The Spider's Web

by Coel, Margaret

  She wondered what kind of shiny lawyer straight out of law school had been appointed to represent the three Arapahos. She knew by the tone of the article that they had been convicted before they had ever stepped inside the courtroom. Guilty of being Indians.

  She scrolled through other sites looking for recent break-ins, an uneasy feeling starting to nag at her. Marcy had seen Dwayne and Lionel taking cartons out of Ned’s van, but what did that mean? It was possible she was mistaken. Maybe she imagined what was going on, made up a story to explain what she hadn’t understood.

  Vicky scrolled to the next page and looked down the list of sites as irrelevant as the others. The problem was, Marcy had told Gianelli about the cartons, and now they would take on a life of their own, become their own reality.

  She stopped on the bold black words: “Break-ins, Lander.” A brief article from the Lander newspaper:Three vacation homes in the mountains were burglarized last week, according to the Fremont County sheriff’s office. No one was in the homes at the time of the break-ins. Security systems had been disabled, which allowed the burglars to break through doors, enter the homes, and leave without being detected. Out-of-state owners are still being contacted, and inventories of stolen items are not available. “These types of break-ins usually result in the theft of electronics and jewelry, anything that can be quickly sold,” the sheriff’s spokesman said. He urged residents in mountain areas to be good neighbors and notify the sheriff’s office of any suspicious behavior or suspicious vehicles.

  Vicky scrolled back to the top and studied the date: March 16. Ned Windsong was still in the area.

  She typed in another search looking for burglaries in Jackson Hole, and this time, every site on the first page looked relevant. She clicked on the first site. An article from the Jackson Hole Daily filled the screen:A rash of home burglaries have plagued our community in the last month, according to a police spokesperson. The burglars overrode the security systems. “We didn’t hear about the breakins until the owners went to the houses and found household items missing,” the spokesperson said. “We believe a sophisticated burglary ring has moved into the area. The burglars look for unoccupied homes likely to have high-priced items that can be fenced easily.”

  Vicky read through the next site, a blog by one of the home-owners.

  Imagine walking into your house and realizing something’s missing, like the flat-screen TV that used to be on the living room wall, and the telescope in front of the big dining room windows, and the other TVs and DVD players and radios. I immediately ran into the bedroom and guess what? Cameras were gone. About broke my husband’s heart to lose his favorite Canon. But the worst was my jewelry dresser. They took the whole fricking dresser, costume jewelry along with the good stuff. I’m trying to maintain my Zen mind-set. They are only material things. I trust the burglars must need those things, and they have gone to the right people. The insurance agent was here today. All is well.

  There were six other sites. All follow-up newspaper articles, urging the police to capture the outsiders that had set the town on edge, urging people to lock their doors and report any unusual behavior.

  Vicky closed the last site and stared at the screen that went from black to swirling blues, reds, and yellows. The burglaries had taken place while Ned Windsong was in Jackson Hole, just as the burglaries in Lander occurred while he was here. Circumstantial evidence, to be sure, like the testimony of witnesses in the 1950s who happened to spot three Arapahos at the time of the break-ins, but strong enough, coupled with Marcy’s story, to tie Ned to a burglary ring with Dwayne Hawk, Lionel Lookingglass, and a girl named Roseanne. Gianelli would have pulled the information on the burglaries by now. He would make the connections, draw the conclusions, and start wondering whether Marcy might have also been involved. It was only a matter of time before he would want to interview her again.

  ROSEANNE LEANED AGAINST the door and knocked again. She had been knocking for five minutes, she was sure. She glanced around. The only vehicle parked in front of Berta’s house was her own. Darkness was pressing down, filtering through the cottonwoods. She could make out the remnants of last night’s party, the beer cans scattered about, the little clumps of trash, the gray ashes of campfires. The backpack felt heavy and awkward over her shoulder. She went back to knocking. “Be here, Berta,” she said, under her breath.

  “Roseanne?”

  She swung around. Mervin was standing at the corner of the house, all arms and legs and skinny neck popping past the collar of his white shirt.

