No Way Home

by Annette Dashofy

  “Hope?” Pete reached out, taking her arm.

  She turned to face him, her gloved fingers pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and damp. “It was him, then. All this time, it was Scott making the threats.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She flung up her hands. “It makes perfect sense. I didn’t think of him before because I assumed he was still in Texas. Scott made threats against his father when he left Scott’s mother for me.” Hope paced a few steps away from her horse, paused, and returned. “Now here we are, trying to stop FPR from expanding into Monongahela County, and Scott’s leading the push to do just that. He’s despised Dale for years. This was the last straw.”

  Pete watched as Hope’s gaze focused on nothing. Nothing tangible at least. “What kind of threats had Scott made back then?” Pete asked.

  Her damp greenish-brown eyes shifted to meet his. She lowered her hand from her lips to her throat. “He promised to make Dale suffer for what he’d done. Scott said one day he’d kill Dale. And then he’d kill me. We didn’t really believe he meant it. Scott was upset. Striking out. We expected time and distance to ease his pain.” She took a staggering step toward the horse’s head and rested her head on the animal’s spotted neck. Her voice was muffled, almost lost in the shaggy winter hair. Almost, but not quite. “I guess we were wrong.”

  Seventeen

  “Where are we going and what exactly is a Navajo taco?” Zoe had been following Allison’s directions and was completely lost. They’d left the stores and businesses of Farmington behind. Stretches of dirt and rock punctuated with scrub trees, little more than shrubbery by Pennsylvania standards, reached toward a distant wall of rock paralleling the road. An occasional small house, some with even smaller round structures nearby, dotted the barren landscape.

  “We’re going to the Navajo Kitchen,” Allison said, as if that was the only explanation needed. “And Navajo tacos are great. You’re gonna love ’em. We don’t have anything like them back home.”

  Zoe took in the view. They didn’t have anything like it back home either. Rugged, desolate, and wide open.

  Allison must have been watching her. “Awesome, isn’t it?”

  Zoe glanced at the smiling teen before looking back at the road. “The houses out here, though, look…” She searched for the word.

  “Poverty-stricken?”

  That would do. “Yeah.”

  “We’re on the Rez now. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  Zoe shot a stern glare at the girl. “You’re gonna wish you were in Kansas when your mother gets wind of this. We were supposed to pick her and your grandma up—” The clock on the dashboard read 11:35. “Five minutes ago. You need to call them.”

  Allison turned away to look out her window. “Can’t. No cell service out here.”

  Which explained why Rose hadn’t called them either. There would no doubt be fifty messages once they returned to civilization. “You’re determined to get us killed, aren’t you?”

  When Allison turned back, the smile was gone, replaced by a set jaw. “I’m determined to find my brother. Mom and Grandma will forgive us everything if we bring Logan home with us.”

  She had a point.

  “Up there.” Allison pointed. “On the left.”

  The structure she indicated could have been located anywhere. Not the adobe and stone Zoe had come to think of as the preferred building materials in these parts, the Navajo Kitchen was a stark one-story, flat-roofed restaurant with a bank of windows across the front. Various menu items had been scrawled on those windows, including Allison’s much-touted Navajo tacos.

  The lot was packed, mostly with pickup trucks that appeared to have many rough miles on them. Zoe found a spot on the far side of the building and parked.

  “Wait,” Allison said before Zoe could get out of the car. “There’s something else I need to warn you about.”

  “Warn me?” This didn’t sound good at all.

  “Navajos consider it rude to look you in the eye. It’s kinda weird at first. But you’ll get used to it.” Allison turned away and stepped out of the car.

  Zoe rolled this new bit of local flavor over in her mind. No, she definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

  They crossed in front of the building and entered the crowded dining room. Allison didn’t pause at the front counter where a family was paying their check, but passed a row of occupied booths to an empty one at the opposite end. While Allison didn’t seem to notice, Zoe sensed every eye in the place was on them.

  Like the exterior of the building, the inside of the restaurant held few of the southwestern touches Zoe had become accustomed to. In fact, there weren’t any decorative items at all. The wood plank table appeared to be ages old, just like the bench seats.

  Allison plucked two smudged laminate menus from behind the chrome napkin holder and plopped one in front of Zoe. “You really need to try the Navajo tacos.”

  “You never told me what they are.”

  “They’re made with fry bread instead of tortillas.”

  Considering Zoe didn’t know what fry bread was, the explanation wasn’t helpful. But when in Rome…“Sounds good to me.” She scanned the dining room. Although she still felt like she was being watched, no one appeared to look their way.

  Allison laughed softly, hiding her smile behind the menu.

  “What’s so funny?” Zoe asked.

  “You. Welcome to the Rez, White Eyes.”

  Zoe glared at the girl, who still looked like the strawberry blonde she’d roomed with last night, but who suddenly sounded very native.

  “Well?” Allison said, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re the only white chicks in the place.”

  Zoe shushed her even though Allison had kept her voice low. “I’ve noticed.”

  “We’re outsiders here. You’ll get used to it.”

  So she kept saying. Zoe had her doubts.

