With a sexy snarl, he knocked back his coffee and stomped off to deal with his customers.
After finishing her drink, Hannah flipped through the photos she’d taken, then started back across the lot for more.
An officious-looking older guy with a pot belly and military-style hat collided with her as he barreled toward the building.
“Sorry, ma’am. Got caught in traffic on the I-5. Hope I’m not too late.” He eyed the camera around her neck. “You press?”
She stifled the urge to salute. “Yes, sir. Hannah Leone from theTrappers Cove Beacon.”
He puffed out his chest. “James Malinowski, president of NASDEV, The North American Society to Document Extra-terrestrial Visitations.” He smacked a star-embossed business card into her palm.
She bit back a grin.Thanks, Gus. I couldn’t ask for better material.
A memory pinged. NASDEV was the group who’d inherit Souvenir Planet if Xander didn’t make a go of it. Did this guy know of his potential good fortune? Better tread carefully.
She pulled out her voice recorder. “So tell me, Mr. Malinowski, did you know Gus Anagnos?”
The man straightened his spine. “Colonel Malinowski. Air Force, retired. And yes, Gus was an asset to our community. Just last month, he sent me a very intriguing report.” He resumed his march toward the building.
Hannah trailed after him. “Anything you’re willing to share, Colonel?”
“We’re still processing the photos and data, but I can tell you this—there’s undeniable evidence this very spot is an active site for extra-terrestrial communications.”
Hannah’s conscience twinged hard. Xander had asked her to tone down the alien angle, but this opportunity was too juicy to pass up. Besides, this kind of attention would benefit both Xander’s business and theBeacon.
“That’s absolutely fascinating, Colonel. Tell me more,” she urged as they stepped through the door.
Shouts rang out from across the room.
The colonel made a beeline toward the ugly, mummified “mermaid,” where a stout older woman in a bomber jacket with military-style patches waved a wad of cash under Xander’s nose.
“Lois, you old sneak thief,” the colonel hollered, “Get your hands off that alien.”
A loud argument ensued, ineffectually refereed by a befuddled Xander.
“Sorry, sir, ma’am.” He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “This item has already been promised to the Trappers Cove Historical Society.”
The two foes grumbled and glared.
With a backward glance at Hannah, the colonel asked, “For the record, what are your plans to keep the cosmic vortex accessible to researchers like ourselves?”
His rival pulled a small electronic device from her jacket and waved it over the metal structure.
Peering over her shoulder, the colonel grunted his approval.
Lois tapped her gizmo. “All signs point toward an impending visitation. We’ll monitor the data.”
Xander rumpled his brow. “Data?”
She fished a business card from her breast pocket. “Lois Alterman. Washington State Chair of GUFON: Global UFO Network.”
Xander eyed the card as if she’d handed him a live lobster.
“I’ll take that, Ms. Alterman,” Hannah chirped.
The colonel elbowed the older woman. “This girl’s with the local press.”
“It’sDoctorAlterman.” Lois asserted with a sniff. “I hold a PhD in astrophysics.”
