A Time of Change

by Aimée Thurlo

  “Go for it,” she said, then added, “I’ll be leaving around noon and be gone most of the day. I have to visit some of our silversmiths and artists. The Navajo Tribal Fair will begin in two weeks, and that always means an increase in walk-in traffic and out-of-state visitors. I’ll need to make sure we have plenty of quality pottery, rugs, and merchandise on hand.”

  “So basically you’re going off for a day of shopping,” he teased. “Sounds like the female version of a day in paradise.”

  “That’s the fantasy,” she said with a tiny smile. “The reality is having to drive endless miles across the Rez, then doing some hard bargaining on behalf of the trading post.”

  “You’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere most of the day. You should consider taking along Dad’s shotgun.”

  “I’d feel safer knowing it’s here where you and the staff can get to it.”

  “How about taking someone along with you—like me?”

  She smiled, but shook her head. “I’ll have better luck if I take Esther. She puts people at ease.”

  “And I don’t? I’m the soul of charm.”

  “You have your moments,” she said, unable to suppress another smile. “But I need to inspire confidence when I’m bargaining, and that’s not going to happen if I bring a stranger with me. Many Traditionalists are reluctant to trust Anglos they don’t know—and besides, Esther also speaks Navajo.”

  “Right now I know more Pashto and Dari, so I guess I’ll have to make myself useful here,” he said, noting that Jo seemed ill at ease around him today. It didn’t surprise him. Last night he’d seen a side of her few ever had, and vulnerability was something you showed only a trusted friend. Clearly their new relationship hadn’t reached that level yet. “I’ll get the cameras up and running.”

  Leaving Jo, he went into his father’s office. Using a split-screen monitor to help with the aim, he placed the first camera up in a corner. From there, it essentially covered the entire room, including the floor safe positioned against the inside wall.

  Next, he installed two cameras in what his dad had always called “out front.” This was, of course, the customer area. He made sure the entrance, cash registers, and jewelry section were well covered. Lastly, he positioned a fourth camera in the storeroom, arranging it to catch both the back door leading to the loading dock, and the passage door leading down the short hall and out front.

  Once Jo stepped out of her office, he transferred the monitor to her desk, hooking it up and confirming camera coverage. If after he returned to his unit she decided to move her desk into his dad’s old office, she could take the monitor with her.

  As he checked his work, making sure all four cameras were operational and recording onto the hard drive, he watched Jo go into his father’s office. Her back to the camera—he’d planned it that way so whoever was watching the monitor couldn’t pick up the new combination—Jo opened the safe, brought out a handful of cash held together by a rubber band, and placed it on the desk.

  Curious, Ben zoomed in and watched her count a total of two thousand dollars into five piles of fifty-dollar bills. Jo placed a rubber band around each four-hundred-dollar bundle, then put one in her boot, two in her pockets, and the other two in her purse.

  The amount of cash she was taking took him by surprise. Considering the lack of tribal police protection in the outlying areas of the Rez, checks would have been a lot more secure.

  Ben sat back, trying to make some sense out of what he’d just seen. Jo hadn’t realized the cameras recorded what she’d done. Had she known, would she still have taken that much cash out of the safe? Maybe there was more going on at the trading post, things Jo had deliberately chosen to keep under wraps. Two thousand was a king’s ransom in this part of the world. Did it have anything to do with the person who’d sneaked into her home just yesterday? Maybe a shakedown she was afraid to report?

  Lost in thought, he watched Jo leave the office. Following her on the monitor as she left one viewing field and entered the other, he saw her stop at the register. She said something to Leigh Ann, then walked out the back door.

  Ben left Jo’s office and went to join Leigh Ann, who was busy helping a Navajo woman pick out some cooking utensils. When both women looked up at him at the same time, he realized he wasn’t needed—or wanted.

  “Ladies.” He nodded, passing by them and pretending to check out the small stock of fishing gear and supplies.

