"I'm serious about this, Muffy," said Fern. "The person who stole your dress may try again, and may be closer than you think. If I were you, I'd hide it in a safe deposit box."
"Oh, yeah, right," said Muffy into her cell phone. "What do I do then, put the safe deposit box inside another safe deposit box, and then bury the safe deposit box inside a sarcophagus? Geez, Fern, you totally miss the point of owning a dress."
"I'm coming over there," said the poodle girl with determination. "You and I need to have a girl-to-girl talk."
"Go on ahead," said Muffy, "but I'm not changing my mind. See you when you get here."
She folded up her cell phone, looked down at her own smiling face on the front of her dress, and shook her nicely braided hair. I can't be wrong when I feel so self-satisfied, she thought. Fern can nag me until she's blue in the face…hmm, I should take a picture if she does.
Her father was lounging in the easy chair, his eyes glued to the Wall Street Journal. Muffy approached him, skipping merrily. "Daddy," she requested, "will you drive me to Crown City so I can see Van and his family in their new house?"
Mr. Crosswire peered over his newspaper. "You mean today?" he muttered.
Muffy nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"Ask your mother," said the man curtly.
"I did ask her," said Muffy, although she actually hadn't. "She told me to ask you."
"All right," said Mr. Crosswire, shifting in his chair. "Ask Bailey, then."
"Bailey?" said Muffy, wide-eyed. "But he doesn't work for us anymore."
"I know," said her father. "But the last time I talked to him, he said he'd be happy to give you a ride somewhere if you need one, for old times' sake."
Fern marched along the sidewalk, her fists clenched, in the direction of Muffy's condo. I'd tell her the truth, but she couldn't handle it, she thought. I've got to come up with a story scary enough to shock her out of that silly dress—and if anyone can tell a scary story, it's me.
She almost didn't notice when a squat, paunchy man rounded a corner and stood in front of her, saying, "Pardon me, little girl."
She halted and glanced up at the man's catlike face, which wasn't much higher than her own. She recognized him immediately, and a chill of terror sprang from her toes to her hair ribbon.
"M-m-m-ma-man…" she stuttered, backing away tentatively.
The cat man bent over slightly and sniffed the air around Fern a few times. "Ah," he said with a grin. "You're a friend of Alan's, aren't you?"
"Help," gulped Fern. "Help! Help!"
She turned and ran, fear speeding up her flight, and the man stared after her with a quizzical expression.
It was her father, raking leaves in the yard, who first noticed her frantic eyes and pale face. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Dad!" she cried, gripping his wrist, her breaths quick. "He's back! Mansch is back! I saw him!"
The sound of the name made the poodle man tighten his fingers around the rake almost to the snapping point. "Try to stay calm, dear," he said. "I'll get the police on the line."
It came as quite a letdown to Muffy that Bailey's current ride was not a shiny black limousine, but a dull white sedan. It had, however, one thing going for it—a digital display that indicated the velocity, the trip mileage, and one other number. "What's that other number?" inquired Muffy, pointing.
"It's the miles per gallon, Miss Muffy," replied the distinguished dog man. "I sold enough of my kinetic sculptures that I could afford this lovely hybrid vehicle. It gets 50 MPG on the highway, 35 MPG in the city."
"Interesting, I guess," said Muffy as she watched the bare trees fly past on the highway to Crown City. "So, did this thing come without a back seat, or did you get rid of it to improve your gas mileage?"
"The lack of a back seat is a standard feature of this model," said her one-time chauffeur. "I hope you don't find it too awkward—I know how accustomed you are to ordering me around from the back."
Muffy chuckled with delight. Bailey, his ears perking up, reached over to increase the volume of the radio: "The United Nations this morning extended an official welcome to the Alliance representatives, and offered to make several floors of the Times Square Hilton available to the alien diplomats when they arrive. The mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, had this to say…"
"He's back, Alan," said Fern, her voice filled with earnestness. "He came up to me on the street. What do you think he wants?"
The bear boy carefully pondered her question. "I doubt it's you he's after," he remarked. "He only kidnapped you as a way to get at Molly's dad. It's gotta have something to do with the Brainchildren…or me."
Seated on her living room's couch, Fern leaned closer to the boy. "I'm scared," she told him. "I don't think I've ever been so scared."
Wordlessly, Alan put his arms over her shoulders, then around her back. He felt the warmth of her body as it began to warm his own. "Don't be afraid," he said reassuringly.
The truth is, I'm only a little bit scared, she thought. But if this doesn't get Alan to notice me, nothing will.
To be continued