“I work in the evenings, but if you come by tomorrow, or I could meet you somewhere, I can show you what I have.”
“That would be great.” Before he hung up, he remembered something. “Do you remember anyone ever calling your husband Fat Boy?”
For the first time in the conversation, she laughed. “All his friends called him that because he was so skinny.”
Leaphorn contacted Mrs. Pinto. Over the years, he’d learned that even if he couldn’t give them much news, clients wanted updates. But she didn’t give him time to get in a word.
“I’m glad you got my message.”
“I didn’t get it.” He noticed the flashing light on his message machine for the first time. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Come down to my office. I’d rather show you in person.” He heard the panic in her tone. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”
She hadn’t asked, but he didn’t say that. “I can leave in ten minutes.”
The atmosphere at the tribal museum and library seemed quieter—and not just because there was no tour group in the building. Leaphorn noticed it right away, a somberness that seemed to penetrate the walls. He told the young man at the information desk he was there to see Mrs. Pinto and headed to her office.
She rose when he entered. “Thanks for coming. I don’t know how to handle this.”
“What happened?”
“Take a look.”
They walked together into the rapidly warming day. She led him to an empty parking spot that captured a bit of shade. An orange cone blocked vehicles from using it.
“I always park here, under this tree. This morning, I found that thing in the middle of my usual spot. I’m not superstitious, but this isn’t good.”
“The cone?”
“No,” she snapped at him. “I had them put it there. They moved the dead thing over that way.” She pointed with a jut of her chin.
On the ground just beyond the cone, he saw an old rag. No, he realized, it was the body of a cottontail rabbit. In the old days, a person suspected of witchcraft might receive such a warning. The next time the dead thing could be the witch. Even those who didn’t believe would be upset to find a dead rabbit purposely left in their parking spot.
Mrs. Pinto turned her back on the scene. Leaphorn nudged the rabbit out of view with his boot. It wouldn’t be long, he knew, before some other animal would welcome the free meal.
As they walked back to the building, he asked, “Why do you think this happened?”
“Ignorance, suspicion, jealousy.” She opened her eyes a bit wider. “Because I’m successful, people think there’s something evil going on with me. I’m surprised you haven’t heard the rumors. The progression of Tiffany’s illness stirred things up. That poor girl kept going to the doctor. She was lucky that her sister helped with the appointments and that she worked in a pharmacy so she could pick up the medicine. Tiffany hated it that no one could figure out why she kept getting worse.” She frowned. “Her father thinks witchcraft caused her problems and that I had something to do with it because I asked a lot of Tiffany.”
“From what you told me, the girl liked you and her job. She enjoyed working hard.”
“True, but the sicker she got, the more Mr. Benally resented me. When I spoke to Tiffany about it, she told me not to worry. She thought with her sister helping, her dad would back off a little.” Mrs. Pinto shook her head. “And I thought I could ignore his craziness. But I’m disgusted by this dead cottontail business. What should I do?”
He had handled similar questions as a cop, too. “If something like that happened to me, I’d ask myself who might have a grudge against me. If I came up with someone, I’d seek out that person and try to get things resolved.”
She sighed. “Come inside, cool off a minute, and give me an update on your progress.”
Leaphorn felt his cell phone vibrate and chose to ignore it, as was his habit when he was with a client. But he thought about Louisa, and then the information Bean had promised. By the time he pulled the phone from his pocket, he was too late to catch the inspector’s call. “I’ll be right there. I’ll meet you in your office.”
“OK, but don’t be long. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.” Mrs. Pinto continued her march toward the building.
Leaphorn listened to Bean’s message. “Joe, sorry I missed you. I’ve got a good lead on who sent that box, but I’m in the field until six. Call me after that. Six my time. I never know what time it is for you guys in the summer in Arizona. What’s with that daylight saving mess, anyway?”
Leaphorn smiled at the message. The state of Arizona didn’t observe daylight saving time, but the Navajo Nation—even communities within Arizona—did. That meant that in the summer, it was an hour earlier in Ganado or Window Rock than it was in Flagstaff, Phoenix, and the rest of non-Navajo Arizona, including the Hopi villages and tribes of the Grand Canyon. Navajo tribal government kept all of the Navajo Nation in sync with the Mountain Time Zone while Arizona went its own way.
He walked inside to give Mrs. Pinto the good news about Jim Bean’s message and Rita Begaye’s sales records, two ways to help track the mysterious shipment.
Mrs. Pinto shook her head.
“Considering what little you’ve found so far, I guess it’s worth checking out, but Rita Begaye’s notes about old jewelry sales don’t seem like much of a lead. The post office might turn into something. I’m profoundly disappointed that this is taking you so long.”
As he rose to leave, Leaphorn flashed on several tart responses, but he let her comment hang between them like forgotten laundry. He understood why the doctor treating Tiffany attributed her symptoms to stress. He had dealt with difficult clients, each a challenge in his or her own way. Still, he would be relieved when he closed the book on this assignment. And he’d screen Louisa’s friends more closely before saying yes to them again.
“Sir?”
The voice interrupted his thoughts as he walked to his truck.
