Murders of the Sixth Kind, Ch. 5

Part 2

Author’s note: The 5 chapters presented here in ILLUMINATION Book Chapters are from the second novel in my Legends of Tsalagee mystery series. The release date has yet to be determined, but roughly late summer, early fall 2021. In the meantime, I’m seeking beta readers for the entire book. If interested, please visit my website and contact me via email for more information.

Five Part 2

Herm trundled the twelve-year-old CR-V to the end of the gravel drive, stopping just past the cattle guard, pushed the shift into Park. He had three more stops, four, if you counted the yokels who only said they thought they saw something. He set up a group meet with those at one home. That’d be tomorrow morning before he headed out. In the meantime, he’d go see that old broad and the schoolteacher and that hot deputy sheriff. He’d already talked to her, but thought she deserved another visit.

He went out to the hippy woman’s field for a cursory look, but nothing turned up, no markings, no abnormal Geiger readings. Strange account of that Nordic, though. He’d have to investigate that further if he had time. Had to get up to Wichita for Time Eddy–the Doctor Who convention there that weekend. He pulled up a list from his cell phone and tapped his index finger on “Olivia Anderson.” The display showed where he was, where he had to go, how to get there. Not too far away. He pulled a joint from his shirt pocket and lit it, took a deep hit, and held it. Shifting into Drive, the green heap leaped forward, and Herm steered it left onto the county road.

She was probably a good-looking woman a few decades back, Herm first thought when Olivia Anderson answered the door. A little hard-looking and wind-burned now, but a trim body inside those Levis, and the flannel shirt did her justice. Damn dog scared him a little. Gave him a look like it knew what he was thinking. He took two steps back when the big bastard rumbled out, a low growl from deep in its throat.

“Easy, Step,” the woman said, putting her hand on the dog’s head. She smiled at Herm.

“Hi,” he said. “Miz Anderson?” His look switched rapidly several times between the woman and the dog, his usual smirk more of a fear rictus now. She nodded, showing some teeth. “I’m Herm George from NUFOR?” The woman cocked her head and scrunched her brows. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

“National UFO Research,” Herm said. He reached into his other shirt pocket, the one without the joints, to pull out his overstuffed wallet, retrieved another warped, corner-curled business card. “I left you a message a few days ago that I’d be coming by to ask you a few questions.” The woman still looked puzzled; the dog looked ready to pounce. “About that incident you reported concerning the strange lights you saw a couple weeks ago?” He handed her the card; the dog growled louder, bared a few teeth.

“Step!” She jerked the dog’s collar. “How d’you know about that?” she asked, taking the offered card.

“The sheriff’s department,” Herm answered, his eyes on the dog. “That deputy you talked to gave me your name.” He wanted to remove his backpack, but thought he’d better not make any sudden moves.

“Well, everything I got to say oughta be in her report. Don’t know what I can tell you I didn’t tell her.”

Herm nodded. “Could be, but there may be little things you remember, maybe didn’t think of until later. I won’t take long.”

“Okay, I guess.” She moved out onto the porch, the dog at her side, eyeing Herm. “We can talk out here.”

Women around here only like porch talking, he thought. “Your dog always this hostile?” Herm asked. He gave the pair a wide berth.

“He’s protective,” Olivia said. “But usually more reserved. Must be something about you makes him nervous. He used to be a drug dog.” A lie, but she’d smelled enough pot in Vietnam to know the aroma it left on clothes. She smiled broader.

“Ah,” Herm said with a nod, finding his smirk again.

“So, this thing you saw,” he continued. Opened a side pocket on his backpack, but stopped when the dog raised his lips showing the canines and issued a low rumble. “You mind if I record what you tell me? I need to reach in here and get my device.”

“Sure, go ahead,” she said, hooking a finger through the dog’s collar again.

He unzipped the pocket and pulled out the recorder. “What can you tell me about the object?”

“Bright white light, hovered over the field about a quarter of a mile away, bobbed around about five minutes, then took off.”

“Could you see details of the craft, any differentiation of the lights?”

“No, couldn’t see details or outlines. It looked like only one bright light. I could hear a low buzz.”

“The lights didn’t change, flash or twinkle?”

“Nope, no twinkling. It wasn’t a star or planet if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How big would you say it was?

“Mmm, hard to say with that light. The light itself was about thirty, forty feet in diameter, I’d say.”

“Deputy Ortega told me you’re ex-military. Ever been around any helicopters?”

