The city’s reputation preceeded it. He rolled his eyes. “Then your car gets sabotaged way out here where you don’t belong in the first place.”
“I told you, I was—”
“Then you get smacked over the head outside the home of a woman who was just murdered.”
“And I explained that, too. I said—”
“Then you start spouting off about somebody named Goodshot, and around here, that can only mean one person. Chester Goodshot Gomez is something of a legend in my tribe. He was a star in a Wild West show and people still tell stories about him. He’s been dead for over one hundred years.”
“I was a little woozy when I was mumbling about Goodshot. Hit over the head, remember?”
“And now this?” Jesse threw his hands out and spun around, as if that now this of his suddenly made more sense simply because of where we were. “That guy got murdered right in front of our eyes. And you were here to meet him because, at six o’clock this morning, he showed up at your motel room and left that note for you. Call me crazy, or maybe I’m just insightful, but I figured you weren’t an early riser. I waited until he drove away and I got a slim jim out of my car. You know, one of those things you can slip down alongside a window and into a car door to unlock it. Perfect for sticking under a door”—he demonstrated with one hand—“and sliding out a note.”
“So you read that note before I read that note?”
“And that’s when I knew I had to get up here because I knew that whatever you’re up to, you’re in way over your head.” He was wearing his Stetson, and he ripped it off and scraped a hand through his inky hair. “What’s this about a curse? And what does it have to do with kidnappers? You thought I was one of them. You said so yourself. Whatever’s going on”—another look over his shoulder to where Arnie lay—“it didn’t exactly work out for him, did it? And you’ve got plenty of explaining to do. This is pueblo land, Pepper, and whatever’s going on, those kidnappers are messing with me now.” Another thought hit, and he groaned. “Shit, I’m going to have paperwork a mile high to deal with, and now that we’ve got a murder on our hands, I’m going to have to call in the FBI.” He plopped his hat back on his head, gave me a disgusted look, took off the hat, and jammed it on my head. “And don’t you know not to come out here without some sort of hat? It’s one thing now that it’s getting dark but when the sun is out—”
Okay, I shouldn’t have started laughing. After all, he was being as serious as a heart attack. Blame it on the adrenaline shooting through my body. Or the relief I felt now that I realized we weren’t going to get picked off like ducks at a shooting gallery. Maybe I just pictured myself out there in the middle of nowhere wearing off-brand jeans and a cowboy hat that was way too big for me and appreciated how ridiculous the whole thing was.
In the long run, it didn’t really matter. My laughter shut him up, and side by side, we made our way to Jesse’s cruiser and he put in all the calls he had to, and after that, he was too busy to bother me with any more questions. Backup arrived, and along with three other members of the pueblo police force, Jesse set up a few high-powered lights and a perimeter around Arnie’s body and got to work. It was pitch dark by that time, and with nothing to do, I sat on a rock nearby (just in case the coyotes I could hear calling to each other decided to make an appearance) and learned to appreciate the glory of the Milky Way and stars the likes of which must shine over Cleveland, but I’d never seen before.
It was nearly dawn by the time everything was taken care of and Jesse followed me back to my motel, and I swear, though I’d reminded myself about a thousand times that my experiences with Quinn were enough to make me swear off cops for all time and that I’d never, ever go to bed with one again, what happened after that was completely out of my control.
Blame it on the adrenaline.
By the time I woke up, it was after noon, and Jesse was showered and sitting on the edge of the bed. He was dressed only in blue-and-white-plaid boxers, and his hair was loose. At the risk of sounding poetic (something I am so not!), it flowed over his bare shoulders like it had touched mine during our hours together, like black silk. For a few moments, I was distracted enough to forget about all the horrible things that had happened the night before and concentrate on the amazing stuff that went on between us when we got back to the motel. The look in his eyes cured me of that, and fast.
It was time for answers.
