by Joan Hess
“Sister Barbara,” he said, squeezing her knee to comfort her in her time of trouble, “I am so sorry to hear that. Every time I think we’ve got Brother Jim Bob all straightened out and heading down the glorious sunny highway to heaven, he takes a detour.” He squeezed her knee some more so she’d find inner strength. “Has he been making indecent demands on you? Shall we pray before you commence to tell me what disgraceful and decadent things he’s made you do in the name of holy matrimony?”
She tried to ease her knee free, but he was hanging on like a clamp and breathing right in her face. “I’m starting to suspect Jim Bob has made some kind of deal with Raz Buchanon—and what’s the first word that comes to mind when you hear Raz’s name?”
“Marjorie?” Brother Verber hazarded, more than a little disappointed to have the subject of lasciviousness (or maybe perversity) yanked out from under him like a throw rug.
“Moonshine. Lately Jim Bob has lied about working late at the SuperSaver, which is not uncommon behavior on his part when he has a hussy waiting for him in a trailer somewhere. However, earlier this week, when I happened to be parked across the road, I saw him drive away right as it started getting dark. I decided to follow him. He went by the Pot o’ Gold, but he didn’t turn in there.”
Brother Verber’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “He didn’t? Praise the Lord, Sister Barbara.”
“I had to stay back a goodly distance so he wouldn’t notice me,” she continued, her voice increasingly tight. “When I got to the top of the hill by the Stonecrop County sign, his car was gone. He turned on one of those logging roads. And we both know where those logging roads go, don’t we?”
“To Cotter’s Ridge?”
“We already were on Cotter’s Ridge at the time, Brother Verber. Everybody in town knows that Raz Buchanon runs his still up there. I’m afraid that Raz is so busy with those folks wanting to gape at the circles that he asked Jim Bob to help him with some deliveries.”
“I am shocked. Jim Bob certainly lacks your fine-tuned morality, but the thought of him delivering moonshine to men who’d as soon spend their paychecks on devil’s drink as take care of their wives and children—oh, the pain you must be feeling!”
He was right about that, since he was squeezing her knee so hard she was about to cry. Mrs. Jim Bob had to remind herself that she couldn’t do that because she was strong and brave and pure of heart, to list only a few of her virtues. “I don’t know what to do,” she said with a slight wince. “If I confront him, he’ll deny it, just like he always does. But moonshining’s a federal crime, and if he gets arrested, the judge could slap him with a fine that’d make us bankrupt. We could lose the store, the house, my Cadillac—everything!”
Brother Verber released her knee so he could clasp his hands. “What a painful, painful picture you’re painting, Sister Barbara. Let’s get down on our knees and pray that the Good Lord will see fit not to let Jim Bob get caught by the revenue agents and end up causing you to lose everything you’ve worked hard for all these years.” He hit the floor like a load of concrete, positioned his hands on the back of the pew, and squeezed his eyes closed.
“I’ll pray from the pew,” she said as she rubbed her tender knee. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and prayed fervently that she could find a lawyer to transfer all the assets to her name before Jim Bob was arrested.
Thus the only person with open eyes in the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall was Lottie Estes, who was in the storeroom. She’d been sorting through sheet music for the eleven o’clock service when she first heard voices, and not wanting to interfere with spiritual guidance, she’d kept quiet. Quiet as a church mouse, you might say.
“It is so kind of you to give me a ride to the hospital,” Rosemary Tant said as she waved out the car window at a child on a bicycle. The child, a mutant Buchanon, raised a finger in response before pedaling away on a bicycle I would have bet my paltry paycheck was stolen.
“I need to speak to Cynthia,” I said, “and this gives us an opportunity to discuss what happened last night. The crime squad should be finished with your car by noon. I’ll pick you up later and take you to get it.”
