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“It could take a while. I know. And what if Mort’s photo ruins everything? If the legitimate media thinks we’re some hicks trying to put our city on the map, it’s over.”
“Don’t go looking for trouble, El. My Benji says—”
The car radio squawked. “Ellie? Are you there?”
“I’m not answering,” Ellie said. “It’s never good news anymore.”
“That’s a responsible choice. Probably just a ten-car pileup on the interstate, anyway. Or a hostage situation.”
Another clatter of static. “Chief? Julia says you’re in the car. If you don’t answer, I’m going to tell everyone you wrote a letter to Rick Springfield in the eighth grade. Over.”
Ellie hit the Talk button. “Don’t force me to bring out the photos of you with a perm, Cal.”
“There you are. Thank God, El. You need to get here now. Over.”
“What’s going on?”
“The kooks have landed. I swear to God.”
Ellie cursed under her breath. She hit the siren and gas at the same time. In minutes she was pulling into the parking lot and getting out of the car.
There were people everywhere, though not as many as yesterday. News vans clogged the street in front of the station and a line of people snaked from the front door and down the sidewalk. They weren’t the kind of people who’d shown up before. No cops from other precincts or private detectives or reporters or parents. This group looked like the Rocky Horror audience.
She brushed past them, ignoring their clamoring voices, and went into the station. Cal was at his desk, looking dazed and confused.
Earl sat at the other patrol desk. At Ellie’s entrance he smiled tiredly and said, “I just took a statement from a man who lives on the planet Rebar.”
Ellie frowned. “What?”
“That’s who came looking for the girl. A man—no, an ambassador—from Rebar. He had a tinfoil hat and black lips.”
Ellie sat down at her desk with a sigh. “Let ’em in, Earl. One at a time.?
?
“You’re going to talk to them?” Cal asked.
“Just ’cause they’re crazy doesn’t mean they don’t know something.”
Earl went to the door and opened it. The woman he let in wore a flowing purple dress, cowboy boots, and a blue suede headband. In her hands she held a baseball-sized crystal ball.
Another psychic.
Ellie smiled and reached for her pen.
For the next two hours she and Earl and Peanut listened to one crackpot after another tell them who Alice really was. Her favorite answer: Anastasia, reborn.
When the last man finally told his story and left, Ellie leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Where did they all come from?”
Cal answered. “Mort’s picture. It makes the whole story seem unbelievable. Especially since he used words like flying and wolf girl. His story hinted that she eats only live insects and does sign language with her feet. I heard CNN pulled out of town.”
“This is so not good,” Peanut said, reaching for her grapefruit juice.
Cal jumped down from the desk. His tennis shoes hit with a little thump on the hardwood floor. “Use her,” he said quietly. “It’s our only choice.”
Ellie didn’t have to ask who Cal meant. She’d had the same thought herself.
“Julia?” Peanut said in a spiky voice. “But they’ll only care about what happened in Silverwood.”
