The Secret Sister

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Eunice translated and Molly listened. Finally, the old woman nodded and began speaking. Simultaneously, Eunice translated, as though she did this often.

  “Aunt Molly knows Johnny was a man torn by demons. He drank too much. He stole pots and grave offerings from the ancient ones and sold them to the white man. He spent much of himself trying to be a big man in a white world.”

  Listening intently while Eunice translated, Christy watched Molly’s face. The old woman watched her in turn, nodding occasionally or gesturing fluidly with her hands to make a point.

  “One of Johnny’s demons was a yellow-haired witch,” Eunice translated. “He stole for her. He spent his money on devil powders that he put up his nose. This made him more crazy, until he was a stranger to us.”

  “Cocaine?” Christy asked in a low voice.

  With a curt nod of agreement, Eunice continued translating while Molly spoke.

  “But enough of Johnny survived within the demon that he knew he was lost. He left the yellow-haired witch and came back to us for a time.”

  Both Indian women stopped talking and looked at Christy. Her mouth turned down unhappily, but there was no way to avoid the truth.

  “The witch was my sister,” Christy said simply. “Like Johnny, she lived with demons.”

  The old woman understood more English than Christy thought. It was She Who Faces the Sun looking at Christy, boring into her with eyes as black and bottomless as night.

  “She witch all time?” the old woman asked, grappling with the foreign language. “Child. Woman. All witch?”

  Christy shook her head. “No, not always. Once, Jo-Jo was a sweet little girl.”

  Then Christy shivered, remembering the past with savage clarity. Not so sweet after all.

  Never.

  She Who Faces the Sun narrowed her eyes as she saw the truth dawning in Christy.

  “Jo-Jo saw herself much more clearly than she saw other people,” Christy said in a low voice. “Always. All the time. Yet she was my sister. Always. That will never change.”

  The old woman’s eyes closed. She nodded once, slowly.

  Christy waited.

  She Who Faces the Sun was silent.

  Christy turned to Eunice and asked, “When Johnny came back to you, did he break with the people in Colorado?”

  Eunice and Molly talked back and forth for a moment, syllables and sounds without meaning to Christy.

  “The witch who was your sister gave Johnny a powerful drug,” Eunice said after a time. “It took him to a place where rocks had voices and the cedars walked like men.”

  “Peyote?” Christy asked.

  “No. Much more powerful. Afterward, Johnny came to She Who Faces the Sun so that she could get his soul back from the demons. He brought her a gift from an ancient place.”

  “The alcove,” Christy said.

  Eunice hesitated. “He never told us. He simply stole it from the yellow-haired witch.”

  She Who Faces the Sun closed her eyes and began an eerie, sliding chant, ancient words rising and falling in the sunlight and shadow of the great kiva.

  “The tortoise soul is very old, one of many such souls. Each made for and worn by a different She Who Faces the Sun,” Eunice translated. “They were stolen from this kiva by a sister who wanted to be She Who Faces the Sun and hold the spirit of the clan in her hands. The other sister, the clan’s She Who Faces the Sun, followed the thief.”

  “Where?” Christy asked urgently.

  “North to the edge of the desert, where the land rises to a great mesa. Sister and She Who Faces the Sun fought. The sister was killed, but She Who Faces the Sun also was mortally struck. She knew she wouldn’t have the strength to return her clan’s spirit to the great kiva. Nor did she want to. She had seen in a dying vision that the clans were coming apart like kernels stripped from an ear of dried corn. The time of the sun was past. The time of the demons was coming.”

  The chant deepened, taking on a new urgency.

  “The clan’s spirit must be hidden,” Eunice translated. “She Who Faces the Sun sealed her dead sister and herself and the clan’s spirit in a kiva hollowed out of solid stone. And then She Who Faces the Sun called down the stone of the canyon itself to hide her clan’s spirit in sacred silence.”

