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“He’s got to tell the truth, Thea,” Ben said. “There are aliens among us and Delbert Jenkins is the only Uber driver willing to stand up for the truth.”
I pulled out my phone. “That’s it. I’m joining Uber just so he isn’t the only driver in the Notch, and then I’m going to mess up his ratings. He can’t just name names like that.”
“He does that all the time and you know it.” Ben had a point. Except, usually, it wasn’t my name. “Besides, I bet you and Jess’s kid are the only ones listening to him.”
“And you.”
“Well, good news. I know you’re not an alien.”
I huffed.
“Now, alien apologist? I don’t actually know your stance on that. Maybe you should clear that up before we spend the weekend together.”
Somehow, Delbert had uncovered perhaps the only thing Ben didn’t know about me.
“I’m not housing aliens, or letting them use EMF whatevers in my business.”
“And why should I believe you?” He lifted an eyebrow, his expression neutral.
“You’re clearly feeling cute this weekend. Is this what I have to look forward to?”
“Maybe. Guess there’s only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER8
Ben
“Wantto take the train up the mountain?” Thea asked, eyeing the crowded train station platform.
I tilted my head up the switchback road climbing the mountain and shook my head. “Nah. Unless you want to.”
The train made up the closest excuse for a field trip within two hours of Franklin Notch. Some intrepid entrepreneur with more gilded age money than sense erected the sprawling hotel on one of the highest mountain tops east of the Mississippi. And while the construction crew could muscle supplies up to the top during the summer months, in the winter, making the journey up to the top became impossible. So, the man built a train to climb the face.
The coal guzzling engine had been replaced some years back, but the trip up still attracted tourists, even those who couldn’t afford to stay at the luxury resort on top of the mountain.
Those tourists came for overpriced souvenirs and a chance to experience sixty-mile per hour winds outside of a hurricane. All the local school children dutifully made the journey once a year after the rest of the field trip funds were spent on long trips to the closest planetarium or children’s museum.
The tourists would come for Polar Express tours in the winter and with visiting relatives and friends in the summer.
“I sometimes have nightmares where the train conductor falls over and I have to finish the tour,” she murmured, face scrunching into a frown.
I laughed. “Do you think you could do it?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Welcome to the Mount Pierce Express, the quickest way to the summit before cars were invented. Now, everything on this mountain was bought and paid for by a single family. Can you believe that?”
She mimicked the familiar pattern of about a dozen train conductors, all of them reciting the same lines. Nostalgia mixed with dread washed over me.
“Okay, fair enough. The road is empty. We can drive to the top. We’ll miss out on the drink caboose, though.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a bar at the resort, and according to the tour guide on the train, we can easily beat them to the summit.”
Challenge accepted. I passed the parking lot and drove up the narrow paved road.
As the truck drifted back and forth up the mountain, the resort came into view little by little. First the wrought iron weathervane, swaying with the wind, then the gabled roof, recently painted green rather than an ostentatious red, better blending in with the trees. Next came the bright brick exterior, a semi-circle perched at the edge of the summit, overlooking the valleys below. The paved road ended as we reached the driveway and the original granite blocks lined the road. The truck lurched uncomfortably as we approached the main entrance.
I drove around the disused water fountain, another original design of the resort, now empty. Mostly because keeping a water feature in a place that stayed below freezing three-quarters of the year and with gale-force winds hadn’t panned out as intended.
I pulled the truck in front of a young man dressed in a thick black jacket, hunched over the valet stand. He didn’t immediately look up. I slipped out of the truck, slamming the door behind me. He startled, his eyes searching for who else witnessed his distraction.
