A Stolen Chance

by LaRoque, Linda

  He set the fetish on the table.

  With a finger, she moved it around to face her. “It’s a porcupine, right?”

  “Yes. It represents faith and trust.” He touched the turquoise arrowhead attached with sinew wrapped around the porcupine’s body. “Was there anything else on the table?”

  “Just some kind of gold powder. I raked it into the trash can.” Her eyes rounded. “It wasn’t gold dust, was it?”

  He chuckled. “No, it was cornmeal, food for the fetish’s journey. Actually, true fetishes are carvings that have been blessed. Otherwise it would just be a piece of art.”

  “How do you know so much about these little figures?”

  “When I was ten years old, Gramps took me to a museum in Albuquerque that held a large display of both Zuni and Navajo fetishes. I was fascinated, so much so that I spent a month’s allowance on a book about them. Gramps and I pored over the book many a night.” Now Carson knew why the older man was so interested. He wondered why Gramps had never mentioned Grandpop’s fetish collection. Did he know where it was hidden? If so, why hadn’t he told someone?

  She smiled, the expression easing the worry lines around her mouth. As if remembering last night’s visitor, her smile wilted. “Do you believe in ghosts, spirits?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s part of my Laguna heritage, plus I accept as true all phenomena in this world until it’s disproven.”

  “So, you think your relative is sending me a message?”

  “Who knows? It’s possible. If there really is a treasure hidden somewhere, he’s leaving us clues—the raven for mystery and the porcupine for trust and faith. Not much to go on.”

  “Why on earth would he leave me hints? I’m not part of the family. He doesn’t know me.”

  Carson wondered the same thing. Who knew how these things worked? “I don’t know. Maybe he feels connected to you somehow, senses he can communicate with you.” Or perhaps he feels her insecurity and is offering assurance.

  Eyes round, her mouth dropped open. “Me… Uh, I can’t imagine why.” She snapped her mouth closed and worried her bottom lip.

  “Are you sure? Have you never seen or felt anything supernatural before?”

  She picked up the fetish, placed it in her hand, and ran a finger across the rough edges. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  ****

  After breakfast, Susan found herself in the front seat of Carson’s truck, Hans in the back seat. Carson had insisted she make the trip to Zuni Pueblo with him. Though the Navajo and Hopi also made fetishes, Carson believed the ones carefully packed in cotton in her purse were Zuni. His knowledge about the tiny pieces of artwork fascinated her. She admired his interest in his heritage, and his knowledge. All she knew about herself was that her distant ancestors hailed from Europe.

  “How were you able to get away from the café today?” She’d been telling him about her ghost experience, and before she knew it, they were headed west on I-40.

  “Called Aunt Leona and explained the situation. She told me to leave and not worry about the café.”

  “I thought they’d leave on their vacation today.”

  “Nope, not until next week.” He turned toward her, a big grin on his face. “Uncle Buck wants to vacation at home. Aunt Leona’s not having it. She said she’s going to Nashville next week whether he goes or not.”

  “She’s something else.” Susan admired the older woman. Leona had spunk. What would it be like to have such a secure relationship that you could make a comment like that to your spouse and not fear retribution? Would she ever know? She knew many marriages were happy and not abusive. Dewayne hadn’t always been explosive. His personality change occurred slowly. The drugs and then his greed had made him crazy.

  She shuddered. Stop thinking about the past, Susan. “Do you think he’ll go?”

  “If he knows what’s good for him, he will.” He snickered. “Actually, Buck’s resistance is only to aggravate her. He wouldn’t even let her drive to Albuquerque without him.”

  “You mean he’s possessive?”

  “No, not at all. They’ve been together so long he wouldn’t know what to do without her around.”

  That was nice. Her parents were pretty much the same way. Oh, Mom went on day trips with girl friends, and her dad went on a weekend hunting trip once a year, but that was pretty much the only time they were apart. Nostalgia welled up inside her. She longed to see her parents, to lean into her mother’s embrace and weep against her shoulder. She missed talking to Lauren. Tears threatened, and she breathed deep to keep them at bay.

  “We’re about to turn off the interstate. How about a restroom break?”

