by Vella Munn
Knowing Lucky as he did, James hadn’t believed everything his brother-in-law had told him about what he’d seen and said to law enforcement when he’d stumbled onto the investigation into his sister’s murder. Listening to the news on TV hadn’t been easier than Lucky’s version, mostly a lot of gory comparisons to last summer’s fatal, and otherwise, attacks by the grays.
The whole thing was sick, a nightmare. Cheryl had her faults, all right, including her insistence on feeling sorry for herself, but she hadn’t deserved to die like she had. No way was he going to go around back and see where she’d been attacked.
“No.” He told his girlfriend, who’d called as he arrived. “He isn’t here yet. Stop worrying. Lucky isn’t going to do something stupid.”
“He lost his sister,” Elizabeth said unnecessarily. “He’ll blame you.”
“That’s his problem. I’ll let you know once Lucky leaves. Then I’m heading back your way.”
“I like the sound of that. You be careful, all right. Just, you know, be careful.”
He punched End on his cell and changed the setting to silent, since he didn’t want to be distracted while dealing with his estranged wife’s brother. He checked the time and fiddled with the lock on Elizabeth’s car. Telling her he was concerned about his pickup’s brakes, he’d asked to borrow her vehicle for the ride out here. She hadn’t been crazy about being without transportation, but he’d assured her he’d be back in time for her shift at the hospital. He loved Elizabeth, the intensity of what he felt for her in such a short amount of time taking him by surprise, but he wasn’t going to tell her the real reason he didn’t want to be seen in his truck.
He didn’t believe in wild dogs with agendas, at least he didn’t want to, but like everyone who lived in this part of the state and probably beyond, he’d heard about them. The big grays went after people they decided needed to die. It made no sense to him, but the detective who’d interviewed him yesterday had said that suspicion was that the desire for revenge had prompted the dogs to attack Cheryl. According to the cop who’d warned him to stay away from where he lived, the big beasts had determined she was partly responsible for Hound being tied up all the time.
Cheryl hadn’t been the one who’d made sure Hound stayed out of the road. He had. Hell, Hound was alive, wasn’t he? What was wrong with that? Nothing to lose one’s life over.
Poor Cheryl. She didn’t deserve to go out how she had. Neither did he.
Shit! No way was he going to exit Elizabeth’s car until Lucky had his back, then only for a few minutes. He hadn’t believed in bogeymen for years and had always been comfortable here, but things had changed thanks to what had happened to Cheryl. For all he knew, the grays were nearby, waiting for him to do something stupid.
A loud rattle pulled him away from unwanted thoughts. Lucky was driving the cop car he’d bought at auction years ago, the damn thing looking like it was having an identity crisis. He’d loved teasing Lucky about driving the crazy mix of black and white that embarrassed the hell out of Lucky’s teenage daughter. The vehicle had a million miles on it and no shocks, but Lucky had dropped a new engine in it and it could go like hell.
Today, it was moving as if an old lady on her way to church was behind the wheel, letting James conclude that Lucky didn’t want to be doing this any more than he did. Determined to keep his trepidation to himself, he got out, leaned against the front driver’s side fender and patted the gun strapped to his waist. Elizabeth would be concerned he’d dent the fender, but she wasn’t here and he had a point to make with his brother-in-law.
If someone died before a divorce was finalized, did that mean her relatives would always be in-laws? Up until he’d met Elizabeth and Cheryl had discovered what he was doing and moved out, he’d gotten along with Lucky. They’d fished and hunted together, helped each other when muscles and tools were needed, shared countless beers. He was going to miss Lucky.
“Let’s get this over with,” Lucky said, after an awkward handshake. He too had a handgun. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, I do. I promised the girls.”
By girls, Lucky meant Cheryl’s daughters. As Cheryl’s second husband, he hadn’t had a hand in raising the girls and had sensed they weren’t crazy about him. Maybe he would have done a better job of getting to know them if he’d had kids of his own, but that hadn’t happened. He wished it had.
Cheryl loved—had loved her daughters. It bothered him that they had so little time for their mother. More than once he’d been tempted to call and let them know she was hurting, but he’d probably say something that would piss them off.
Lucky indicated their pistols. “Looks like we’re having the same thought. I don’t suppose you saw any sign of those damnable killers.”
“No, but I’m not taking any chances.”
“Me either. I’m glad I didn’t see all of her when I went in to identify her, just her face.”
“Bad?”
“What the hell do you think? It shouldn’t have happened. You—”
“Don’t go there. I don’t want to fight with you.”
Lucky sighed. “Me either. Everything about this makes me sick.”
“What are you going to do with Cheryl’s stuff?” he asked as he led the way to the mobile’s front door. Thank goodness there weren’t any trees close. “Box up everything and mail it to one of her girls? Let them decide who gets what?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in my thinking. Jesus, I don’t want to be doing this.”
Struck by Lucky’s tone, he stopped and faced him. He increased his hold on the house key until it dug into his palm. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Shit, forget I said that. I just—did you catch the news? I picked up a paper this morning but couldn’t make myself read it. My sister…”
His sister had died here. Violently. Alone.