  “Thought I heard somebody knockin’,” he said. “I been in the barn feeding the horses. Berta’s not here.”

  “Can I come in?” Roseanne said.

  Mervin stomped across the hard-packed dirt and jumped onto the stoop. She had to squeeze herself against the wood railing while he shoved a key in the lock and pushed open the door. “Berta says we gotta keep things locked up ’til Dwayne and Lionel get arrested. You never know about them two. They could come around, start trouble.” He stepped inside, expecting her to follow, she knew. He turned on a table lamp, and she watched the way the circle of light burst across the sofa and coffee table, pushing the shadows back into the edges of the living room.

  “I’m gonna stay here awhile,” she said, dropping the backpack on the sofa.

  The boy shrugged. “Okay by me. You want some stew or something?”

  Roseanne sank onto the sofa. “Do you think Dwayne and Lionel killed Ned?” she said.

  “What?” The question seemed to take him by surprise. He pulled over a wood chair and straddled it backward, wrapping skinny arms across the top. “What do I know?” he said.

  “You know what they were doing, don’t you?” Mervin stayed quiet, biting at his lower lip. Light flickered in his dark eyes. “The business,” she prodded. “Come on, Mervin. Berta thinks you were in on it, too. She told you to stay away from Dwayne and Lionel.”

  “I wasn’t ever involved,” he said, glancing into the corner of the room. “They give me a chance to come in.” He shrugged. “Ned got wind and went ballistic. Said I’d end up in jail, be a nobody all my life. What did he know? It was my chance to get some good money.”

  “Doing what? Selling drugs?”

  “Drugs didn’t have nothing to do with it.” He took a long moment, then went on. “Stealing stuff, that’s all. Fancy TVs, cameras, jewelry, that kind of stuff.”

  Roseanne tilted her head against the back of the chair. Oh, man, she should have seen it coming. That day last summer—that hot, stuffy August day when she had stripped down to her underwear and thrown a bucket of water over her head out in back of Ned’s house, and he had come out and found her and laughed so hard, he’d sat down on the ground—that was the day Dwayne and Lionel had roared up in front. She had thrown on her tee shirt and shorts and followed Ned through the house out to the front stoop. “Get inside and shut the door,” he’d called, like she had done something that really got to him, and he’d deal with her later. She had backed into the house and shut the door. But she had peered past the edge of the window and watched him open his van with Silver Electrical Company lettered in black on the side. Dwayne and Lionel had pounced on the cartons, dragging them out of the van, but real careful, as if whatever was inside could break.

  “Where’d they steal the stuff?” she said.

  Mervin gave a quick shrug. “I don’t know where they got it, and I don’t know what they did with it. All I know is Dwayne said, ‘You want in on a deal? You do what I say.’ Ned come roaring over here, said he’d break my legs if I got into anything with them two.”

  Roseanne looked away. Ned’s voice had started playing like a recording in her head. “I’m gonna change my life. Start over. Cut it off with Dwayne and Lionel. Stay away from them, Roseanne. I’m warning you. They’re no good.”

  “I’m gonna go into the Sun Dance next year, in memory of Ned,” Mervin said.

  “You do that.” Roseanne pushed herself off the sofa, went into the k
itchen and opened the refrigerator. Then she leaned against the edge of the door, trying to focus on the cartons and containers, wondering which one contained stew left over from last night’s party. There was a hollow place in her stomach; she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten.

  “Almost forgot ...” Mervin was standing in the doorway. “Vicky Holden said you should call her. She’s the white girl’s lawyer.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “She wants to find Ned’s killers.”

  And get her involved, Roseanne was thinking. Blame her somehow. She shooed him away. He shrugged and disappeared into the living room. The front door slammed shut, sending a small tremor through the linoleum floor. Papers rattled on the bulletin board clipped to the side of a cabinet.

