Ghost Medicine

by Aimée

  “Yeah, he’s advertising his presence. He wants people to be afraid,” Ella said. “We need to remove this. Like it is with graffiti or tagging, by getting rid of it you show him he’s wasting his time.”

  Ella glanced around, taking in the area carefully to see if they were being watched. Except for the house they’d just left, barely visible now, there was no sign of life.

  “Looks like the bird was shot.” Justine cut the string with her pocketknife and lowered the dead bird onto a bed of black ants. “Not worth collecting as evidence. Might as well let the body serve as a meal to something.”

  “And at the same time piss off a nut job,” Ella said with a mirthless grin. “Let’s get going, but keep your eye out for any more not-so-subtle messages. It looks like it’s going to be a long day, cuz.”

  They soon drove past the home of Dawn’s friend, Bitsy, the girl who’d found the body. An old Navajo man with a white headband was lifting a cardboard box out of his pickup, and as they went past, he looked up, and nodded to Ella.

  “That’s Samuel Henderson,” Ella said.

  “The hataalii from Cudei?”

  “Right. Looks like Joe’s observation was right on target. Bitsy’s family are Modernists but they’d decided to have a Sing done.”

  “Bitsy saw way too much for a girl her age,” Justine said. “They’re probably hoping that’ll help their daughter deal with things.”

  “It’ll also keep her Traditionalist friends from avoiding her altogether. I’d do the same for Dawn.”

  “Which reminds me,” Justine said. “What’s your daughter think of her dad dating Carolyn?”

  “We haven’t spoken about it,” Ella said.

  “Do you think Rose knows?” Justine looked over at Ella.

  “I doubt it. Otherwise, she’d be making the mother of all medicine bags for my daughter. To her, the chindi is as real as you and I are to each other.”

  Following Ella’s directions, Justine continued down the slope of one of the low ridges running perpendicular to the foothills to the west.

  “We’re here,” Justine said at last, pointing with a fingertip raised from the steering wheel.

  “This is the home of Delbert Sells, his wife, and their two elementary school children,” Ella said as Justine pulled over to the side of the road. “He’s a mechanic and she works at the Sixty-four Laundry in Shiprock.”

  A well-maintained pickup with a metal storage compartment in the bed was parked halfway down the narrow driveway. The hood was up and a big red toolbox was on the ground beside the vehicle.

  Beyond that stood a lone mobile home beside a cluster of four very well established fruit trees. “Like the teacher’s rental home and the Willie residence, these people have a well,” Ella said, pointing toward a low shedlike structure at the rear of the trailer. “Nice to be able to have a garden or a small orchard.”

  A man in a dark green shirt with a label above the pocket opened the door of the home and came out onto the small wooden porch.

  “Good morning,” Ella called out. “We’re police officers. Can we speak to you for a moment?”

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting a visit. Come inside,” the slender man in his late twenties said.

  Mr. Sells, who introduced himself on the porch but declined to shake hands with strangers, motioned Ella and Justine inside. He then introduced them to his wife, Marcie Sells, a short, stout Navajo woman with two young kids beside her. The first- or second-graders, judging from their size, fixated on Ella’s badge at first, then her holstered handgun.

  “Cori, Lexy, take your books and go read in your room while the adults talk,” Mrs. Sells said.

  “Have a seat, Officer Clah, Officer Goodluck,” Mr. Sells said as his wife urged the kids down the narrow center aisle of the mobile home.

  Ella motioned for Justine to take the inside seat of a padded bench and table attached to the floor, then slipped in beside her. From where she was, Ella could see out of the mobile home’s large window. As she watched, a nondescript pickup in the distance made its way up the long stretch of road.

  Mr. Sells took a seat across from Ella. When his wife returned, she remained standing by the small stove in the kitchen area.

  “Would you like some coffee, Officers?” Mrs. Sells asked, then, hearing someone driving up, glanced out the window. “Who’s that?”

  Ella saw the pickup come to a stop beside the tribal SUV. The driver, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, was looking straight ahead, his hand up, blocking his face. Catching a glimpse of movement, Ella shifted her gaze and saw the passenger door on the opposite side open and someone hurry out.

