derrick beside her. “It’s over,” he said.

  She saw that people were putting on coats and leaving the hall. She rubbed her eyes. She must have been really tired to sleep so soundly. But then, maybe everyone had been lulled into quietly leaving. Like Malachi must have done. Derrick now sat in his chair.

  She gathered her things. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep this way. How embarrassing!”

  He jumped to his feet. “Nothing you do could possibly be an embarrassment, Angelina. In fact, I’m flattered you came to see me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, rumpling it as he twisted this way and that looking over the rapidly emptying lecture hall. “Tell you what—why don’t we go out for coffee after I close up the auditorium? Looks like you could use a cup. Then we could talk.”

  “That would be great.” She glanced around. “Where’s Connie?”

  “Connie? I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. Let’s go backstage.” He grabbed her arm and started pulling her along with him. “It’ll only take me about ten minutes to shut down the place, then we’ll get out of here.”

  Angie walked onto the stage, and Derrick pushed the curtain aside, revealing an enormous backstage area. She’d forgotten that Tardis Hall had originally been built as a warehouse and was immense. Only a small portion of it—the entrance area, the auditorium, and the stage area—had been finished off and painted.

  Backstage looked like a warren of rooms and hallways. Metal staircases led to upper and lower floors, and a side elevator had the wide-doored look of those that carry freight.

  In all, backstage was a dark, unfriendly place.

  Derrick led her to a chair to wait for him, then darted off. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in Connie’s number.

  “Hello,” Connie answered.

  “Hello?” Angie shrieked. “You sit there and say hello? What are you doing at home? Lyssa told me you’d be at Tardis Hall, so I’m here waiting for you!”

  “Why are you doing that?” Connie asked. “I went to buy a new outfit first, but everything made me look fat. So I decided to starve for a couple of days before seeing Derrick again. No more tiramisu for me. So, what’s up?”

  Angie realized that now was not the time to discuss her concerns about Derrick. Besides
, she might be overreacting. Sometimes she did that.

  “I wasn’t looking for you for any special reason,” she said. “Paavo was busy tonight with those mutilation murder cases, and I didn’t want to stay home. Oh, here comes Elvis. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up.

  Elvis, then Kronos, Phil, and finally Derrick joined her.

  “We’ve just got to wait for Oliver to get back.” Derrick paced back and forth like a caged tiger as he spoke to Angie and the others. “What’s he up to, anyway? I didn’t see him as I locked up.”

  “I didn’t see him, either,” Elvis said, sitting down, his hands primly folded on his lap.

  “Shee-it!” Phil yelled, sprawled over a chair. “Don’t tell me we’ve got another missing person. Man, I hate this spooky jive-ass stuff.”

  “Has Mosshad been heard from yet?” Elvis asked thoughtfully.

  “Sir Oliver is not missing,” Kronos said, holding a broom upright as if it were a shepherd’s staff. “He is probably lying fast asleep somewhere. I should think the face-on-Mars controversy was not sufficiently stimulating to keep him awake. It has been going on since the early seventies of the twentieth century. I nearly fell asleep on the projector.”

  “I did fall asleep,” Angie confessed. “Maybe Oliver went home?”

  “Not without telling us. Let’s call him to wake him up.”

  They all walked around yelling his name. The way “Oliver” reverberated through the former warehouse gave Angie chills.

  “I’m getting nervous,” she said to Derrick. “Do your friends often go missing this way?” She couldn’t imagine anyone with Oliver’s girth and odd looks not having his every move noticed by someone.

  “They never have before.” He rubbed his hair, making it even more askew. “I’m going to look around some more. He might be asleep—maybe hurt. I don’t know why he didn’t hear when we called him.”

  “I hope he wasn’t abducted, too,” Elvis said. He and Phil went in a different direction than Derrick.

  “I had better lend my assistance as well,” Kronos said, and walked away.

  Oliver couldn’t seriously have disappeared, Angie thought. He had been quite upset by the mutilation murders, though, so maybe he had gone home. She wished she had mentioned that to the others. Well, she thought, they should be back soon. Maybe with Oliver, in fact. If not, she’d tell them about it.