by Aimée Thurlo
Boots nodded, but didn’t say anything for a long time.
Ella didn’t interrupt the silence, allowing it to stretch.
“People believe the legacy, so the most important thing now, I think, is for them to see you’re a good person and that you respect the ways of our tribe,” Boots said at last.
Ella nodded. “That’s why I’m going to go find the Singer.”
Rose handed her a paper sack filled with two egg and sausage burritos and a thermos filled with hot chocolate. “Go do what’s necessary, Daughter.”
Ella took the tribal unit and headed north. Once she reached the town of Shiprock, she’d turn east, then follow the road that would lead her past Beclabito and on to Four Corners. As she mapped out the route in her mind, she realized she’d be passing right by Tom Joe’s house. He’d filed a complaint the day before yesterday, reporting that someone had poked holes in his water barrels.
There’d been an outbreak of vandalism in that area lately, but so far she’d turned up no common denominator to tie them together.
Since it was on the way, stopping by the Joes’ house seemed like a good idea. From what she remembered from the early-morning briefing, the Joes were modernists, so a visit from her wouldn’t be likely to upset them.
Although she was used to traveling across the Rez quickly, particularly whenever she was on her way to interview someone, today she went along at fifty-five miles per hour—at least ten to fifteen miles slower than she would have ever done. She’d spent her entire life living in the future—hurrying from one thing to the next, always focusing on distant goals, but in so doing she’d robbed herself of the present. Maybe it was time to change that along with some other things.
Ella thought about her work in law enforcement. She’d sacrificed everything for it, and somewhere along the way, she’d lost any semblance of balance in her life. She’d spent so much time trying to be better at what she did that she’d forgotten how to be good to herself.
When Ella arrived at the Joes’ wood-frame house north of Rattlesnake and beside the river, she was surprised to see a ceremonial hogan behind the main house. Modernists generally didn’t have them. If the information she had about the Joes was wrong, it was quite possible her presence would make things difficult for everyone.
Uncertain, she remained where she was and waited. The next move would have to be theirs.
FOUR
Time passed, and Ella remained by the tribal unit patiently. Although she saw someone peer out the front window, no invitation to approach was given.
Finally a young, modern-looking Navajo woman with a hard look in her eyes came out. She was wearing a T-shirt, khaki pants with big pockets, and boots. Her hair hung down to her waist. She looked like a blend of old and new, leading Ella to conclude that they were a family of new traditionalists.
“I’m Janet Joe. Now that grandmother is living with us, my mom and dad have become new traditionalists so you’re not welcome here. They all heard what happened to you the other day and saw it on TV, too.”
“They filed a report of vandalism a few days ago and I’m here to follow it up,” Ella said. “I won’t stay long, but it’s my job to take a look around and get a few questions answered.”
“I figured that, which is why I insisted on coming out. They don’t like me talking to you,” she said, “but I’m not afraid.”
Ella sensed the kind of toughness in Janet that came from facing adversity and coming out on top. Janet Joe had survivor written all over her.
“Show me what was vandalized,” Ella said.
Janet led her to two large covered barrels kept by the corral. Ella could see that someone had poked holes into the thick plastic sides. Crouching down, she studied the punctures. “My guess is that they used a sharp screwdriver or an ice pick.”
Janet nodded. “The holes aren’t big, but the barrels can’t hold water now.”
Ella studied the ground around the barrels carefully. There were tire prints and one of the tires appeared to have a shallow slash across the treads. “Does your family park their truck here sometimes?”
“No. Dad always parks next to the house, where the pickup is now. These tracks are from some other truck.”
As Ella took some photos with a camera she kept in her gear, Janet spoke. “Thanks to the jerk who did this we’re going to have to scrape up the money to buy new barrels. Big ones like these aren’t cheap. Mom’s trying to trade one of the trading post owners a rug for barrels, but these days people would rather have cash.”
“Is this the only way you’ve got to store water?”
“For the animals, yes. We have another barrel beside the back of the house for us. I have a patch kit for inner tubes and plan to put a new seal on the inside before lunch. We’ll get by.”
Ella knew Janet was still trying to make up her mind about her, so she let the silence stretch out.
Uncomfortable with the silence, Janet began to talk at last. “This whole thing is my fault, in a way.”
“How so?” Ella asked.
“I used to be with the Many Devils. You know them, right?”
“The gang on this side of the river,” Ella answered, careful to have her tone remain neutral and nonjudgmental.
“Yeah,” Janet said. “I used to get into a lot of trouble when I hung around with them. Then one day I took a Colt forty-five that belonged to my friend’s dad. I was going to take it to school and blow Coach’s head off. I was tired of him ragging me in PE every single day. But that morning before I left for school Mom found the gun when she moved my purse. She and Dad refused to let me go anywhere—even school—for a month. They told everyone I’d run away. Instead, they took me to Ben Tso, a hataalii. He’s not as famous as his granddad, but he worked with kids, to put them on the right track, you know?”
