Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 08 (6 page)

"Folks sure are getting fired up over this. The next thing you know, we'll be hearing how Bigfoot moved in with Diesel and the Pentecostals are hiding out in the woods behind Joyce Lambertino's house. Arly may have had a point about everybody getting hysterical over three silly circles."

"I seem to remember someone bringing a tape measure."

"Well, I seem to remember someone talking about how flying saucers made the circles."

The exchange might have built up some momentum, but they were both too tired to bother. They munched pretzels in companionable silence for a long while, thinking their own thoughts.

Ruby Bee realized it was time to check the pies. "I don't know what made those circles," she said as she slid off the stool, "but I can't deny business has picked up. There was a traffic jam over in the parking lot at the SuperSaver this morning. You couldn't see the front of Roy's store for all the RVs and cars."

"I'm so thrilled that some of us are doing better," Estelle said with a snort. "Maybe I ought to offer to spray folks' hair green and purple."

"Maybe." Ruby Bee disappeared into the kitchen.

Estelle was considering some sort of innovative "Allen Coif'' when the door opened and a man came in, then hesitated on the far side of the dance floor like he expected an invitation to two-step. She studied him critically. He wore a loose white shirt with lots of colorful embroidery on the yoke, a knotted cloth belt, khaki trousers, and sandals. A funny little beard clung to his chin; a slap on the back might send it flying in the air. The rest of his hair was frizzy, peppered with gray, and pulled back in a ponytail. He'd have fitted in well with the hippies that had run the New Age hardware store until the previous fall -- except that he was likely to be thirty years older than any of 'em.

"The bar and grill's closed till four," she said in a friendly fashion, seeing as how he might feel the need for a trim one of these days.

"I have a reservation at the motel, but I can't seem to find the office."

"This is where you register." Estelle went to the kitchen door and opened it long enough to say, "You got a customer," then returned to her stool and patted the one next to it. "Why doncha sit right here by me, Mr. ah ... ?"

"Dr. Hayden McMasterson," he said. "I truly am in a bit of a hurry to stow my luggage and get to the field before dark."

Ruby Bee was drying her hands on a dish towel as she came out of the kitchen. Estelle graciously made the introductions, which appeared to annoy one of the parties, and then offered to draw a map. This seriously annoyed one of the parties. Dr. McMasterson managed to avoid noticing anything amiss and fled with his key.

Estelle eyed the door. "I wonder if he's a medical doctor or a college doctor."

"Why does it matter to you?"

"I was wondering out loud, so there's no reason to get all riled up." She caught a curl and twisted it around her finger. "I was just thinking -- "

"I was just starting the corn bread."

" -- that if there really were flying saucers out at Raz's last night, they might come back tonight. All these people from Little Rock and California and Florida and New Mexico seem to think something strange is going to happen. If these investigators are going to be there tonight, it must be because they believe they're gonna see something."

"Like Marjorie rolling in the corn?" said Ruby Bee as she turned around like she was going back to the kitchen. She wasn't, naturally, because she was curious about what Estelle was gonna say next. "If you were to close up early -- say, at ten -- we could walk up there, cut around the opposite side of the cabin, and slip into the barn. Then we could keep watch out the knotholes in case -- " Estelle stopped and shivered like a wet dog.

"What if Raz catches us?"

"What if flying saucers come floating across the cornfield?"

Ruby Bee had to admit Estelle had an interesting, if halfbaked, point.

CHAPTER FOUR

Raz grinned as more folks came up the road. His pockets were already stuffed with dollar bills, and in the shack was a whole jarful. Marjorie weren't very happy about all the ruckus, but Raz figgered as long as he kept her locked inside, she wouldn't git riled enough to draw blood.

He held out a gnarled hand. "Two dollars from each of you iffen you want to come into the yard."

Cynthia Dodder glanced in horror at her companions, then stepped forward. "Don't be ridiculous. This is Arthur Sageman, director of the ETH Research Foundation in Los Angeles, and his secretary, Brian Quint. Ms. Tant and I represent UFORIA. We are here to conduct a thorough investigation into the configurations in order to -- "

"Two dollars from each of you iffen you want to come into the yard." Raz spit into the dust, careful to miss her shoe. "And ten dollars fer takin' pictures. Otherwise, you kin hike your tails."

