Yellow Lies

by Susan Slater

  “I would like to consider filming here. Your store is a wonderful slice of history.”

  “All of it true. I can’t tell a lie as good as this stuff can tell the truth.” He motioned for her to follow as he made his way to a shelf of kachinas. “This wolf dancer and this eagle dancer bought a year’s worth of dialysis for Dolly Honani. This watch band ...” Morley hobbled toward a jewelry case, “bought Daniel Manygoats books and tuition at Ganado College.”

  “But these pieces are marked ‘not for sale’.”

  “I’ve made my money on lesser items. Kept the good ones. Ones that meant something.” Morley looked around. “I’ve been offered a lot for all this. Smithsonian’s interested.” He sighed. “All in due time. Almost shut her down when the wife died. But couldn’t think of another career that would be worth taking up at eighty-six.” A deep bass laugh ended in a coughing spell. “I’ve been like this ever since I gave up stogies—never had a cough while I smoked.”

  Julie waited while he unfolded a large handkerchief and turned his head to blow his nose. “I’m gonna have to sit down over here. I get winded anymore just standing up. You go ahead and look around. You got a question, just boom it out. My ears still work.”

  She smiled her thanks and started with the jewelry cases along the north wall. Belt buckles, bolos, shirt collar tips, money clips—the glass shelves were crowded with sterling silver, most of it Navajo. Some of the better pieces were grouped as to artist on trays lined in blue velvet, the artist’s name in gold done by a calligrapher, maybe the wife.

  She worked her way along the cases, passing a three tier presentation of Hopi silver distinct for its treatment of Kokopelli, the flute player, and surreal stalks of corn on bolos next to a belt buckle that mirrored life’s maze. The next four cases held fetishes. Some of the best she’d seen. She knelt to get a look at the second shelf and almost lost her balance. There as the center piece of a thirty-inch fetish necklace was her corn maiden. Only this time it was two inches tall instead of four. It was one of a dozen other amber figures—frogs, coyotes, bears, an eagle—all intricately carved with inlaid obsidian, coral, and turquoise used to define fur or feathers or corn shucks. The beads between the figures were rounded stones matching the ones used to outline the figures and interspersed with amber nuggets.

  “Find something you like?” Morley called out.

  “Yes. Could I see a necklace in this case?”

  “I don’t have to even go over there to know you’re looking at Sal Zuni’s work. He just brought it in, too, less than a month ago—more like a couple weeks back, to be exact.” Morley shuffled behind the row of cases carrying a ring of keys. “One of the best I’ve ever seen—in fifty some years. And all in amber. I heard tell that a new vein has opened up. Time back, carvers couldn’t get good Baltic. But look at the quality of this.” He had spread a white velvet cloth on the top of the counter and laid the necklace out, reverently straightening each fetish. Then he switched on a crook-neck lamp clamped to the counter’s edge and pushed the covered bulb closer to shine directly on the amber.

  “See that color. Rich gold. See how it catches the light? Here orange-gold, there golden-brown. But look. Twigs. There’s a couple of bugs caught up here in one of them, too.” Morley was turning the pieces under the lamp. “Here. Look at this. Perfect beetle. You ever think what the world must have looked like when this little guy was out crawling around? Whole hell of a lot different than it does today. That’s for sure. But I wouldn’t go back—even to swing in a tree.” Morley ended in a loud guffaw, steadying himself by clasping the counter edge.

  Julie moved the light closer. Man hadn’t made an appearance yet when this “little guy” was alive. Yet, the beetle looked familiar. She would swear it was the same kind that was caught in her corn maiden only this time it rested just above the hind foot of a bear—a bear with a turquoise heart line and coral eyes.

  “Jumping Sumac beetle,” Julie blurted.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “The beetle. That’s what kind it is. I’ve seen one before.” She wasn’t sure what surprised her most—finding an identical beetle encased in amber or the fact that Sal had sold this piece recently, making it seem like he was in need of money when twelve thousand dollars was found in his trailer. Could he have earned the twelve thousand? Not unless he had sold a half dozen necklaces lately and where would he find that amount of amber? Or a market close by that could take on that many? There was something she wasn’t seeing. She could sense it. It was right here under her nose. But what was it?