Seeing Ella nod, she continued. “He did a Sing, then kept me at his hogan for almost a month. I had to chop and haul firewood, take care of his animals, haul water, everything. At first, I hated him, but he always treated me with respect. Eventually, we began talking and a lot of what he said made sense to me.”
“Did you get over your anger with the coach?”
She nodded. “I realized that anger twists you all up inside and gets you nowhere. These days I help other kids quit the gangs. My old friends don’t talk to me now, but I guess it’s a price I’ll have to pay.”
“You think maybe somebody in the gang did this to get back at you?”
“No, but that’s what started it all.”
“I’m not following you,” Ella said.
“Catching me with a handgun really scared my parents. Recently when they heard that Lewis Hunt, the tribal councilman, came out in favor of handgun registration, they immediately jumped on that bandwagon. They believe that most people need rifles out here to go hunting and all, but that handguns are only good for shooting people.”
Ella exhaled softly. “Gun registration is a tough sell anywhere in the Southwest, but it’s even more so on the Rez. People here, by and large, figure we have more than enough Anglo laws to contend with.”
“Exactly, so when my parents went to a Chapter House meeting and spoke in favor of it, a lot of people got real angry with them.”
“Like who?”
“I have no idea. I wasn’t there. All I know is that the barrels got punctured later that same night after we all went to bed and Mom’s sure the two incidents were connected.”
Ella realized that she’d just uncovered a possible link between the incidents of vandalism that had been reported recently. “Need some help with the patches?”
“Thanks, but no,” Janet said. “My mom might feel funny using the water, you understand?”
Ella nodded. Then, sensing someone looking at her, she turned her head. As she did, she caught a glimpse of someone ducking back behind the curtain at the front window of the house. “I wish your family wasn’t afraid to talk to me,” she said.
“They can’t help it,” Janet said. �
��Although they heard that your brother the hataalii said that you were never really dead, that your wind spirit was just lost, the fact remains that you fell into the place where the yellow monster Leetso lives. That’s why a lot of new traditionalists believe that you’re dangerous. Until you get a Sing done, of course.”
In a way, she could understand this explanation a lot more than any of the others. Even people outside the Rez might have second thoughts about being with someone who’d been around radioactive dust until they learned that contamination couldn’t be passed on like a disease.
“You’re so cool about all this,” Janet said. “If I were a cop, I’d get really pissed off at people who act the way my parents are.”
“Being angry won’t change their beliefs.” Ella climbed back into the SUV. “If you learn who got angry at your parents in that Chapter House meeting, send word to me, okay?”
“Sure.”
As Ella drove up the dirt road toward the main highway, she speculated on why or how her intuition had become so sharply attuned. She’d always been able to sense people’s feelings, but today she’d known that Janet’s parents had been peering at her even before she’d turned around. Before she could think about it any longer, however, her cell phone rang.
“Hey, Ella, how are you doing?” a familiar voice said.
Hearing Harry Ute’s voice made her smile. “It’s good to hear from you.”
“I just heard the news about what happened. Are you really okay?”
“Well, the whole thing shook me up a lot,” she said honestly. When Harry didn’t comment, Ella wondered if he’d simply wanted reassurance. “But I’m alive and healthy and that’s a win,” she said in a more cheerful tone.
“You bet it is,” he said. “I should have known this wouldn’t get to you for very long.”
Ella felt a twinge of regret as she realized that all he wanted was a casual conversation. But she wasn’t really surprised. Things between them had been cooling down considerably for several months. Every time they’d spoken, she’d sensed him distancing himself emotionally, just as he was now.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while. How have you been doing?” she asked.
“You know how it is. Work never ends.”
“Are you going to be traveling our way soon?” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. One of the main obstacles between them was that Harry’s life was now on the outside. Hers was here.
“I won’t be going anywhere for a while, not with the case-load I’m juggling. You know how it is, twenty-four/seven.” He paused for several moments as if struggling with what to say next.
Ella knew what was on his mind. Neither of them wanted to bring up the subject, but the fact was they’d reached the end of the road and it was time for them to start seeing other people.
“Listen, Ella,” he started, but then someone else approached him and spoke hurriedly to him. A moment later he turned his attention back to her. “I’ve got to go. My partner’s ready to roll. I’ll be in touch.”
“Later.”
Ella placed the phone back on the seat beside her. She was sure that she and Harry would remain friends. It wasn’t in either of their natures to hold grudges or mourn for what might have been. They’d actually had a lot in common—maybe too much to make a long-term relationship work.
As Ella continued toward Beclabito and the trading post, she caught a glimpse of a light blue pickup behind her. The late-model Ford seemed to be keeping pace. Spotting a dirt road leading up to somebody’s home, Ella slowed and turned off the highway, watching to see if the driver would follow or stop. When the pickup continued down the highway, she laughed softly at herself. She had to learn to relax.
A short time later Ella pulled up by the trading post, a long, low cinder-block structure right off the highway among junipers and a few scattered piñon pines. The old building, which also had a garage and gas pumps, attracted many tourists driving through the Rez on their way to visit the only place in the USA where the borders of four states met.
