Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 08 (9 page)

"But why are they here?" I asked in what may have been a rather pathetic bleat. "This town's not even a flyspeck on most maps -- and for a good reason. Wouldn't they get better media coverage elsewhere?"

"There hasn't been a really hot incident since the uproar in Gulf Breeze, Florida, when some spoilsport examined the photographs more carefully and noticed the wires holding up what he described as pie pans. Without a moment's hesitation, Sageman claimed the photographs had been doctored by a top secret government agency in order to discredit the incident, while McMasterson chortled and made snide remarks to every reporter he could corner. The tabloids were ecstatic, of course, but the major networks and less imaginative publications failed to appreciate the drama."

I was shaking my head when the reporter from the Probe sat down on the other end of the log. "Hi," she breathed at me, then casually tried to take a peek at Jules's notebook. "Do they behave like that often?" she asked him.

He closed his notebook. "Every chance they get. I was just telling Chief Hanks -- "

"Arly," I said.

"I was just telling Arly about the financial realities of the business. Whatever took place down here last night will be blown completely out of proportion, courtesy of the two of us, the local television station, and whatever other media McMasterson and Sageman can lure in. I wouldn't be surprised if both of them haven't started outlining their versions of 'Martians in Maggody' or whatever idiotic titles they come up with."

"Come on," I said with a shaky laugh, "the only thing that happened last night was that someone with large feet stomped around in the mud, waving a flashlight. The explosion was most likely a truck backfiring up there on the bridge. The light in the sky was an airplane."

Lucy Fernclift blinked at me. "Gosh, I hope there's more to it. First thing this morning I went into Farberville and faxed the story to my editor. It's the first very really big one I've sent."

"So did I," Jules said comfortingly. "What neither of us will do is ever repudiate our initial accounts of the event. Our readers don't want to hear about trucks backfiring and flashlights waving, and we love them too much to let them down-right?"

"I don't agree," she said. "If nothing really happened, we should say so. People who get carried away with accounts of aliens and abductions can end up dangerously unbalanced. We don't pass out crack to drug users. Isn't an obsession with UFOs as dangerous an addiction?"

Jules looked at her as though she'd developed a third eye. "Didn't I see your by-line on the story about the fisherman who sliced open a shark and found a live human baby in its belly?"

"That was different," she mumbled.

I left them to ponder the ethical perplexities and stepped back over the tape. There was a roughly rectangular area of weeds that had been squashed, but with none of the symmetry and finesse of Raz's crop circles in the field across the creek. After prowling around for a few minutes, I found a spot where a few weeds had been blackened.

And that was it for Sageman's "categorical proof." As I hiked back to the car, I debated whether or not to write up a report. I finally decided to concentrate my energies on meat loaf and let Harve find out the details on the nightly news.

Mrs. Jim Bob was getting fed up with Brother Verber's unresponsiveness, but she couldn't come out and say so without sounding hardhearted. He was as gray and limp as a dishrag, and he'd nodded off more than once since she'd arrived at the rectory. Each time she'd raised her voice to remind him of her presence, he'd acted like somebody poked him with a sharp stick. Having to repeat half of everything she said was annoying, too. She almost felt like she was talking to Adele Wockerman, who couldn't be trusted not to turn off her hearing aid when she felt cantankerous.

"There's something going on that smacks of evil," she said, smacking him on the knee with her Bible in case he was drifting off again. "In the past we've had to confront promiscuity, drunkenness, blasphemy, pornography, and feminists. We did it because it was our duty as virtuous Christians." She smacked him again. "We can't just sit back and allow this business to go on without making sure it's not Satan's handiwork."

Brother Verber thumped the side of his head. "Say what, Sister Barbara?"

"Satan's handiwork!" she shouted into his ear. "I already told you what I saw with my own eyes last night in Raz's cornfield. If aliens are gonna start showing up in town, we have to devise a plan to convert them to Christianity before they have a chance to perform their heathen rituals. We can't allow impressionable teenagers to be led astray."

"Bed away?"

"Led astray! I just don't understand what's wrong with you, Brother Verber. Here we are facing a crisis, and you can't be bothered to listen carefully." She pursed her lips briefly as a disloyal idea flashed across her mind. "I do hope you haven't been sampling any of Raz Buchanon's moonshine, especially after all the praying we did last time to cleanse your soul and get you back on the path of righteousness."

Brother Verber battled back a bout of nausea and tried to think. At some time last night he'd thought about stopping by Raz's place, but he didn't recall actually doing it -- or what it was he'd gathered by the river. He wasn't all that sure what he'd been doing there in the first place. No one had been baptized in Boone Creek for years; the water moccasins distracted the choir. He realized she was waiting and in an offended voice said, "I promised the Lord I'd never touch a drop of moonshine again. I was lost, but now I'm back on the path that leads right up to the pearly gates. Why, I can almost see St. Peter hisself, waiting to whisk me inside and get me settled for all eternity."

Instead of rewarding him with a nod of approval, she took out a piece of paper and a pencil. "The first thing we should do is present them with pamphlets that tell all about the joy of salvation and the perils of damnation. The ones that show interest can be invited to a special Sunday evening service. This is when you'll have to take over, Brother Verber. These aliens need personal counseling to be guided right up to the baptismal font, and you're the logical one to provide it."

"You want me to counsel aliens?" he said, so startled a muted belch slipped out.

"You are our spiritual leader, aren't you? Why don't you put together a study plan and I'll look at it later this afternoon? I should think the best approach is a mixture of prayer, Bible stories, and soul-cleansing confessions." She thrust the paper in his hand. "Here's a list. I need to run along and have a word with Perkins's eldest about dusting the baseboards."