  After the Navajo woman paid for her items, Ben joined Leigh Ann at the cash register. “I wanted to let you know that the surveillance cameras are working and recording,” he said, pointing out the ones she could see, then telling her about the other locations and coverage.

  “That’s great,” she said. “The mirrors are helpful, but I like the idea of having that added bit of security, particularly after all that’s happened.”

  “I figured it was about time for more state-of-the-art equipment,” Ben said. “You know, the trading post has been a part of my life for as far back as I can remember, but I never realized how much work it took to keep things on track.”

  “Nothing in life is as simple as it seems on the surface,” she said. “The Outpost is a prime example. Look around you. Things may look the same as always, but in reality, everything’s changed.”

  “Until my dad’s killer is caught, the appearance of business as usual is the best we can hope for.” He looked around at the jewelry, Navajo art, and even the glass-faced refrigerators with milk, eggs, and baking goods. “The person who killed my dad was looking for something he never found. It could be hidden here someplace, or maybe it’s staring us right in the face. You’ve had the chance to think about it, too. Any idea yet on what my father had that might be worth killing for?”

  “I wish I knew,” Leigh Ann said in a whisper-thin voice. “It would take so much pressure off of Jo. She must have told you what she went through the night before last. Someone in her house while she was asleep, then those dead men all carved up and left for her to find. I don’t know how she can stay there now, alone. And we all know it’s connected to the murder somehow.”

  He nodded slowly. “There are too many questions and very few answers.”

  “Since the morning Tom was killed, I’ve done nothing but try to figure out why it happened. He wasn’t the kind of man who made enemies. Everyone liked him. The only guy your dad even argued with was Ethan Sayers, but those two went at it for fun. Ethan’s the largest distributor of farming supplies in this area.”

  “I know him well. My dad and Ethan loved giving each other a hard time.”

  “Exactly. Those two men really understood each other.”

  He had a hard time seeing Ethan as a suspect, but he’d follow up on it anyway just in case that rivalry had turned sour over the years. He had just a little more than two weeks left, so he had to look hard and fast into every possibility. But before he left the trading post this morning, there was one more thing he needed to do here.

  “I think you’re going to like these cameras, Leigh Ann. Just remember everything going on will end up being recorded by the system.”

  “Which means Del is going to have to stop scratching his itchy place, and I’ll have to stop sneaking a grab at the produce man’s tight little butt,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

  Ben laughed out loud.

  “I bet those cameras weren’t cheap. How’d you manage?”

  “I got a great deal from that camera shop on East Main in Farmington. It’s going out of business, and I had to pay cash, but I got them for a third of their list price,” he said.

  “A lot of businesses in this area are cash or check only, especially the ones with a low profit margin. Credit cards always take a percentage from the merchants and some mom-and-pop businesses just can’t afford that,” Leigh Ann said.

  “I think what gives The Outpost an edge is that we take all forms of payment, including layaway. Dad always put the customers first,” he said. “But what about th
e artists and silversmiths—those not working on consignment? Do they take checks?”

  “I don’t have anything to do with purchasing, so I can’t tell you for sure, but I can’t see why they wouldn’t. This is the twenty-first century.”

  Just then a customer came up to the register with several items in her small metal cart, and Leigh Ann got to work.

  Ben returned to his father’s office, sat down, and tried to think of what else Jo could do with that cash besides pay an artist or vendor. The community had changed since he enlisted, so did merchants here pay protection, like in nearly every Middle Eastern country he’d been through?

  His father never would have consented to that, but Jo was more vulnerable. Maybe someone was shaking her down. One way to find out was to learn more about the other businesses in the area. It was time for him to talk to Ethan Sayers.

  Twenty minutes later, Ben walked through the doors of Ethan’s giant farm equipment and supplies warehouse. As he did, he nodded to the older, though still familiar faces working the pallets and stacking sacks of feed.

  “Good to see you back home safe, boy,” Ethan Sayers said, coming out of his office to greet Ben.