Weird thing is, for the first time since I’d been gifted with this Gift, I was actually ready to do something I’d never done with anybody—give them to him.
I plumped the pillows, propped them behind my back, and made sure the threadbare blanket was tucked under my arms. No use taking his mind off the matter at hand. Not when we were about to have the talk.
“I see ghosts,” I said, then corrected myself and barreled on before I could talk myself out of it. “At least I used to see ghosts. It all started back at home when I tripped and hit my head on a mausoleum. And since then, I’ve been… well, sort of investigating for the ghosts. You know, they ask me to right a wrong, or clear their names, or find their bodies… and I’ve been doing this for a couple years and that’s how I got involved in this whole thing with Goodshot, because there are these crazy baseball fans and they’re convinced Goodshot is cursing our team and they kidnapped Dan and he’s a friend of mine, and I had to bring Goodshot’s bones back here so I did. And it’s not like they know I can see ghosts—I mean, the baseball fans, not the ghosts, because of course the ghosts know I can see ghosts. But the baseball fans don’t know I see ghosts, they only know that Goodshot’s bones were at the cemetery where I work. Only I don’t work there anymore, but they figured even so, I still know people and still have access. Which isn’t true, either. At least about having access because I had to steal the keys to Goodshot’s mausoleum and that’s what I did and I took his bones and I got here and I was all set to exchange the bones for Dan, but then the bones got stolen and I got hit on the head and I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure…” I paused for a moment, waiting for the familiar surge of ghostiness to tingle along my skin, and when it didn’t, I was convinced and went on.
“No, I’m sure. I’m sure after that whack on the head I got over at Norma’s, I can’t see ghosts anymore because Goodshot and his girlfriends have disappeared, and see, I was really happy about that. The no-ghost thing, not the whack on the head. Because really, it’s not like in the movies when people talk to the dead, and it’s all interesting and like that. It’s really more of a pain in the neck, and because of the ghosts, people keep trying to kill me. So I was glad. Who wouldn’t be? And I was all set to leave, which is why you saw me out in the parking lot with my suitcase. But I couldn’t. Leave, that is. Not when I thought about Dan and how if I don’t help him, nobody will, and then that note came and I thought it was my big break in the case, so I went out to Wind Mountain and Arnie got killed and…”
It was pretty impressive, actually, not having to take a breath all that time, but my lungs finally gave out and so did my voice. Jesse reached over to the table by the side of the bed and handed me a bottle of water. Nice gesture, and I fully expected it was the last thing he’d do before he grabbed his clothes, and gave me the ol’ hasta la vista, baby. That is, after he told me I was nuts.
I glugged down a gulp of water while he turned to give me a careful look. “It makes sense,” he said.
“It does?” The bottle was at my lips and I froze. That is, until reality came crashing down around me. I capped the bottle and set it down. “No,” I said. “It really doesn’t. None of it makes sense, and I wouldn’t believe it myself if someone told me what I just told you. It’s weird. And creepy. Aberrant behavior. That’s what Dan used to call it, and I never admitted it then, but I’ll admit it now: he was right.” I threw my hands in the air, and when the blanket dipped, I tucked it back into place. “Don’t you get it? I just told you I see dead people, and you just said—”
“You’re the raven.” He
pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s what Strong Eagle, the shaman, told me. He told me you see the living, and you see the dead. He knew. Even before I met you.”
“And you believed him?”
He slid his gaze to mine. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s crazy.”
A smile sparkled in his eyes. “It is.”
“And you’re a cop. Cops are—”
“Logical. Rational. Reasonable.”
“Logical, rational, reasonable people don’t believe in ghosts.”
“You do.”
“Which might mean I’m not logical, rational, or reasonable.”
He considered the possibility. “You know good boots when you see them. And you’ve got great taste in men.” The sparkle made it all the way to his lips. “Sounds reasonable to me.”