Brother Verber was gazing at the list as the door of the rectory closed. The words were blurry and hard to make out, but he figured he'd be in trouble if he didn't figure out how to offer salvation to heathen aliens. He tried to imagine what it'd be like kneeling next to a slimy purple creature with things sticking out of his head. The picture was so awful that he hurried to the bathroom and wrapped his arms around the commode. He made it just in time.

Darla Jean came into the kitchen and dropped the laundry basket. "I'll fold the sheets and towels later," she said to her mother, who was studying a recipe card. "I'm supposed to meet Heather and Gracie at the Dairee DeeLishus."

"Are you sure you're not meeting that Pellitory boy?"

Surprised that her mother had even heard her, Darla Jean flinched. "I just told you that I'm meeting Heather and Gracie. Are you accusing me of lying?"

"I happened to run into someone who saw you riding around with him last night."

"So?"

"So you weren't listening to music at Heather's house, young lady. That Pellitory boy has a bad reputation, as you know perfectly well. His family doesn't even go to church, and that oldest boy is doing time at the state prison for stealing cars. I wouldn't be surprised if Reggie joins him long before graduation."

"We just rode around for maybe an hour."

"Your pa wants to have a word with you when he gets home this evening. If I was you, I wouldn't make any plans for after supper, not even with Heather and Gracie." Millicent put down the card and opened a cabinet. "Did you put the sugar back where it belongs?"

Darla Jean didn't answer, not out of disrespect but because she was running upstairs to her room.

Dahlia popped a cookie in her mouth as she turned the page of Rosemary T. and the Extrinsic Paradox. Most of it was hard to follow, what with all the words so long they liked to run off the page. Rosemary had warned her about them when she'd loaned Dahlia the book, even admitting she couldn't understand some of 'em herself.

The story was plain enough, though. Rosemary had been in high school, taking piano lessons on Saturday mornings and working every evening at her pa's grocery store. According to the photograph, she'd been a mousy little thing with braces on her teeth and plenty of acne.

Then one night she was walking home all by herself when a beam of light trapped her and carried her into the sky.

Dahlia couldn't help breathing hard as she read the account of what the aliens did on the cold metal table. By the time she finished the chapter, her hand was shaking so hard she nearly spilled her orange soda. The aliens had erased every bit of Rosemary's memories about the gawd-awful ordeal before they set her back on the sidewalk. The only reason Rosemary had ever suspected anything was that she'd gotten in bad trouble when she arrived home at midnight and couldn't explain why she was so late. Two hours of her life had disappeared right out from under her.

Dahlia tried to think if she herself had ever experienced a blackout. There were plenty of times when things were murky, especially when she and Kevvie had been making deliriously passionate love. But if she'd been beamed out of bed, it seemed like he would have said something when she got back or at least the next morning while she gave him his breakfast.

The terrifying thing was that the light in the sky had been so familiar. She figured her memories had been erased just like Rosemary's, and seeing the light was sort of like a nudge from the past. Her mind made up, Dahlia crumpled the can and tossed it with the others. The only way to unlock the secrets was to beg Dr. Sageman to hypnotize her.

I was too miffed at Ruby Bee to go to the bar and grill for supper. After I'd turned off the coffeepot in the back room and made sure the doors were locked so Bigfoot couldn't steal my radar gun, I tucked the tabloid under my arm and headed for my apartment, where I would heat a can of soup just to show her I was unwilling to be manipulated. It might have been interesting to listen to the crackpots debating the merits of the incident, but I had my pride.

I was so busy congratulating myself that I crashed into Jules Channel, who was standing in the road and therefore in peril of being clipped by a chicken truck.

"Look at that," he said before I could offer an apology or a word about pedestrian discretion. He pointed at the inky silhouette of Cotter's Ridge.

Being a professional, I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a safer place. "Look at what?"

"Just above the tree line."

I found myself looking at three glowing orange globes. I didn't have any idea how far away they were, so it was impossible to estimate their size. "They look like pumpkins, don't they?" I said. "What do you think they really are?"

"I have no idea. They don't appear to be moving."

"No," I admitted, "but that doesn't prove anything. Could they be helicopters of some sort? The sheriff borrows one from the National Guard every now and then to search for marijuana fields in the national forest. I don't know why they'd be hanging over the ridge in the dark, unless they're being used for a training operation. The Farberville airport's not too far."

"I've never seen a helicopter with an orange light," said Jules, sounding unconvinced. He might have been planning to elaborate when the lights vanished as if they were targets in a shooting gallery.

Two seconds later I heard the telephone ringing inside the PD.

CHAPTER SIX

"I don't know, Harve," I wailed into the receiver, barely -- but just -- resisting the urge to hammer my heels on the corner of the desk to underscore my frustration (which was on par with your basic two-year-old's in a grocery store checkout line). "From listening to people, you'd think Orson Welles had presented a broadcast about killer metallic spiders from Mars. Ruby Bee and Estelle are calling me every other minute for an update. The two tabloid reporters finally gave up pounding on the PD door and went away, but only as far as Raz's cabin, where they're taking pictures of him and Marjorie. Traffic's a gawd-awful mess and getting worse, Jim Bob set up a roadside stand at the edge of his parking lot to peddle box lunches and maps to Raz's place. Brother Verber's passing out flyers that invite all aliens to the Sunday evening service and potluck supper at the Assembly Hall. Some of the teenagers are driving around town with green faces and purple hair."