Page 2 of Something Cryptid This Way Comes
“I’d love a whiskey.”
Pressing my lips together, I hide my smile. That’s classic Agnes. “Sorry, we only have tea or coffee right now.”
She slips out of her black leather jacket and bends to pet Bandit. “Tea, then. Milk, no sugar. In a proper cup, please.”
Smiling, Jo rolls her eyes at me and detours toward the kitchen, where there are multiple sets of china for the afternoon teas we hold here during the winter. “I’ll get it.”
I claim my coffee and apple bar then sit across from her. Bandit trots to my side. “What can we do for you? What’s been going on?”
Agnes glances over her shoulder like she’s making sure the coast is clear. Amid a thunder of footsteps, a group of the soccer players rush down the stairs, laughing and talking over each other. They wait in the entryway, discussing their plans to check out the town’s two warring diners.
Jo returns with a delicate cup and saucer and heads toward the tea kettle.
A few of the chaperones join the girls, and then the group heads out the front door. The lobby is quiet once more, with the soft strains of violins drifting around us.
Agnes folds her hands in her lap and glances back and forth from Jo to me. “I saw something the other night on the way home from playing at The Striped Maple. It was huge and dark, with wings and a tail. It swooped over the road, then hovered in the air, above my car like it wasfollowing me until it finally turned and veered into the woods.”
Jo and I share a look. Maplewood lore has a resident cryptid, a forest creature we call Mabel. But she’s very tall, thin, leafy, and green. She doesn’t have wings. Vermont may have other cryptids, like the monster living in Lake Champlain, but I’ve never heard of anything in Maplewood other than Mabel.
“Could’ve been a shadow cast by a hawk,” I offer. “Or a heron? They have large wingspans.”
Agnes gives me a withering look. “No, dear. This creature’s wingspan had to be at least ten feet wide. When I’m playing a set, I limit myself to one drink. I was sober.” She places her hand over her heart. “Scared me so much, I nearly ran off the road.”
I hold up my hands in surrender and lean back in my chair. “Fair enough. You know what you saw.”
She accepts the cup of tea from Jo. “Exactly. And Eleanor saw something huge and hairy on the edge of the highway two days ago. Rae saw the same thing last week by the fairgrounds.”
Jo looks at me, shrugs, then turns to Agnes. “It was probably a bear. Or a moose?”
Agnes raises a brow at her. “Jo, I am eighty-two years old. I’ve seen quite a few bears and moose in my time. So have the other girls.”
I can’t help smiling because Agnes always refers to her friends, who are also in their eighties, that way. “Black bears are between five and seven feet tall when standing.”
“This thing was much bigger than a standard black bear. Things are happening here and we need to find out why.” She sips her tea and gives it an approving nod. “This is lovely, Jo. Thank you.”
Confusion about why she came to us for help with this buzzes through my brain. I take a bite of my bar and follow itwith another mouthful of coffee. “Did you reach out to Bram? I know he was filming an investigation in Washington state last week. I think he got home today.”
Bram is my best friend, a cryptid enthusiast with a podcast that relays myths and investigates sightings all around the country, and he’s also Agnes’s great-nephew.
“I was going to tell him once he was back home. And there’s more,” she scoots forward in her chair, “I was sharing the story with my gardening club yesterday, and one of them also had a sighting. Something growling and howling like a wolf-man.”
“A wolf-man?” Jo shakes her head in disbelief. “It could’ve been an actual wolf. Or maybe one of their plants is a hallucinogenic?”
My cup halfway to my mouth, I point to her. “That’s happened before. The garden club’s tea party last summer, remember? You called us, convinced you and the girls were giant flowers.”
As she sips her tea, Agnes waves away that suggestion. “We were thinking, with the rash of sightings, plus our beloved Mabel, the town should capitalize on them. Wouldn’t it be great to have a specific event or festival for cryptids? Hosting it in October makes sense, since everyone has Halloween on the brain.”
I swallow the last of my apple bar. “People love the myths about Mabel. I’m surprised there hasn’t already been a festival for her.”
“I agree.” Agnes gives me a smile. “I think we need to strike while the iron, or should I say, the cryptids, are hot. So I ran the idea by Bo Boyd when I saw him at Red’s diner an hour ago. And he agrees we should hold one this year. You know how involved in the festivals he is and how hard he works to make sure the town’s residents are happy.”
Jo’s brows draw together as she sinksonto the couch. I wonder if she’s thinking what I am, which is how hard did Agnes twist the community development guy’s arm to get him to agree to this. “Okay…”
Agnes sets her cup onto its saucer. “So it’s settled. We’d like you to host the event, Trevor.”
Surprise shoots through me, startling the mug in my hand. Coffee sloshes up the sides. I grip the mug tight as my thoughts whirl. “Me? Look, I believe Mabel is real, but I’m not a host.”
“Nonsense. You host events here all the time.”
