Double Blind

by Hannah Alexander

  She thanked the young man again, told him she would be fine, and kindly dismissed him, while Preston struggled with all his might not to grab her and throw her and Blaze into his own vehicle and drive them back home. To Hideaway. Where there hadn’t been a murder in several months.

  “You mind telling me what that was about?” he asked when the man left.

  Her face had turned considerably paler. “The dog I saw in the desert just before my blowout? She was running, and then suddenly she seemed to disappear in a puff of smoke. What I thought was smoke was probably dust flying up from the ground when a bullet struck. At least now I know I’m not losing my mind.”

  “Oh, sure, you just almost lost your life instead. Sheila, this is not going to work.” He gritted his teeth to keep from slipping into I-told-you-so mode.

  “I thought Friday night that there could have been two dogs,” she said. “Maybe one I didn’t see, which would have been Moonlight. You know how dogs always form a pack when they’re left to run free. I was so distracted by the dog in the desert that I just didn’t see the one on the road.”

  “Or there wasn’t one on the road, and you’ve been convinced that you hit a dog, when in actuality you never even got near that dog. Maybe she was dragged to the road, or left for dead and she crawled to the road before she died, after your tire was shot.”

  “The question is, why would anyone want to shoot a dog?”

  “Or you?” he asked, irritated that she still failed to focus on the threat to herself.

  “Maybe the dog was killing sheep,” she said, reasoning out loud. “There are flocks of sheep in this area.”

  “Why are you more concerned about dogs than you are about yourself? Why would anyone try to shoot you?”

  “Ricochet.”

  “I’m not buying it. No one in his right mind would be shooting at dogs—I don’t care if twenty sheep were killed—when there’s a car driving by on the road. This is not a good place for you, Sheila.”

  She didn’t look at him. “I need to be here,” she said quietly. “If you came out here to drag me back home to Hideaway—”

  “That isn’t why I’m—”

  “—then you can turn around and—”

  “Blaze and I can stay and help Canaan. You’re the target. You aren’t safe here. Drive my Jeep back home.”

  She looked at him then, and what he saw in her eyes nearly stopped his heart. There was such tenderness in her expression, mingled with sadness.

  “I love you, Preston.”

  He stopped breathing.

  “You’re my hero,” she said.

  He forced himself to breathe again, but with difficulty.

  “You’re the kind of man who will rush into a burning building if people are in danger.” Her gaze traveled over his face, and paused at the scar on his chin from a burn. “I should’ve known that if you thought I was in danger, you couldn’t just sit home and worry about me. You’re a man of action.”

  “I’m sorry. I can change if I have to, but right now—”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “And yet if I don’t change in one basic way, this thing we have together—”

  “It’s called a relationship. And your total honesty about your feelings on the subject of Christianity is one of the reasons I love you.”

  Preston stared down at his beautiful doughnut and wondered why he wasn’t more ecstatic when the woman of his dreams was telling him she loved him. Perhaps the sadness in her voice and the knowledge that someone had shot at her recently overwhelmed the romance.

  “I’m not leaving this school because of a piece of metal in my tire,” she said. “Get used to it. I really don’t think anyone was shooting at me. That young man looked to be barely out of his teens, which means he’s probably as excitable as everyone else has been around here lately.”

  “The tribal police will check it out, I’m sure,” Preston said.

  Sheila grinned up at him, though the grin was notably wooden. “So who do you think will handle the case, Jim Chee or Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn?” She was joking, referring to characters created by Preston’s favorite author.

  “I’m thinking the lieutenant will take it on as a private case.”

  She nodded and picked up her fork, her smile losing its power completely. “If the brilliant lieutenant does discover anything, I want to find out why I was shot at, and I want to know if it has anything to do with my mother’s death, or with the recent suspicious deaths here at the school and the deaths of other school graduates that Canaan believes are suspicious, as well.”

  “You don’t want much, do you?”

  “Only the truth.”

  “Then I’ll have to stay to make sure you remain safe.”

  She picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles.

  He loved this woman. He would die for her. He only hoped that wasn’t going to be necessary.

  Canaan sat staring at the note Blaze had just plopped onto his desk, saw the letters CDC and leaned back in his chair as he listened to the young man’s explanation about what he’d done the day before.

  First Lew Bowie had come in with the information that Sheila’s blowout could have been due to a bullet in her tire, and now this. Things seemed to be coming to a head more quickly than he’d anticipated.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it yesterday,” Blaze said in conclusion. “But I never could catch you alone and I didn’t think you wanted anyone else to know about it until you’d had a chance to get to the bottom of things.”

  “So you got the legwork out of the way.” Once again, Canaan marveled at this answer to prayer.

  “I couldn’t find any evidence that the CDC ever got the vials. In fact, I can’t even find evidence that they were actually sent. I was going to retest the kids today.”

  “You know it probably won’t do any good.”

  “Something that I think did do some good, though, was going through the computer files on the kids,” Blaze said.

  Canaan studied this young college student who had dropped in unannounced yesterday. “If you ever decide to become a medical doctor instead of a veterinarian, look me up. Someday I want a practice with a partner who does all my work for me.”