  She wondered how long Ned had been in the stealing business with Dwayne and Lionel before he decided to get out. Long enough, she thought, to get enough money put away to buy a little ranch. She leaned into the refrigerator, letting the cool air wash over her. She had convinced Dwayne once that she knew nothing about the business. But he’d go over and over it; he’d tell Lionel. “Bullshit!” Lionel would shout. They would convince themselves that she could tie them to Ned, provide the motive for his murder. They would come after her again. And even if the fed picked them up first, Gianelli would learn about the business soon enough. He would assume she was an accomplice, all those months living with Ned, and he would come after her.

  She had to get out of here. She slammed the refrigerator door, went into the living room, and grabbed her backpack. She had put the Colt and the magazine in the outside pocket. She could feel the gun’s hard edges. Then she let herself out and ran to the car. In a moment she was speeding across the reservation through the darkness.

  14

  ROSEANNE STARED AT the yellow cones of headlights floating ahead, barely aware of the sides of the road, the drop-offs into the borrow ditches. The sound of the engine filled up the silence. A pickup had passed ten minutes ago, but there was no other traffic. Like driving off the edge of the world, she thought. Her mind was spinning. How had she gotten caught up in this? If Dwayne and Lionel had killed Ned over some stupid argument about stolen stuff, then they would kill her if they thought she could connect them to Ned.

  “I didn’t know!” The sound of her own voice slammed into her. She hunched forward and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Her fingertips cut into her palms. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the dark outline of the backpack riding on the passenger seat. The Colt was in the pocket. God! She hardly knew anything about guns. Ned had wanted her to go target shooting, and Aunt Martha told her to take the Colt. “No damn good to me.” Roseanne could still hear the slurred voice. “Tommy give it to me before he died. Told me to shoot any burglars that broke in.” The old woman had thrown her head back and let out a howl of laughter. “I hid the damn thing ’cause I was afraid I’d shoot Tommy.”

  They had gone out to the Red Desert, a place of red, sheer-faced cliffs that lifted out of the brown earth, the sky as blue and clear as water. It was mid-April, the air crisp and the sun just beginning to warm. There were antelope, coyotes, wild horses, and even wolves in the Red Desert. They had shot at piles of rocks stacked on a boulder. She could feel Ned’s arms around her, his warm breath on her neck, his hand steadying hers. “That’s it,” he said. “Lift the gun higher. Brace with your other hand. You got the rocks in sight? Okay, pull the trigger.”

  The rocks had splinted into a thousand pieces, hanging in the air a moment, then dropping to the ground. They had shot a dozen rounds. Ned had an old pistol, the only thing he had of his dad’s, he said. Helluva thing to leave your kid.

  Afterward they had spread a plastic tarp in the shade of a red cliff, eaten sandwiches and sipped on the cold Cokes. “Why are we doing this?” she had asked.

  “What’d’ya mean?” He had a way of teasing her, drawing her out until she answered her own question.

  “We’re gonna have a ranch,” she had said.

  She could see him nodding and smiling, as clearly as if he were in the headlights ahead. “We’re gonna have the best spread in these parts,” he said. “We’re gonna raise white-faced Herefords and Appaloosas. Acres of hay.”

  She had started laughing, she remembered. Laughing so hard she had doubled up and lay on the tarp, trying to get her breath. Laughing with the joy of it, as if the dream were real. Then she had sat back up. The pain in his eyes was like a fire bolt that burned through her.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said.

  “No, Ned.” She had scooted over to him, put her arms around his neck, tried to bend him to her, wanting to kiss away the pain. “I believe you. I do. It will be wonderful. I just don’t know how it’s possible.”

  She remembered the tiniest flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he had smiled. They had made love in the shade, then driven back to the rez. A few days later he told her he was moving to Jackson Hole.

  The house was up ahead somewhere, she thought, forcing herself back into the present. She scanned the dark plains rolling outside like a black sea. Set back from the road was the tiniest glow of lights. She slowed down and stared past the headlights, pulling herself so far forward that the steering wheel dug into her chest. She passed the turnoff and had to back up. Then she was jolting across the dirt. Two pickups were parked ahead, the bumpers gleaming in her headlights.