  “Thanks. It’s good to see you, too,” he said, shaking Ethan’s rough, callused hand.

  “Saw you at the memorial service but never got a chance to tell you how much I respected your pop. Sure wish you could have come home to happier circumstances.” Ethan looked Ben over and smiled. “Danged if you didn’t become a man when no one was looking.”

  “How’s Artie doing these days?” he asked, referring to Ethan’s son, one of Ben’s former school friends.

  “He screwed around in college for three years, dropped out, and took a few dead-end jobs. Then he got into a fight with a state cop who pulled him over for DWI and did a few months’ jail time.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Where’s he now?”

  “Arthur’s got an apartment in Farmington now, along with a decent job. He’s finally getting his shit together.” Ethan gestured to his office. “Come in. Let’s talk. How about something cold to drink? No beer, but I’ve got Cokes and cream soda.”

  Ben smiled. He hadn’t had a cream soda in forever. “Cream soda.”

  “Here you go,” Ethan said, handing him a bottle.

  They twisted open the caps and took long swallows. “I know things are tough for you right now, son, but if you need anything, just say the word. Your dad and I always butted heads like two old goats, but we were still good friends.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Whatever you need—just name it.”

  “I’ve heard here and there that my dad wasn’t quite himself these past few weeks, that he was moody and distracted. Is it possible that someone had been shaking him down, maybe blackmailing him for some reason?” he said, mostly to gauge Ethan’s reaction.

  “Your father wouldn’t have taken crap like that lying down, boy. He would have turned on them and gone for the jugular. But what reason could anyone have had to blackmail him? Most of us cut a few corners here and there in business or taxes, but not your dad. He played it straight all the way down the line. Tom was one of the last honest men, and as good as his word. These days, that’s saying quite a bit.”

  “True. By any chance did Dad ever mention any business plans that might have made him some enemies, like a price war with another merchant, for example. Or maybe he was planning to buy someone out, or had a beef with a customer or vendor?”

  “No, nothing like that. Tom and I talked a lot about business, and I would have heard if he’d been thinking about anything along those lines.” Ethan paused. “But there’s something you need to keep in mind. A lot of things have changed around here since you left for the army. Gangs have moved into our area from the cities, and with them have come a slew of other problems we’ve never had to face before.”

  “Like what?”

  “Punk criminals involved with drugs—making, selling, or using, sometimes all three, especially meth and crack cocaine. Burglaries and violence are way up,” Ethan said. “These days I think we all get visits from people we’d rather greet with a shotgun.”

  “Have you been pressured by some of those hoods?” Ben asked. “Whatever you tell me won’t go any farther than you and me. You have my word.”

  “I get cased from time to time by some druggie looking for a quick score, but basically, I’m not worth the effort. I’ve got nothing on hand they can steal and sell fast.” Ethan let out his breath slowly. “The problem, according to the newspapers, is that there’s a big pot and cocaine smuggling corridor that originates in Mexico and runs right through the middle of the state. That business brings the kinds of problems we’ve never faced here before.”

  Ben nodded, recalling his own experiences overseas. In ’Stan, drug production and trade accounted for the bulk of the economy. Corruption and crime were the norm. Some things never changed, regardless of where in the world you went.

  He continued, still probing for the answers. “There’s something else that might explain what happened, Ethan. Was there anything at all about Dad’s personal life, or business, that might have targeted him, and maybe The Outpost’s new owner, Jo Buck?”

  Ethan paced around the office for a few seconds before stopping and looking back at Ben. “Danged if I know, but if you want, I’ll ask around, discreetly of course. I won’t say anything that might come back to embarrass you or that Navajo girl. She’s a peach, isn’t she?”

  “She sure is. And I appreciate your help, Ethan,” Ben said. “Out of curiosity, what kind of questions did Detective Wells ask you?”

  “I know who you’re talking about, but she hasn’t been here, nor any other deputy either.”

