“I didn’t know that,” Brigid said as she flipped through the book. She paused and looked at a few pictures in the middle of the book, reading their captions. Although she’d always liked reading about history, she’d never thought about checking out Native American history.
“Ouray Smith is a pretty intense guy. He’s totally dedicated to conserving his Ute tribal heritage, so much so that he wants all their artifacts returned to their tribal council.” She paused, debating whether or not to tell her sister the next part. Lucy had told her something in confidence, but after all, this was her sister. Surely it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if she told Brigid. She debated for a moment, then said, “Lucy told me something, but I need you to keep it between us. I’m not sure how many people she wanted to know, and she might be angry if she found out I told you. I trust you, but still.”
Brigid set the book back down and returned to her seat. “I won’t say a word, Fiona, you know that.” She never repeated anything her sister told her. That was one of their unwritten rules. No matter how mad they were at the other one, they would never spill the other one’s secrets.
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you. I trust you completely. I just don’t know how Lucy would feel about it. Anyway, when Ouray Smith was here to speak to the book club, Lucy told him about her love for their culture and how her parents had bought some Ute artifacts and decorated the B & B with them. She had a lot more than I realized. I overheard her tell him she had baby boards, pottery, baskets, beadwork, really, quite a bit of stuff. She hadn’t realized just how, um, how shall I say this, how dedicated Ouray Smith is to his culture.
“Turns out he’s quite a fanatic when it comes to recovering artifacts that once belonged to the Ute tribe. He visited Lucy and insisted she return them to the Ute tribal council. She explained that she hadn’t bought them, her parents had, and she’d always taken very good care of them, but he didn’t care. Ouray told her again that she should give the artifacts back, and again she refused.
“After he left, he continued to email her and call her, almost threatening her if she didn’t return them to the tribal council. You know how Lucy is. She’s a very strong and independent woman, and she doesn’t take that kind of thing well. She refused to give them back, but she admitted to me she was a little afraid of what this guy might do. Evidently he’s still bugging her, and she regrets she ever said anything to him.”
“What’s Lucy going to do?” Brigid asked. “Why doesn’t she just give the guy the artifacts?”
“I don’t really know. It was her parent’s collection. Her mother and father bought them when they were traveling. Lucy feels she has so many personal memories connected with the artifacts, she can’t get rid of them. She feels she should keep them because they are a legacy to her from her parents, and now they’re more hers than they are the Ute’s,” Fiona said.
Fiona had listened to Lucy, but she thought it would be a lot easier to simply give back the artifacts. They were just things and not worth being harassed over. Memories were something that couldn’t be taken from you, even if the physical item was. Fiona wasn’t that much into antiques anyway. Especially not Native American things.
“Speaking of visitors, I guess I’ve landed my first houseguest,” Brigid mentioned as she changed the subject.
“Oh, and who’s that?” Fiona asked as she pulled her cardigan around her. The seasons were starting to change, and early in the day it could be a little cool in the shop.
“It’s one of the authors I work with, a woman named Rachele. She lives in Los Angeles, and she’s been having some problems with ‘writer’s block’. I mentioned to her that a change of scenery might help her get past it and suggested Cottonwood Springs. I told her how nice and peaceful it is here, and maybe that’s what she needed. You know, get away from all the fast-paced stuff of the city. She said she had enough money to fly here and rent a car, but she’d have trouble coming up with the money for a hotel or B & B. She asked if she could stay with me. Honestly, I didn’t really want her to, but since I was the one who suggested it, I couldn’t really say no.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad. How well do you know her?” Fiona asked, taking another sip of her coffee.
“I’ve met her a handful of times. We got along well enough.” She paused. “I’m sure you’re right. It will probably be fine. It’s just, you know how I am about having people stay at my house.”
“I sure do. You’ve never been a big fan of it. I remember that one time when I went to LA to visit you, and you went nuts because you couldn’t find your hairbrush. You tried to blame it on me.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that Bill actually put something away for once?” They both laughed, remembering the incident.
“Try not to blame your houseguest if you can’t find your hairbrush,” Fiona teased. “I don’t think that’s going to get her inspired and out of your house any quicker.”
“So noted,” Brigid said with a smile. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me. It was exactly what I needed. I feel a lot better now than I did when I got up this morning.”
“See, I told you moving back home would be great for you. It’s already turning you into a much nicer person.” Fiona’s large grin told Brigid she was still teasing her.
“Cute. Since when did you become a comedian?” Brigid joked. She wasn’t mad at her sister, though. It was just the way they talked to each other. “Sometimes I wonder why Mom and Dad even had you. I mean, when they made perfection right off the bat, why try again? They were only setting themselves up for failure.”
“Touché,” Fiona said.
“How’s Brandon doing?” Brigid asked, referring to her brother-in-law.
“He’s doing fine. Still the manager at the Monarch Ski Resort.”
“What exactly does he do out there?” Brigid asked. She couldn’t imagine that being the manager at a ski resort was all that difficult, but she had no reason to feel that way.