He collected the fee from the young feller and opened the gate. Before they was out of sight, a girl about as skinny as a poker appeared, her cheeks flushed from the walk and her voice all chirpy. She was a purty little thing, so he let her in for a dollar. The man that came on her heels forked over ten dollars like they was burning a hole in his pocket and asked if Raz would pose for a picture and tell about finding the circles. After some dickering, they settled on twenty-five dollars for what the man called "an exclusive" the next morning. He seemed right tickled when Raz insisted Marjorie be in the picture.

Raz didn't charge Dahlia on account of her bein' a neighbor and having her driveway blocked for two days running, and he let Earl and Eilene in cheap 'cause they were kinfolk. His goodwill dried up when Mrs. Jim Bob pranced up to the gate like she was something on a stick and started carryin' on about how aliens were heathens and bringing their depravities to Maggody in hopes of corrupting folks. He held his ground until she thrust two dollars at him and walked past him with her nose stuck up so high she was in danger of drownin' in a rainstorm.

It was beginning to get dark. Raz wasn't sure why folks were still coming, but they were. As soon as there was a break, he figgered he could go inside and see about changin' channels for Marjorie. She felt real strongly about LA Law.

Over on the far side of the county Sheriff Harve Dorfer was working a cold cigar butt from one corner of his mouth to the other as he looked down at the carcass. "Seen any coyotes in these parts, Aldus?"

"Not in over a year. Besides, any fool can see she wasn't taken down by a damn coyote. She was cut, not gnawed. When did a coyote ever pull a flap of skin off a heifer's belly like it was a banana peel? There ain't a single drop of blood in sight." Aldus, who was not a Buchanon (and once had threatened a niece with bodily harm for dating one), walked over to his truck and took out a shovel. "Guess I better bury it before it gets dark. The rest of the herd's so damn spooked they won't come into this part of the pasture."

"Did you see any unfamiliar cars or trucks out on the road last night?"

"No, can't say I did. Then again, me and the missus went over to Maggody after supper to see the corn circles for ourselves. What do you make of 'em, Harve?"

"I'll tell you after Arly gets a report from the county extension office. Lemme take some pictures of the heifer before you bury it, Aldus. It won't do any good, but I suppose I'd better start a file. This is the third one in two weeks."

"That so? You think there's something funny going on in Stump County."

Harve flipped the cigar butt into the tall grass. "Yeah, Aldus, I think there's something funny going on in Stump County. I just wish to hell I knew what it was."

Darla Jean McIlhaney wished she were home in her own room, or hanging out at the Dairee Dee-Lishus, or even baby-sitting for her bratty little cousins. Heck, she'd have preferred to be at a tent revival than parked on this shadowy back road with Reggie Pellitory. She and Reggie had been going together for more than two weeks, and she knew they were getting to the critical point when she either had to prove her love or risk losing him to Bethany Pickerell, who salivated every time she waylaid Reggie in the hall.

Reggie slammed the trunk and came around to her door, holding a cooler in one hand and a rolled-up blanket in the other. "Why're you still sitting there?"

"I told you what Mrs. Jim Bob said to my ma about how Brother Verber is gonna start trying to catch kids down by the creek. They thought it was real funny, but they were in the kitchen having coffee and cookies. I don't reckon my ma will laugh if she hears my name said in church come Sunday morning."

"Fer chrissake," Reggie said as he put down the cooler so he could open her door, "the only thing he's gonna catch is a cold. How's he gonna know to come to this exact spot? I told you when you got in the car that I was coming here to drink beer. You're the one that said you wanted to come with me. Quit your whining, and let's go."

Darla Jean got out of the car and followed him down an overgrown path. "You better be right about this, Reggie," she began, then stopped when a branch caught her square in the face. She was still picking fuzzy things out of her hair when Reggie put down the cooler, unrolled and spread out the blanket, and sat down right in the middle.

