Cave of Bones

by Anne Hillerman

  “Fine, working as usual.”

  “Did the Cheeseburger send you the photos of my drawings?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He better, or I’ll have to punch him.”

  Bernie ended the call with more questions than answers, as was often the case in conversations with Darleen. Turning away mentally from the drama, she focused on the scenery. She was crossing the Continental Divide, the point at which water sheds on one side to the east, toward the Atlantic Ocean, and on the other to the west, flowing into the Pacific. She passed an elk crossing sign, refineries, and the exit for Iyanbito, the little Navajo town at the base of the red sandstone cliffs.

  She decided to call Lieutenant Leaphorn next. She tried his cell phone first, and when that went instantly to message, she dialed the landline. A woman’s voice answered.

  “Hi, Louisa, it’s Bernie.” She liked Leaphorn’s housemate, but she never quite knew what to say to her. Now that Louisa had resumed the research she had set aside to help the Lieutenant recover, conversation might be easier. “How are you?”

  “I’m OK.” She heard the fatigue in Louisa’s voice. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “You sound a little distracted.”

  “Well, I’m driving west on I-40, and the traffic is starting to pick up. It’s been a crazy day.”

  “Be careful out there. Is your mother well?”

  “Yes. She always asks about you and the Lieutenant.” Mama’s questions amounted to Is Lieutenant Leaphorn still living with that bilagáana? followed by a click of her tongue. Mama might forget that she’d talked to Darleen, but she remembered Louisa.

  Before Bernie could switch the topic to Louisa herself or the Lieutenant, Louisa said, “And how’s Darleen? I hope she’s staying out of trouble.”

  “My sister is in Santa Fe this week. She enrolled in a sort of trial program at that art school she thinks she might be interested in. I spoke with her and she’s enjoying it.”

  “So what’s bothering you?”

  When Bernie first met Louisa, she’d been disturbed by the woman’s, well, call it forthrightness. Now, she took it in stride. “I called about a situation I’m dealing with at work. Is the Lieutenant home?”

  “Joe was taking a nap. I’ll see if he’s awake. Hold on.”

  “Please don’t wake him.”

  Louisa put the phone down with a thunk, a sound you couldn’t get on a cell phone. Had she done it again? Hurt Louisa’s feelings?

  Joe Leaphorn’s deep voice came on the phone. “Yá’át’ééh.”

  “Yá’át’ééh.”

  “Good to hear from you.” The Lieutenant spoke fluently in Navajo, but the brain injury still affected his English. The irony made Bernie smile. She’d been told that Navajo was much harder to master—but obviously not if it was the language you’d learned as a child. The Lieutenant had made remarkable progress and now walked without a cane. Still, whenever she spoke with him, she remembered the awful day when she’d cradled his bleeding head in her lap.

  She started to share some office news involving a promotion and a retirement, but Leaphorn cut her off. “Manuelito, you don’t call to chat. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, sir, I was out in the Malpais. The New Mexico Search and Rescue folks have an operation under way, and I remember hearing about another search out there, a few years before I came on the force. Were you involved in that?”

  “A little.”

  “Would you tell me about it?”

  “Why?”

  “The current situation bothers me, and I’m wondering if there’s more to the story than a man getting lost.”

  The phone went silent as Leaphorn gathered his thoughts. “A bilagáana family disappeared. No, wait. Not the whole family, only a father and daughter. They told the rest of the group they were going for a walk—only a half mile. A National Park Service archaeological team saw them that afternoon as they were leaving the parking lot, headed to the Big Tubes area. They never came back. SAR sent ground pounders, dogs, even a plane. As I recall, some two hundred and fifty searchers worked the incident. Nothing. It was as if they had evaporated.

  “Navajo PD got involved when a team discovered some old burial sites. My job was to check the restricted area to make sure the missing people hadn’t come that way.”