“Well, during ski season he has to make sure all the lifts are in good working order. After all, along with snow, ski lifts are a ski resort’s life blood, but he also has to keep an eye on the restaurant, the employees, things like that. There are some days he’s ready to pull his hair out with all the problems it has, but he makes really good money, so that makes up for it.”
“That’s great, Fiona. I’m so glad for you two. It’s time for me to get out of your hair. Think I’ll walk down the street and check out the shops before I head home. I haven’t had a chance to do that since I’ve been back. And Fiona, I’d love for you to come by the house now that I have everything unpacked. You saw it with me when I originally looked at the house, but now that my things are in it, it looks a lot different,” Brigid said as she stood up.
Fiona walked her to the door. “I will. By the way, how are you and that big dog getting along. What’s his name again?”
“Jett,” Brigid answered, opening the door to the shop. “We’re getting along great. He’s really an awesome dog. I lucked out. I can’t believe I waited this long to get one.”
“I’m so happy for you, Brigid. It seems like things are really starting to fall into place for you.”
“Thank you! And you know what? I think you’re right,” she said as she waved to Fiona and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
CHAPTER 8
Ouray had just returned to his truck after spending time in the mountains on a vision quest. He’d gone up to the top of a local mountain to gain guidance from his ancestors on how to best preserve the heritage of the Ute tribe. He’d become increasingly frustrated in his attempts to conserve their artifacts and culture. He kept having dreams that he was the last one of his tribe and the tribe’s heritage would be lost once he was gone. He’d felt the dreams were a sign from the spirits of his ancestors that he wasn’t doing enough.
Two days earlier he’d parked his truck and climbed the mountain, taking only water and a few energy bars with him, to be used by him only in case of an e
mergency, but he hadn’t needed them. He fasted for the entire time and allowed himself just a little water. He knew some of the younger Native Americans thought the vision quest was old-fashioned, but it was what their ancestors had done for centuries when they needed guidance or clarification about some troubling issue.
Ouray felt that just because one lived in the modern world, it didn’t mean those things no longer worked. If anything, with the young people of his tribe becoming increasingly distant from their heritage, perhaps they were more necessary now than ever. It had been a long and arduous two days. At times he didn’t think he would ever have a vision, but when it finally came, it was extremely clear.
His most important ancestor, Chief Ouray himself, came to him in his vision. He was dressed in traditional tribal clothing, and he explained to Ouray that the only way to keep the Ute culture alive was to bring as many cultural items as possible back onto their reservation. He was then to call in the gods to protect everything by having the tribal members take part in a sacred dance and ceremony. He told Ouray that this would protect their culture for many years to come.
Ouray had already been working hard to bring the artifacts together. He was a fervent believer that anything that had come from their culture should be returned to it. The Ute artifacts weren’t items for people to hang on their walls as decorations. Each item had been touched by countless Ute natives. They were to be treasured for the stories that were held within the items, and by preserving them, he was honoring their memory as well as their story.
It was a very big undertaking, but he felt he was the man for the job. If he had been chosen for this path, then so be it. Chief Ouray’s final words to Ouray were, “The ends justify the means.”
Ouray started his truck, backed out of the parking spot, and began the drive home. “I will do whatever it takes to preserve our culture,” he said aloud as he drove. “I will make sure that everyone knows what a wonderful man Chief Ouray was. I will pass on the story of his legacy, so that no one will ever forget him.
“I will also make sure this generation understands how important it is to safeguard our heritage. They will teach the next generation how to take care of our artifacts and land as well as preserve our stories and lessons.” His greatest fear was that all his struggles would be for nothing and within just a few generations their culture and heritage would be wiped clean from memory.
He sped up as he merged onto the highway that led toward his home. He began to think about the last words Chief Ouray had said, “The ends justify the means.” For some reason, his mind jumped to the woman he’d met in Cottonwood Springs, Lucy Bertrand. If what she’d told him was true, she had a fairly large collection of Ute tribal artifacts. A collection of that size should be in a museum, or at the very least, in the homes of native Utes.
Ouray’s long dark hair fluttered around him as the breeze gently came in his partially rolled down window. The old truck didn’t have air conditioning, but that didn’t bother him. He preferred feeling the wind on his face rather than the air from the vents. He felt that the air from the vents in a car was processed just as much as food was anymore.
That’s why he only went to the store when it was absolutely necessary. He preferred hunting for his food, foraging for greens, and growing whatever else he needed. It was the way his people had always lived, and he wanted to live that way, too, at least as best he could. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he had to get those Ute artifacts back from Lucy. Chief Ouray had pretty much said that during his vision quest. Ouray decided he would do whatever it took to get those pieces back where they belonged so he could fulfill the vision quest.
A moment later a thought entered his mind. Would you? Would you do anything? Quite a bit could fall under the category of “anything.” Would you be willing to kill for them? For your people and for your heritage? What if you succeed but end up in the white man’s prison?