  “Is this piece for sale?”

  “I haven’t decided, might not ever get another like it. Sal’s not as young as he used to be. He doesn’t do as much carving anymore. This is the first piece of this magnitude he’s brought in ... in, gosh, must be five years now.” He touched it fondly. “This took months to complete, maybe longer.”

  Julie slipped the necklace around her neck and looked at her reflection in a round hand mirror Morley held.

  “Sure does suit you. Matches your hair.”

  “Since I know Mr. Zuni, I’d like to feature this piece on the show. I’d planned to interview the carver and highlight his work. This would be a wonderful piece to showcase. I would be glad to buy it.” Morley put the mirror down as she slipped the necklace off.

  “I was thinking the price tag would be in the neighborhood of twenty-four hundred.” He peered at her.

  Julie didn’t flinch but mentally tried to remember if her Visa could take on a load like that and was afraid it couldn’t. She could use the show’s expense account but that wouldn’t be exactly fair. She wanted this piece for herself.

  “Or, tell you what I could do.” Morley studied her before continuing. “Seeing as how you’ll be giving the Wagon Wheel some free publicity, let’s say I could knock off a thousand or so. How’s twelve hundred and fifty sound?”

  “Much better.” It wasn’t as if she treated herself to gifts like this everyday, but it was for the show. Guaranteed her interview with Sal would capture interest. And it was exquisite. A great reminder of her summer out here. That is, if no better reminders came along—like a little romance with one Ben Pecos. And that might not happen. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. And this was better than eating a bag of chocolate brownies. Not that she’d ever done that but it was always a possibility in some moment of utter discouragement. She slipped the necklace back on and reached into her purse for her billfold.

  + + +

  She had almost talked herself into believing this was the best purchase of her life until she met Sal at the door to his shed, and he roughly pulled her inside.

  “Morley’s. You got that at Morley’s.”

  Sal sounded angry, and she was hurt. She had expected him to be flattered. It was a lot of money, even discounted, and she wasn’t certain she would have bought it if she hadn’t known Sal.

  “It’s beautiful. Why are you angry? I’ve never seen work like this. I’m going to highlight it in the show. And look how it picks up the color of my hair. It was made for me.”

  “You didn’t need to buy it. I could have made you one. And for a lot less than that old reprobate charged.”

  “In a month? And, besides, I got a deal. I’ll give Morley free publicity for the Wagon Wheel.”

  “Whatever you paid, it was too much.”

  Sal reached out and unfastened the necklace from around her neck and took it to his workbench, switched on a work light and began to go over each fetish.

  “It’s not my best work. This is sloppy.” He paused with the bear in his hand and stared at the Jumping Sumac beetle.

  “I don’t believe you. It’s exquisite. How could it be any better? Pure amber with other semi-precious stones, all carved into figures that will forever remind me of my time out here—remind me of the artist.”

  Sal jerked his head up. “This isn’t the way I want to be remembered.”

  “I don’t understand. I bought a thing of beauty. What have I done w
rong?”

  Sal ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. “You haven’t.” His anger seemed to have dissipated. “Most of my work is sold out of state. I needed some money for truck repairs a couple weeks ago, or I wouldn’t have let it go. I hate to think what you paid for this. I just don’t want you to ever feel that you were taken.”

  “Never. I’ll cherish the necklace. I’ll never think it wasn’t worth it.”

  Sal didn’t look convinced. What an odd man. Artist’s temperament wasn’t just an Anglo thing, she guessed and tried to smile reassuringly.

  “Could you do me a favor and not wear it in front of Hannah?”

  Ah ha. That was it. Hannah would think he’d given it to her. He probably got in trouble over the original corn maiden. She hadn’t stopped to think.

  “No problem.” She smiled and patted his arm, coaxing a reluctant grin in return. “Oh, the receipt and key for the locker.” Julie fumbled in her purse. It crossed her mind to produce both keys but she didn’t. She left one hidden in a coin purse. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d need the locker. I took it for thirty days.”