“I still cannot believe that nice young man passed away. He was always so polite to me, as if I were someone special, and after a session he’d pour me a cup of tea without me so much as saying a word. Last year we had a session in which an alien used me as a vehicle to speak directly to Arthur about turbulence on a distant planet from within the constellation Canis Major. I was absolutely exhausted, and Brian—”
“You were in the room during Dahlia’s session,” I said. “Did anything unusual occur?”
“There is nothing usual about a session that uncovers an abduction,” she said carefully. “It is always fraught with profound and raw emotions. Although Dahlia was understandably fearful before we started, she did remarkably well. Arthur was especially pleased when she described the interior of the spacecraft. Many of us have had identical experiences, which goes to prove we are not dreaming or relying on our imaginations.”
“Ms. Tant, I’m not interested in what was said last night. I need to know what happened between seven and eleven o’clock. The session began at seven?”
“About then, yes.”
“And at eleven Dr. Sageman asked Dr. McMasterson to take Dahlia home?” I watched her nod. “During that time did you see or hear anyone out in the parking lot?”
“I didn’t hear anyone, and I was sitting with my back to the window, so I couldn’t have seen anyone. I was not only running the tape recorder but also making little sketches and drawings as Dahlia went along. I use colored pencils because so often there are bright lights in certain arrangements.”
“Oh,” I said as we passed the Farberville airport. A plane came roaring down at us in a kamikaze fashion, cleared the roof of the car by a few feet, and bounced onto the runway. “Your car was parked right in front of the unit you were in. Didn’t you hear anything when Cynthia drove away?”
“Oh, I certainly heard the car. You asked me if I heard anyone, so I assumed you meant persons.”
“Did Dr. Sageman mention it?”
“He was irritated because the noise startled Dahlia while she was at a very significant moment in her narrative, and she came very close to tumbling off the bed. When we heard a second car, he went so far as to step outside to find out what was going on.”
“How long was he gone?”
“Only a minute or two.” She leaned over and put her hand on my arm. “Cynthia is the bravest woman I’ve ever met, and she is dedicated to the discovery of the truth. She personally investigated more than forty sightings last year, often unaccompanied and late at night.”
“There were that many sightings in Arkansas last year?” I asked, surprised.
“Who knows how many there were? Not everyone is willing to risk being embarrassed and ridiculed by their neighbors, as well as by the media. I only allowed my story to be made public when Arthur convinced me I was helping other people with the same traumatic scars. Despite my shyness, I’ve lectured at many of the conferences and was once the after-dinner speaker. I was so nervous beforehand that I couldn’t eat a bite.”
I realized I wasn’t having much success keeping her on the subject. “And the telephone never rang during the session?”
“I don’t believe so, but my mind had blended into the narrative, and the images were flowing through me so rapidly that I could barely get them onto the paper. My fingers were so stiff this morning I could barely dial the telephone to let the membership know about Cynthia.”
“When the session ended, did Dr. Sageman go to Dr. McMasterson’s room?”
“Yes, while I combed Dahlia’s hair and tidied her up as best I could. The session was difficult, and she was quite damp from tears and perspiration. Dr. Sageman returned to escort her to Dr. McMasterson’s car. I made a little joke and …”
I glanced at her as she dribbled to a stop. Her mouth was open as if the nex
t word were actually on the tip of her tongue, but her forehead was creased, and her eyes seemed unfocused. “And?” I said encouragingly.
“I’d planned to finish my sketches,” she said with a shrug of her bony shoulders, “but Arthur was eager to see them and asked to take my notebook. I was preparing to take a shower when you knocked on the door with the news about poor Cynthia. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to meditate until we get to the hospital so I can fill Cynthia’s room with curative energy.”
There was no point in trying to converse with a woman who had wrapped her arms around her knees and was humming loudly through her nose. I was just relieved she didn’t float out the window. I had enough problems as it was.
NINE
I left Rosemary sitting cross-legged and droning like a demented bumblebee in the ICU waiting room and entered Cynthia’s curtained cubicle. She looked fragile, but her color was much better than I’d last seen it, and she turned her head as I came around the curtain. The tube taped to her nose and wires slinking out from beneath her gown were disconcerting, but green lines blipped across monitor screens with comforting regularity.
