The Summer Experiment by Cathie Pelletier Page B

next. Once Dad was home from his woods job, we all sat in the living room as Mom played the recording of the five o’clock news.
    This time, the cameras were in front of Sheriff Mallory’s house and the reporters were crowded onto his front porch. One was even sitting in Mrs. Mallory’s wicker rocking chair. They were talking loudly, waiting for the sheriff to come outside. Even Joey Wallace was there, making faces at the camera and grinning like a fool.
    â€œMaybe this is what Hollywood stars have to put up with,” Grandma said. “But we’re in Allagash, Maine.”
    â€œThey know a good news story when it comes along,” said Uncle Horace. “It’s their job.”
    Sheriff Mallory was now opening his front door and coming out to talk. I knew it wasn’t possible, but he looked even more sad and tired than when Mom and I watched earlier.
    â€œLadies and gentleman, I have a statement to make,” he said, “I did not see a UFO.”
    â€œIs it true that you gave the mayor an official letter retracting your sighting?” asked Andrew Birden, of Fiddlehead Focus .
    â€œThat would be correct, Andrew,” said Sheriff Mallory. “After thinking it over, I believe what I saw was a formation of several airplanes from the base over in Burlington, Vermont.” Then, he turned and looked directly into the camera, as if talking to us citizens and not the reporters.
    â€œFolks,” he said, in that down-home way of his, “I realize now that I’m in need of a vacation. I haven’t had a decent one since Emma made me take her to Disney World back in 1994 so she could hear those singing bears.” He smiled, but no one smiled with him. “Therefore, I have resigned as your sheriff, effective at noon today.”
    A bunch of questions came at him from the reporters. But Sheriff Mallory went back into his house and closed the door.
    â€œLike riding into the sunset,” I said sadly. I liked Sheriff Mallory. He found Maxwell for me once at the top of an apple tree on Mr. Finley’s property. He even borrowed a ladder and got Max down.
    â€œWell, I never,” said Grandma. “That’s not the Stanley I know.”
    â€œEven if there’s a logical explanation for what the sheriff saw, I don’t doubt that he saw it,” said my dad. “Someone obviously got to him.”
    â€œThe mayor probably,” said Grandpa. “Local Chamber of Commerce too.”
    â€œThey don’t want to scare tourists out of canoes and off snowmobiles,” said Uncle Horace.
    And then, as if on cue, our mayor appeared on TV. The cameras were now at his office for his comment. First, he thanked Sheriff Mallory for all his years of community service.
    â€œI also want to reassure everyone, especially our visiting tourists, that Allagash is the safest town in Maine,” said the mayor. “This is the perfect place for your vacation.”
    â€œWhat did I just say?” asked Uncle Horace.
    â€œThose abductions back in 1976 didn’t hurt our tourism here one bit,” said my dad. “Heck, we should put up a big sign marking the site. It might help.”
    And then everybody started talking at once.
    I slipped out of the living room and into the kitchen. I opened the door to the mud room and found my yellow slicker. I pulled it on and put my hood up. In the backyard, I plopped down on one of the cast-iron chairs at the cast-iron table near the fireplace. The fireplace now held wet, black ashes and remnants of burnt wood from Grandpa’s birthday party, the evening my family first saw the lights. It was only three nights ago, and yet it seemed a lifetime.
    Rain was still falling, but I didn’t care. Something just wasn’t right. My heart felt like it was made of cast iron. It’s that feeling I get when I think the adults are hiding something from me. Or worse yet, telling me lies, such as when I found out there was