  A bronze-skinned, oval-faced waitress ambled past the table without seeming to notice them.

  “And don’t be in a rush to get served,” Allison said. “No one in New Mexico gets in a big hurry about anything. If you see someone in a rush, they’re tourists. Like you.”

  Zoe noticed Allison didn’t include herself in the category.

  She looked toward the door and for a fleeting moment her eyes widened. She lowered her face, but not before Zoe noticed a burst of crimson color her cheeks.

  “He’s here,” Allison whispered.

  Zoe spotted the young man heading their way. Dark hair and piercing eyes, sun-browned skin, broad shoulders, and narrow hips—he made a striking figure. No wonder Allison was clearly enamored. Judging his age, though, was impossible. He could be eighteen. He could be thirty.

  “Stop looking at him,” Allison whispered. “It’s rude.”

  He arrived at their table as Zoe pondered how anyone recognized each other out here. “Hello, Little Sister,” he said.

  “Pony Boy.” Allison kept her eyes lowered. “I’m glad you came.” She scooted over in the booth and the man slid in beside her. She glanced at Zoe. “This is my Aunt Zoe. Well, she isn’t really my aunt. She’s my mom’s best friend, but my brother and I have always thought of her as our aunt.” Allison apparently realized she was babbling and winced. She tipped her head at the man. “This is Billy Yellowhorse.”

  Zoe extended a hand toward him. “Nice to meet you.”

  He stared at the hand for a moment before grasping it firmly for only an instant.

  Allison folded her hands on the table in front of her. “You know why I’m here.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice deep.

  “Is my brother…” Allison’s voice caught. She swallowed and tried again. “Is my brother alive?”

  Yellowhorse folded his hands as well. “Your brother
is safe.”

  Zoe leaned forward. “Where is he?”

  The Navajo didn’t reply. Didn’t meet her gaze.

  “Where is he?” Allison asked quietly.

  “He is safe. He is where no one will find him.”

  Zoe wanted to grab Billy Yellowhorse by his jacket collar. “Do you know where he is?”

  Yellowhorse continued to ignore her. Avoiding eye contact was one thing. This guy acted like she didn’t exist.

  Allison, however, caught Zoe’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible headshake. At least the teen acknowledged her presence. Zoe was beginning to feel invisible. And if either Allison or Yellowhorse wanted her to leave so they could speak in private, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

  “You know where he is,” Allison said. Not a question. “Can you take me to him?”

  Yellowhorse reached over and covered her hands with one of his. “Yes. But it would not be a good idea.” He refolded his hands.

  “Please, Pony Boy. My mother’s a wreck. The police think he’s responsible for—for—”

  A crease lined the Navajo’s forehead. “Yes. I know.”

  “Is he?”

  “No. I would not be offering him protection if he were.”

  Allison released a pent-up breath. “That’s what I thought.”

  Zoe listened, baffled by the conversation. She wanted to climb over the table and demand answers. No more dancing around. Where was Logan? But she stayed rooted to the bench. Yellowhorse for some reason would not talk to her. Allison, however, was not only permitted to speak, but somehow seemed to understand his answers.

  “I need to see my brother,” Allison said. “I need to see for myself that he’s okay.”

  “He is. You know you can take my word for it.”

  Even Allison seemed to be losing patience. “Of course I know. But my mother is about to send out the Marines. If I tell her everything’s okay because Pony Boy says so, do you honestly think she’s gonna just let it go?”

  Zoe thought she spotted the faintest hint of a smile cross Yellowhorse’s face. But the trace was gone before she could make up her mind.

  “No, I don’t believe she would,” he said.

  “If I can see him, talk to him, maybe I can find out how we can help. And if I tell my mother that I saw him and he’s okay, she might not worry so much.”

  Yellowhorse’s jaw worked as if he were chewing. After a moment, he puckered his lips toward Zoe, pointing at her with his mouth. “Not her. I will take you to your brother.”

  Zoe reached across the table and clamped a hand on Allison’s arm. “No.” Her voice rang above the low rumble of conversations around them. The room fell quiet, but still no one looked their way. Zoe had a feeling, though, that these people had eyes in the backs and sides of their heads and were using those to scrutinize her. Lowering her voice, she said to Yellowhorse, “I’m not letting Allison go anywhere without me. I’m sorry. She trusts you. I don’t.”

  The teen tried to wrest her arm free. “Aunt Zoe,” she whined. “I’ll be okay.”

  But Zoe held firm and fixed Yellowhorse with a stern gaze he didn’t return.

  Instead his face remained passive. Stoic. The same as it had since he arrived, with the exception of that one fleeting smile. And she wasn’t convinced she hadn’t imagined it.

  “Trust,” he said, “must be earned.”

  She shifted her stare to Allison, who at least did meet her gaze with a pleading one. A visual game of chicken. One which Zoe was not about to lose.

  After several long silent moments, Allison lowered her gaze, and her shoulders sagged.

  Zoe turned back to Yellowhorse, but remembered to avoid meeting his eyes. “I agree that trust must be earned. But it works both ways. Taking care of Allison’s my job. I wouldn’t be doing that job very well if I simply turned her over to you, now would I?”