“Ms. Dodder,” I said, “I need to ask you a few quick questions, if you feel up to it.”
“All I feel is foolish. I’ve been waiting for forty years to see an alien, and when I did, I panicked and had a heart attack. I have no choice but to resign as president of UFORIA. I have disgraced the organization and the ETH movement as well as myself.”
“I don’t think you disgraced yourself. Ruby Bee and Estelle were absolutely terrified, too. It’s a natural reaction to something so unexpected and menacing.”
“I suppose so,” she said without conviction. Her eyes closed, and her lips began to move, as if she were composing her letter of resignation.
“Did you hear anything after you parked and started down the path?” I asked. “A car door or maybe voices?” What I wanted was a description of insolent adolescent voices, but it didn’t seem professional to prompt her—unless she needed a little help.
“I heard nothing out of the ordinary until I arrived at the open area and saw the burn marks. They appeared to be similar to markings found in Arizona five years ago. I was trying to recall the particulars of that encounter when there was a sharp noise from across the creek. I looked up and saw the alien advancing across the surface of the water.” Her hand rose unsteadily as if to ward off the memory, then fell back into the rumpled sheet. “I remember nothing else until I regained consciousness here. I shudder to think what would have happened had your mother and her friend not been there. It’s possible I would be many light-years away from Earth by now and in the clutches of that horrible creature and his shipmates.”
I managed a smile, told her Rosemary would be in to visit, and went back to the parking lot. It was Sunday; that meant the public library would be closed. The Thurber Farber Memorial Library on the campus would not be closed, however. I decided to drop the note off at the sheriff’s department on my way back to Maggody and headed for the stacks to do some research, feeling sophomoric in both senses of the word.
“Dahlia!” Kevin said from the other side of the bathroom door. “Please come out of there, honeypot. You must have an awful crick in your neck from sleeping in the tub all night. I’m here to protect you from whatever it is that’s upsettin’ you. I’m your lawful wedded husband for better or worse.”
He stopped, thinking it couldn’t get much worse than this. It’d been half past midnight by the time he’d dragged home from the SuperSaver, all because Jim Bob had ordered him to wax the floors and the buffer’d gone loco and knocked down a ten-foot-high pyramid of paper towels. Then he’d found Dahlia locked in the bathroom, moaning and sobbing—and refusing to explain why. The bed had been mighty cold and lonesome without his tawny temptress.
He had a flash of insight. “Is it female trouble? Do you want me to get my ma so you kin talk to her?”
“Go away.”
“Are you sure I can’t fix you some breakfast?” He persisted, his ear pressed so hard against the door he could hear her despair. “Or better still, I kin run down to Ruby Bee’s and fetch a plate of biscuits and gravy, with a side order of ham.”
“Go away, I said!”
Kevin was so bewildered that he went into the living room and flopped down on the recliner. His beloved bride had never passed up biscuits and gravy, even the time that she’d had stomach flu so bad she could hardly lift her head and had to be fed like a baby bird.
He finally called his ma to say that they wouldn’t be comin’ over for Sunday dinner. Eilene sighed, but she didn’t say anything. Dahlia’s outburst in the bar and grill had been repeated, with varying amounts of elaboration, all over town and most of the county. For all she knew, they were discussing it all the way up to Kansas City, Missouri. Some of the less perceptive men (her husband and her son being prime examples) might have missed hearing about it, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it showed up in Brother Verber’s sermon.
“What do you think those three are up to?” Ruby Bee whispered to Estelle, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the last booth.
“They are drinking coffee, Ruby Bee.” Estelle didn’t bother to look over her shoulder at Jim Bob Buchanon, Roy Stiver, and Larry Joe Lambertino. They’d been muttering at one another for the best part of an hour, and Ruby Bee’d been asking the same question most of that time. Estelle’s answers had been fanciful at first, but eventually she was reduced to stating the obvious.
