Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 08 (22 page)

I was on the verge of repeating my promise to find her when Saralee Lambertino came around the back of the car. "What room are the tabloid reporters in?" she asked Ruby Bee, apparently too intent on her mission to dally with any standard pleasantries.

"Why do you want to know that?"

Saralee bared her shiny braces. "Because I got a story for them, and they might pay me."

"What story?" I asked as calmly as I could.

"I ain't telling anybody else till I talk to the reporters. I hear they're offering folks a hundred dollars. I may just buy myself a chemistry set and learn Larry junior a thing or two."

Ruby Bee grabbed a blond braid. "Listen here, young lady, I'm not in the mood for any sass from the likes of you. You spit out whatever it is, or I'll march you inside and find a pair of scissors."

"Bigfoot was rooting through the garbage early this morning," she said sulkily. "I saw him out the kitchen window."

"Bigfoot," I echoed without enthusiasm, but without much astonishment either. It'd been that kind of week.

"That's who I saw," she said, then elaborated with a description of the visitor and what she seemed to hope was happening to her cousins at that very moment. She did so in such a matter-of-fact voice that both Ruby Bee and I were reduced to gaping at her, our expressions equally appalled.

"When I left, Uncle Larry Joe was gonna call the sheriff," Saralee concluded, scowling. Her face brightened. "But even if he did, it may be too late by now."

I reminded myself that I was standing in a parking lot on a sunny afternoon, in the company of my own mother and a disconcerting but basically unremarkable child. We were not on a Hollywood set, nor were we in any danger of being wafted upward in a beam of light. This may have taken a moment, but I eventually said, "Saralee, I want you to go home and stay there. If I find out you've been spouting off any more of this grisly nonsense, I will show up and personally stuff you in the garbage can. Headfirst, too."

She must have heard the sincerity in my voice because she had enough sense to march off in the direction she'd come, her braids swishing rebelliously.

Ruby Bee waited until Saralee was out of earshot, then said, "There's something I might ought to tell you. Estelle and I were in Raz's barn the night the alien appeared, and -- "

"The barn?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, although I'd be hard pressed to explain it now. Anyway, we overheard Lucy Fernclift trying to bribe Brian. She as much as admitted it this morning."

I sat on the hood of the car and demanded the entire story. There wasn't much to it, I'm sorry to say, but I was starved for anything remotely resembling a clue. What she told me barely qualified.

"Now," I said, "you are going back inside in case Estelle calls to explain where she is. I'll interview all your charming guests out back, and if no one has any information, I'll ... think of something else." I paused and added, "If Harve calls wanting me to beat the bushes for Bigfoot, tell him I'm busy."

I marched off much as Saralee had, although my pinned bun was incapable of swishing in any fashion whatsoever. I did a cursory search of Ruby Bee's unit, finding nothing more incriminating than a stash of candy bars adequate for a very lengthy hibernation and a dog-eared paperback with a cover that featured a tawny young hero with unlikely convexities.

Rosemary had not returned to No. 2, but the door was ajar. I went inside and glumly regarded stacks of folders, clippings, notebooks, and other evidence that UFORIA had launched a full-scale investigation of the crop circles and ensuing crap. I'd done enough research at the library to be aware how seriously a hefty percentage of the population took the subject. Controversy still raged about incidents from almost fifty years ago, with accusations and counteraccusations and gnashing of teeth. Children and grandchildren of purported eyewitnesses were hot property, as were photographs of smudges of light. It was possible Maggody was going to become the next supernova.

There was nothing of significance in the room. I went on to No. 3 and knocked. Lucy Fernclift opened the door and recoiled in much the same way Mrs. Jim Bob had earlier. "What do you want?" she said.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions." I stepped around her and waited until she closed the door. "Where were you last night from seven until midnight or so?"

"Right here. I worked on my story about the crop circles, then took a bath and read." She edged in front of the table. "I heard about the terrible accident," she continued, "but I barely knew Brian. I first met him the day we all arrived."

"You didn't go down to the creek last night in case you could get a scoop for the tabloid?" I persisted, intrigued by the beads of sweat on her upper lip. "If the alien had returned, you might have been in contention for a Pulitzer."

"I needed to spend several hours on my story. This assignment's important to me, and I don't want to blow it."

"I suppose not," I said as I glanced around for evidence of her selfless devotion to exploitative journalism. Leather bags and camera equipment were piled precariously on a chair; two conventional bags were set by the closet. A laptop computer and notebooks were on the dresser. A current issue of the Probe lay in the middle of the bed. And on the bedside table was a copy of one of Sageman's books.

I reached around her and picked it up. "Doing a little background reading?" I asked.

She looked very much as if she wanted to snatch the book out of my hands. "You may have gathered from what I said earlier that I have some reservations about the ufology movement. This furor over so-called abductions may be truly dangerous. I'm thinking about doing a spec piece for one of the legitimate magazines. If Sageman agrees to an interview, he'll be featured."

"One of these days he'll be indicted for quackery. It's too bad Leonard's family never sued him."

"I've been told he requires signed legal forms that absolve him from responsibility. He and a few others in the field are making a lot of money with their books and lectures. Usually he charges a fat fee for the sessions, and there are a lot of people who are willing to pay it in order to become members of the elite. Some call themselves selectees. Isn't that cute?"

The contempt in her voice was hard to miss, but also hard to explain, considering her chosen profession. "Do you enjoy working for the Probe?" I asked bluntly.

"Of course I do, and the pay is excellent. Are you thinking of applying for a job?"

"Maybe so. Why don't you give me your editor's name and telephone number? I'll give him a call."

"I'm not allowed to do that."