  Yellowhorse appeared to weigh her words. He gave one quick nod. “Little Sister, I will take you and your aunt to see your brother.” He climbed to his feet. “Meet me on the road to the cave at three o’clock.”

  No sooner had Yellowhorse left than the waitress arrived to take Zoe’s and Allison’s orders. The teen acted unfazed by her Navajo friend’s attitude. Zoe, on the other hand, felt like she had been dropped onto another planet. Flustered, she told the waitress to bring her the same as Allison had requested.

  Once the waitress shuffled away, Zoe leaned forward on the table and glared at the teen. “Who on earth was that guy?”

  “I told you. Billy Yellowhorse.”

  “Which tells me absolutely nothing. The more he talked, the less I knew. He says Logan’s alive, but I’m less sure of it than I was before.”

  Allison leaned back, crossing her arms and showing a flash of the defiant teenager she’d been a year ago. “If Billy says Logan’s okay, he is.”

  “You trust him?”

  “Billy? Yes, I trust him. With my life.”

  The reply made Zoe’s shoulders tense into a knot. “Well, I don’t.” She looked around the room with an even stronger sense of being watched and ignored at the same time. “Other than this thing about not meeting someone’s eyes, is there anything else I should know before I make a fool of myself?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. Lots. For starters, don’t tell anyone what you do for a living.”

  “Native Americans have a thing against paramedics?”

  A grin flashed across Allison’s face. “They don’t refer to themselves as Native Americans either. And no, you can admit you’re a paramedic. It’s the other thing.”

  Other thing? Barn manager? No. “Deputy—?”

  Allison cut her off with a shush. She glanced around as if determining if either of them had been overheard. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Don’t mention that.”

  “Why not?” Zoe asked.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Tell me now.”

  Allison cast another furtive look around the restaurant before leaning across the table toward Zoe. “They’re very superstitious about…” She lowered her voice even further. “…dead people.”

  “But I only—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just don’t mention it, okay?”

  Compared to the rest of the alien beliefs Zoe had encountered so far, being squeamish about the dead seemed perfectly acceptable. “Okay. Now tell me about this Billy Yellowhorse.”

  Allison’s cheeks flushed. “He’s about the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

  Considering the girl’s history, not necessarily a glowing recommendation.

  “I already told you he’s Logan’s crew chief out in the oil fields. For some reason, Billy took Logan under his wing. And Billy’s known Kayla since they were kids. He was older, so he kinda watched out for her.”

  And had failed miserably. Now he was watching out for Logan. “Where’s this cave he mentioned?”

  Their waitress appeared and set their orders in front of them. A round flat piece of bread—like a tortilla, but plumper and doughier—topped with sauce, meat, lettuce, tomato, and shredded cheese covered the plate. Allison tore into hers as if she hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “Thank you,” Zoe called to the back of the departing waitress’s head.

  “It’s so good,” Allison mumbled around a mouthful of food.

  Zoe watched for a moment before picking up a fork. This was going to require a quantity of napkins.

  After a few minutes of silent chewing, Zoe wiped sauce from her mouth. “The cave. Where is it?”

  Allison didn’t look up from her meal. “It’s a place we used to hang out when I lived out here.”

  “We?”

  “All of us. Logan, Kayla, Billy, me, and a bunch of other kids.”

  Zoe liked this less and less. She considered asking what they did while “h
anging out,” but decided Allison probably wouldn’t tell her. For the first time since the Santiagos had made their allegations about Logan and drugs, Zoe wondered if there might be some validity to the accusations. Was Billy Yellowhorse part of the bad crowd they’d mentioned? Were these kids hanging out in a cave to do drugs?

  Was Allison not as clean as Zoe and Rose believed?

  The thought curbed Zoe’s appetite, and she pushed the plate away.

  “What’s wrong?” Allison asked. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Not really.” But Zoe wasn’t referring to the food. As much as she didn’t want to know the answer, she had to ask. “What did you all do when you were hanging out in this cave?”

  Allison looked puzzled by the question for a moment. Then her eyes widened. “You think—? No. It was nothing like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what you’re thinking. Okay, there were a couple of guys who brought some weed down from Colorado one time, but Billy ran them out. And some of the older guys brought beer every now and then. But Billy made sure none of us—Kayla, Logan, or me—got any of it. Mostly we just talked and listened to music.”

  Mostly. Zoe had her doubts that everything was as benign as Allison wanted her to believe. But pressing the issue would only shut her down. Right now, like it or not, Billy Yellowhorse appeared to be the only person who might lead them to Logan.

  And Allison was the only one who could get the young Navajo to cooperate. As long as Zoe kept the girl close, no one would have a chance to harm her.

  “You still haven’t told me where this cave is.”

  “If I tell you, you still won’t know. I’ll show you how to get there.”

  “Tell me anyway.” Zoe hadn’t spent hours studying the area maps for nothing.

  Allison gave another exasperated sigh. “It’s in a place called Hart Canyon.”

  Any fragment of appetite Zoe had left evaporated.

  Hart Canyon.

  Where Kayla’s body had been found.

  Eighteen