Read Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 08 for Free Online Page B

use this in Houston and literally bring down the house. Very little has been done with corn circle configurations in the United States, I suppose because of the crude forgeries in Kennewick several years ago. This will be quite a coup."
    "And Rosemary will be here," Brian said as he braked at what appeared to be the only stoplight. "Oh, shit," he added, then pointed at a figure walking alongside the road. "Look who's here -- your favorite tabloid reporter, Jules Channel." Arthur was distressed enough to ruffle his sculpted silver hair and allow a deep crease to cut across his wide forehead. He pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses, polished them on a silk handkerchief, and resettled them on his undeniably patrician nose. Keeping all but the faintest hint of vinegar from his voice, he said, "We could have done without the chap. His edge of sarcasm makes legitimate sightings sound like a quaint elementary school theater production."
    "He turned into the parking lot with a motel sign. It's likely to be the only one around, so it's probable Cynthia booked us rooms there. Talk about your strange bedfellows ... "
    They found the motel behind a pink building, but there was neither office nor any hint of the registration procedure. There were three cars, however. Two had stickers indicating they were rented, but the third had a metal plate from a Little Rock Honda agency.
    "That could be Cynthia's or Rosemary's," Arthur said. "I have no desire to encounter Mr. Channel, but I would like to get settled in so we can start taking slides this afternoon. Knock on the door, Brian."
    As Brian climbed out of the car, a door at the end of the building opened and a young woman emerged. She was burdened with a briefcase, several camera bags, and an enormous leather purse. He watched as she staggered to one of the rental cars, made a futile attempt to open the door, looked around with a fetchingly helpless expression, and then dumped her load on the hood of the car. Only then did she realize she was being observed.
    "Hello," she said with a strained smile. Brian wiggled his fingers. "Hello. You've obviously found the office and managed to register. Could you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?"
    "Talk to the woman inside the bar." She turned away and began to dig through her purse, but her cheeks were noticeably pink. Somehow or other, she managed to knock the briefcase off the hood while spilling most of the purse's contents at her feet. "Darn!"
    Brian thought she was adorable. "Are you here to see the crop circles?"
    "Yes." She cleared her throat. "I'm a reporter."
    Arthur stuck his head out the car window. "Brian, my boy, we cannot sit here all afternoon and natter with other guests. If this car is not Cynthia's, then we must track her down and determine where we are to stay tonight. It's imperative that our cameras are placed before dark."
    Brian obediently knocked on the door of No. 2. When Rosemary peered timidly out the window, he beckoned to Arthur. The girl from No. 3 drove away as Cynthia opened the door and stepped outside.
    "Welcome back to Arkansas, Arthur!" she boomed. "You haven't been here since the MUFON conference in Eureka Springs four years ago, have you? I was so hoping you might speak at our UFORIA conference last month. We had a decent turnout, but we would have drawn attendees from across the country if you had come."
    He shrugged modestly. "I am dreadfully busy these days. My fourteenth book just came out, although you must have heard that from Rosemary. I insisted her photograph be included on the interior of the dust jacket this time."
    Cynthia was properly impressed with his magnanimity, as well as his prolificacy. "She loaned me her copy, although I haven't had time to read it yet. This business with the Mars Observer conspiracy has taken all my energy."
    Rosemary wiggled past Cynthia. "Arthur, how are you? Did you have a nice flight? I've never flown, you know, except for my trips in Pleiadian spaceships,