Wild Wild Death

by Casey Daniels

  That’s the point where he stopped writing it all down. “I’m going to ignore that part of the story,” Jesse said. “At least for now. And when the Feds get here…” I guess the aforementioned G-men had an appointment because he glanced at his watch. “We have to call in either the FBI or the Bureau of Indian Affairs when we’ve got a felony on our hands,” he explained. “And I guess we’re going to have to tell them about the bones. But let me do the talking, okay? I’ll vouch for you and we can always chalk the whole thing up to extreme emotional upset. After all, you were worried about your friend.”

  He took another look at the picture of Dan. “And you say you think they wanted Goodshot’s remains so they could rebury them here on the pueblo?”

  “Well, that’s what everyone in Cleveland was talking about the night I ran into Brian and Arnie and the rest of them. They said that Goodshot cursed the city and the only way to remove the curse was to take his bones back to the pueblo. The hardcore fans, they think it’s Goodshot’s fault our baseball team stinks.”

  The somber expression on Jesse’s face never cracked. “I guess when you could still see Goodshot, you should have just asked him to lift his curse.”

  Rather than confess I’d never thought of it, I wrinkled my nose. “Goodshot wanted to come back to the pueblo.” There was a window behind Jesse’s desk, and it looked out over a panorama of mountains and, in the distance, those ancient pueblo condos he’d told me about earlier. The sky was a shade of vibrant blue I’d never seen back in Cleveland, the sun glinted against rock and coarse-grained dirt, and the air was clear. It was only because I wasn’t thinking about the dust, or the no electricity or running water thing. Or the coyotes. I mumbled, “I guess I can sort of see why.”

  “What I can’t see…” All this time, Jesse was still staring at Dan’s picture, and he stood and took it with him to the window where the light was better. He turned it this way and that, and I think the first I realized there was more going on than met the eye (well, at least my eyes) was when a muscle bunched at the base of his jaw. He strode to the office door, opened it, and called out, “Hey, Olivas, you out there? Come on in here.”

  Pete Olivas was young, short, and wiry, with the same dusky-colored skin as Jesse and hair that was buzzed so short, he looked like a Chia Pet with one day’s growth. Jesse introduced me before he handed Dan’s picture to Pete.

  “What do you see?” Jesse asked.

  “Looks like a nerd.” Pete chuckled, then realized he might have offended me and swallowed his laugh. “And it looks like some sort of excavation. See? You can see the archaeological equipment and the tents and the tables and stuff in back of this guy.”

  I, too, had noticed all that back when I first got the picture, but since it was from Dan and I knew Dan was into all sorts of things like history and science and all that, it never really registered.

  Jesse, apparently, was far more interested in what appeared in the background of the photograph than I had been. He leaned back against the windowsill, his arms crossed over his chest. “What else do you see?”

  Apparently, this was some kind of test, and it was obvious Pete didn’t want to embarrass himself. Or let down his boss. He swallowed hard and squinted for another look at the photo. “The background is…” Pete’s mouth went slack and he looked up at Jesse, whose expression said it all. Pete had seen exactly what Jesse had seen earlier, and Jesse was just looking for confirmation.

  I, of course, was left in the dust. I waited until Jesse told the kid to get on the phone and call the tribal governor and the war chief and his staff and get them down to the station ASAP before I popped out of my chair.

  “Something’s up.”

  “I’ll say.” Jesse flicked the photo with thumb and forefinger. “See that formation of hills in the background?” He tipped the picture so I could see it. “That’s up on Wind Mountain. Way out in the backcountry. Deep in Taopi land.”

  I didn’t know why he looked so grumpy. This was good news. “Then we’re close!” I crooned. “Dan was here. Right nearby. And all we have to do is—”

  “All we have to do is figure out what your friend was doing excavating an ancient site on our pueblo. I guarantee you, there were no permits issued. If there were, I’d know about it. And the place he’s messing with…” Jesse’s mouth thinned. His eyes hardened. “It’s sacred land.”