  She coughed into her hand to ease the congestion in her voice. “Sounds good.” A diversion was just what she needed to take her mind off her maudlin thoughts.

  Inside, the truck stop resembled a small city. It housed a restaurant, small deli, shower facilities, and cubicle-sized rooms for sleeping. Everything a trucker might need lined the walls and shelves of the store—even children’s toys and bouquets of flowers for the wife or sweetheart.

  When Susan exited the ladies’ room, Carson looked up from a newspaper and dropped it back onto the stack. “How about we go ahead and eat? There won’t be many places to stop from here on.”

  Susan let her eyes drop to the exposed front page—the Chicago Tribune Herald—her heart in her throat. She quickly scanned the headlines she could read while standing, and then released the air she’d held in her lungs.

  Carson studied her, brow furrowed. “Would you like a newspaper?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Liar. She did want one but couldn’t find an excuse to buy one.

  “The way you stared, I thought you wanted to read the Chicago news. Do you have family there?”

  She shook her head and hoped he didn’t think her nuts. She waved her hand. “I just had one of those déjà vu…whatever… moments. You ever had one of those?”

  “Uh, as a matter of fact, I have.” Hand at her back, he steered her in the direction of the restaurant. “Now, it’s time for food. I’m starved.”

  ****

  A bell tinkled above the door as they stepped into the showroom of Paul Zeekya’s shop. A few customers bent over glass showcases, waited on by an older man and a young woman. The two shopkeepers smiled in welcome before returning to their patrons. Carson and Shannon peered into cases, admiring Mr. Zeekya’s work.

  “You are Carson, Leona’s nephew?”

  Carson looked up and shook the older man’s hand, shocked the man knew his name.

  “Yes I am. How’d you know?”

  The ancient artisan chortled. The expression emphasized the wrinkles in the weathered skin of his face. Though he was dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, his shoulder-length hair was held in place with a wide woven headband. “Your aunt called to tell me to expect you.”

  Carson turned to Shannon. “This is Shannon Langley.”

  “Hello, Miss Langley.”

  “Mr. Zeekya.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

  Aunt Leona hadn’t mentioned she knew this Mr. Zeekya, had just given Carson the name and address of his shop. He’d ask her how she knew the man as soon as he had the chance.

  “Thank you for seeing us today on such short notice.”

  “I’m pleased you’ve come. Follow me.” Using a cane for support, his back bent, he shuffled toward a room behind the showroom. It was a large area, the same size as the shop in the front. Tools lined three walls, and a large workbench dominated the area in the center. Small hand tools covered one end, a large lamp on the other. “I’m always anxious to see exciting Native American pieces, especially fetishes.”

  The temperature inside the room was considerably cooler. Was it not heated? Carson glanced at Shannon to see if she felt the change. Hands in her coat pockets, neck tucked down, she shivered. He stifled the urge to put his arm around her and pull her close.

  Mr. Zeekya waved at the two
chairs next to the wall in the crowded room. “Pull those up and have a seat.”

  Carson held the chair for Shannon until she settled, then sat in the one beside her. Shannon handed him the cotton, and he carefully unrolled the bundle and placed the two fetishes on Mr. Zeekya’s work table.

  Mr. Zeekya flipped on the lamp, then sat and adjusted a pair of magnifying glasses over his regular lenses. He bent over the fetish he held and twisted it to different positions. After he’d examined both animals, he placed each in a tiny Ziploc bag and layered them with cotton in a small decorative box that snapped closed.

  He tapped the package. “These are very fine examples of Zuni fetishes. From the way they were cut, I believe they were made before power tools were commonly used for cutting and polishing—possibly between 1900 and 1930. To verify this, they’d need to be examined by a team of experts. Very few examples remain today. Keep them safe.”

  Carson could only sit in stunned silence. He’d known they were valuable, but not their historical significance.

  “I’d like to hear how they came to be in your possession.”

  Ten minutes later, after Carson and Shannon had related their ghostly experiences, the older man looked at Shannon. “He actually spoke to you?”

  Shannon nodded.