  “I’ll never change my shingle. Anyway, you saw where Wendy noted that all four kids had been in the clinic with viral symptoms a week or so before Bob Jaffrey got sick?”

  “Yes, and I remember seeing them, but there was a virus going around at the time. We took precautions, and none of the children got worse.”

  “Only Bob Jaffrey,” Blaze said. “And when I checked the files on these kids, none of them missed school. You’d think, if Mr. Jaffrey died from the virus, the kids would have at least been sick enough to miss school.”

  “There could be any number of explanations for that,” Canaan said. “Bob could have had a compromised immune system for some reason.”

  “You mean from the chemo he had last year for colon cancer?”

  “That wasn’t in his file,” Canaan said.

  “No, but I was talking to Jane Witherbe, who was friends with his wife. She told me about it when she came in yesterday for something for her headache.”

  “At any rate, even though I was concerned, the family would not allow an autopsy.”

  “Well, what would it hurt to test the blood of those kids? They had it at the same time, could have easily been the same strain, so the antibodies would still be present.”

  “Wait until after I’ve called the CDC to find out if there’s any new information before you draw blood on those kids again.”

  “Gotcha. Glad you’re on it, Doctor. I knew I wouldn’t get past the CDC’s answering machine.”

  “In the meantime, keep testing, and keep very thorough documentation on everything, whether it looks notable or not. And, Blaze, stay close to Sheila today.”

  “Will do, chief.”

  Chapter Thirty

  T uesday afternoon Sheila burst into her apartment w
ith an armload of supplies and a sandwich she had snitched from the cafeteria. What a miserable day this was turning out to be. She couldn’t believe she’d finally escaped her guards. When Blaze wasn’t nearby, Preston found a reason to work on the records in the clinic, or Canaan decided to join her and help with the physicals. She could barely go to the bathroom in peace.

  She shoved the door shut with her foot, turned toward the coffee table and dropped the supplies as she gasped and stumbled back against the wall.

  A wolf head with its teeth bared was in the middle of the table, carved lips pulled back to expose vicious, oversize fangs. The eyes were nearly closed in brooding hatred, hackles raised on the back of the head.

  For a moment, Sheila could only stare at the monster, as if her nightmare had suddenly materialized right in front of her.

  She took a slow, deep breath, relaxing the suddenly tensed muscles in her neck and shoulders.

  She picked up the items she had dropped and forced herself forward. This wolf head had the lovely sheen of polished wood, and it was no imaginary nightmare image. Someone had to have brought it here since she left this morning.

  She glanced around the room to see if anything else had been disturbed. All looked the same. Someone had apparently just brought this nice little wood carving into the apartment to cheer her up. Anyone could have done it, because half the time she didn’t bother to lock her door.

  As she moved around the apartment, putting things away, she felt the presence of that head; tiny hairs prickled at the back of her neck. It seemed to have a spirit of its own, and yet Sheila knew she was personifying it with her own fear.

  She changed into a pair of jeans and went back into the living room, half expecting to find that the carving had moved. But it was in the same place, lips drawn back in a permanent snarl, wicked fangs protruding. Sheila stared at the realistic eyes, mesmerized by them. She picked up the sculpture gingerly, and glanced at the bottom. CY. Canaan York.

  It was a good thing Tanya was still in class, or she could have been the first one to see this.

  There was no way Canaan would have placed this here, but maybe he could find out who had.

  Canaan received the return call from CDC, then hung up with dismay. He looked up at Blaze, who had popped his head through the door periodically throughout the day, especially when the telephone rang.

  “Nothing,” Canaan said. “Whatever Wendy intended to do, it didn’t get done.”

  Blaze shook his head. “Well, I don’t know much about all this, but I don’t like coincidences, especially since she and her husband died in a fire the same date she wrote this note.”

  Canaan agreed.

  “Did the police pick up that wheel from Sheila’s Jeep?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t heard anything yet. Where’s Sheila?”

  “She went to her apartment. She threatened me with my life if I tried to go with her. Said there’s certain things a woman’s got to have, and one of those is privacy from time to time.”

  “How are the checkups going? Have you found any sick kids?”

  “Tanya still doesn’t feel a hundred percent, but a couple of the teachers and a dorm parent came in asking for something to settle their stomachs. Temps were up a little, so they could have a virus that’s going around, or they might’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with them.”

  “Let me know if they come back. We’ll need to do blood cultures. Can’t be too careful after what happened to Tanya Sunday.”

  “Will do, chief.”

  The door flew open and Sheila came marching in, breathless, eyes wide, holding a pillowcase in front of her, with something obviously in it.

  “Do you have a practical joker at this school?” she asked Canaan.

  “We’ve had a few from time to—”

  “Here’s a joke that isn’t funny.” She withdrew the pillowcase to expose a very familiar carving of a wolf head, fangs bared, eyes malevolent.

  “I didn’t carve that as a practical joke,” Canaan said, “but what are you doing with it?”

  She set the carving on his desk. “It would be nice to think that since I admired your other carvings so much, you thought I’d like to see this one, too, and so you set it on my coffee table. But I don’t think—”

  “Sheila, where did you get this?”