Apparently, a wildlife cop who’d been with the animal abuse investigator had found her body. What the news hadn’t made clear was why the two men had come here in the first place, how the chickens had gotten loose and what had happened to Hound.
His neck prickled, prompting him to whirl around.
“What is it?” Lucky demanded.
Not bothering to reply, he scanned the land that had once meant so much to him, land he could now barely bear to be on. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but the sense that he was being watched remained.
“Give me the damn key,” Lucky said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Instead of doing as Lucky commanded, he jammed the key into the lock. The instant they were inside, he slammed the door closed. Good. The curs, if they were around, couldn’t break through steel, could they?
The mobile smelled of dead air. Thank goodness Cheryl hadn’t died in here, because if she had, he’d have been tempted to burn the place down. “Five minutes,” he said. “That’s all I’m giving this.”
“Don’t you be giving me orders. Damn, I should have brought boxes for Cheryl’s stuff.”
Yeah, you should have. “She had the suitcases that belonged to your folks. Never could get her to get rid of them. They’re under the bed.”
Lucky started toward the back of the trailer. “You going to help me?”
“Shit, yes. I don’t want you taking anything of mine.”
“You’re a real bastard.”
“I don’t trust you anymore than you trust me.”
Instead of popping off like James thought he would, Lucky sighed. “It’s come to this between us, hasn’t it? Makes me wonder if it might get worse before it’s over.”
He didn’t know how that could be, unless the damned mutts had planted themselves between her and the vehicles. That’s what he’d think about, getting back in his car and the hell out of here with his body in one piece.
Not looking around and risking spotting a large, gray shape.
Or more than one.
&
nbsp; * * * *
“I wish I didn’t have to say this,” Niko told her grandfather. “But it’s possible members of the press will come here. If they do, I’ll do everything I can to make sure they leave you alone.”
“You don’t want to talk to them?”
“Not now.” Holding her cell to her ear, she sat so she could pull off her shoes. “When it happens, I need to be sure what I’m going to say. I didn’t have a minute to think about that today.”
“I’m glad you went to work. You need a reminder of what normalcy’s about.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “The only thing today’s ‘normal’ accomplished was give me a headache. I couldn’t get the inmates to concentrate on what they were supposed to be doing.”
“Because the inmates, as you lovingly call the students, were revved up over that woman’s death?”
“Yes. I tried to stay out of the conversation, not add fuel to or try to deny the rumors, but it was hard.”
“Do the inmates or your co-workers know of your involvement?”
“Not yet.” She slumped and closed her eyes. “Grandpa, I’m going to get something to eat, followed by getting started on the Hopi file.”
“You’re up to doing that tonight?”
The only thing she really wanted to do was slap together a sandwich, followed by going to bed, but her mind wouldn’t let her get away with that. There were too many unknowns, including the feeling that Gun was no longer around. Where is he? What is he up to and why?
“I’m fine. Just hungry and more than ready to get out of these clothes. If a reporter shows up at your place—”
“We won’t answer the door. You do the same.”
“I won’t. I love you.”
“No more than I love you.”
Instead of making good on her vow to get out of her work clothes, Niko stared at the window. From where she was, she could just make out where her grandfather, aunt and uncle lived. She had other relatives, but those three, Grandpa in particular, were her core world. Grandpa understood her. He’d never tried to fit her into a box and had always encouraged her curiosity. He didn’t judge and offered suggestions only when she asked for them. When she was a child, she’d sometimes wished he’d been more forthcoming about what he believed she should or shouldn’t do, but now she was grateful because she’d been forced to chart her own course. She was a long way from having figured everything out, but most of the time she trusted her instincts.
Tonight, instinct said she needed to be alone.
Now to try to come up with a plan of action where the media was concerned, what more she should do to try to determine who owned Hope and what to do with that knowledge, or think about a certain dark-eyed Fish and Wildlife officer.
* * * *
“Please settle down. You’re safe here. A lot safer than you were at your place.”
Instead of joining Elizabeth at her kitchen table, where a pizza waited, James stood with his hand against her locked front door. From here, he couldn’t see the small apartment complex’s adjacent parking lot. He might’ve relaxed a bit if he was looking at the vehicles that stood as proof that the complex was full of people and life. He’d been on edge since leaving his place. Hell, he’d been scared when he and Lucky had made their undignified sprints for their separate cars with loaded suitcases slowing them. Even as he’d thrown his burdens into the back of Lucky’s car, his head had practically been on a swivel. He wasn’t sure he’d breathed until he was behind his wheel and remembered all too well the ‘eyes boring into his back’ sensation as he’d peeled out of the yard. He’d told Elizabeth most of what had happened, downplaying his near-terror.
No more fear, damn it! No more worrying about bladder control. He was in his lover’s place with a well-traveled street just beyond the parking lot and exterior lights that came on every evening. His land was four-plus miles away. No way could Cheryl’s killers have followed him here.