  As the eerie duet of Indian chant and modern English died, Christy once more felt the prickling chill of time blowing over her skin.

  “The alcove,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve been to the grave of the ancient She Who Faces the Sun. Johnny died there.”

  She Who Faces the Sun spoke again.

  “Whoever disturbs the clan’s spirit will die,” Eunice translated.

  “May I…is it permitted that an outsider see what Johnny brought to She Who Faces the Sun?”

  Without waiting for Eunice’s translation, the old woman opened her denim jacket.

  Suspended from a thong around her neck was a tortoise pendant identical in shape to the effigy in Peter Hutton’s display case. The turquoise inlays were similar in size and shape, but different stones made up different portions of the turtle body. The matrix that held the turquoise was white abalone shell rather than argillite. A single turquoise tile was missing. Instead of eyes made of turquoise spheres, one eye was a polished black sphere.

  The other eye was missing.

  Christy fought for the breath that time had squeezed from her lungs. She reached into her pocket. The black bead she’d found in the alcove was warm with her body heat and very smooth.

  “Cain,” she said urgently to Eunice. “Call him.”

  Eunice gave Christy an odd look, but She Who Faces the Sun was already turning to the place where Cain waited.

  “Come,” she called.

  Moments later Cain was standing in the kiva next to Christy, his eyes luminous, curious, intent.

  “The piece of turquoise we found in the alcove,” she said. “Do you have it?”

  Silently he reached into his pocket and brought out the oddly shaped tile. Simultaneously she pulled the bead out of her own pocket.

  She Who Faces the Sun held out the tortoise on her palm. The tile fitted into place perfectly, completing the turquoise pattern. The bead slid onto a tiny stalk.

  The tortoise was complete.

  She Who Faces the Sun spoke softly over the pendant, caressed it with a gentle hand, and slipped it into a pocket for safekeeping. Tears of joy glittered in her ancient eyes.

  Eunice let out a long sigh. “We have no way to thank you. The pendant is very important to our clan.”

  “There is another tortoise,” Christy said.

  “Where?” Eunice said sharply.

  “It’s owned by Peter Hutton.”

  “Who is he?”

  “The man who owns the ruin where Johnny found both pendants.”

  “Not own,” She Who Faces the Sun said harshly. “Ours.”

  “By your laws, yes,” Cain agreed. “White law is different. But you might be able to bring enough political pressure to bear on Hutton so that he’ll give up the bones, if not the grave goods, he found in the alcove.”

  Eunice translated rapidly, listened, and turned to Cain once more.

  “Bones?” she asked curtly. “Were the pendants found in a burial place?”

  “There were two skeletons. Female. The two pendants were found with them.”

  “They were buried in a kiva,” Christy added.

  “The Sisters,” Eunice whispered.

  Cain looked intently at the old woman, sensing the turmoil beneath her still surface. She spoke quickly, words tumbling out. Eunice translated just as urgently.

  “She dreamed of the two sisters but saw only one when she looked in the dawn light.”

  She Who Faces the Sun turned away and walked across the hard-packed floor of the great kiva. Silently she went from niche to niche, staring into the empty places as though seeing a time in the past when each clan’s spirit lay safely within.

  Finally She Who Faces the Sun turned awa
y from the niches where other people could see only emptiness and walked back toward the three who waited. Her seamed brown face was both serene and radiant with pleasure. As she approached, she did a small two-step dance of joy and laughed like a girl.

  She spoke to Eunice.

  “Aunt Molly wants you to bring the other tortoise to her,” she said to Christy.

  Cain and Christy exchanged glances.

  “She Who Faces the Sun might not understand white property laws,” Cain said, “but Molly does. By white law, the other pendant belongs to Peter Hutton. It was found on his property.”

  “No,” the old woman said curtly. She spoke with equal bluntness to Eunice, demanding something.

  For the first time, Eunice spoke exclusively to Cain.

