by Aimée Thurlo
Ben smiled slowly. “A.J., is that you underneath all that beef?” He reached out and gave Ambrose John a cracking loud fist bump.
“Yeah, man, I got tired of having my ass kicked, so I took mixed martial arts classes and started working out. It paid off. Things are pretty much okay for me these days, even in redneck country. Nobody gives me any … crap,” he said, glancing at Leigh Ann.
“You two know each other?” she asked.
Ambrose grinned. “In high school, Ben had my back whenever anyone tried to use me as a punching bag. We gave as good as we got. He kept me out of intensive care, that’s for sure.”
“Now you’re the master silversmith around here,” Ben said, grinning. “I should have known! You were head and shoulders above the rest of us in Mr. Ortiz’s art and crafts class. Remember making those leather belts and billfolds?”
“Yeah. I bought my first swivel knife here at The Outpost. Good times.” Ambrose replied. “Wanna see what I’m up to these days?”
He placed the briefcase on the counter, then brought several handcrafted necklaces, earrings, and bracelets out of his briefcase. Each piece had been carved, tooled, cut, and polished with exquisite precision, designs too intricate to fully make out at a glance.
Leigh Ann sucked in her breath. “Oh, wow! Look at that cuff bracelet. Those stones are a perfect match, and not just color. Each matrix is like a spiderweb.”
Ben turned to her, chuckling. “First you tell him he does perfect work, then you try and negotiate, Leigh Ann?”
Ambrose laughed. “That’s okay. Hell, I know I’m good.”
“And modest,” Ben said, grinning.
“Screw modesty. When you’re good, you should flaunt it.”
“Man, you haven’t changed,” Ben said, laughing. “That ‘I’m great’ attitude is what got you into trouble back in high school.”
“Good thing you were there.”
“Hey, if you think you owe me, bro, how about a good deal on these works of art?”
Ambrose burst out laughing. “Works of Ambrose, dude. Keep dreaming.”
“At least give me some room to bargain. Let’s go back to my dad’s office and talk it over.”
Ambrose returned the jewelry to the briefcase and they walked toward the back. As Ben went past the women, he saw that Regina was smiling and Leigh Ann nodded slightly.
Respect. It was earned in degrees and he was making headway. Closing the door, he gestured toward the chairs.
“Man, it’s good to see you,” Ben said. “You’re one of the few pieces of my past that doesn’t still haunt me.”
“You had your wild days, so what? Your father was all about control, so you went in the opposite direction.” Ambrose stared across the room at nothing in particular. “Looking back, I’d say you and I were both trapped, each in our own way. I was different and lived in a small Anglo community where anyone who didn’t march to the beat of the same drummer paid in blood. Your war was waged at home. Your old man never seemed to give a damn unless you got into trouble, so you started to oblige. Did things ever change between the two of you before—?”
“I think we were finally starting to work things out, but we never got the chance to follow through,” Ben said quietly, and brought him up to date.
“So you’re thinking he was being blackmailed or shaken down, and there was a confrontation?”
“It’s one possibility. The problem is that I have nothing to go on.”
“I’ll see what I can find out for you,” Ambrose said, opening the case again.
“I’d appreciate it.”
An easy silence fell between them as Ben looked down at the jewelry A.J. had brought. “I learned enough from my father to know this is top-of-the-line work.” Ben studied each piece, then looked up. “Buddy, I can’t offer you the price you deserve for these. The Outpost doesn’t have the available cash right now. You’d do better taking this to Albuquerque, maybe Old Town, or one of those tribal operations near a pueblo.”
“Talk about a lousy negotiator,” Ambrose said, shaking his head.
“You’re a friend, and business shouldn’t trump that.”
“I’ll tell you what. I don’t generally sell on consignment, but there’s always a first time. Sell it here for the best price you can get—I’ve already placed a suggested retail amount on each tag. Keep your usual percentage and give me the rest.”
“Can’t ask for more than that, bro. Done.”