  My stomach went cold. “What are you saying?”

  Jesse dropped the photo on his desk and I looked down at Dan, who grinned up at me. “I’m saying if there’s an excavation going on out there in the backcountry, your friend is messing with my people and their heritage and a place he has no business being in. That means he’s messing with me, too. Once I get a hold of him…” At his sides, Jesse’s hands curled into fists. “Once I find your buddy Dan, he’s going to have bigger things to worry about than just being kidnapped.”

  A little while later, a dozen or so serious-looking men showed up at the police station to meet with Jesse, and I was asked to wait outside. No great shakes since, as far as I was concerned, outside included those boutiques across the street that catered to the tourists who came to explore not only the historical aspects of the pueblo, but the many talents of its current-day residents.

  Sure, I was concerned about the things Jesse said, about how Dan might be doing something he shouldn’t be doing somewhere he shouldn’t be doing it, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. There is no better therapy for worry than shopping.

  I bought a silver bracelet and earrings for myself, and a pot made of some kind of famous clay (the shopkeeper explained, I forgot) to send to my mother in Florida. I was tempted by a dress or two, but an unemployed cemetery tour guide has her limits. Even if she doesn’t like them.

  By the time I walked back into the station with my shopping bags, all those men I’d seen were leaving a conference room—and not looking any happier than when they walked in.

  Jesse signaled me into his office, pointed to a corner where my bags would be safe, and without a word, took my arm. A minute later, we were in a convoy of three SUVs marked taopi tribal police and headed out. Someone had kindly tossed my long-sleeve shirt and jacket in the vehicle along with an extra department-issued Stetson, and though I had no plans to wear any of it, I was as grateful for their consideration as I was for the supply of bottled water in the backseat. It was hot and dry up there so close to the sun, and I slathered on lip gloss and watched the last signs of civilization disappear in the side-view mirror.

  What had Jesse called where we were going? Backcountry?

  He wasn’t kidding.

  Not far from the historic village and a couple streets of modern, well-tended homes on the far side of it, the road vanished completely, and along with the other two SUVs and the officers and tribal elders in them, we bumped over rocky terrain. Jesse was wearing sunglasses, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was royally pissed. His hands were bunched against the steering wheel, his jaw was tight, and every one of his movements was crisp and efficient.

  Oh yeah, he was a man who could lose it at any moment. The fact that he didn’t, that he stayed calm and professional, says a lot about him.

  “Those men…” We’d been in the car maybe ten minutes and he hadn’t spoken a word, so when he finally did, I jumped just in time to see him glance into the rearview mirror at the cars that followed us. “One of them is the tribal governor,” he said. “He’s the one who takes care of business and civil issues within the village. The war chief and a couple members of his staff came along, too. Their job is to protect the Indian lands outside the pueblo walls.”

  “And every single one of them is as honked off as you are.”

  “You got that right.”

  There was no politically correct way to approach the subject so I didn’t bother trying to mince any words. “Have you considered that you might be wrong?”

  He shot me a look. “About Dan? Or about where he’s digging?”

  “I�
�m pretty sure you’re right about where he’s digging. You recognized the place and so did Pete, and I’m guessing the others did, too, when you showed them the picture, or we wouldn’t be here right now.” I glanced out the window, mumbled, “Wherever here is,” and went right back to talking to Jesse. “What I mean is, maybe you’re not right about Dan. He’s not the kind of guy who would be involved in anything underhanded.”

  “He better not be.”

  “And he’s been kidnapped, remember. Which means he can’t be doing anything at all. At least not up here on the mountain.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Not maybe. Definitely.”

  “He’s definitely in that picture. And in it, he’s definitely somewhere he shouldn’t be.”

  “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Yeah. It does.”

  So much for that conversation. Convinced Jesse wasn’t going to listen to reason, I spent the rest of the trip staring out the window at the wilderness, which got rockier and more rugged by the moment. I am not the great-outdoors type, but hey, I am from the Midwest. At least in summer, my world is lush: trees, flowers, plenty of green grass. Here, there wasn’t enough water for much of anything to grow. Those tough, hardy sage bushes were gray. The rocks were brown. So was the soil. There was a certain savage beauty to it, but it sure wasn’t home.