  He stroked his chin. “Hmmm. I’ll want to hear more about this in a minute, but first…” He turned his attention to Carson. “Do you have any idea how your great-grandfather obtained his collection of fetishes?”

  “Aunt Leona believes they were his wife’s. Her name was Lily, but I don’t know her last name. We’ve a bunch of boxes in the storeroom to go through, so I hope to know more soon. I do know she was from the Zuni Pueblo. My great-grandfather was from the Laguna.”

  “Ahh.” Mr. Zeekya nodded. “I see. I hope you will examine the contents of your great-grandfather’s things soon and let me know what you find, especially if you discover the last name of your great-grandmother.”

  “I will.” Carson took Shannon’s hand and squeezed. “Maybe you’ll help me. You said you were interested in the Native American history around here. It’d be a great opportunity to delve into and maybe rediscover some important facts.”

  Her blue eyes flashed with interest. “I’d love to.”

  “With your permission, Mr. Rhodes, I could study our records and perhaps learn your great-grandmother’s name. As you know, tribal records are important and well-documented. If they married here, there will be an entry recorded.”

  “Yes, I’d appreciate any help you can give me.”

  Mr. Zeekya nodded his approval. “Good.”

  Carson shook his head. “What a shame I’ve waited all these years to learn about my ancestry. I think my grandfather would be disappointed in me, but now that I think about it, why didn’t he share his knowledge about his family with me and his two daughters?”

  “Do not blame yourself. Perhaps there is a reason your grandfather didn’t want you delving into his or your great-grandfather’s past, some secret that had to remain hidden until a certain time.”

  Carson’s stomach knotted. Surely there wasn’t something shameful Gramps wanted to hide or cover up? Gramps was a strict man, honest and hard-working. He shook his head. No, Gramps wouldn’t do anything dishonest or immoral.

  “Now, Miss Langley, let’s get back to your experience. Have you ever seen or felt the presence of a spirit before?”

  She glanced at Carson. “Well, uh, I did often as a child, but the sightings stopped when I was around twelve.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why. Then, while camping in Chaco Canyon a month ago, I saw something in my campfire.” Twisting her hands, she related the events of that night. Carson could only stare as the words tumbled from her mouth. Why hadn’t she told him?

  “You say a spirit stepped from the flames of your fire and spoke to you?” The furrows in Mr. Zeekya’s wrinkled face deepened.

  “Yes. The warrior shook a spear at me and said, ‘Have faith. Trust.’”

  Mr. Zeekya’s shrewd eyes assessed her. “The spirit sensed your distress, Miss Langley. Perhaps that is why your ability to see beyond the natural has returned.” He waved a finger like a windshield wiper. “Don’t deny it. Anyone who looks closely can see you’re hiding your emotions.” He turned to Carson. “Isn’t that right, young man?”

  Her gaze moved from Mr. Zeekya to Carson.

  Carson nodded. “I recognized it right away.”

  Elbow propped on the armrest of the chair, she dropped her head to her hand. “Is it evident to everyone?”

  “No, just those sensitive to the emotions of others or people like me who’ve had special training. I used to be a police detective, and—”

  She stood. “You what? I want to go!”

  Before Carson could respond, she stormed from the room. What was that all about? Well, she wouldn’t get far. He realized he was standing and sat back down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Zeekya.”

  The artisan held up his hand. “No need to apologize. I sense something evil stalking her. I don’t think it is a spirit. If so, the one who showed himself in Chaco Canyon would have acted. No, the one who seeks to harm Shannon Langley is human. Watch her closely if you want to keep her safe.”

  A chill crept up Carson’s spine. He knew it, his instincts were true. He’d recognized her unease almost immediately. “I will.”

  Mr. Zeekya removed a small white fetish from a drawer. He knotted a long piece of rawhide around the carving to hold it securely and then tied the ends, forming a necklace. “Give this to the young woman. Tell her to wear it at all times.”

  Carson pulled out his wallet.

  The older man held up a hand. “No, my son, it is a gift. It will give her the strength and knowledge she needs to bring her journey to an end.”

  “Thank you. I know she’ll cherish White Bear and want to extend her thanks personally.”