“But—”
“Welcome to the Great Southwest. The skies are wide open, and so are our minds. Anglos have been in these parts for a few hundred years. They’re still getting used to the altitude, and the attitude. But my tribe has been here for much, much longer. Think how enlightened we are by now.”
“That’s great. But I just said—”
“That you walk with the dead. Yeah, I heard that part.”
“And you just said—”
“That I believe you. There’s no reason I shouldn’t. You’re an honorable woman. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Bet you wouldn’t have swiped Goodshot’s bones, either. What you did, you did for a friend.”
“But most people just don’t come right out and admit—”
“Most people don’t have your kind of Gift. And if they do, I think most of them aren’t comfortable enough with it to tell anyone. You’re honest and you’re open and you trust me enough to share what’s obviously a huge part of your life. Thank you.”
I leaned forward, the better to give him a careful look. “If you’re just saying this to get me back in bed—”
“You’re already in bed.” He leaned closer and the kiss he gave me was long and slow and searching. It curled my toes. When he was done, he sat back. “I’m saying it because it’s true. It makes sense. And I believe you. What you just told me explains what you’re doing here. It doesn’t explain…” His mouth thinned. “Why didn’t you just tell me in the first place? I don’t care what kinds of cases you’ve investigated in the past, you can’t just head out looking for kidnappers on your own. It’s crazy, and it’s dangerous. And you’re not doing your friend Dan any favors. The smart thing to do from the start was to get law enforcement involved.”
Quinn’s face flashed before my eyes. “I haven’t had much luck with law enforcement, not when it comes to explaining about this stupid Gift of mine.”
“Is it?” Jesse chuckled. “Stupid? In my tribe, we’d consider it a great honor.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s because there aren’t dead people bugging you all the time. And bad guys shooting at you. Only”—I felt a stab of guilt, and I reached for his hand and squeezed it—“there was a bad guy shooting at you, and it was all my fault. You could have been hurt, or…” I couldn’t go there. “Sorry.”
“Hey, it comes with the job description.” He twined his fingers through mine and his thumb played over the back of my hand. “So, what are we going to do?”
I patted the empty spot in bed beside me. “You want to—”
He gave me a quick kiss. “Yes, I want to. Later. And tomorrow. And the day after that.” Another kiss and he got up and reached for his pants. “For now, we’ve got a kidnapping on our hands, and a lot of work to do.”
It may have been the kisses that muddled my brain like mint leaves in a mojito. Or maybe I just needed some time to adjust to anyone who could think so far out of the box. I watched Jesse get dressed, staring all the while. “You believe me? Really?”
“Like I said…” A shrug of those broad shoulders. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re not the kind of woman who pretends things are real when they’re not. At least…” He raised his eyebrows. “At least I hope not. Now get moving. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
* * *
It was something of a red-letter day—what with all that had happened in the wee small hours of the morning, my confession to Jesse, and the not-so-insignificant fact that when I told him about the ghosts, he didn’t call the nearest loony bin and tell them to bring a straitjacket and a net big enough to snare a five-foot-eleven woman. What all that means is that I wasn’t going to spend that particular day looking like a refugee from the New Mexican no-man’s-land. I showered and dressed in one of the V-neck tanks I’d brought from home (creamy colored and with lace edging), my new boots (of course), and those jeans I’d retrieved from Tom’s. Before we left the motel, Jesse insisted I take along a long-sleeve shirt and a jacket, too, and when I rolled my eyes, he reminded me that there was no telling where we might end up.
Where we ended up first was the Taopi Pueblo.
Here’s the thing about pueblos, and it sure isn’t anything I knew before that day: pueblo is a sort of all-purpose word in those parts. For one, it’s a general name for the Native Americans in New Mexico. They’re called Pueblo Indians. What they have in common with other Native Americans is that they were firmly established on the continent long before any Europeans showed up. What’s different about them as compared to other tribes is that they were never forcibly removed from their ancestral lands. They were, however, conquered and enslaved by the Spanish, who swept through a few hundred years ago, and until this day, most of them still retain the Spanish surnames they were given at the time. The good news is that the Taopi, like the other tribes in New Mexico, still occupy lands that have been theirs since before recorded history.