  By the time we stopped and parked near a pile of boulders much like the ones we’d hidden behind when we were attacked the night Arnie died, we were high up on the mountain and surrounded by a whole lot of nothing.

  When he got out of the car, Jesse didn’t say anything about me minding my own business so I took that to mean I could go wherever he was going. Along with everyone else who’d come along from the station, I circled the boulders and came up against what looked to me at first like a wall of solid rock. Jesse knew better. He was leading the way, and he cut to his left, climbed a shallow slope, and found a path between two steep-faced cliffs. Single file, we made our way through the rock walls that at a couple places were barely far enough apart to accommodate Jesse’s broad shoulders. Like I said, he led the pack and I was near the end of the line. Pete Olivas brought up the rear. The ground was uneven and the rocks on either side of us were rough and jagged. Within a minute, I’d broken a nail. Another minute, and both my arms were scraped. I didn’t think this was the time to ask to go back to the car for that long-sleeve shirt.

  Ahead of me, I saw Jesse scramble up a rock as tall as he was and offer the cop behind him a hand up. When it was my turn, I gratefully accepted the assistance of the silver-haired senior citizen in front of me and Pete behind, whose cheeks got as red as a New Mexico sunset when he put his hands on my butt to give me a push.

  This was feeling a little too much like actual exercise so when I saw that, up ahead, the cliffs on either side of us were farther apart and the ground was flatter, I actually would have breathed a sigh of relief if I could have caught my breath.

  “Here.” From behind, Pete gave me a poke and handed me a bottle of water. “We’re almost there,” he whispered.

  He was right. Just another minute or two and the cliff faces parted and we stepped onto what looked like a flat, broad plain, longer than two football fields and just as wide. Once the crowd in front of me parted, I saw that we were at the top of what Jesse would tell me later was called a mesa, a flat-topped elevation that soared even higher than the rest of the mountainside around us, with a killer view of the surrounding countryside and a front-row seat on what must have been heaven’s front door.

  To our left, one of those cliff walls we’d walked beside only a bit ago rose to the sky, its surface decorated with pictures carved into the stone: curlicues and animals with long snouts and short legs, and people with flat-top heads and triangle noses. The wall was pocked with doorways carved into the stone.

  Another pueblo. And from the looks of it, one that was far more ancient even than the village I’d visited earlier.

  Tucked away in one corner of the mesa between the pueblo and the panorama beyond was a weird-looking structure. Think raised dinner plate shored by timbers that stuck out of one side of it like spokes. It was flat on top and low to the ground, and directly in the center of it was an entrance that led down into the floor of the mesa, into what must have been an underground cave.

  “Kiva.” Still behind me, Pete explained. “It’s a sacred space. For sacred rituals.”

  Grateful for the update, I studied the kiva and the tents, tables, and equipment set up around it that I recognized as part of the background of that picture Dan sent me. All around the complex, the place was alive with workers, who scuttled back and forth like busy ants.

  I had to give Jesse credit. He was itching to charge ahead. His shoulders were so stiff, I waited to hear the snap, crackle, and pop, and he whipped off his sunglasses, the better to take a gander of all that was happening. He held back, though, and we did, too, knowing he was the one who had to make the first move.

  He didn’t. While we waited for Jesse, he waited for the tribal elders to take the lead, and when they did, we all followed along. In fact, Jesse didn’t even say a word. Not until we got as far as the outermost canopy, where a petite blonde who barely looked old enough to be out of high school was standing at a table cleaning pottery shards with a soft brush.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Jesse asked.

  Young or not, one look at the cops and elders and she gulped and looked over her shoulder to where a short guy wearing thick glasses was looking at a rock through a magnifying glass.