  “That should be long enough. Things will be different by then.”

  Julie suddenly snapped—Hannah would be gone by then. That’s what he probably wanted to say. So, he must suspect Hannah of trying to steal from him. If not, why all this secrecy?

  “Thanks for your help. I’m sorry about earlier. I never think my art is worth what people pay for it.” Sal looked truly contrite.

  “Forget it. I love the necklace. It’s the most wonderful piece of jewelry I own. And mum’s the word.” Julie put the necklace into the velvet drawstring bag Morley had provided and dropped it in her purse.

  + + +

  Sal stood in the shed’s doorway and watched Julie walk back to the house. He was troubled. Because he may have put her in danger by asking her to store the fetish jar? No. He couldn’t believe that Hannah would try to take the notebook by force. Others might, but not Hannah. And Julie didn’t know what was in the fetish jar. She was innocent, just a messenger. The thirty days rental was perfect. Hannah would be gone by then. In the meantime, he would be careful.

  It was the amber that troubled him. Someone he knew and liked had bought a fake. She probably paid a couple thousand and believed it to be an ancient semi-precious stone. It was okay when nameless tourists bought his work or someone a thousand miles away purchased nuggets. His corn maiden gift to Julie was more for what the fetish could do for her life than the value of the material it was made of. He had breathed power into the maiden—the power for Julie to get what she wanted. The amber was secondary.

  Back when he started, he should have tagged the amber as synthetic. But that wouldn’t have solved anything. Somewhere, someplace, the unscrupulous would mark it as real and perpetuate the lie. And wasn’t it a Federal offense to dupe the public? Wasn’t he already a candidate for prison? The government had cracked down on the makers and sellers of fake turquoise. Why would he be any different?

  Was he in too deep to turn it all around? Could he just walk away in a couple months with no repercussions? He just needed his luck to hold out a little longer. Then he’d destroy the notebook, the recipe, all his equipment. But for now his secret was safe.

  + + +

  “Smile, you’re on Candid Camera.” Rose was sitting behind her desk when Ben walked through the sliding glass door into the waiting room at the hospital.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There.” Rose was pointing to the corner of the ceiling above her head. “Hidden camera. We’re going to nail those jokers who’ve been hitting the pop machines for change once and for all.”

  Ben looked at the two red and white vending machines against the opposite wall.

  “Someone’s been stealing?”

  “This morning makes the fourth time in a month. All they get is a handful of quarters. It’s probably kids. But it’s the principle. Tribe wants to nip juvenile delinquency in the bud. But, you gotta catch ‘em first. So, we got ol’ one-eye. Now, all I have to do is remember to turn it on when I leave.” She laughed. Ben liked Rose’s laugh, hearty and robust—the sound made by someone who’s not easily intimidated.

  “You may have a little surprise in your office.” Her voice suddenly dropped to a conspiratorial level. “Yellow Skin has called a staff meeting—just the two of you. Don’t let him pull that ‘I’m the boss’ shit. You don’t have anything to worry about. Everyone in the village knows you’re the one who taught Sylvester how to let the air out of his balls. You’re a hero.” Rose couldn’t keep a teasing grin from spreading across her face. Ben smiled as he headed toward his office. It could be worse. He could be remembered by something negative. He should probably feel thankful Dr. Lee had sent Sylvester to him. It had given his reputation the boost it needed in the village.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Ben hadn’t stepped inside the room before Dr. Lee jumped to his feet and pointed at his watch. “Second week on the job and you feel you can take liberties with the government lunch hour. A while back I had problems with a new group of nurses. I had to put in a time clock, and it was just the answer. Maybe, that wouldn’t be such a bad idea again.”

  Ben didn’t say anything. He hated punitive, narrow thinkers. He was ten minutes late from dropping his truck off to get the window fixed, but had been in thirty minutes early the last three mornings—where was Yellow Skin then? Ben smiled, walked around Dr. Lee, pulled out his chair and sat down. He wasn’t going to be bullied into bringing a lunch and eating at his desk.