  “This place where you and Johnny fought,” she said. “Was it close to two pillars of stone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Christy found Kokopelli’s sign carved into the canyon rim. Below it was a trail leading to the ruins. We followed the trail.”

  “Was Johnny there?” Eunice asked.

  “He came later.”

  “To steal more?” she asked bluntly.

  “No. All he wanted was a bag of dirt.”

  “You fought over dirt?”

  “I fought because he attacked me.”

  Eunice turned back to the old woman and spoke rapidly. The old woman listened.

  And then she laughed.

  At first Eunice looked shocked. A moment later she understood. Smiling, she turned back to Cain.

  “The ruins you describe aren’t owned by anyone,” she said.

  “What?”

  “That’s public land. Government land. Johnny was halfway through the dig when Peter Hutton figured it out.”

  A wolfish smile spread across Cain’s face. “No wonder Johnny wanted to know how to identify the origin of artifacts.”

  “He was going to prove that Hutton’s collection came from public land,” Christy said, “and get the government off Molly’s back in the bargain.”

  “Getting dirt from the site won’t be a problem. Getting our hands on one of Hutton’s pots, though—” Cain shrugged. “We need one that hasn’t been cleaned.”

  “That must be why Johnny was trying to break into the room just off the main gallery,” Christy said.

  Cain nodded. His eyes narrowed as he thought about what had to be done.

  Suddenly Christy wished she hadn’t said anything. Johnny had been caught and badly beaten when he tried to steal the evidence he needed from Hutton’s house. It would be different when she and Cain went back to finish Johnny’s work.

  This time Peter Hutton knew what he had to protect. This time he and his men would be even more dangerous.

  This time Jo-Jo was dead.

  Chapter 52

  Near Xanadu

  Later that day

  “Can’t you get Larry Moore to help you?” Christy asked.

  Cain didn’t even look away from the road. He was driving fast and hard, holding the white truck to the road with ruthless skill. Ahead of them loomed the San Juan Wall.

  “Larry’s got to live in that town,” Cain said. “He’s already put himself way out on a limb for me.”

  “But—”

  “No,” he interrupted curtly. “Not until I’m sure I can protect Larry from the likes of Danner.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “The same way Johnny was going to.”

  “You’re going to steal a pot from Hutton’s house.” Her voice was tight, unhappy.

  “You have a better idea?”

  “Yes. Give it to the government.”

  Cain’s laughter was as harsh as the look on his face. “You must believe in Santa Claus too. The first time Hutton gets a whiff of any official interest, those pots and grave goods are history, and you know it as well as I do. He’ll put them down the garbage disposal and throw the switch.”

  “If there’s a search warrant—”

  “Not a chance,” Cain cut in. “Without probable cause, you’ll never get a warrant.”

  “But if we told what we knew, wouldn’t that be probable cause?”

  “Assuming the duly constituted authorities believe the word of an ex-con and an old Indian woman, it might be grounds for a search warrant. Then again, it might not. Either way, the news gets to Hutton. You want to take that chance?”

  “What about my word?”

  Cain’s hands tightened on the wheel. “You heard what Johnny said. Jo-Jo left a trail of evidence pointing to you as her partner in theft. That’s why Hutton and Danner were calling New York looking for you.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” he said savagely. “The second we go to the authorities, Danner will get wind of it. What Danner knows, Hutton knows.”

  “If—”

  Cain kept talking. “The only way we have a hope in hell of clearing our names is by doing it ourselves. I wanted to drop you off in a safe place. You refused. End of argument.”

  He braked sharply and turned onto a dirt road.

  “Isn’t this the road we took three nights ago, when you grabbed me coming out of Hutton’s house?” she asked. “Remember?”

  “Yeah.” Cain smiled, remembering how good she’d felt that night. And last night. “Oh, yeah. I remember.”

