Frey picks up a rock and tosses it outside. “Judith Williams,” he says, regret softening his tone. “I killed her, and she was an innocent.”
“Not exactly an innocent. Remember how she killed those two hosts in Mexico? It’s taken months for Culebra to win back the trust of both host and vampire. She had a taste for killing. You said yourself, she intended to kill the young girl she was taking from the hotel when you found her. That girl was the innocent. Not Judith Williams.”
I pause. “And you did it at my bidding. I am as much to blame as you.”
Frey peers out toward the hotel. “I can’t believe George attacked you. He’d have no reason. Sarah was to speak to the council; he must have known there was a good chance your request would be turned down. With Sarah dead, he could lie about it, he did lie about it, and the logical assumption would be that you and I would be gone before we knew any different. Attacking you made no sense.”
Ah. “So you believe he may be a skinwalker.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, not ready to make the concession. His words come slowly. “It’s such an inconceivable notion. George is Navajo. He leads tourists and tells them of the connection between the people and the land. He is a respected member of the community. How could he commit such an onerous cultural taboo? And why?”
I can think of one reason. The smugglers Chael mentioned. Is he in league with them?
Doesn’t explain why he attacked me, though. I knew nothing about the counterfeiting operation until a few minutes ago.
Maybe George just doesn’t like vampires.
Imagine that, vampire growls.
I sense Frey’s eyes boring into my head. “What are you thinking? Do you know something?”
Not really. If Frey is having a hard time believing his friend could be a skinwalker, how will he react when I tell him he may also be a smuggler?
Especially since I have no proof.
“Let’s get back to the house. Kayani will know about the counterfeiters. At least that’s one part of Chael’s story we can check out.”
We push to our feet. “Where’s the Jeep?” I ask.
Frey makes a vague sweeping motion with his hand. “Off the road, about a half mile back.”
And then we’re off, jogging across the desert floor like two friends out for a little run. Under a midday desert sun. In ninety-plus-degree temperatures. Fully clothed.
Business as usual.
THE DRIVE BACK IS QUIET, NEITHER FREY NOR I WILLING to share our thoughts. I have a question for Kayani that I think will do more to persuade Frey that George is not the good guy he thinks he is.
And to let Chael off the hook.
For Sarah’s death anyway.
Still, that her accident might have been caused by a moment’s inattention or carelessness rings false. The worm of doubt slithering around my gut is fast turning into a python.
It could just as easily been a skinwalker that frightened her off the road as a vampire.
Where was George the night of the council meeting?
THE HORSES ARE BACK IN THE CORRAL WHEN FREY and I arrive at the house. Kayani and John-John are on the porch, drinking out of plastic tumblers. Kayani’s feet are on the railing, his chair tipped back. John-John mimics Kayani, but his feet are too short to reach the railing so his rest on a small table, his chair tilted back against the house.
I don’t usually react to cute, but this makes me wish I had a camera.
John-John squeals when he sees his father, lets his chair bang forward and rushes down the steps. Kayani rises, too, and the smile he has at John-John’s delight increases my estimation of him a hundredfold. There is not even a shadow of jealousy on his face.
Frey scoops John-John into his arms and turns to me. “John-John is going to tell me all about his ride. Why don’t you visit with Kayani and we’ll go inside.”
He doesn’t wink or give me a nudge. Doesn’t have to. I get it. I touch the top of John-John’s head. “I’ll want to hear about your ride, too, later, okay?”
The two disappear inside. Kayani watches me as I climb the steps and join him. He holds up his glass.
“Want some? Ice tea. This stuff is not nearly so bad cold with lemon and sugar.”
I hold up a hand. “No, thanks. I’ll take your word that it’s good.”
Kayani motions to John-John’s chair and I take it. For a minute I wonder how to broach the subject of the counterfeiters. A minute. Kayani doesn’t seem the type to require subtlety.
“Frey and I heard a rumor today. Counterfeiters smuggling fake artifacts off the reservation. I hear it’s become top priority for all law enforcement.”
Kayani doesn’t register surprise or feign indifference. “Yes.”
“That was the subject at tribal council?”
He finishes his tea and places the tumbler on the table. “Yes. It’s of great concern. There is already too much authentic Native American jewelry and rugs peddled everywhere from the local Wal-Mart to eBay. We can’t do much about it. But to counterfeit petroglyphs and the works of ancients and have them displayed as real is a desecration to the honor of our ancestors. That it may be done here by members of our tribe is unforgivable.”
“I saw some of those petroglyphs. They are beautiful in their simplicity and elegance. I understand why you would want to protect them.”
“You’ve been to Canyon de Chelly?”
I shake my head. “No. I saw them not far from here. In a cave.”
Kayani’s demeanor changes so fast, it almost gives me whiplash. His face loses its friendliness and becomes hard. “What do you mean?”
His tone is as harsh and accusatory as his expression. I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
“Who took you to the cave?”