"How 'bout opening me a beer?" he said.

"Hush, Reggie! I hear voices."

"Yeah, you do, seeing as how we're directly across Boone Creek from Raz Buchanon's place. I'll bet half the town's standing around his yard gawking at those circles. You wouldn't believe the number of people that came by the SuperSaver today to git directions." He patted the blanket. "Just fetch me a beer and sit down, honey. This way we can watch for flying saucers without paying any money to that asshole. Did you see the new issue of the Weekly Examiner? There's a story about how aliens kidnapped this housewife in Kansas and took her up to their ship to perform sexual experiments on her. Whatta ya say we try some ourselves?"

The only experiment Darla Jean was interested in was finding out if she could wish hard enough to make herself disappear right then and there. She didn't care where she reappeared, as long as she went someplace that wasn't across the creek from all sorts of folks -- including her ma and pa, who'd mentioned going there after supper.

"I don't know, Reggie," she said, frowning at the flickery lights behind the undergrowth. "I'm still afraid of gettin' caught by Brother Verber."

He got to his feet and went over to pull her against him so she could feel the telltale bulge in his britches and realize he wasn't just whistlin' "Dixie." Nibbling her neck for good measure, he said, "There's another reason why we don't have to worry about. Me and some of the boys went up to the Missouri line one night last week after work. There's a place that sells fireworks all year round, even the illegal ones. We bought us a whole box of cherry bombs and divvied them up when we got back."

"But you didn't know about Brother Verber until tonight, did you?"

"Are you gonna ask questions all night?"

Darla Jean's resistance was eroding, but she wasn't quite ready to fling herself onto the blanket. "What are the cherry bombs for?"

"Brother Verber's not exactly a commando. If we hear him stumbling and thrashing through the brush, this little ol' cherry bomb'll scare the holy shit out of him. You and me will be at the Dairee Dee-Lishus before he can twitch a toe." Reggie took an innocuous-looking round object from his pocket. "See? I'll put it right next to the cooler."

Pretty soon Darla Jean found herself in a good-natured tussling match, trying to keep Reggie's hands away from her zipper and buttons without making him mad. He didn't seem to pay much mind to her whispered protests, and to be honest, she would have been a sight more resolute if he hadn't kept swearing that he loved her, and to prove it, he'd bought the most expensive condom at the SuperSaver. Darla Jean thought that was real sweet. After a few more perfunctory protests so he'd know she wasn't a slut like Bethany Pickerell, she helped him unhook her bra.

They'd rounded third base and were heading for home when he sat up and growled, "Fuck! Do you hear something?"

"Why, Hayden, I had no idea you were coming," Arthur Sageman said with a thin smile. "I hope you had a pleasant flight from wherever it is you live in the mountains. I've been told the high altitude can have a deleterious effect on one's neurological activity."

"The Foundation for ITH Research is still in Taos," said Hayden McMasterson, his smile no warmer and his voice a degree or two icier. He rubbed the crystal that hung around his neck from a leather thong until he felt a subtle sense of potency throughout his inner being. "I see you have your cameras positioned to capture the arrival of alien spacecraft. Won't you ever give up and admit you're wrong, Arthur? Surely The Roswell Incident Revisited debacle taught you something."

"Only," Arthur responded with a chuckle, "to be wary of pathological liars, but you're much more familiar with them than I."

"Five hundred and eleven crop circles were recorded last year alone. In not one instance were unidentified lights seen in the vicinity, much less malnourished gray chaps with bug eyes. These crop circles are clearly the product of intraterrestrial activity, as I proved conclusively in last month's Chronicle."

Arthur's nostrils quivered. "I examined that aspect at great length in the Journal six months ago. It's your ilk who keep insisting aliens must arrive in craft with pulsating lights. Any civilization capable of intergalactic travel does not require front-wheel drive and headlights to locate a cornfield. Furthermore, at the conference in Biloxi, I presented the supposition that mass hypnosis may well have been utilized in the rare instances in which witnesses were present."