A man in a Navajo Emergency Medical Services uniform approached. “I was one of the guys who helped the lady who collapsed out here a few days ago. I saw you helping at the scene. You’re a retired cop, right?”
“Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn. You speak Navajo.”
The man nodded and introduced himself. “I was on ambulance duty the evening she passed away.”
Leaphorn waited.
“I wish we had taken her to the hospital that afternoon. She might still be alive if she’d listened to us.”
“I’ve been in those situations. You can’t force someone to do what you know is best.” Leaphorn paused. “What happened the night she died?”
The ambulance man shook his head. “All I know is that she was dead when I saw her that night. The older lady who worked with her was outside with a flashlight so we could find the house and said she was still breathing when she left her. The woman who died was alone when we got there. Then another woman showed up—I don’t know if she was elsewhere in the house or had just arrived.”
The young man studied his black Nikes for a moment. “We couldn’t bring Tiffany back. It was too late.”
Leaphorn heard his phone buzz as he was driving home and glanced at it. Jim Chee. He let the call go to message. He called the police station and spoke to the chief about Tiffany’s death and his concerns. The man, a Window Rock officer who had worked with Leaphorn years ago, confirmed that an autopsy had been ordered because the death was “unattended” and “suspicious.”
Leaphorn fixed a late lunch for himself and fed Giddi, who seemed hungry but turned up her little black nose at the cat food. He gave Louisa’s plants some water because he thought they looked a bit droopy. He felt rather droopy himself. He usually took a nap after lunch, but he remembered the call from Chee he’d let go to voicemail.
He left a message for Chee with Sandra at the Shiprock station, then asked, “Is Bernie around?”
“No, sir. You could probably get her
on her cell. She’s working on that robbery case and tracking down witnesses for Agent Johnson. Want me to give her a message?”
“No need. I’ll catch her later.”
He would call Louisa that evening after he talked to Bean, he decided. They’d have more to discuss, and she might offer some good insights into the case. The woman was smart, and besides that, he missed her. Maybe even more than the cat did.
Leaphorn called promptly at six, and Bean answered on the second ring.
“I thought you were calling an hour from now. Six o’clock.”
“Six here.”
“Well, whatever. This is a good time to talk.” Bean paused. “Listen, I’ll try to spell things out so you don’t have to ask too many questions.”
“Kay.”
“So, Joe, your luck holds. I tracked the box to the Winslow, Arizona, post office. I found out who was working that day. Six people. The first three I talked to didn’t recall anything. A couple of them barely remembered coming to work that day.” He chuckled. “But with the fourth person, I think we hit the jackpot.”
Leaphorn was pleased to hear Bean say “we.”
“This guy is one of our veteran employees, Arnold Sakiestewa. He recalled a woman struggling with a big box when he was headed out to his car for lunch. He helped her haul it in. Here’s the best part. You still listening?”
“Ya.”
“He commented on the box being heavy, and she said, yes, it has a lifetime of memories inside. Cool, huh?”
“Ya. Aoo’.”
“Anyway, I asked Sakiestewa if he knew the woman and he said . . .” Bean paused with his natural storyteller’s drama. “He said she comes in three or four times a week to check her box for mail. With a little finagling, I got her name. Mary Nestor. I emailed you the address and phone number we have on file for her, and Arnold’s info, too, in case you want to talk to him directly or have Louisa do it. I hope this helps.”
Leaphorn felt the old, sweet pleasure of moving forward in a case. His spirits lifted. “Tanks ahéhee’.”
“My pleasure. Tell Louisa hello for me.”
“Beckfst on me nest time.”
“It’s a deal. Take care.”
After Bean hung up, Leaphorn smiled. He debated whether to retreat into his office and immediately check his email, but he made the call to Flagstaff he’d been putting off. He dialed Louisa on the kitchen phone before he could talk himself out of it, wishing his English were better or her Navajo stronger. The problems they’d had communicating, he thought, led to all sorts of irritations. And if he was annoyed with her, he figured it was probably mutual.
“Yá’át’ééh.”
“Yá’át’ééh yourself. It’s nice to hear your voice. How are you?”
“Kay.” It was nice to hear hers, too.
“Are you making progress on Mrs. Pinto’s case?”
“Tink so. Bean gay me da name of a suspec.” He hated the ignorant way he sounded.
“That’s wonderful.”
“How ya doin?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Tired. The more exposure I have to campus politics now, the more I’m glad to be a lowly consultant. But I realize how much I miss the interaction with faculty, as quirky as they are, and the energy and optimism of college students. It’s great to be back here, at least in that respect.”
He waited for her to say something else, something like she’d be glad to get home.
“They’ve invited me to work with some honors classes in the fall. I’m not sure I want to, but I’m flattered to be asked. I told them I’d like to hear what the proposal is. They set up a meeting tomorrow for that.”
“Den home?”
“Ah, Joe, I don’t know. I still have to do some thinking.”
“Giddi misses you. Slept wid me.” He thought of saying, I miss you, too, but she must have known that already.
“Give her a pat for me.”
“Kay.” He heard noise in the background and then Louisa again.