  The news took Ben by surprise. “It’s hard to believe that no one from the sheriff’s department has been here yet. You knew Dad better than almost everyone.”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  He stood and shook Ethan’s hand. “Thanks for the information, and if you hear anything that might help me figure out what happened to Dad, and who might have been responsible, let me know.”

  “I will. Your father might have just got into the wrong person’s face, but like the Navajos say, everything’s connected. Be careful what you stir up, son.”

  THIRTEEN

  Ben returned to the trading post after lunch. Needing time to think things through, he remained outside, sitting on the loading dock and staring off into the distance at Shiprock.

  “You feeling okay?” Regina asked, coming up from behind him.

  He looked up at the tall Navajo woman in Western-cut jeans and blouse and nodded. “Yeah, I’m just trying to get a few things straight in my head. The way The Outpost does business sometimes doesn’t make much sense to me,” he said, deciding to press and see how much she knew. “Why would Jo head out into the middle of nowhere carrying a wad of cash? What’s going on?”

  “You think she’s involved in something illegal? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Not that exactly, but could someone have been shaking down my father and now her?” he asked.

  “No, that’s silly. Like with Tom, the money goes out to our silversmiths, not some thug,” Regina said. “Don’t worry. She’ll be safe where she’s going, safer than in her own home, as you’ve no doubt heard. Jackrabbits and crows don’t generally carry guns, and she’ll see more of those than people where she’s headed.”

  He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

  “Depends how you look at it. I wouldn’t want to live outside town, but some of our best tribal artists live in Traditionalist areas, and those are isolated communities. Take Rebecca Bidtah, our most popular potter. She’s a Traditionalist, and lives over by Crystal. She doesn’t have a bank account or credit card. She deals only in cash. It’s the same with a lot of the artists and silversmiths, especially over in eastern Arizona.”

  “It sounds like our buyers have their work cut out for them.”

&
nbsp; Hearing a noisy vehicle coming up the drive, Regina turned her head and smiled. A restored old Ford pickup painted candy apple red pulled up and parked. “You’re about to meet one of our tribe’s most gifted turquoise and silver jewelry makers. We sell everything he brings us almost as fast as we get it in. Every jewelry outlet from Flagstaff to Albuquerque wants to carry his pieces. That’s why we all go out of our way to make him feel comfortable here, but bargaining with him takes a skill all its own. If you go in too low, he’ll walk off in a huff and it could be months before he comes back.”

  Ben smiled, taking it as a challenge. “Let me see what I can do,” he said, going back inside. “I’ll catch him out front.”

  Ben was standing at the back of the room when a tall, very muscular Navajo man came into the trading post. He wore a white, camisa-style, open-collared shirt that was squared off at the bottom, and tan, casual cotton slacks instead of jeans. His hair was long and loose, old warrior style, and fell nearly to his waist. He walked up to them confidently, carrying a tooled leather briefcase.

  Ben watched as the man went directly to Leigh Ann.

  “It’s good to see you, Ambrose. It’s been quite a spell,” she greeted.

  “I have some new designs I thought Jo might be interested in seeing,” he said.

  “Jo’s not here right now, but I’d love a peek, Ambrose. I can’t make you an offer, but I could tell Jo about the pieces and whet her appetite for you. It’ll give her something to look forward to.”

  He considered it for a beat. “No thanks. Jo and I have a history. When I started out in this business, a lot of shop owners were afraid of gays—like it was contagious or something. I caught a lot of crap from the good ole boys. But Tom and Jo respected me and my work. Tom’s gone now, so Jo’s at the top of my list. She gets first look.”

  Ben came out from behind the counter and gave him a nod. “Thanks for your kind words about my dad. I’m Ben, Tom’s son.”

  “Ben? I thought you looked familiar!” he said, then laughed and added, “Aw hell, you don’t recognize me, do you? I’m the tall, skinny Navajo kid who never could make it up the rope climb.”