  He paused. Unlike Chee and herself, she knew Leaphorn didn’t believe in chindis, the restless spirits of the dead who could cause trouble for the living. His skepticism, Bernie thought, made him the perfect officer for that assignment. “These were old burials, what we used to call Anasazi, and may have dated from the Chaco Canyon era. I didn’t find the people, but I saw some of the most beautiful petroglyphs I’ve ever seen. I took photos of the art and some of the pottery preserved there.”

  Leaphorn talked on, describing the petroglyphs and the pottery in detail, and noting that the FBI had recently requested the old photos for a case they were working on.

  “Eight years later, a Natural Resources survey crew came across some bones that looked human, scattered in a rough part of the monument, five miles away from where the father and daughter told the family they were headed. Turned out, they were the remains of those long missing hikers. The two seemed to have followed an old trail and evidently got disoriented. No one knows for sure why they were so far from where they’d planned to go. It’s rugged out there. They made some unfortunate decisions and suffered the consequences.”

  Leaphorn paused, indicating that the story was done. “Are you involved in something, Manuelito, or only curious?”

  “Oh, some of each. I’m puzzled about a man who is missing out there now from a Wings and Roots program—you know, one of those deals where they send young people into the wilderness to get their heads on straight. He is an experienced wilderness guide. I have trouble believing he would somehow lose his way. I’m wondering if he doesn’t want to be found and why that might be. Or if he’s out there at all. I can’t make sense of it.”

  “This sounds like something Chee would be nosing around in, not you.”

  Bernie remembered how critical the Lieutenant was of Chee’s propensity to follow his gut rather than department rules. “I got involved a little because I talked to a girl who turned out to be the last person to see the missing man. It’s a long story with some politics mixed in.”

  “Office politics?”

  “Even worse. Tribal. The girl is the daughter of a member of the Navajo Tribal Council who wants to investigate Wings and Roots for misuse of Navajo funds. Domingo Cruz, the missing man, was . . . is the associate director of this group and the one in charge of their fund-raising. Because I happened to be out there, the councilor thinks I’m involved in a cover-up.”

  “Is this councilor named Elsbeth Walker?”

  Bernie said, “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve known her since she was a kid. She’s like a porcupine, prickly on the outside.”

  Bernie laughed. “I’ve felt her spines, and I have to talk to her again soon about her charges against Wings and Roots.”

  “I’ll look in my files and send you some background information I should have on her. It might help you to get along with her a little better. I’ll see what I can learn about the missing man, too.”

  “Ahéhee’. She and I got off on the wrong foot.”

  “You know what they say about politicians?”

  “What do they say?” Bernie heard some clatter in the background.

  “Just a minute.”

  She heard more noise and then muffled sounds, as though Leaphorn had put his hand over the receiver. After a few moments, he was back.

  “I’ll e-mail the information about Walker. Anything else?” His voice was now strictly business.

  “I appreciate your help. Everything OK there?”

  “Louisa says to tell you and Chee something.” He paused. “Come and see us.” He said the last four words in English.

  “I will, sir.”

  Because L
eaphorn had not said everything was OK, she assumed it wasn’t. Maybe the problem was nothing much, but she made a mental note to call again soon—or better yet, stop by.

  11

  After dinner, Jim Chee drove Darleen and London back to campus, stopping at the same overlook where he and Darleen had watched the city lights flicker the night before. Darleen sat next to him on the bench seat and London by the door.

  “What’s up?” London said. “Why are we stopped here?”

  “It’s cool. He wants to give me another lecture.” Darleen turned to Chee. “Why do you keep badgering me about CS? I thought you liked him.”

  “I don’t like the secrecy, the bad company, not to mention the parties and the drinking. I tried to talk to CS about something important, and he blew me off.”

  “He’s trying to finish that video. He’s super stressed. What’s the big deal, Cheeseburger? Give the dude a chance.”