  She stopped alongside the pickups, grabbed the backpack, and ran for the little house, stumbling in the dim light that glowed in the front windows. Before she could knock, the door flung back. A square-shaped woman stood in the opening, backlit by an overhead fixture inside, gray hair springing about her head. Roseanne felt her heart skip. She had come to the wrong house.

  “Come in,” the woman said, and at the sound of her voice, Roseanne recognized Marie, Ella’s sister. The woman moved sideways, ushering her inside, and Roseanne caught her heel on the edge of the step as she pitched herself forward. Ella sat on the sofa against the far wall.

  Roseanne walked over and dropped down next to her. “I should’ve come sooner,” she said.

  “You’re here now.” Roseanne felt the woman’s hand, warm and moist, close over her own. She had dark, wide-set eyes and a round, kind face. “You loved him, too,” she said.

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Roseanne said. The sound of her own voice surprised her. The words had tumbled out on their own. How could she explain? She could never tell Ella that Ned had been involved in a burglary ring.

  Puzzlement flickered in Ella’s eyes. “You’ll stay here,” she said.

  “You’ll be safe here.” It was a man’s voice, and Roseanne glanced around. Jerry Adams, big shoulders and puffed-out chest and shaved head, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He took his time moving past the chair where his wife had sat down and perched on the edge of a round ottoman.

  “Thing is, Ella, moccasin telegraph is saying Roseanne here was with Dwayne and Lionel when they found Ned’s body,” he said. “Course that was a setup. They’d already shot him. They pretended to find him so Roseanne could say that’s what happened. They could get real mean with her, make sure she tells a good story for them.”

  “He never liked ’em,” Ella said. “Why do you think he moved to Jackson Hole? He needed to get away from guys like that, make a fresh start with new friends.” She glanced at Roseanne, then went back to patting her hand. “Not you, honey. You were what kept him going.”

  She looked back at Adams. “Why do you suppose he was living over at Dad’s house after he got back? He didn’t want anybody knowing where he was. Didn’t want Dwayne and Lionel coming around again, stirring up a lot of trouble. Ned was smart. He was saving up to buy a ranch ...” She dipped her head and gave way to the tears a moment. Then she wiped at her cheeks. “He didn’t have nothing to do with Dwayne and Lionel. You ask me, there’s a whole lot the fed don’t know.”

  Adams was shaking his head. “They had a beef, Ella. There
’s nobody else with any reason to kill Ned.”

  “What about the white girl,” Ella said. The words hung in the silence.

  “We’ve been over that, Sis,” Marie said. Her fist thumped the armrest. “There was no gun in the house, no residue on her hands. The hospital checked her out. She was bruised, beaten up. She tried to help Ned, and the killers pushed her around.”

  Roseanne shifted toward Ella. “You think she had something to do with it?”

  “Look.” Adams leaned forward and punched a fist in the air, as if he were knocking on a door. “Nobody’s ruled out at this point. That’s how the fed’s gonna get to Dwayne and Lionel, by ruling out everybody else. Sure, he’s gonna look at the white girl—what’s her name? Mary?”

  “Marcy,” his wife said.

  “Yeah, Marcy. I heard her old man’s that big televangelist, Larry Morrison, rakes in the dough from true believers. You ask me, the girl’s a rich, spoiled brat, took up with an Indian to rile her old man. Now she’s a witness to murder. Gianelli’s gonna get to the bottom of it and find out what their beef was with Ned, soon’s he finds them.”

  “I wish I could be sure,” Ella said.

  “Listen to me.” Adams stretched out his hand and took hold of Ella’s arm. “He’s the FBI. What else you think is gonna happen?”

  Ella dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. After a moment, she started to her feet, and Roseanne took her elbow, rising with her. “It’s been a long day,” Ella said. “Sometimes I think I been dreaming, and I’m gonna wake up. Ned’s gonna come in the front door, plop down at the kitchen table, and I’m gonna pour him some coffee and give him fresh fry bread with gooseberry gravy, and he’s gonna say to me, ‘Auntie Ella, you’re the best cook on the whole rez.’” She was crying so hard that the words sounded muffled and waterlogged.