They shook hands, sealing the deal, and A.J. laid out the jewelry on the desk pad. “I’m your friend, Ben. Remember that. To me, that comes first, too.”
“I’m returning to my unit in a couple of weeks, then shipping out to theater for a six-month deployment. But I’m not reupping, so when I’m back for good, let’s get together. You still like to fish?”
“Yeah, and there’s some great fly-fishing in the quality area below Navajo Dam. You and I can spend a few days out there taking it easy.”
“Sounds like a plan, bro,” Ben said. “Keep in touch.”
After A.J. left, Ben placed the jewelry in a box and brought them out for Leigh Ann. “We should keep these suggested prices if you think they’ll still sell,” he told Leigh Ann. “They’re on consignment.”
“Ambrose agreed to that?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Until now, Ambrose has always insisted on getting paid in full up front.”
“I had an advantage.”
Regina came over, and she and Leigh Ann set up a special display in the center case of the jewelry section.
As they worked, Ben realized that although he seemed to have made some headway with Regina, he still wasn’t on solid ground with Leigh Ann. She clearly hadn’t trusted him, at least in the beginning.
As Regina left to hand-calligraphy a special sign and labels, Ben returned to his dad’s office. He was trying to figure out some of the passwords on his dad’s computer. Several files still remained out of reach.
Though they’d listed it for just under four figures, the cuff bracelet Ambrose brought in sold less than an hour later to a couple passing through from Scottsdale, Arizona.
“Jo’s going to be thrilled,” Regina said, coming into the office to tell him. “But it’s always like that with Ambrose’s pieces. They’re never here more than a few days.”
Ben went back to the floor and checked out the display. Five pieces remained. He had to admit that it didn’t take much of an eye to see that they were worth the price.
Although they’d had only a handful of customers, three more pieces sold by midafternoon.
It was around four when Leigh Ann stepped into the break room and Ben joined her. “It must feel strange to you coming to work in the mornings and not seeing my dad,” he said.
“Sure does. Tom was like the mountains. Just knowing he was there made you feel safe somehow. Not having him around is a constant reminder of how quickly things can change.”
He took the cup of coffee she offered him. “I was hoping the sheriff would catch his killer before I rejoined my unit, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. Detective Wells isn’t making much progress, and neither am I. Nothing really adds up.”
“Maybe it does, and we don’t want to see the answers.”
Her voice had been as soft as a whisper, but he caught every syllable. “What do you know, Leigh Ann?”
“Know? Not much. But here’s what I think. Your father wasn’t the chatty sort. We knew that and figured he’d eventually work out whatever was bothering him,” she said. “Now, looking back, I believe we all should have paid more attention to what he wasn’t saying.”
The words struck him hard. She was right. To know what his father had been thinking, he’d have to focus on his actions, not his words. All the clues he’d need lay there.
* * *
Jo returned to work early the next morning, right after sunrise. Although she was safe at home now, with sturdier locks that were much harder to pick and a burglar alarm that was enough to wake anyone with a pul
se, she still didn’t want to linger there. The house just didn’t feel like the haven it had been once, but she wasn’t going to move—no one was going to run her out.
For now, there was plenty to keep her busy here at the office, even though the trading post itself wouldn’t be open for another hour and a half. Today she’d have to reconcile her purchases with her remaining cash, add the new pieces to the inventory system, and get displays set up. Fall and state fair time usually signaled the start of their best quarter, and she had to get The Outpost ready.
Jo walked down the tiny hall past Tom’s old office. Now, seven days after his return, Ben had already added his stamp with the new surveillance camera. The desk had been cleared of all mementos, and the files were in perfect order near one corner. As she caught the citrusy scent of Ben’s aftershave, she said a silent good-bye to the past. Tom had always been an Old Spice man.
Once inside her office, Jo looked at the camera now set to monitor her every move. It was a necessary concession, though she hated the idea of always being watched, even electronically. Making a face at the camera, she sat down before her low-tech adding machine and began totaling the receipts. Most of the artisans who lived in the outlying areas weren’t big on paperwork. Some with limited English had no writing skills. A list of items, a witnessed X, and the name she printed beside it were sometimes all that formalized a payment.