  “The little fellow was waiting for me when I got home today.”

  “This was in your apartment?”

  “My door was unlocked. I leave it that way half the time.”

  “Smart, Sheila,” Blaze said with some sarcasm. “So what’s the big deal about a wolf?” He picked up the carving and studied it. “Nice work.”

  “Thanks,” Canaan said. “I keep it at home because the wolf scares the kids.”

  Sheila sank down into the chair in front of Canaan’s desk. “Which means someone else was in my apartment today.”

  “That’s what you get for leaving your doors unlocked,” Blaze said. “Here we’ve been playing bodyguard all day, and you pull something like this.”

  “Do you think one of the kids left it as a joke?” she asked.

  “Could be,” Canaan said. “Or maybe someone was trying to make a statement about Tanya staying with you.”

  “Why would anybody care about that?” Blaze asked.

  “Prejudice,” Sheila said. “I’m white.”

  Blaze grinned. “Don’t that beat all. For once, I’m not the only one in the minority.”

  The tension eased in Sheila’s expression for a few seconds as she looked at her friend. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Canaan said. “I don’t think Sheila’s color has that much to do with it. My grandfather’s white, and—”

  “Your grandfather has earned the right to be respected,” Sheila said. “I’m a newcomer to most of the people here. And there are still those at this school who distrust most whites.”

  “That’s not a good reason to try to terrorize you,” Canaan said.

  “So what’s the big deal with the wolf?” Blaze asked.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Sheila said. “Canaan, this piece is so different from the other two carvings in my apartment. What inspired you to do it?”

  “My inspiration for this originally came from one of the kids’ silly coyote skinwalker stories, but instead of the human coyote, I thought about the Navajo werewolf.”

  “Werewolf!” Blaze exclaimed.

  “You caught the mood,” Sheila said.

  “It was almost…like something I had to exorcise from my own mind.”

  “Here we go with the exorcisms again,” she said.

  “Only a figure of speech,” Canaan told her. “And since when did you have any idea about the mood of a werewolf?”

  “Since I began having more memories of my childhood, and some nightmares, and spending Sunday night with a young girl very frightened of this beast,” she said. “Did your exorcism work for you?”

  Canaan shook his head.

  “I think I understand what you intended, though,” Sheila said. “It’s almost as if you can get rid of your fear if you expose it to the light of day.”

  “So it’s therapy,” Blaze said. “Tanya’s afraid of the Navajo werewolf, right?”

  Sheila and Canaan both looked at him.

  He spread his hands. “It really could be just a kid’s prank. They know she’s staying with Sheila and that she’s afraid of the wolf.”

  “But Tanya isn’t the only one who’s afraid,” Canaan told him, looking at Sheila. “And it isn’t just Tanya and Sheila. Now I’m trying to figure out why Sheila and Tanya both have terrors about the wolf. I can’t understand why the fear would cross cultural lines, why the wolf would frighten a white woman.”

  “Real monsters frighten everyone,” Blaze said. “There are people dying here, and Sheila’s getting shot at.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, Blaze,” she muttered.

  “You want to know what
I think?” he asked. “I may not know much, but if I was getting shot at and there was a death scare, I’d be locking my doors all the time. Who got into Canaan’s apartment to get the carving?”

  Canaan grimaced. “That could have been anyone, as well. I’m afraid I’m as bad about locking my doors as Sheila is.”

  Blaze clucked his tongue in reproach. “What’s it gonna take for you guys to learn?”

  Tanya Swift leaned back in her chair and stifled a yawn, trying hard to concentrate on what the teacher was reading. In spite of her sleepiness, she enjoyed being back in class. It felt normal, and she wanted everything to be normal again.

  Jamey Hunt sat beside her, propping his feet against the bar on her chair. As usual, he was slumped far down in his seat behind Lan Marcell, the tallest kid in this class. She knew Jamey didn’t want the teacher to call on him to read, because he hadn’t been feeling well and all he wanted to do was sleep.

  Tanya felt bad for Jamey. He hated reading, especially in front of others. Nobody in this class could read much better than he could, but his shyness made it much harder for him, especially since his parents had died.

  He’d told Tanya that she was the only one who ever helped him with his homework anymore. His older brother was busy all the time, and April just teased him for needing help.

  Because Jamey was so gentle, he let April boss him around all she wanted, and their parents weren’t there to stop it. Tanya knew he had to do the laundry and keep the house clean because Kai was supervising them, and Kai wouldn’t stand for a dirty house. Jamey’d have to do the cooking and dishes, too, if they didn’t eat in the cafeteria.

  “Jamey Hunt,” the teacher said, “please read the next page for us.”

  Tanya glanced at him. He looked like a scared cat caught in the beam of a flashlight.

  April, sitting behind him, slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Stupid!” she hissed. “Pay attention.”

  “Jamey?” the teacher called.

  He looked up at her, his face flushing deep red.

  “Page forty-two,” she said.

  Tanya saw that he hadn’t even opened his book.

  He looked at her and grimaced.