“Like I can’t see that for myself, Mrs. Optometrist?” Ruby Bee picked up the coffeepot and headed for them, determined to worm something out of them. “Y’all ready for another warm-up?”
Their heads jerked up as if they’d been caught sneaking a smoke behind the gym. Jim Bob and Larry Joe were dressed for church, but Roy was in his overalls on account of claiming to be an agnostic (which, according to Eula Lemoy, was related to an Episcopalian).
Jim Bob put his hands over a piece of paper in the middle of the table. “We sure are,” he said.
Ruby Bee took her time replenishing their cups, all the while trying to get a peek at the paper. She even considered spilling some coffee on Jim Bob’s hands so he’d move ’em real fast. “Is this a town council meeting?”
There was a moment of silence in which she could hear Larry Joe’s gulp and a faint rumble from someone’s stomach. Then Jim Bob said, “No, we have ’em on the first Tuesday of the month. We’re talking about our deer camp.”
“It’s a long time till deer season,” Ruby Bee said, making sure nobody missed the sarcasm. “More than six months, ain’t it?”
Roy took a noisy slurp of coffee. “It sure is, but we’re thinking about how to fix up the trailer so it won’t be so all-fired cold next winter. I was just saying we needed to put in some new insulation.”
“That’s right,” croaked Larry Joe as he started spooning sugar into his cup, his hand trembling so hard the crystals dusted the tabletop like an early frost. “You recall the commercials about that pink insulation that you can roll out and staple down? We were wondering how much it cost, and Jim Bob here was writing down some figures.”
Jim Bob’s hands stayed where they were. “But we don’t want folks to know about our improvements, on account of they might vandalize the place out of spite. Folks can be awfully ornery when they’re jealous, and deer season brings out the worst in ’em.” His companions nodded.
“You can say that again,” Ruby Bee said emphatically, then went back to the bar and replaced the coffeepot. “They’re up to no good,” she said to Estelle. “It’s written plain as day all over their lying faces. I wish I could hear what they’re saying.”
“Maybe you ought to bug the booth. That way you could listen to all kinds of private conversations, go into the blackmail business, and make enough money to retire to Florida and play canasta with skinny bald men in Bermuda shorts. I wonder how much you could get from Moon Pie Buchanon not to tell his wife about him and Cloris? An
d how about—”
“You have been watching too much television.” Ruby Bee stalked into the kitchen to check the cobblers and make sure the cloverleaf rolls were rising.
Estelle was working on a comeback when the cute little dark-haired girl from the tabloid slipped onto the next stool and said, “I heard you saw an alien last night. Could I ask you a few questions about it?”
“Is this for the Probe?”
Lucy opened a notebook, then scrabbled around in her purse until she found a pencil. “We’re doing a major spread on the recent events in Maggody. We probably won’t say anything about the awful accident, though. Our readers don’t like that kind of thing.” She licked the tip of the pencil, wrote the date in neat round figures, and looked up with a smile just as sweet as cotton candy. “Are you sure you actually saw this so-called alien? Couldn’t it have been an ordinary person dressed in a suit, with moonlight hitting the fabric?”
“It could have been,” Estelle said, offended by the cynicism in the girl’s voice, “but it wasn’t—unless this ‘ordinary person’ figured out how to walk on water and glow in the dark. If you don’t mind me saying so, you have a funny attitude for someone who writes stories about singing cows and twenty-pound grasshoppers.”
“You don’t really believe it walked on water, do you?” Lucy’s chuckle wasn’t at all sweet. “Are you really that neurotic—or is Dr. Sageman paying you to make up this nonsense?”
“I cannot believe my ears! Where do you get off accusing me of lying, young lady? There are plenty of folks all over the world who’ve seen flying saucers and aliens.”
“And there are plenty of folks who hear cows singing and watch twenty-pound grasshoppers hop across their backyards! And do you know what they are? Wacko, that’s what! Brian Quint is dead, just like—” She covered her mouth with her hand, fumbled for her purse, and tried to slide off the stool.