The cave? “No one. I found it by accident. Coming home the storm had turned sand to mud. The Jeep was having a tough time slogging through it. I pulled over to wait until it dried.”
Kayani doesn’t look satisfied with the explanation. “And you decided to do a little exploring?”
“I saw a faint path. I followed it to the cave. Kayani, I disturbed nothing.” Just had a secret meeting with the most sacred member of the tribe.
“Did you see anyone?”
Since I assume he means anyone up to no good, I can answer honestly.
“No. I only know two people here on the reservation. You and George Long Whiskers.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation before Kayani says, “You told me to keep an eye on him at Sarah’s burial. Why?”
Perfect segue. “I don’t trust him. He’s said—” Shit. How do I put this? “He’s said some pretty harsh things to me. In fact, he lied about what went on at the council.”
“What did he say?”
“Can I ask you a question before I answer that?”
Kayani bobs his head once.
“Was George at the council meeting?”
“No. He is not an elder.”
“I know you weren’t at the meeting, either, but I assume you know where the meetings are held?”
“The lodge. What difference does that make?”
“Were you around there that night?”
Another quick bob of the head. “Sarah and Mary and I had dinner before Sarah had to leave for the meeting. I left Mary to go back to the station not long after.”
“Did you see George that night?”
A reflective pause. “Yes. He was at a table on the deck with two men.” He draws a quick, sharp breath. “I didn’t recognize them.”
Kayani and I both retreat into our thoughts. Can it be this easy? The cynic in me says no, the pragmatist says sometimes things are just what they seem.
Still a long way from connecting George to the deaths of the sisters. Could Mary have overheard a snatch of conversation that might have made her suspicious? Could George have suspected that she did?
“Kayani, how much money can be made from selling counterfeit artifacts?”
Well, there’s motive. If George was meeting with the two strangers to talk business, and Mary heard something incriminating, George could easily have arranged that accident.
Kayani snatches his car keys from the table. “Let’s take a ride. Copies of art from that cave are the newest ones to show up on the black market. If you show me how you gained access, maybe I can find out how the counterfeiters are doing it.”
He opens the screen door and tells Frey that we’ll be right back. We’re down the stairs and at the car before Frey can offer a reply.
CHAPTER 39
WE’VE ARRIVED AT THE CAVE. KAYANI PULLS OVER in the same spot I had twenty-four hours before. Now that the ground has fully dried, I realize the path would be invisible to the naked eye. We climb out and Kayani stops to grab a large flashlight from the back of the van. Then he motions me ahead. “Show me.”
It isn’t difficult to retrace my steps. I recognize my own scent still lingering in the quiet air. When I come to the fork, I point to the left. I look back to see Kayani frowning at me.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you wandered in here. This area is off-limits. Not even tour guides are allowed here without permission.”
“And I can’t believe you’re acting like I’m the only one to ever discover these caves. Surely, any hiker could stumble on them.”
“How?” Kayani’s tone rings with accusation. “Did you notice any other tracks? We are very careful to limit access to certain areas of the tribal park. If you’d been caught here, the penalties would have been stiff.”
“So, what now? Are you going to arrest me for trespassing ?”
Grudgingly, he does the “go on” motion again with the flashlight. As I turn to lead him deeper inside, I catch another whiff of scent. This comes from the right fork. It’s the unmistakable odor of men, hanging in the air the same way mine does.
“Where does that fork lead?” I pause to ask Kayani.
“It goes deeper into the mountain. Exits about a mile to the east. Comes out close to the hogan where you and Frey spent the night.”
Sarah must have told him. The subtle emphasis he puts on the words “spent the night” makes it obvious he’s still not sure Frey and I are just friends.
As soon as we start out, he clicks on the flashlight. The powerful beam almost disorients me with its glare. I’d have done better without it, but he wouldn’t have. I let my eyes adjust and keep going.
I also listen. No telltale beat of the drum today.
We come to the wall with the petroglyphs. Kayani lays a respectful hand against the rock. “My ancestors left these to mark their passing. It angers me to see them desecrated.”
“At least they weren’t taken from the cave,” I offer as some measure of consolation.
He doesn’t look consoled. He flashes the light on the ground. Nothing. But once again, I detect a scent. There have been men here. Not Sani and his two companions, I realize with a start. There is nothing of their scent that lingers.
I move back into the cave. I let my fingers trace the rock. Is there some kind of entrance to the chamber where I met with Sani? I close my eyes and let my sense of touch take over.
“What are you doing?” Kayani asks.
“Just wondering if there was another way out of this cave.”
“Not here. Why would you ask?”
I shrug in a noncommittal response.
“Do you think there might be another entrance?” He’s beside me, running his hands along the wall the same way I did. He feels nothing.
When our hands accidentally come in contact, he says, “Your skin is like ice. Do you want my jacket?”
“No. Thanks. I’m fine.”
His eyes turn back to the wall. In the glare of the flashlight, an angry scowl shadow paints his face into a contorted grimace. “Nowhere to hide. No way of knowing how often they visit the place. Shit.”