So when I say pueblo, I’m talking about the however many thousands of acres that are owned by the Taopi tribe, but that same word—pueblo—is also used for the homes inside the original historic village. Think adobe condos, individual homes built side by side and some atop others. They have shared walls, but not doorways. Like I said, condos. Or cluster homes. The Pueblo Indians of the American Southwest were ahead of their times.
Yeah, I know, it’s all very confusing, and on our drive from Antonito back into New Mexico, I told Jesse so. When it came to history and a little lesson in Taopi culture, though, he was not going to let me off the hook so easily.
According to him, about two hundred or so Taopi actually still reside within the village where their ancestors lived for about a thousand years. As far I was concerned, this was pretty odd because, as he went on to explain, there is no electricity or running water allowed within the village. Go figure. Most of the tribe live in regular ol’ houses with regular ol’ electricity and (hallelujah!) running water, still on tribal land, but outside the historic village.
That’s where the Taopi Tribal Police Station is, too, and when we pulled into Jesse’s reserved parking space and got out of the car, I checked things out and headed right across the street to a string of boutiques where silver jewelry sparkled in windows and leather was worked into boots and purses, and brightly colored dresses were shown to perfection in chic window displays.
Civilization! I couldn’t have been happier. “Oh, shopping!”
Jesse caught me by the arm. “You can shop later. Business first.”
I didn’t grump—at least not too much. Instead, I went inside the modern, brightly lit police station, stood back, and watched Jesse in his element.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
That’s what it was all about. Everyone we ran across on our way to Jesse’s office was friendly, but the way they acted made it clear that he was the boss and they knew it, from the woman working the front desk, to the officers we passed in the hallway, to the maintenance man who greeted Jesse with a nod and me with an appreciative smile.
Inside his office, Jesse shut the door and changed into the clean uniform he kept there. When he was done, he sat down behind his gray metal desk, waved me into one of two g
uest chairs in front of it, and folded his hands together on the desktop in front of him.
“Explain,” he said. “From the beginning.”
I figured this was going to happen, and I was prepared. I hauled my purse onto my lap and took out the postcard I’d received back in Cleveland from Dan, the one with his picture on the front of it. I handed the photo to Jesse.
“Dan,” I said. “And here that watchband that he’s…” I was already reaching into the box for the watchband that had arrived with the first ransom note, when Jesse stopped me.
“We’ll want the evidence techs to take a look at that,” he said. “So leave that where it is. But this you got in the mail, right?” He looked to me for confirmation before he took the picture out of my hands.
I knew he was sizing up Dan, and sizing up done, he looked back at me. “He’s a nerd, huh?”
“You can tell? From the picture?” I couldn’t exactly argue the point so I gave in with the lift of one shoulder. “He’s a paranormal investigator. A sort of egghead researcher. I guess that makes him a nerd.”
“And he cozied up to you because he figured you could help him advance his research.”
Yeah, that was one of the reasons. The other was that Dan had the hots for me and I for him. At least for a while. Rather than get into all that, I simply said, “You got that right.”
“So that’s how you got to know each other.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded, anyway. “And I got to know Dan’s wife, too. Only she was dead at the time, and a royal pain if ever there was one. That’s the last I saw him, after we wrapped up that investigation. But then I ran into Brian—he’s the one I’m pretty sure kidnapped Dan—at a baseball game. Brian is a ghost hunter, too. I met him when I was working on another investigation.” Jesse didn’t need to tell me to back up and explain; I figured he’d have questions. I went through the story as logically as possible, and while I did, he scratched notes on a legal pad. I even told him how I broke into the mausoleum and… er… appropriated Goodshot’s bones.
Wild Wild Death Page 13