Her turn to smirk. “Yep. Three tours in Vietnam. Lotsa helicopters over there. What I witnessed out in that field didn’t behave like any chopper I ever saw. Course, I’ve been out since ’95. I don’t really know what they’re flying around these days.”

“So, you’re saying it coulda been a helicopter?”

“I suppose it could’ve been. I’m just saying I don’t know what it was for sure.”

“You mind if I go out there and have a look?”

“Be my guest. Watch out for Jake.”

“Jake?”

“My bull.”

The CR-V handled the pasture okay, the terrain not too rough. His main objective was to get to the group of trees at the other end of the property, out where Deputy Babe told him she had her encounter. He glanced at his watch. Maybe if he got back in town soon, she’d meet him for lunch. He’d call her in a minute, tell her he discovered something and needed to let her know before she turned him down. He’d make up something.

Herm drove up to the edge of the tree line and stopped. Couldn’t drive through the thick trees and brush, so he got out. He could see a fence line about two hundred yards off, walked toward it. Approaching the fence, he saw a couple of red and white metal signs, one nailed to a post, another hanging from the top strand of barbed wire:

PRIVATE PROPERTY KEEP OUT If you can read this you’re in range.

A quarter mile off, standing at the edge of some woods, Herm saw what he took to be a tower, maybe thirty feet tall. Looked too big to be a deer stand. A water tower? He pulled out his binoculars and focused on the structure. The enclosure at the top looked to be eight, ten feet square, and it had large open windows on all sides. A watch tower. He held the glasses on the windows for thirty seconds, looking for movement, watchers, but detected neither. He scanned the rest of the forbidden area, the forested hills, the open pastureland. Sweeping back, something caught his eye. Focusing the glasses, a little more, spotted a building a mile or so away, a barn maybe. Couldn’t make out much detail. Trees on the partial slope of a hill in the foreground obscured it. What he could see looked as if foliage covered it. Curious. It might be big enough to house an aircraft, a helicopter maybe.

Normally, Herm ignored no trespassing signs, but he’d hiked enough backwoods areas to respect the ones threatening to shoot you. He’d find out who the landowners were and see if he could convince them to let him on their land.

He didn’t want to face that damn dog again, so he pulled out his cell phone. She came on at the fourth ring. “Hi, Miz Anderson, it’s me, Herm. Whose land is back of your place?”

“That’s part of Tubbeeland,” she answered. “Local Choctaw clan. That piece back of me is owned by one of them. His name is Ted Amos Tubbee, that’s what most folks call him, Ted Amos.

“I wouldn’t go onto their land, if I was you,” she further warned. “They’re a peculiar lot. Keep to themselves; most people avoid them.”

“You think if I introduced myself, told him what I was doing, he’d let me look around?”

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Okay, thanks,” Herm said, ending the call. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught something big and black. Fifty yards off, a menacing bovine beast stood looking at him.

“That must be Jake,” Herm said. “Time to go see Mister Ted Amos.”

Herm thought it was a boy, but the closer he got, he thought not. It was a young woman, late teens, or early twenties. She cut her hair short, ear-length underneath a black western hat with a flat brim and a beaded band. Wore a camo field jacket with faded jeans sticking out below it, old looking mud-crusted boots. She stood in the road — the two gravel paths with grass growing between them — a rifle held in her hands pointed to the ground. She stepped to the side as he approached, waving with her left hand, signaling for him to stop. She didn’t raise the rifle, but she didn’t smile, either.

When he got next to her, he lowered the window. She backed off another six feet. He kept both hands on the wheel. “Afternoon.” He tried to sound friendly and unconcerned about her firearm and unwelcoming expression. “I’m trying to find a man named Ted Amos Tubbee. Understand this is his property.”

The girl looked at him, not speaking for several uncomfortable seconds. “What do you want?”

“Uh, just wanted to talk to Mister Tubbee for a bit.”

“About what?”

“Well, I’m investigating some unusual aerial phenomena reported in the area, some of it over his property, and I just wanted to check with Mister Tubbee to see if he’s seen anything, ask if I could look around one of his pastures where a law officer reported seeing something.”

“Seeing what?”

“One of those objects, a flying object.”

She looked down the road like she was thinking it over, then back into the woods. Good-looking girl, he thought, underneath all that commando clothing. Indian. Definitely Indian.

“What did that lawman tell you he saw, exactly?” she said.