  Suddenly alert, Ella stood, bumping the table as she moved out from the bench. “Are they messing with our unit?”

  Seconds later, the passenger, also wearing a cap, jumped back into the cab, and the driver took off, still hiding his face.

  Ella raced for the door. “Hurry, Justine. I think those guys did something to our SUV.”

  Justine followed her out onto the porch just as a loud pop and an ominous whooshing sounded. An instant later, they saw a cloud of black smoke, and flames came billowing out from beneath the SUV’s engine compartment.

  Ella looked around for something to put out the fire with, but Mr. Sells had already grabbed a large fire extinguisher from a shelf in the wall.

  “Here. I’ve got another in my truck. Go!” he said.

  With a quick thanks, she took the heavy cylinder and ran down the driveway toward the SUV.

  In the distance, Ella heard the pickup’s driver honking his horn as he raced away. She almost expected to hear a war whoop.

  The second she reached the SUV, Ella pulled the safety pin on the extinguisher. She aimed the nozzle in front of the burning object on the ground—a broken glass jug full of some kind of oil—and squeezed the trigger.

  A dense cloud of creamy white powder from the extinguisher enveloped the underside of the vehicle as Ella swept the hose back and forth at the base of the burning container.

  The scent was familiar, like that of cooking oil that had ignited into a kitchen-style grease fire. At home, she would have smothered it with a metal lid or wet towel, but this required a different solution.

  Ella tried not to inhale any fumes or breathe in the noxious smoke. Hopefully, she could put out the burning oil before the chemical spray ran out, or the gas or brake line of the Suburban ignited.

  “I’m going to bury the bottom of the car in the sand, Ella. That should smother the flames!” Justine shouted, circling to the driver’s side. “Try to keep the undercarriage from catching for a few more seconds.”

  Justine slipped behind the wheel as Mr. Sells ran up and added the chemical spray of a second extinguisher to her efforts.

  The SUV started instantly and Justine hit the gas, driving across a shallow drainage ditch and up on to a three-foot-high mound of sand. High centered now, the wheels spun for a second before Justine killed the engine and scrambled out of the vehicle.

  Ella and Mr. Sells ran over to the stranded SUV, fire extinguishers in hand, and circled it slowly, looking for any flames still needing attention.

  Standing closer than before, Ella checked the bogged-down vehicle’s undercarriage closest to where the oil had been spilled. She could see a section of scorched paint below the driver’s-side door panel. It was still smoking.

  She hit it with a sweep of the spray, then stepped back, looking for other hot spots as she continued to inch around the vehicle.

  “Looks like we’ve got it now,” Mr. Sells said, still circling around the SUV, looking underneath.

  Ella glanced back at the road where the amber liquid, probably cooking oil judging from the smell, still smoked amid the broken glass. Mrs. Sells was walking toward the origin point, pulling a garden hose with a spray nozzle and a slight drip. The children were inside, watching out the window.

  “Shall I hose everything down, Delbert?” Mrs. Sells asked her husband.

  “Not the
oil, just the SUV, okay?” Justine said, looking at Sells, who nodded.

  With everything under control now, Ella glared at Justine. “Are you crazy? That was a really dangerous thing to do.”

  Justine cringed. “I took that fire department training last spring, remember? I removed the SUV from the heat source, then cut off the oxygen,” she said, then with a sheepish smile, added, “And I saved us both from days of paperwork while we tried to get another car from the motor pool.”

  Ella didn’t know whether to hug her or slug her. “Vehicles are expendable—you’re not. If anything like this ever happens again—”

  “Yeah, let it burn,” Justine said.

  “Exactly. Now, take the hose from Mrs. Sells and soak down the undercarriage of the car and the engine compartment, just in case. I’ve got to call this in.” Ella looked in the direction the pickup had fled. All she could see now was a faint trail of dust.

  “Think they’ll get stopped?” Justine said, following her gaze.