As she worked to reconcile the amounts, she heard footsteps in the storeroom. She knew she’d locked up after coming in, and it was still too early even for Leigh Ann.
She started to pick up the phone, but talking now would only give away her location. Frantically she searched for a weapon. Her scissors were the small aluminum kind with round tips, and her ruler was plastic. The stapler—that was a joke, as was the legal-sized clipboard. The only real firepower was the shotgun behind the counter, but she’d have to go past whoever was inside to get to it.
She looked around, seeing only the half-height refrigerator, microwave oven, and an empty glass Coke bottle. She grabbed that by the neck. It was thick at the bottom and would have to do.
Holding the Coke bottle like a club, Jo flattened against the wall. She could hear the intruder’s footsteps just outside her office door. She waited, her whole body shaking, ready to clock him the second he stepped in.
Jo saw the knob turn and then the tip of a boot. As a leg and an arm appeared, she stepped out and brought the bottle down.
His arm shot up instantly, blocking the blow while using his free hand to grab the bottle in mid-swing and wrench it from her grasp. Something else hit the floor with a crackle.
“What the hell?” Ben said, looking at her. “You trying to ambush me?”
Shaking, Jo glowered at him. “Why were you sneaking around the trading post?” she managed through clenched teeth. “It’s barely six thirty.”
“Sneaking? Are you nuts? I came in early to set out some treats for the staff.” He pointed to the clear plastic storage box on the floor. The lid had popped loose from the fall, and two doughnuts had spilled out. “Made ’em myself. I was going to leave some on your desk.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
He pulled out a tissue from the box on her desk, picked up both doughnuts, then set them on her desk pad. “You follow the five-second rule on floor spills, don’t you?”
She nodded, glancing at the sugar-covered doughnuts atop the Kleenex. “You … cook?”
“I like to eat; ergo, I cook. What about it?”
“Nothing,” she answered quickly. “I’m just … surprised.”
“Why?” he asked with a half smile. “Not macho enough for you?”
“No, it’s just not the Ben I knew once. You used to spend all your time outside.”
“Yeah, ’cause the house was a war zone after Mom died.”
“When did you learn to cook?” she said, picking up the closest of the two doughnuts and taking a bite. They practically melted in her mouth, and tasted wonderful.
“After I came back from my first tour, I needed to reconnect with life, so I bought a deep fryer and a microwave oven. Cooking turned out to be good therapy.”
“These are really good,” she said, taking another bite. “I’m sorry for the way I greeted you, but you took me by surprise. I never heard you drive up.”
“That’s ’cause I didn’t. My dad’s Chevy is back over by the house, but I guess you didn’t notice because you got here pretty early. I spent the night at home and walked over.”
“I didn’t know you’d moved back in. I’m so used to seeing that pickup there, I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“A.J. came over to the motel last night and helped me transfer my gear and get set up at the house. He also brought medicine bags that he said would help me. There’s one for you, too.”
“A.J.?”
“Ambrose John.”
She stared at him. “You two are friends?”
“Yeah, he and I hung out senior year. You’d graduated by then.”
“Guess we still have a lot of catching up to do,” she said.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” Ben said. “In the meantime, have another doughnut.” He placed another on her desk, then turned toward the door. “I’ll go make coffee.”
* * *
The trading post was open now, and Jo had just finished reconciling yesterday’s expenditures when Leigh Ann came in holding a fresh cup of coffee for her.
“Hey, boss. I forgot to tell you earlier, I’ve got some good news,” Leigh Ann said, and told her about the jewelry they’d sold yesterday. “That bracelet was worth every penny.”
“It sounds like things went incredibly well,” she said, surprised and maybe just a touch jealous.