Right?
Damn it, he wouldn’t be thinking this way if it wasn’t for the vacant lot behind the complex. Just because there weren’t any lights there and Elizabeth’s bedroom window faced it—
“I’m not going to put the pizza in the microwave,” she said. “That ruins it. Come on. You’re driving me crazy.”
He nearly cursed. Fortunately, he stopped himself in time. He’d already given away a great deal by changing the channel when the news came on. Right now, the game show audience was clapping, not that he cared.
He smiled as he returned to Elizabeth. “You’re good for me and a terrific cook.”
“I’m also a lousy liar.” She pretended to cough. “It’s amazing how fast I got sick today, followed by a miraculous recovery.” She winked. “I figured we needed to be together more than I needed a paycheck.” Her expression sobered. “Besides, I don’t want to hear what everyone’s talking about.”
She’d been working at the hospital back when Kendall Taft had spent weeks there after the grays had attacked him. James hadn’t known Elizabeth then, but within a few days of their meeting, she’d told him about having to change the dressings on the young man’s stumps. In the wake of Cheryl’s killing, surely Kendall’s condition was again the subject of conversation there.
“I’m sorry,” she said as he selected a slice. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“It’s all right.” He rubbed her arm. “We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Elizabeth concentrated on her pizza for several seconds. “No, we can’t. I’m so glad neither of us saw your wife.”
“Yeah. I can do without that. Fortunately, I didn’t have to tell Lucky to shut up.”
“The poor guy. I think there’s something you and I need to discuss,” she said. “You might not want to, but…”
“Oh.” Before this, he’d wanted to have sex every time he looked at Elizabeth, but tonight he wasn’t sure he could get it up or even wanted to try.
“Yes,” she said. “I figured you wouldn’t want to watch the news, so I went online while I was waiting for you. I found an interview with our local vet that had been on channel twelve. According to him, someone brought a dog in from your place before Cheryl was killed. The dog had a badly imbedded collar.”
Appetite gone, he forced himself to meet her gaze.
“I don’t know how the press learned about the dog. That wasn’t explained.” She tore her crust into pieces. “You get why I needed to learn everything I could about what happened to Cheryl, don’t you?”
Because he wouldn’t talk about it.
“That’s why the grays got involved.” She laughed, the tone harsh. “‘Involved’. Listen to me. That was revenge for the injury to the dog. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what? All I know is that Hound is gone and the chickens are dead.”
She continued to attack the crust. “The one time I came to your place, I asked about the bag of dog food. You told me you had a hound, and I asked to see it, but you said it wasn’t very friendly. I bought your excuse. Is that why you said what you did, so I wouldn’t see the injury?”
“No.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Then do. Hound never bonded with me, but I didn’t want to take him to the pound where he’d be put down. His life was better with me.”
“Was it?”
He’d known something was wrong because of the smell, but he’d kept forgetting about it as soon as he’d fed and watered the mutt. “Believe what you want to,” he snapped. “I obviously can’t change your mind. If you don’t trust me to—”
“I want to.”
Keep going. BS her. “I don’t know what the vet said so I can’t defend myself. Hell, he might be lying.”
“Why would he?”
“Who knows? Maybe the reporter exaggerated. That happens. It’s all about ratings. No way wouldn’t I have treated the injury if I’d known there was one.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened just enough that he told himself she was buy
ing his explanation, or at least trying to.
“We’re both upset,” he said. “Cheryl’s death affects us differently but it’s part of everything we say and do.” He stroked her arm as he’d once done to Cheryl. “What we have is each other. I don’t want to lose that.”
“I don’t either.” She swiped at her eyes. “James, I want us to get away for a few days. Do you think we can make that happen?”
The pressure on his chest let up. “There’s nothing I’d like more. You can get time off work?”
“I’ll make it happen.” She looked around. “I hate this stupid apartment. It’s so small.”
“We’ll go where there’s more room and no TV or Internet.”
“Where the press or police can’t find you.”
Or the grays.
Chapter Nine
The handwriting was so small Niko had gotten out a magnifying glass, but she was still having trouble making sense of what a Hopi named Cheveyo had written well over a hundred years ago. She’d looked up Cheveyo online and learned the name meant ‘spirit warrior’, which seemed fitting. Because Cheveyo had used the word sipapu several times, she’d looked that up as well. It referred to the opening in the floor of a Hopi underground ceremonial chamber or kiva. She’d thought she knew what kivas were—places where the tribe’s spiritual ceremonies were held—but Cheveyo’s explanation was putting a new spin on things. Judging by references he’d made to his children’s children, she guessed he’d intended his paper to go to his grandchildren. Perhaps he was concerned that the old ways and beliefs would be lost unless he made a permanent record.
Wikipedia barely touched on sipapu, but Cheveyo had explained its traditional importance in detail. Truth was born in sipapu. That’s where moral guidance took root, where the concepts of right and wrong were detailed.
Where something referred to as ‘the force’ took on sacred proportions.