  “If they took off for Shiprock, maybe. If they headed west, we’re probably screwed, at least for now. That was a Ford 150, right?”

  “Yes, a 2004 or ’05,” Mr. Sells answered, coming up beside her with the other fire extinguisher. “Two-wheel drive, mineral gray finish.”

  Ella looked at him in surprise.

  “Delbert knows his pickups,” Mrs. Sells confirmed.

  * * *

  Ella decided not to drive the SUV in case there were damaged components that would create a hazard. While they were waiting for a tow truck from Shiprock, they spoke at length with the Sellses, but neither had seen anything the day of Harry’s murder nor any sign of skinwalkers. Having heard the gossip, however, they were now keeping their children under close watch.

  Two hours later, with nothing but frustration to show for their efforts, they headed east toward Shiprock in another tribal cruiser. The patrolman who’d brought over the vehicle had ridden back in the tow truck.

  They’d just passed the high school and were approaching the intersection of Highway 491 and 64 when Ella’s cell phone rang. The number was blocked, which usually meant it was one of her officers.

  “Investigator Clah, it’s Detective Dan Nez,” said the familiar voice.

  He was all business, which meant he wasn’t alone, but she knew him well enough to notice the slight gentling in his tone as he spoke to her.

  “Detective Nez,” Ella said, trying to ignore Justine’s knowing smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m assisting county officers trying to locate the woman seen with your murder victim the night before his death. We’ve got a sketch to work with now, and we’ll be showing it around the apartment building, local markets, and gas stations. After that, I’ll start hitting area night spots. By then, I expect it’ll be around eight P.M., so why don’t we meet and work this as a joint undercover op, beginning at the bar closest to the vic’s apartment? If this woman’s a hooker, she’ll be wary of cops, and I’ve got that look. With you on my arm, I become just another lucky cowboy.”

  “Love your sweet talk,” Ella said, smiling. “So, shall we meet at the Horny Toad Bar around a quarter till eight?”

  “Good enough. If I get any hits between now and then, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Dan, one more thing. Mail me a copy of your sketch.”

  “Will do. The witness assured us it’s a decent likeness,” he said, then ended the call.

  “You guys have been going out pretty regularly. Is it serious?” Justine asked her, slowing down as they crossed the concrete south-side bridge leading into old downtown Shiprock.

  “No. Yes. Maybe. We’re still getting to know each other, and I’m trying to be cautious. How about you and Benny?” Ella asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “We’re ahead of you two, I guess. In fact, lately I’ve been getting the impression he wants us to move in together.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Ella asked, picking up the undercurrent in her words.

  “For me it’s marriage or forget it. I’m through with test drives. I’m in my mid-thirties, Ella, and if I ever want to have a kid, I can’t afford to keep wasting my time,” Justine said. “Benny’s a good man, and I think he’d be a terrific dad. If he wants to make things official, I’m ready.”

  “Seriously?” Ella asked, surprised. “You’re ready to go for it?”

  “Yeah, I am,” Justine said.

  As silence fell around them, Ella considered what Justine had said. She understood Justine’s desire to have a child. She couldn’t even imagine her own life without Dawn. Her love for her daughter gave everything she did additional meaning. That love not only defined her, but it had also refocused her life, enriching it in ways she hadn’t even thought possible.

  As the quiet stretched out, Ella’s thoughts soon returned to the case.

  “You think those clowns today were connected to the murder?” Ella asked. “That firebombing attempt came across as an amateur job—more like harassment than anything else. Took balls, though, trying to cook a clearly marked police unit.”

  “I agree,” Justine said. “The thing is, even an amateur could have shot Harry from ambush. He was a stationary target.”

  “What we still need is that one thread that’ll tie things together,” Ella said

  “The makeshift bomb won’t get us far,” Justine answered. “All we were able to recover from it was leftover cooking oil, pieces of a gallon glass bottle, and the pickup’s cigarette lighter, what they used to ignite the oil. Except for the lighter, which we already know belonged with the pickup, there’s no way to track the rest.”