  London chimed in. “Don’t be so hard on CS. He’s sensitive about his name. Just because he wanted to keep something a secret doesn’t mean it’s something bad.”

  Darleen nodded. “You’re as bad as Mama and Sister. Maybe worse. I’m thinking of going to school, away from Navajo, so I won’t have a million people bugging me. Stop being Sergeant Chee for once in your life.”

  “This isn’t about being a cop.” Even as he said it he realized that wasn’t true. “I mean, this isn’t all about being a cop. Some of it, most of it, is about being a relative who cares about you. That’s all.”

  Darleen’s tone mellowed. “The video is all CS has left to finish before he can get his degree. You’re only here because of me, so if you do something that gets him kicked out, it would be my fault, too. He probably hates me anyway because of your bugging him.”

  “Or because of what happened last night?” London didn’t wait for Darleen to answer. “That can happen to anybody. He’ll get over it.”

  “What happened?” Chee waited.

  The girls looked at each other.

  Chee waited some more.

  “Can we go?” London shifted in her seat. “I’ve got an assignment I need to do for tomorrow.”

  Chee gave Darleen a gentle nudge with his elbow. “What happened?” He felt her shrug off the question.

  They sat a while longer. Chee felt the cold seep in and figured the temperature would work in his favor.

  Darleen sighed. “OK. I asked CS to take me to this party I heard about from one of the girls in class. He didn’t want to because he said he had to work. But Herbert said he’d drive me. A few people had too many drinks, and things got crazy, and Herbert drove me back to the dorm.”

  “Were you drinking?”

  “At first just a Coke, but then someone put some rum in it.”

  “What else happened?”

  “She threw up and had a headache in the morning,” London said. “It’s cold in here. Can we go now?”

  “What else happened?” Chee asked again.

  London shifted in her seat. “My auntie always said girls are entitled to have a few secrets.”

  “That depends on what the secret is.”

  Darleen pulled her coat around her more tightly. “Herbert drove me to the dorm and told me I was stupid to drink so much. Let’s go.”

  Chee started the engine and turned onto the road that led to the school entrance. “I can tell you’re ashamed and embarrassed about what happened last night. Believe it or not, you’ll feel better when you tell me about the bruise, too.”

  The campus dorm hadn’t been restricted by the architectural regulations that govern the old neighborhoods of Santa Fe. Its open, modern look fit well with the site. From the outside, it reminded him of a modestly upscale hotel.

  A motley assortment of beater cars, little sedans, and old trucks filled the parking places closest to the dorm’s entrance, with a few more expensive vehicles intermixed sporadically. Chee found a spot in the rear, a place darker than he liked, and walked with the girls to the door.

  Darleen had said nothing for most of the ride to campus, but now she took his arm. “Why don’t you come in and take a look at where we live?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He heard the bing of a text message and pulled out his phone. It was from the rookie.

  Call me re Curley

  “Is that from Sister?”

  Chee turned off the phone. “No. A guy I work with who thinks he’s more important than he really is.”

  They checked him in at the front desk and entered a large furnished room with windows that looked out onto a courtyard.

  Darleen ran her hand along the back of a large tan sofa. “We call this the living room. It’s a great place to hang out.” The muted television was tuned to an old black-and-white movie, but as far as Chee could tell no one seemed to be watching. A few students sat at desks with their laptops open, and two boys played chess. He heard a phone chirp. In the kitchen area, a pretty, dark-haired girl with silver earrings stood by the microwave as the smell of fresh popcorn filled the room. A boy quietly strummed a guitar in a corner.

  “Nice place.”

  “I just remembered I left my clothes in the dryer.” London turned toward a hallway leading away from the common space. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  They climbed the stairs to the second level, the girls’ floor. “I have more room here than at Mama’s.” Darleen headed down the hall. “Our room is this way.”

  Chee followed her. “So, what’s it like having a roommate?”

  “It’s awesome. London’s nice, and she has a lot of friends in Santa Fe.”