  “In… charge?” He was a gulper, too, but then, I don’t suppose these science-y types are used to being surrounded by cops and stern-faced Indians. “That would be…” In a desperate search for salvation, he scanned the area. Apparently, he found what he was looking for because his eyes lit, and he pointed toward the kiva. “That would be Dr. Valenzuela. I’ll…” He sidled out from behind the table where he’d been working. “I’ll take you right to her.”

  Caridad Valenzuela was, as it turned out, a stunning brunette a whole lot shorter than me with the slim, lithe body of a ballerina, skin that managed to glow even in this harsh light, and dark, intelligent eyes.

  Oh yeah, it was small-minded of me, but I couldn’t help but glance at Jesse as we were introduced all around. Sure I understand that guys always appreciate a gorgeous woman. I just didn’t want this particular guy to appreciate this particular gorgeous woman too much.

  Not to worry. Jesse was all business.

  When he explained why were we there, some of the sun-drenched color drained from Caridad’s cheeks. “All the permits are certainly in order.” I would learn later than Caridad was originally from Spain, but all I knew at that moment was that her accent was as exotic as her looks. She swept out an arm, directing us to a tent at the farthest reaches of the mesa. “If you’d like to see them…”

  It went without saying, and a few minutes later, we were all crowded around a folding table in what was obviously Caridad’s private sanctuary. Don’t ask me how it all got up there, but Caridad’s quarters were equipped with a plushy oriental rug, a camp bed that looked plenty comfortable, and any number of storage cabinets designed to hold pottery and files and keep out the harsh elements all at the same time. She went to one of these, found the appropriate files, and handed them to Jesse, who handed them to the war chief, who looked through them, gave his head a curt shake, and passed them back for Jesse to study.

  “They’re signed by Michael Winter Day.” Jesse glanced at the war chief beside him. “And you, sir . . ?”

  Another shake of Michael Winter Day’s head. “I might be old, but I’m sure not stupid. I never would have signed such papers, and if I did, I sure would remember.”

  His expression impossible to read, Jesse leafed through the file again. “They’re also signed…” He tipped the folder toward Caridad and pointed. “By Dan Callahan.”

  That was my cue to move forward. “But Dan wouldn’t—”

&n
bsp; The briefest of looks from Jesse and I swallowed the rest of my words. But then, he already knew what I was going to say.

  Jesse finished with the papers and signaled to one of the other cops for an evidence bag. He slipped the file inside. “We’re going to need to take a much closer look at this,” he said. “They’re probably forged.”

  Caridad sank into the nearest chair. There was a turquoise, red, and purple shawl draped over the back of it, and the colors looked especially intense against the sudden ashen tone of her skin. “That… it is not possible,” she said. “But Dan wouldn’t—”

  Exactly what I’d said, but I didn’t bother to point it out. For one thing, Jesse was too busy to pay any attention. He was directing his officers to walk through the excavation and close things down. The tribal elders went along to see what damage might have already been done.

  That left me and Jesse. Me, Jesse, and Caridad, and without being invited, I took the seat opposite hers, bit my tongue, and waited for Jesse to do his cop thing. He didn’t waste any time.

  “You want to explain?” he asked. “Or would you rather have legal counsel present when you do?”

  Caridad lifted one elegant shoulder. “My goodness, no! We have done nothing wrong, I assure you.” When she looked up at Jesse, those big brown eyes of hers were moist. “I did not believe we did. There must be some terrible mix-up. It is the only explanation.”

  “So Dan Callahan, he assured you all the paperwork was in order?”

  She didn’t so much shrug as she did twitch away the very thought. “Why would I question this? Dan is…” The smallest of smiles touched her full lips. “He is unconventional. You will hear that from everyone here you talk to. But he is professional. And honest. A good man. I did not ask him if the paperwork was in order. I did not need to.”

  I’d been quiet long enough. I leaned forward. “She’s right. That sounds like Dan.”

  I’m not sure how anybody could miss a tall redhead out there on the side of a mountain, but I think it was the first time Caridad actually paid any attention to me. She swung her gaze my way. “You know Dan?”