“Well, I’d like to discuss that with Mister Tubbee. Why, did you see something?”

The girl’s eyes shifted. She slung the rifle up, laying the lower part of the barrel across her right shoulder, her index finger on the trigger guard. “I’ll take you to see Ted Amos, ’cause he likes to know who’s trespassing on his land, but I doubt he’ll let you do any investigating.”

That made Herm a little nervous, but excited at the prospect of getting the girl in the car with him. “Hop in,” he said.

The girl went around to the passenger side, opening the door. She pointed the rifle at Herm’s ribs as she slid into the car seat. “Safety’s off,” she said. “Head on up the road.”

The lane crossed a shallow creek after a quarter mile, wound around low forested hills for three miles before it came to a clearing in the woods — a wide valley with that same creek coursing from the base of the valley to their right. A two-story, square house in need of paint job sat at the foot of the east rise of the valley floor. A barn squatted to one side and another building, a metal shed about fifty feet long, its doors closed. Three pickups sat in the yard. Apparently, Ted Amos had other company.

“More trespassers?” Herm asked the girl, grinning at her. She said nothing, exited the CR-V.

A man came out onto the porch, portly, black braided hair. Looked to be in his sixties. “What did you drag in, Talulah?” he yelled to the girl. He didn’t look happy.

“Man wants to talk to you, daddy.”

Herm got out, too. “Mister Tubbee, your neighbor Olivia Anderson sent me over. I’ve been talking to her about some aerial displays she’s seen, her and a deputy sheriff named Ortega. They claim it looked like it landed on your property. I wanted to ask if you’d mind my going to where they said they thought it touched down. See if I could find anything.”

Ted Amos scowled some more. “Just who the hell are you?”

“Oh,” Herm said. He laughed, looking at the ground. “Sorry. My name’s Herm George. I’m with the National UFO Research group, Kansas City office.”

“Ewe eff owes,” Ted Amos repeated, scratching his chin and smiling. “You mean like flyin saucers?”

“Thant’s one possibility, yes. We’re more interested in investigating aerial sightings that are unidentified, and trying to, well, identify them. Most end up that way, being explained, I mean.”

“Well, hell,” Tubbee said. “I can explain what old lady Anderson and that deputy seen. It was one of our helicopters. We got feral hogs out here Mister, uh…”

“George.”

“Mister George. They’re a real problem. We hunt ’em at night. We use a helicopter with a three-oh-eight machinegun mounted at the side door. You ever seen pictures of Vietnam, all them helicopters flyin around? That’s what we got, one of them old Hueys. Anyway, that’s kinda why we don’t want people coming onto our land. Wild hogs are dangerous. Course, so’s that three-oh-eight. Sometimes trespassers can be mistook for hogs.”

Two other men came out onto the porch; burly, native American, younger versions of Ted Amos. Herm watched them. One walked over to a porch post and leaned against it, the other sat in a wooden rocker. Both had holstered pistols belted to their hips. Neither spoke.

The researcher swallowed. “I don’t suppose you’d let me go look at that spot I mentioned.”

Ted Amos shook his head. “No, don’t suppose I would. In fact, my boys here would be glad to escort you off my property, just so’s you don’t get lost on the way out or get attacked by a boar. Both boys carry a fifty-caliber pistol, they’ll damn sure stop a feral hog.”

“I can probably find my way…” the two big men left the porch and started walking toward Herm. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll leave.”

George looked in his rearview mirror as he turned onto the county road just outside the Tubbee gate. The pickup behind him with the two out-sized and menacing-looking Tubbee boys stopped once he passed the gate; that relieved him. He picked up his cell phone from the console and dialed the sheriff’s office. Wanted to get ahold of Deputy Ortega about lunch. Beyond hitting on her some, there really was something he needed to talk to her about. Night hunting for feral hogs in a helicopter could explain what she and the hippy broad and the old lady saw, but something nagged at him. UH-1 helicopters, the Hueys, had a distinctive sound and were anything but quiet, which was not what the witnesses reported.

© 2021 by Phil Truman. All rights reserved PTI Publishing Broken Arrow, OK

This is a work of fiction. All persons and events depicted sprang from the mind of the author.

Shout outs: Britni Pepper, Liam Ireland, Stuart Englander, Bebe Nicholson, Teresa Kuhl, Trapper Sherwood, Terry Mansfield, Roz Warren, The Garrulous Glaswegian, Frank Kelso, Sooner Woodard