“There’s something else,” Leigh Ann said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think Ben believes that someone was blackmailing his dad, and maybe you, too, now. Regina told me about a conversation she had with him yesterday, but she doesn’t know how he came up with that theory. I thought we were supposed to be looking for some mysterious merchandise or inventory that led to Tom’s death.”
“Ben’s desperate to identify his enemy—Tom’s killer—and is going down every path,” Jo said. “But there’s no blackmail, or sign of it, that I’ve seen, at least so far. He and I discussed that possibility once before. No money has left the business that isn’t well documented. Unless he’s found something in Tom’s private accounts that I don’t know about, there’s no basis for it.”
“Maybe he just needs closure.”
“So do I,” Jo said. “If he’d let me, I’d work right alongside him to find out why his dad was killed.”
Leigh Ann didn’t answer right away. “He’s got a soft spot for you, but Ben’s a man of secrets. Distrust comes easier to him than trust.”
“What makes you say that?” she asked, wondering if Leigh Ann knew something she didn’t.
“It’s that haunted look in his eyes. My cousin Chris’s wife used to call it the thousand-yard stare. When Chris came home after combat in Iraq, he’d space out like that sometimes. What he’d seen in battle changed him forever. Coping was very hard for him, particularly at first. To this day, he still struggles with those memories.”
“That’s why my people have special ceremonies. Sings restore the hózho, the balance and harmony necessary to keep evil and sickness away.” Jo said, then after a pause, added, “But Ben’s beliefs are different from mine.”
“Everyone has to find their own way. Some people carry secrets for so long, they end up becoming a part of who they are. Getting involved with a man like Ben means accepting the part of him you’ll never reach, or know.”
“We all keep secrets,” Jo said softly, thinking of the killer who’d been stalking her. She was no closer to finding him than before and had no way of knowing when he’d strike again. Yet that was a secret she’d have to keep, at least for now.
“Maybe some secrets should stay that way—hidden so they never see the ligh
t of day,” Leigh Ann said with a nod.
Jo watched her walk away and couldn’t help but wonder how much she knew about her late husband’s infidelities. Trying to spare her feelings, everyone had chosen to keep silent after Kurt’s sudden death. Jo had joined that conspiracy, too, but she still wasn’t sure if they’d made the right choice. Now the fact remained, and it was too late to turn back the clock.
That was the problem with secrets. They gained strength the longer they stayed hidden.
FOURTEEN
Tony Gómez was inside within twenty seconds. Even though the tall, good-looking gringa woman’s front door had two locks, they were like the ones at the Stuart and Buck houses—easy to pick. The ones at the trading post, on the other hand, had been a bitch, and he still hadn’t had a chance to search the dead man’s shed, with the son coming and going. At least on this job he could work alone. Roberto had allowed him to get rid of Frankie and Adam. Hopefully, Jo Buck would get the message this time and deliver the goods.
He still wished he could have come right out and told her what he wanted. It was possible she didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and would need to look around for it, but the boss ordered him not to specify.
Closing the door behind him, he moved quickly to the alarm panel, having seen the ADT sign outside. The unit was dead, deactivated probably. Roberto had said that she was a widow, and if the woman’s only source of income was that trading post job, she probably couldn’t afford the security service anymore. Playing it smart, she’d left the sign outside anyway to discourage people like him.
He looked around, not moving at first as he surveyed the interior of the large living room beyond the foyer. He’d grown up with six brothers and sisters in a mud shack half the size of that room. Back then, he and his family had lived in a constant state of fear. His father had been a real bastard whose fists were worse than his backhand.
Tony dismissed those memories with a quiet curse and focused. There was less furniture in the house than he’d expected. The living room contained a worn sofa, a matching chair, a lamp, and coffee table—nothing else. On the wall opposite the sofa there was a dusty rectangular outline about the size and shape of a big-screen TV. There were also impressions on the thick carpet where more furniture had rested at one time. The kitchen had what looked like marble counters and one of those islands, but there was empty space where the table should have been, and two tall stools against the island instead of chairs. She’d probably sold off what she could after her husband died to make the house payments.