"No problem. All I have to do is look through an issue and find the information. I'll bet there's even a toll-free number for people who've found demons in the toilet bowl and want to share their stories with the entire country." I picked up the paper and opened it. "Yep, here it is, right next to a story about a woman with taste buds on the bottoms of her feet."

"I may have exaggerated when I claimed to be on the staff, okay? I've done some free-lance articles and have filled out an application for a full-time job. The editor's promised to make a decision based on my coverage of the story here."

"Is that why you tried to bribe Brian in the barn?"

Her cheeks turned pink, maybe even fuchsia. "I wanted to get access to some transcripts of Sageman's hypnotherapy sessions in order to compare them with what he used in his books. Brian agreed to copy a file for me."

"Did he?"

She shook her head. I dropped the paper on the bed and went to the door. "I have a feeling I'm going to want to talk to you later, so stick around."

"May I go to the Dairee Dee-Lishus, or should I stay here and wait for bread and water?"

"Sure, but the only thing you can get that's not swimming in grease is a cherry limeade. Just don't leave town without telling me." I gave her a chance to suggest I have a nice day, but she didn't appear to be in all that balmy a mood.

Perhaps her colleague would be, I thought as I went across the lot and knocked on the door. Jules opened it rather abruptly, then managed a smile of sorts.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

I was beginning to feel as popular as a chaperone at a junior high dance. "I'm just asking a few questions about last night. Where were you?"

"I went to the cornfield and interviewed a few people, then drove into Farberville to go to a movie. I got back here at midnight and went straight to bed."

"You weren't worried that you might miss an alien invasion?" I asked.

Jules nudged me inside and closed the door. "I hate to break this to you, Arly, but there may not be such things as flying saucers. Ninety-five percent of UFO sightings are nothing more than aircraft or natural phenomena. The remaining five percent initially elude an explanation, but witnesses are so eager to see something strange and exciting that they distort -- "

"I don't need a damn lecture! You cause enough grief as it is. Don't compound it with this sanctimonious and condescending attitude about the very people you're exploiting to make a buck!"

He had the wisdom to back into a corner before I degenerated into physical violence. "You're right. It's a very bad habit of mine, and I apologize."

"Me, too," I said, slumping against the wall as my petulance dried up. "I'm frustrated because I can't seem to get anywhere near solving Brian's murder. No one seems to have a motive. If Sageman had been the victim, I'd be knocking on McMasterson's door -- and the other way around, too." I stopped and thought about what I'd said. "Someone did try to lure Sageman down there. If he hadn't been in Cynthia and Rosemary's room, he would have been the one who went racing to investigate the crashed disk."

"He wasn't in Cynthia's room," Jules said.

I blinked at him. "Yes, he was. The session started right after seven and ended at eleven. Rosemary said he went outside, but only for a couple of minutes."

"Well, someone was in there for at least an hour. I could hear an occasional noise through the wall -- a glass knocked over, a mutter every now and then. I'd heard about the session, but I assumed it had been canceled."

I sat down on the corner of the bed, crossed my arms, and looked up at him. "You said you were in Farberville last night."

"After I finished my interview with the amazing Raz Buchanon and his wonder sow Marjorie, I came back here to take a shower. It was about eight o'clock. Minutes later I heard Sageman -- or so I thought -- go into the room. The light was on when I left half an hour later."

It was refreshing to find someone who'd seen something, even if it didn't make a whole helluva lot of sense. "What about cars in the lot when you left?" I asked. "Was Rosemary's car here?"

"Yes, and McMasterson's car was here, too. The light was on in his room, but the curtains were closed. I was a little bit surprised he'd come back so early. He's quite capable of lying in the middle of one of the crop circles all night to be one with his beloved intraterrestrials."

"Maybe I'll ask him," I said as I stood up. "Was Lucy's car in front of her room?"

He nodded. "I asked her to go to a movie with me, but she said she was going to wash her hair. I haven't heard that one since high school."

"Better luck next time," I said ungraciously, then went outside and surveyed the parking lot. Rosemary had returned and presumably was inside her room. Lucy had gone, presumably to the Dairee Dee-Lishus. McMasterson's rental car was at the end of the building. I headed for his door but hesitated as I went by Arthur Sageman's window and saw him asleep on the bed, a yellow legal pad on his chest. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose, where they hung at a precarious angle. He might know who'd entered his room or could offer a motive. And I had no compunction about interrupting his pleasant little siesta. In fact, if I'd had a bazooka, I might have blown down his door just to see how high he'd jump.

Pounding would have to suffice. I raised my fist, then stopped as I heard Dahlia say from inside the room, "Don't you dare do that, you runt. You're gonna be mighty sorry when Kevin finds out about this."

"Take it easy," Sageman said soothingly.

Dahlia screamed. I banged on the door and rattled the knob, but it was locked. She screamed again. I looked through the window. Sageman lay as serenely as a daydreamer in a field of buttercups.

"Don't touch me, please," Dahlia whimpered. "I'm a respectable married woman."

I rapped on the glass with enough fervor to wake the dead, or so I thought. I tried the knob again, then picked up a rock and was about to smash the glass when Hayden McMasterson stumbled out of his room.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," I said grimly, then hit the window. The nature of glass being what it was, shards splattered on my hand, wrist, and forearm. There were more of them than seemed possible from a single windowpane. And boy, oh, boy, were they sharp little suckers.

Jules Channel came out of his room as I watched bubbles of blood appear on my skin. "What the hell?" he said hoarsely.

Hayden grabbed my shoulder just as my knees folded. "I don't know," he said to Jules. "Help me get her inside my room and I'll get a towel for the bleeding."