“Yes, I would do anything to get them back,” he said aloud to himself. Maybe that’s what Chief Ouray had meant, he thought. Maybe he was telling me to stop at nothing to get those artifacts back. After all, he was trying to preserve our way of life and culture by attempting to keep the peace during his lifetime. This isn’t all that much different, is it? “She will not stop me from getting those artifacts back!” Ouray bellowed out loud as he slammed his fist down on the steering wheel.
His anger continued to build the more he thought about Lucy’s artifacts, things that rightly belonged to his tribe. Ouray recalled how often he’d tried to be reasonable with Lucy. He’d sent her numerous emails, called multiple times, and even visited her twice to ask for the artifacts to be returned to his tribe.
The last time he’d stopped by she’d threatened to call her brother, the sheriff, and get a restraining order against Ouray. The woman wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t afraid of a piece of paper, a restraining order, but he had to admit his efforts had fallen on deaf ears.
Continuing to talk out loud to himself as he drove down the highway, Ouray said, “She may think she’s safe hiding behind her threats, but I’ll kill her if I have to. If the end justifies the means, then killing her will be worth it to get back our heritage. She’s just a bump in the road. Once she’s out of the way, I’ll be able to bring the artifacts home where they belong. With our people, on our land.”
Once he’d made the decision, he was committed to it. After all, the ends would justify the means. He turned up the radio in his old truck and began to sing along with the song playing on the radio. Ironically, it was Kenny Rogers singing his famous song called The Gambler.
You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em
Know when to fold ‘em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run
Well, I’m not going to walk away or run, Ouray thought to himself, I’m going to do what is right and has to be done. Ouray was already planning how he would murder Lucy Bertrand and finally get the Ute native artifacts she had back where they belonged. He’d pay her one more visit, give her a chance to see the error of her ways and hand the items over. If she did it willingly, maybe he’d even make sure her name was on the exhibit at the museum. Maybe. If she refused, he’d have to go to Plan B. Satisfied with his decision, Ouray looked forward to getting home so he could to make plans for another trip to Cottonwood Springs.
CHAPTER 9
Before Brigid knew it, the day of Rachele’s visit had arrived. As the silver four-door rental car pulled into her driveway, Brigid stepped out the front door and waved to her guest. Rachele shut the engine off and climbed out, “Oh, it’s so great to see you again, Brigid. Thank you so much for letting me stay with you.” She hugged Brigid and looked around the outside of the house and at the landscaping. “This place is gorgeous. Maybe I need to give up writing and take up editing instead.”
Brigid laughed. “No, you definitely don’t want to do that. You’re a very gifted author. Stay with that. Come on in. I’ll help you with your bags.” Rachele opened the trunk of her car and took out her suitcase and computer bag. Brigid led her to the guest room and then gave her a tour of the house. “Jett’s my dog. He’s outside getting some exercise right now, but I’ll introduce you to him when he comes in later.”
Rachele looked out the window where Jett was rolling around in the back yard. “I love dogs,” she said. “One of my friends in Los Angeles has a newfie. It’s a great breed.”
“He’s actually my first dog,” Brigid said as they sat down in the great room. “Jett belonged to the previous owners of the house, but they couldn’t keep him in the condominium they bought in Denver. They felt he needed a place with a yard, so when they offered him to me, I decided I’d take him. He’s been really great company. I’m still learning his little quirks, but he’s very easy to get along with.”
“That’s great. I bet it’s reassuring to have a big dog like him since you’re kind of isolated out here all by yourself,” Rachele said offhandedly.
“I have a nei
ghbor nearby. You can’t see his house from here, but he’s just up the road. Actually, we’re going out to dinner in a couple of hours. You don’t mind, do you?” Brigid asked.
“Of course not! Go out and have fun. I didn’t come here expecting you to babysit me. I’ll try to get something written.”
“Thanks, and don’t worry about letting Jett in. I don’t want him getting confused while I’m gone, and you’re here. I know he came from a trainer, so who knows what he might think. Anyway, I’d rather introduce you two when I get back.” Brigid didn’t think Jett would do anything, however finding a stranger in his home and his owner gone might upset him.
“Totally understandable.”
“Rachele, I have plenty of food and drinks in the fridge. Please help yourself, and I want you to make yourself at home. If you get too bored, there’s a small park just past my neighbor’s house. It’s a trailhead for a few local walking trails. If you really need some fresh air or something, you can always check one of them out. They wind around for a mile or so and then lead back to the trailhead.” Brigid was quiet for a moment. “I think that’s everything. Excuse me. I need to change clothes and get ready to go to dinner.”
“Go, go. I’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about me,” Rachele said as she stood up. “Anyway, I need to unpack and dig out my computer. I may drive around later to get a feel for the town.”
Murder in Cottonwood Springs: A Cottonwood Springs Cozy Mystery (Cottonwood Springs Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) Page 6
