Page 4 of Wrong Bed Right Alien

Ending the call, Kimber drew in a full breath of chilly morning air. The flight had been smooth, but her stomach had protested, regardless. If she hadn’t been worried about being an overly dramatic American, she would have kissed the Irish soil when they landed.

Her chest swelled with the thrill of being somewhere new—somewhere international! Muted fractures of gold colored the early morning sky. A slight breeze washed over her face with the damp heaviness of impending rain. A small group had moved to the bus station sign and pulled up the hoods of their jackets to wait. Joining them, she boosted the strap of her duffle bag over her shoulder and gripped her suitcase handle with both hands. Conversations flowed around her in a variety of accents and languages. People-watching was a favorite pastime. She liked to guess where others were going, what kind of person they were; what they’d done earlier that day. Thinking about other’s lives helped keep her mind off her own.

And it helped hone her reporter’s instincts, which currently said the strange little man coming toward her had an agenda.

“Mornin.” He walked bow legged like a cowboy that’d been on a horse too long. A faded tee shirt and droopy old jeans mixed well with the grease stains she guessed were permanent on his rugged fingers.

He thrust a thin sheet of paper at her. “Goin’ ta Dingle, are ya?”

She accepted the paper with a smile. It was a flyer advertising electric bikes for rent. “Yes.”

His rosy cheeks cracked with deep lines when he smiled. “Well, good then. Get yourself one of these and tour the town, no gas required. Have a meal, get a drink, see the lights on the back of your e-bike!”

Catchy. His wit was cute, but he smelled of old oil and fried fish. The scent resurrected the nausea, and her stomach churned. Pushing through it, she caught his eyes.

“Do you mean the lights over the ocean that everyone is talking about?”

“Are there any others worth talkin’ about?” He winked.

“Have you seen them yourself?” Urgent curiosity got the better of her.

He raised his brows and gave a cursory bump of his head in confirmation.

Her heart flipped. “What do you think they are?”

His smile faltered, his face growing serious, as if he had a secret. “Maybe the fairies are expanding their reach. Ya never know.”

“You believe in fairies?”

He drew back, his expression falling. “You don’t touch foot to Irish soil and ask a question like that. Good day to ya.” Pulling a stack of flyers from his pocket, he moved to the next person in the group and all but shoved one in the man’s hand before storming off with a mumble.

What was she doing, worrying about the lights? Frustrated with herself, she pulled out her phone just as the bus appeared with, ‘Dingle’ flashing across the ticker. Boarding, she found a seat and tucked against the window to glimpse the scenery while reviewing the interview questions she’d use at her meeting with Pel Cappa tomorrow. Jim had approved the list she’d created, and she was confident in her ability to facilitate a great interview. So why were nerves creeping in?

Flicking the screen to another page, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she scanned the information she’d saved on the Dingle lights. Despite the constant reports of sightings, no one had narrowed down or confirmed what was causing them. Multiple UFO groups had scoured the town looking for answers, but either the locals didn’t have them, or they weren’t willing to share what they knew. Unless you wanted to pay for it.

Many touristy attractions had cropped up centered on the phenomenon. Boat rides to the spots where orbs reportedly burst from the depths and shot into the sky. Telescope viewing stations. Merchandise. New shops and pubs had opened in the peninsula to accommodate the influx of tourists coming to see the lights for themselves.

Flipping back to the interview profile, she lost herself in mental preparations for the upcoming meeting until the bus slowed and came to a stop. The surrounding buildings were cheery with red, blue, green, and gray paint and whitewashed window trim, top-hat style roofs and potted plants hanging beside the front doors.

Stepping off the bus, she paused a moment to take in the sound of waves calling from the distance, and the chirps of seagulls and other birds filling the air. Entering the name of her hotel into the maps app on her phone, she strolled the eight blocks through the charming town and checked into her room. She’d just slid the key into the lock on her room door when her phone rang. It was an international number. Momentarily confused, she almost ignored it as a spam call, but then recalled Jim had given Pel Cappa her phone number.

“Ms. McLeedy? Pel Cappa calling to welcome you to Dingle.”

Pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder, she struggled with the lock. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”

“I’ll meet you at Dougal’s for a drink. Seven p.m. I know that’s early, but I’m squeezing you in.”

The door finally opened with a pop, and she burst inside, her bag flinging forward on her shoulder and nearly causing her to topple over.

“Oh—oh, well, the interview isn’t until tomorrow, Mr. Cappa—”

“Correct. I like to check out my reporters before I waste my time. I always determine compatibility over a drink. Seven o’clock. I’ll send a driver.”

Seven? That was in forty-five minutes.

“That won’t be necessary. I can—”

The line went dead.

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