First time I’ve heard a curse pass those stoic lips. “So what do you want to do?”
“What I’d like to do is find George and beat some answers out of him.”
I’m beginning to like Kayani more and more. For once, I’m not the one suggesting brute force to solve a problem.
“Does George work today?”
I may as well have asked if mud tastes like taffy. He blinks at me. “What?”
“Does George work today?”
“I think so. Why?”
“What about his wife?”
“She works in the lodge gift shop.”
“Any kids?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Are there any kids at home?” I enunciate each word as if talking to a slow first grader.
Awareness blooms. “No. Are you suggesting a little breaking and entering?”
“Not if it’s going to get me arrested.”
He stares at me. “I can’t help.”
“Don’t expect you to.”
“You can do this?”
“Did Frey mention what I do in San Diego?”
A shake of the head.
“I’m a fugitive apprehension officer. I can pick any lock made.”
That sly look crosses his face. “Except maybe keypad locks, huh?”
So he noticed, did he? “How’d you know?”
“Heard the alarm. Since it shut off pretty quickly, I figured I didn’t need to come back. Were you planning to take the car for a joyride?”
“Just needed the GPS.”
“Right.” He starts to lead the way out of the cave. “No need to test your expertise. Nobody locks their doors around here.”
When we come to the fork, I once again pick up the scent of men—the same scent I detected in the cave. “I think you should watch the entryway near the hogan.”
“Why?”
How do I put this delicately? Because I picked up a scent?
Why not? “I smell—men. Walked here recently. I smelled them in the cave, too.”
That brings a raised eyebrow. “You smelled them?”
I tap the side of my nose. “Exceptional olfactory powers.”
“That must be hell in a crowd.”
No kidding. Especially the scent of menstrual blood in a hot room. I shrug.
Kayani’s response is to raise an eyebrow.
We trek our way back to the car. Kayani does radio ahead and asks for air patrols to keep a particular eye on the area near the hogan. He isn’t specific as to why he’s making the request, but with the recent revelation concerning fake artifacts, he doesn’t have to be. A suggestion that trespassers might have been spotted on private land is all it takes.
Once we’re in the car, I ask, “Are there other sites like this?”
“Several. I only hope this is the only one being defiled.”
His use of words like “desecrate” and “defiled” makes me aware of how important protecting his heritage is to Kayani. He doesn’t look at what’s being done as merely illegal, he looks at it as a personal attack.
Frey will, too, if there’s a connection between George and the accident. Still no clear-cut proof of that. If I can be alone with George for a few minutes, though, I’m pretty sure vampire can get him to connect the dots.
Her powers of persuasion are legendary.
CHAPTER 40
GEORGE LIVES IN A SIMPLE CLAPBOARD HOUSE about five miles from Sarah. Like Sarah’s, there’s no landscaping to speak of, just a simple fence of low juniper that snakes around the property. Unlike Sarah’s, the paint is sun-blistered and peeling, a porch holds two rocking chairs and a battered couch that face out toward the yard. The house projects a feeling of neglect.
Kayani stops a half mile away and takes out a pair of binoculars. George’s tour bus is not in sight. Neither is any other vehicle.
Kayani holds the binoculars out to me.
I take them for form’s sake, but I see everything I need to without them. I hand them back after a few seconds.
“What are you going to be looking for?” Kayani asks.
“Well, I suppose it would be too much to hope for a workshop with a petroglyph assembly line.”
Kayani grunts.
“Pictures of the cave walls, maybe? Paint? Whatever might connect him to the smugglers.” What I don’t add is that I also plan to be on the lookout for a blowgun. I wish I knew other signs of a skinwalker’s presence, but I’m not sure Kayani would be any more receptive to the idea that George practices curse magic than Frey is.
I climb out of the passenger seat, lean back in to ask, “Are you going to stay here?”
A weird expression passes over his face. A hint of humor mixed with a bit of concern and a healthy dose of knowing it’s “cover your ass” time. “I’ll take a little drive. Better if you get caught for me to answer the call legitimately instead of trying to explain why I happened to be lurking nearby.”
I ignore the “if you get caught” part. “Aren’t you supposed to be off this week?”
A shrug. “If we catch the counterfeiters, no one is going to care. Besides, I’m a cop. We’re on duty even when we’re not.”
I push the door shut. “Give me fifteen minutes. Won’t take longer to search a place that small.”
“Meet you right back here.”
He pulls away. Refreshing to be set loose without the usual admonitions to be careful or watch your back. Kayani takes it for granted that I can handle myself. And he thinks I’m human.
I turn to study the house. It’s set on the top of a gently sloping piece of land. Take away the background of that magnificent mesa, and it could be any other remote cabin far removed from civilization. No neighbors within my line of sight. Not even the hum of traffic or buzz of an airplane breaks the silence. “Lonely” and “isolated” are words that spring to mind.
Perfect if you’re up to no good.
Frey had a different take, though. What did he say? The Navajo have a close connection with the land.
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