  She ignored him. Right now she didn’t know whether to smile with him or yell at him for being a stubborn idiot. After a few minutes she sighed and looked at the man who had intrigued her from the first moment she saw him in the Two-Tier West Gallery.

  “Did you ever imagine where it would lead when you saw me running down that hill?” she asked.

  He gave her a sideways look. “I had hopes. The very first time I saw you, I knew there was a lot of woman underneath that hundred-dollar haircut.”

  She laughed. Then her smile turned upside down. “A lot of trouble too.”

  “Last night was worth every bit of it.” He touched her red hair and soft cheek. “So was seeing She Who Faces the Sun hold that complete tortoise in her hand.”

  Christy kissed his fingertips and then braced herself for the rough part of the road.

  He shifted into four-wheel drive as they entered the dry wash a mile from the ranch house at Xanadu. He drove the length of the wash and well into the streambed before he stopped. When they got out of the truck, the sun was high overhead. After the desert at Chaco, the mountain air tasted cool and hinted of winter. There had been a hard frost the night before. The leaves of a black-trunked cottonwood beside the dry stream had turned bright yellow. They rustled softly in the breeze.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  She started to object.

  “No,” he cut in. “If I’m not back in an hour, run like hell to Larry.”

  “I know the layout of the house. You don’t.”

  “You can describe it to me.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “Or I can do it the way Johnny did,” Cain said.

  Silence.

  He studied her face. His mouth flattened. “Once I’m out of sight you’re going to do what you damn well please, aren’t you?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing—what you damn well please?”

  Without another word he started down the streambed. She followed, crouching when he crouched, standing still when he stood still, and moving when he moved. The sand of the streambed still showed their footprints from three nights before. They followed the tracks to the spot where they’d slid down the bank to escape Hutton’s guards.

  She touched Cain’s hand, stopping him. She didn’t want to set off to Hutton’s house with anger between them.

  “I should have known better than to hang around with you,” she said softly, “after the way you lifted me down this bank.”

  For a moment, he didn’t understand. Then he did. He circled her waist with both hands. Slowly his fingers traveled up her ribs and brushed against the sides of
her breasts.

  “You could have slapped me anytime you wanted, honey.”

  “I still can. I don’t want to.”

  She stepped close and kissed him, holding him hard and being held even harder in return.

  “Wait in the trees for me?” he asked against her lips. “If we’re both caught in the house, we could be as dead as Jo-Jo and Jay.”

  For a long, taut moment Christy looked at Cain. “All right. But you have to come back to me,” she added fiercely.

  “It’s a deal.”

  He kissed her hard and fast. And then he boosted her up the bank, following quickly. The spruce trees weren’t far beyond. Inside the grove it was almost as dark as it had been at night. They stood side by side in the evergreens, watching and listening.

  No one was working around the house or the barn. Only one airplane was tied down in the meadow. No one was using the target range. No cars were moving on the road from the gate. The barn and corrals were empty.

  Standing alone, its doors and windows shut and draped, the big house stood like a modern sculpture on the brow of the hill.

  “It looks deserted,” she said in a low voice.

  “That would be a piece of luck.”

  “We could use one.”

  He didn’t argue. “Looks like Hutton has already closed up the place for the winter. I hope he didn’t empty the display cases too.”

  “There was too much for him to move everything so fast.”

  Cain nodded. “Especially such fragile stuff. Even if he took the best with him, he had to leave something.”

  “Besides,” she added unhappily, “it’s not like the house is unprotected. The security inside is discreet, but it’s there.”

  He didn’t doubt it.

  Together, they circled around to the back side of the hill, where the cedars grew thick and dense as fur on a dog.

  No one called out to question their right to be on Hutton’s land.

  When they were within twenty yards of the deck Christy had jumped from to escape Hutton’s guards, Cain stopped.

  “This is far enough for you,” he said. “Any closer and you wouldn’t have much chance of escaping if something went wrong.”

  “Wait,” she said when he would have turned away.