  “Can I help you with something?” Ben tried to sound friendly.

  “Feeling a little superior, aren’t we? But then maybe a doctor who encourages a man to go around the village making popping noises with his cheeks has a right to.”

  Ben laughed along with Dr. Lee’s maniacal cackle. “It seems to be working. I believe the patient has reported feeling better,” Ben said, then waited. Neither his lateness nor the cure of Sylvester seemed to be the reason for this meeting. He waited as Dr. Lee cleared his throat.

  “I’ve granted a favor to a dear friend, old friend, actually. And I believe that you’re the one best qualified to help.” Dr. Lee rose to close the door. “I don’t know how much you know about Mrs. Rawlings’, uh, Hannah’s, affairs, but I would guess very little. It isn’t like her to take a stranger into her confidence. She asked me to come out to dinner the other night to discuss her problem. And we both agree that you would be the logical choice.”

  For what, Ben wondered, but sensed he shouldn’t interrupt.

  “I’m assuming this knowledge is just between us. That is understood?” Dr. Lee paused, then acknowledged Ben’s nod with a wave of his hand. ”Well, it’s like this. Ed Rawlings, Hannah’s husband, had inherited the trading post, boarding house, deli-mart from his father, handed down from his grandfather and so on back to about 1912. It’s never been out of the family. Ed Rawlings is before my time. But I understand the man was a perfectionist, a tight perfectionist, always pinching pennies, put everything—life’s blood—into the running of the family enterprise. His marrying Hannah was a surprise. She was twenty-three years his junior, a student who spent weekends out here, someone who played chess, talked intelligently—you can imagine how it must have been.” Dr. Lee glanced at Ben. “A little blond oasis. Well, before long Ed Rawlings had fallen in love. But with his eye ever on the dime, he insisted on a prenuptial agreement. If Hannah decided to leave him, she would have nothing. She’d have no claim on the inheritance.”

  “Did that include his son?” Ben asked.

  “I’m coming to that. Harold didn’t make an appearance until ten years into the marriage—Ed was in his middle to late fifties, Hannah early thirties. The baby was a complete surprise. Ed insisted that the baby be named after his grandfather. I’m sure you’ve heard that stupid story about Ed shooting a .22 in the air.” Dr. Lee paused. “Well, it wasn’t apparent right away that something migh
t be wrong with the baby. But when it was, Hannah suffered a nervous breakdown.” Dr. Lee glanced at Ben and seemed to sense his objection. “No, no, I know it’s not a clinical term but for lack of a better diagnosis, that’s what Hannah calls it. She just ‘lost it’—those are her words. Out here in nowhere, saddled with an aging husband and a retarded child ... well, I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “And the child changed everything. Ed was besotted. A boy to carry on the family name. He refused to see, acknowledge, his son’s shortcomings. When Harold had difficulty walking, when he didn’t start to talk—Ed kept saying that there were schools that could turn the child around.” Dr. Lee stood up. “I hope I have your confidence on this. I mean, what I’m about to say could be taken the wrong way.” He sat back down. Whatever it was, he was reluctant to share, Ben thought, as he watched Dr. Lee pause to gather his thoughts.

  “As if things weren’t bad enough, there was an accident. I want you to know that I believe it was just that—an accident. I know Hannah. Some might think her strange, but she’s not malicious. I’d swear under oath.” He licked his lips. “When Harold was a toddler, maybe three and a half, just starting to crawl around good, he got away from Hannah down by the river, and, well, fell in. It had been a big runoff year—river was up, formed deep pockets of water close to the edge. Harold was pulled under quickly. Hannah tried to reach him. But she doesn’t swim. Anyway, her housekeeper happened along, Tommy’s mother. Maybe you’ve met her?” Dr. Lee looked at Ben.

  “I knew she worked at the boarding house in the past, but I haven’t met her.”

  “Tommy was just a few years older than Harold. The boys played together. Well, as much as Harold could play with anyone. He really needed special attention—constant supervision, that is.”