“I’ve got to go. Julie and I—you remember her—are catching a movie. Be sure to feed the cat and make sure there’s water. And speaking of that, could you check the houseplants? If they start to droop, you know what to do.”
“Kay.”
She said good-bye and was gone.
13
Leaphorn went to his office and found the inspector’s email. As promised, Bean provided Mary Nestor’s Winslow address and a phone number. He wished he had checked before he called Louisa so he could have asked her to help translate a telephone conversation tomorrow. But, he realized, there was no way to do it while his housemate stayed in Flagstaff.
Who could substitute? He considered Jessica from the Window Rock station. He needed to call her tomorrow anyway to thank her for the Begaye accident report and tell her how helpful it was.
Then, as was his longtime habit before he went to bed, he made notes on the progress of the case and added “Call Jessica to help with Nestor interview” to his to-do list. It joined “Consider how to approach Mary Nestor re anonymity” and “Confirm meeting with Rita Begaye.”
He set up coffee for the morning, as he had done in the pre-Louisa days, and settled in to watch the ten o’clock news. He was marveling at how the weatherman mentioned the severity of the drought and, in the next segment, referred to the coming clear, sunny days as “nice weather” when the cell phone rang. Chee’s voice reminded him that he’d ignored the sergeant’s call earlier and not even listened to the message he’d left.
“Sir, am I calling too late?”
“Almost. What can I do for you?”
“Largo told me that you decided not to work with the rookie.” Chee stopped there.
“That’s right.”
“He wants me to do it.”
“You know that guy. You’ve already spent time with him. You can hit the ground running.”
“You’re right about knowing him.” Chee cleared his throat. “I think that could be a problem. I don’t have an open mind.”
Leaphorn took the cell phone into the bedroom. “Sergeant, do you think Sam has what it takes to become a good officer?”
“I’m not sure. He’s energetic, he’s smart enough, and he works hard. But frankly, he’s too cocky and he doesn’t listen to good advice. I may have been that way, too. It seems to come with being young.”
You had your faults, Leaphorn thought, but arrogance wasn’t one of them. And in his mind, Chee was still young. “Largo obviously believes he has potential or he wouldn’t have asked you to spend time with the man. If I were you, I’d find out why he wanted to be a cop in the first place. Ask what he sees himself doing a year from now, then five years from now. That might give you some clues as to how to bring him along.”
Leaphorn could almost hear Chee thinking. “There’s something else on your mind, Sergeant. Go ahead.”
“Largo may not have seen this side of the rookie, but I know about it because of Bernie. I suggested that she bring it up with the captain, but, well, you know her. She wants to handle it herself.”
“You’re referring to his attitude about women, correct?”
“Yes.” He heard the surprise in Chee’s voice. “I don’t know how to get him to change because he doesn’t see it as a problem.”
Leaphorn heard his cell phone chime with a text message and ignored it. “The new FBI special agent out there is a woman, right?”
“Yes, sir. Sage Johnson.”
“See if she has a minute to talk to you about this. She could have some insights into how to deal with a misogynist.”
“I’ll give it a shot. How’s your case coming, sir?”
“I got some good information today. It’s not there yet, but success is in the wind. And, Chee?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I came down too hard on you for that Green Yazzie situation. Thanks for telling me about the call.”
“Let me know if I can help you with anything else. Say hi to Louisa.”
After that,
Leaphorn checked the text. It was from Councilor Walker. Like the woman herself, it got to the point.
Yr working w Pinto @ NN museum. Let’s talk. See you in a.m. at Nav. Inn?
Interesting, he thought. Walker kept her ear to the ground. He’d always admired her, especially when he and she were on the same side of an issue. He texted OK and a time. She sent back a thumbs-up.
Leaphorn read a bit in bed and then turned off the light and stared at the ceiling. The house seemed empty and too quiet without Louisa. He felt Giddi as she jumped onto his bed. Instead of curling up near his feet as she had last night, she snuggled against his hip. He appreciated her soft warmth, and she remained with him until he stirred with the morning light.
Before he left for breakfast, he sent Louisa an update on the case. He knew she’d be interested in the Rita Begaye development. Or at least he hoped she would be.
He thought about his meeting with Walker. He looked forward to learning what she had to say about Tiffany, Mrs. Pinto, and the situation at the museum.
He drove to the Navajo Inn early and ordered the morning special, a pork chop with toast, potatoes, and two eggs. He envisioned his housemate sitting across from him with her bowl of oatmeal. On second thought, he asked for just one egg.
He had enjoyed the egg, finished most of the pork chop, and was spreading grape jelly on his toast when Councilor Walker approached the table. She sat down before he could greet her.
“I know I’m late. Finish your breakfast while I check in at the office.” She said it as a statement, not a suggestion.
By the time the server came around with coffee, Walker had done what she needed to do electronically and Leaphorn had eaten two of the four toast triangles. The waitress filled the empty cup in front of Walker and topped off his.
“I’m glad you could meet me this morning.” Walker stirred sugar into her coffee. “You look good, Joe. Are you recovered from what happened?”
He knew she meant the brain injury. “Mostly. My biggest problem is remembering my English and getting the words out.”
The Tale Teller Page 17