  “My gut tells me that the answer lies with Harry and whatever he was investigating,” Ella said. “Let’s go pay Teeny a visit again, but on the way, stop by the Totah Café. We’ll pick up some takeout green chile burgers and bring lunch with us as a bribe. I want to push Teeny for more information on Harry’s cases, and a couple of the New Mexico Beef Burners might improve his mood.”

  “One for me, one for you, and three for Teeny?” Justine asked, slowing down and pulling over to her right into the local café’s parking lot.

  “Yeah. That sounds about right, but be careful about using that nickname to his face,” Ella said. “You’re cute and female, but he might still dangle you by your boots if you call him anything but Bruce—gun or not.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Justine said as she braked to a stop. “Want me to place the order while you check to see if he’s home?”

  “Yeah.” Ella reached for her wallet. “I’m buying. Make my chile mild—a no burner.”

  It was one fifteen in the afternoon when they arrived at Teeny’s and, following his lead, walked into the kitchen. Big stainless steel appliances lined the wall, and a school cafeteria table, folding benches and all, was placed in the center of the room.

  While Ella and Justine sat down, he whipped up three smoothies and brought them to the table.

  “Looks like a great lunch.” Teeny took a massive bite of the saucer-sized hamburger and chewed mightily. “Nice and hot—like Hatch chile and a couple of New Mexico’s finest.” He sipped his smoothie, then added, “And just so you know, although I appreciate the bribe, I’m still not giving you my client’s name.”

  Ella looked up from her plate. “Didn’t think you would, but tell me more about our friend’s past cases, like the woman who was being stalked. Was the boyfriend dangerous or just posturing?”

  “Both,” Teeny said. “He liked pushing his weight around, so he was dangerous around the woman. H provided a hands-on demonstration of what violence against a weaker person actually felt like. He may also have mentioned that he was willing to come back as often as necessary to illustrate the point. There was no further problem after that.”

  “I’d like to check out the punk’s alibi for the time of death,” Ella said. “Can you give me his name?”

  “Sure. It’s Albert Shields. He works at the Super Rentals over in Kirtland. It�
��s just south of the old Conoco station.” Teeny picked up his iPad, tapped the screen a few times, then waited as the printer in the other room started. “His photo is printing out now.”

  “You know this place?” Ella asked Justine.

  “Sure. I’ve got a cousin who lives just down the hill past the stop sign,” Justine said. “We go to some of the Kirtland Central home games.”

  “You’ve got relatives everywhere,” Ella said, laughing. Justine came from a large family of mostly girls, the majority of them now married with families of their own.

  “Speaking of Justine’s relatives, Teeny, you still dating Jayne?” Ella asked, referring to Justine’s flakiest sister.

  Justine gave her a dirty look.

  “What? I’m just asking.” Ella said, looking back at Teeny, who shrugged.

  “We’re between breakups right now,” he said, then took another bite of his sandwich. “I forgot the eighteenth-month anniversary of our first date.”

  Ella nodded. “Maybe I should stick to business.”

  “Maybe so,” Teeny said. After a moment, he spoke again. “I picked up something on the scanner a while ago. Someone tried to blow up your unit?” He sniffed the air. “What did they use, canola oil … or is that perfume?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize we were so pungent,” Ella said. “It happened while we were interviewing a family not far from the site of the shooting. Two guys in a gray Ford pickup drove up and tried to set fire to our SUV. They put a bottle of vegetable oil underneath it, then threw a hot car lighter into the stuff. Went up like a kitchen grease fire.”

  “Fortunately, the mobile home owner kept a fire extinguisher handy. We were able to put it out before anything on the vehicle ignited,” Justine said.

  Teeny nodded. “It’ll probably still need some time in the shop just to make sure it’s safe to operate.”

  “That’s why we had it towed, but we don’t know the extent of the damage yet,” Ella said. “So what else can you tell us about this Shields character?”

  Teeny, who had an IQ that matched his bulk, pulled up another report and skimmed it. “Here’s one important thing. You look a lot like my client, with your long hair and narrow cheekbones. You’re a few inches taller, though, and a bit…” Teeny’s voice trailed off.