Jim Benally, the manager, was sitting down behind the counter reading the paper. Ella knew that Jim was a devout Catholic and wouldn’t be overly concerned about her brush with death. He looked up and smiled at her. “Hey, Ella, what brings you out of the big city?”
Ella smiled at his comment about Shiprock, one of the largest Navajo settlements. “I’m trying to find John Tso. I heard he might be in the area.”
“He’s around somewhere. He stopped by here yesterday morning for supplies.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
He thought about it. “I’m not sure, but I do know he likes to go camping along the San Juan River.”
Ella remembered what Jennifer had said about the Singer often visiting the spot where the Mancos River joined the San Juan River. “I’m going to try and find him, but just in case I miss out, would you mention I’m looking for him if he comes by? It’s personal, not professional.”
“Right, I heard. No problem.”
It took nearly an hour to drive through Four Corners, then south on a dirt road toward the river. Before long, Ella found the spot where the old hataalii had probably camped the night before. There were traces of a fresh campfire and tracks left by a pickup, but no sign of anyone. She followed the vehicle tracks to the east, heading away from the river, until the ground hardened and the trail fizzled out.
From what she could tell, he was either heading cross-country toward Highway 666 to the east, hoping to catch one of the dirt tracks that followed the San Juan River downstream, or looking for something in particular that only he knew about. Without more information she could search for years and still not find him. For all she knew, he was back in Shiprock at the Totah Café having a big piece of gooey pecan pie.
As Ella turned back north toward the highway and drove down a dirt track that was barely a road, something compelled her to look in the rearview mirror. A vehicle in the distance to the east was raising a cloud of sand and dust into the air.
Remembering the light blue truck that had passed her a few hours ago, she slowed down and tried to get a clearer look, but it was all but impossible because of the layer of sand and dust kicked up by her own SUV as well as the dust that surrounded the other vehicle.
Her senses alert, Ella touched the stone badger fetish she wore around her neck on a thin leather strap. For whatever the reason, she’d discovered that it always felt hot whenever she was in danger. She’d never been sure if that was a product of her own body temperature, chance, or something more, but right now the fetish felt neither overly hot nor cool against her skin.
As she traveled down one side of a shallow arroyo, then back up the other side, she caught a flash of color in the mirror again. The truck was definitely light blue and was closing the distance between them.
What she needed to do was use the land itself to her advantage. Instead of cutting across the next small wash she encountered, Ella engaged the four-wheel drive and left the dirt track she was following, driving northeast up the arroyo itself. The pickup behind her reached the arroyo, then turned to follow.
Ella accelerated up the deepening arroyo, then as soon as she was around the first curve she encountered, she quickly reversed directions. Rolling down the window to listen, she waited for the other driver to catch up.
First she heard the low rumble of an engine, then she saw a cloud of dust as the driver maneuvered along the sandy bottom of the wash. Without four-wheel drive, the pickup was struggling.
When she finally saw the truck come around the curve, Ella stepped on the accelerator and drove forward, pulling right across its path, lights flashing.
The driver’s eyes widened the instant he saw her, and Ella stared back at him in surprise, wondering if she’d made a mistake. It was Professor Garnenez, whose classroom adjoined Wilson’s at the college.
Curious, she tried to remember everything she knew about him. He was said to be a new traditionalist who adhered to his
new lifestyle with the zeal of a convert, annoying some modernists like Wilson Joe in the process. But there was nothing about that to send up a flag, and he hadn’t been doing anything illegal—yet.
As she got out of her vehicle and walked toward his pickup, Garnenez opened the door and stepped out. She could see what looked like a video camera on his seat. Had he been filming her, for some strange reason? “What’s going on, Investigator Clah?” he asked, taking only a step away from his vehicle, leaving the door open and the engine running.
He had on a short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and western-cut boots. A large deerskin or suede medicine pouch hung from his belt. The only thing in his hands at the moment was a small rock.
Relaxing a bit, she got right to the point. “It appears that you’ve been following me, Professor.”
He hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded. “It’s true. I heard that you were looking for hastiin sání to do a Sing for you and I wanted to help.”
“Wouldn’t that work better if you weren’t searching the exact same places I am?” She moved closer, narrowing the gap between them, and he held the rock out so she could see it better. It was shiny and black, probably obsidian.
“By the way, you’re supposed to be using flint, not obsidian, if you’re trying to ward off the evil ones,” she said, biting back a smile. She reached into her medicine pouch and brought out a flint arrowhead, holding it up. “Like this.”
Flint was used to defend against skinwalkers—Navajo witches. Maybe he’d been following her, thinking she’d turned evil, and had brought the video camera to catch her doing something that would prove the point. But he hadn’t really done his homework about traditional beliefs concerning rocks and minerals, obviously.
Looking uncomfortable, he stepped back, reaching down and placing the obsidian into his own medicine pouch. He then leaned against the side of his pickup. “My mistake,” he grumbled.