  “Do you think you’d like to be a regular student here, studying art?”

  Darleen hesitated. “I like living in the dorm, but I miss Mama. I miss her cooking. The way she makes the coffee too strong. I even miss her bossing me around. But I like most of my classes, and well . . .”

  A young man emerged from one of the rooms. He stared at his shoes and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

  “I thought this was a girls’ floor.”

  “Oh, that’s just Charlie. He and his roommate live on the next floor. They are part of a band. Cool, huh? Loretta lives there. She’s a singer with them.” Darleen paused at a door about halfway down the hall. “Give me a minute to make sure I don’t have a pile of undies on the floor.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He walked in behind her before she could protest.

  The room had a large window, two beds, and two desks. Unlike Darleen’s space at Mama’s house, it was surprisingly neat. It had nothing in common with the cramped quarters he had shared in the old dorms at the University of New Mexico. A collection of empty beer cans in a cardboard box sat at the foot of one of the beds.

  “Tell me about the beer.”

  “Oh, we save all that for recycling.” She tried to shove the box under the bed, but it collided with the bed frame and made a racket.

  “After you drink the beer?”

  “They don’t allow drinking in the dorms. Did they when you were in college?”

  “Nope.” Chee remembered that hadn’t stopped anyone who wanted to drink. “Back when I was at the university, boys and girls had separate dorms, too.”

  London had walked up behind them. “No kidding? How retro.”

  “Some people tried to sneak in their dates.” He turned to look at her. “Where’s your laundry?”

  “The towels weren’t dry. Why did the dorms operate like that back in the old days?”

  The old days? Chee winced. “Oh, lots of reasons. Making it harder for guys and girls to get together, for starters.”

  “Mama told me that when she was a little kid, everybody slept together on the floor of the hogan, girls on one side and boys on the other.” Darleen smiled at the story. “Instead of beds, they used cozy sheepskins.”

  Chee felt his phone vibrate, and it reminded him to call Bernie. “You girls behave. I’ve got to go. Study hard.”

  “Don’t worry so muc
h about me, Cheeseburger. I’m really OK. Thanks for dinner.”

  London smiled at Chee, and he realized she was pretty. “Yeah, thanks. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  He trotted back down the stairway to the main lobby. He found a chair in a quiet corner and looked at missed calls. Not Bernie, but one from the rookie and another from CS. Wilson Sam answered on the third ring.

  “I just got off the phone with Mrs. Curley. She didn’t know the name of the ranch, but she said it was out by Ramah country. She said her son came by just once while he was employed there, and that was the last time she saw him.”

  “When was that?”

  “About two weeks ago. Anyway, he told her his wife’s mother had called him a lazy freeloader, and that was one reason he took the job. She thinks he went back to his wife to tell her he was leaving. And whammo.”

  “Whammo?”

  “Mrs. Curley thinks the wife lost it and killed him. Or maybe the mother-in-law did him in.”

  “Does she have any proof?”

  “He’d got a new pickup and bragged to her that he never missed a payment. The bill comes to her house, even though he pays online. She said they sent an overdue notice. And there’s something else.”

  Chee heard the chime of an incoming text message and ignored it.

  The rookie cleared his throat. “The mother said Curley seemed spooked by something, but he didn’t want to talk about it. She thinks the wife and that Pueblo mother-in-law are behind all this. She wants me to take her to the pueblo so she can talk to those women, find out where they are hiding him, and drag him back here.”

  “Other than missing the payment, does she have any other reason to think he’s dead?”

  “He always calls her on Sunday mornings unless he forgets or his phone is lost or something, and he hasn’t called for two weeks.” Wilson Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, Chee?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mrs. Curley was the reason I made it through high school. I owe her. She may be a little off, but, hey, who isn’t? It’s odd to think of her as somebody’s mother.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t tell anybody, but I had a crush on her in the ninth grade.”