  Mr. Zeekya slid the package with Grandpop’s fetishes across the table. Carson took it and tucked it into his coat pocket. He didn’t know what to think about today’s findings. Aunt Leona knew this man, a famous artisan, and he appeared to be in tune and connected with the spirits. How else could he know of Shannon’s fears? Well, Carson himself had sensed Shannon’s troubled demeanor, but not the specifics.

  “No thanks are needed. An evil man is stalking her. He will kill her if he can. Know this—of the things she’s involved in, she’s innocent, a mere victim.”

  “How can you know?”

  Mr. Zeekya smiled. “The hows are not important. I just know. Go and protect your heart.”

  Chapter Nine

  Protect his heart? What the hell did that mean? As if you don’t know, old man. You’re sweet on the woman. She’d become important to him. Mr. Zeekya’s words spurred his determination to get Shannon to open up to him, to reveal who or what she fled from. His mind flashed back to the newspaper in the truck stop. Chicago was one clue in the puzzle; he’d bet money on the fact.

  The object of his musings stood leaning against his truck, her back to him. He unlocked and opened the door for her. She slid in without a word. Once inside, he stretched the hand holding the fetish necklace out and let it dangle before her.

  She stared at it. Face devoid of emotion, she said, “It’s lovely,” and returned her gaze to look out the passenger window.

  “Take the necklace, Shannon.”

  Brow creased, expression suspicious, she asked, “Why?”

  “Mr. Zeekya asked me to give it to you.”

  She took White Bear and held him up by the rawhide to examine closely. “It’s beautiful.” She ran a finger over the carved stone. “Look. He has a turquoise arrow attached to his back.” Her eyes met his. “For safety in battle, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Her growing knowledge of Zuni lore pleased him. “The fetish is a fine piece of Zuni art. White Bear is one of the strongest of mystical creatures. He symbolizes strength and knowledge.”

  “Why would Mr. Zeekya give me such a valuable
piece? He doesn’t even know me.”

  Carson started the truck. “I offered to pay for it, but he insisted the figure was a gift.”

  She unhooked her seat belt. “Wait. I need to go thank him.”

  “Mr. Zeekya said no thanks were needed. If you want, you can send him a note.” As Carson put the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking area, Shannon refastened her safety restraint and then slipped the necklace over her head. He glanced down to see where White Bear nestled between her breasts. Lucky bear.

  “Mr. Zeekya wants you to wear the necklace at all times. Never take White Bear off. He said the fetish will give you the strength and knowledge you need to bring your journey to an end.”

  ****

  Lost in thought, Susan started when Carson pulled off the road and stopped at a roadside park. “Why are we stopping?”

  “I want to let Hans stretch his legs.” He stepped from the cab and flipped the seat forward so the dog could jump down. “When we get back, you and I will have a talk. You’re going to tell me what happened in your life to instill enough fear to cause you to flee.” His handsome face wore a frown of determination. “I won’t accept anything but the truth this time.”

  He closed the door and with long strides joined Hans, who’d located a stick, on a long stretch of grass. The minute Carson picked it up, the dog ran long, waiting for the twig to fly through the air. Carson didn’t disappoint him, and the dog caught the stick before it hit the ground. Back and forth, barking with joy and energy, Hans ran. Carson’s booming laugh at the dog’s antics pulled a smile from Susan—for a moment.

  Her mind shifted to their upcoming talk. She resented Carson’s intrusion into her privacy. Who did he think he was, to dictate to her? He had no right to expect her to bare her soul. Yes, she felt comfortable around him—liked him. Heck, what was she thinking? He made her heart race and her stomach flutter. But that didn’t mean she could tell him about her past, could she?

  It would be a relief if she could open up and reveal her deepest fears. He was a police detective, for goodness’ sake. She knew she couldn’t trust the FBI, because of an individual or two in their ranks. Dewayne’s source in the organization might get wind and give away her location. Carson didn’t appear to be a dirty cop. His family trusted him. In her opinion, that said a lot about a person. Though his days on the force were over, he probably still had connections in law enforcement. Could she trust him? Would he call one of them, find out the details of the investigation, and turn her in? For some instinctual reason, she didn’t think he would. He’d keep the information to himself.