by Aimée Thurlo
Katie waited alone at the end of the road Del would have to drive down on the way to school. Before long, she saw his pickup approaching.
Katie waited until Del pulled out onto the highway, then followed several car lengths behind. After about a mile, she flipped her siren and pulled him over.
As she walked up to his driver’s-side door, Katie noted the tension on his face. “You’re Del, right? You’ve got a busted brake light. Did you know that?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll get it fixed right away.”
“Let me see your proof of insurance and registration.”
Del leaned over to reach the glove compartment and fished out both.
“What’s in that plastic bag, son?” she asked, pointing to the “evidence” she’d slipped in through the crack in his window just before sunrise.
He reached down to the passenger’s-side floorboard and picked it up. “I dunno. I never saw it before,” he said, holding it by the top and bringing it closer to her.
Katie opened the bag, then made a show of checking the contents. “Get out of the vehicle, hands on top of the hood,” she said, slipping the bag into her jacket pocket.
“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes as big as saucers.
“Just do as I say. Get out of the vehicle and place your hands on top of the hood.”
He stepped out, his body shaking, and did as she asked.
“I’m taking you in for possession,” Katie snapped, patting him down.
“Of what? What’s in the bag?”
She reached for the handcuffs in the keeper at her belt. “Either you’re a powdered sugar freak, or it’s cocaine.”
“No way!” he said, turning his head around, fear in his eyes. “That junk’s not mine. I don’t do drugs, not even pot! You’ve got to believe me!”
“If it isn’t yours, then how did it get there?”
“I don’t know. Someone set me up. It wasn’t there last night, I swear!” His voice was suddenly two octaves higher.
“So who’s your enemy? You dis someone lately? Been in a fight?”
He stared at the ground, desperately searching for an answer. “You know I work at The Outpost part-time. Well, I got into a delivery guy’s face the other day because he was just dicking around. He was an old guy, at least forty. I bet that son of a bitch did this!”
Katie waited, letting the fear build until he was squirming so hard, she thought he’d pee his pants. “This is a felony, Hudson. You know that?”
“Oh man, oh man! It’s not mine. You’ve got to listen to me! I was set up.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I get decent grades in school, I have a job, and I work my ass off. Ask Jo Buck and the others at The Outpost. I’ve never been in trouble with the police—not ever.”
“Hand me your truck keys, then get back inside and give me a moment to run a check,” she ordered.
Once she had the keys, Katie went back to her unit and let the kid sweat it for a while longer. When she returned, Del was nearly in tears, his face as pale as chalk.
“I ran a check and you’re clean. Not even a moving violation.”
“See? I told you!”
“But we still have a problem—that bag of coke. Where did it come from?”
“I have no idea. Just take it!”
“It’s not that simple,” she said, pretending to be wrestling with the problem.
“You’ve got to let me go! I didn’t do this. Honest. I’m not a drug dealer, and I don’t use. Give me a drug test, you’ll see.”
“Not necessary. I believe you, Del. You sound like a good kid who just happened to screw with the wrong person,” Katie said, then after a pause, continued. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you help me with a problem I’ve been having, I’ll help you out, too. Are you willing to do me a small favor?”
“Yeah, sure. What do you want me to do?” he asked eagerly. “Just tell me.”
“I’ll take this and pour it into the closest irrigation ditch,” she said, patting the bag of baking soda in her pocket. “No one needs to know.”
“Thank you!” he said, almost in tears. “I really mean it.”
“Okay, now here’s what I need you to do for me. I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears open when you’re at work. Tom Stuart’s killer is still out there, and I need to know if Jo Buck or anyone else at the Outpost is covering up or hiding something. Tom Stuart was murdered for a reason, and if I find out what that was, it’ll lead me to his killer. Can I count on you to help me gather information, Del?”
“Yes, ma’am. I work after school today, so I’ll start then.”
“One more thing. Our deal has to stay strictly between you and me. You’ll be my confidential informant on this case. I’ll keep you out of jail, you help me find a killer.”
“Tom gave me my first job, so I’ll do my best. I owe it to him.”
“Good.”
Katie watched Del drive away. Now she had a chance. All she had to do was wait and watch.
* * *
Jo arrived at Hosteen Brownhat’s small woodframed home west of Shiprock as the long shadows of early morning gave way to the climbing sun. The home was a faded white, and the wood trim needed paint, but the gray shingle roof was new, replaced just last spring. As she parked, Rudy came out of his hogan accompanied by an elderly man.
While Jo waited to be invited to approach, Rudy’s visitor, a man with long white hair, jeans, and a plaid shirt, walked to a horse grazing on the clumps of yellow grasses scattered about, took up the dangling reins, and mounted the old pinto gelding with surprising fluidity.
Rudy was dressed much like his patient, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved green flannel shirt. His hair was jet black and woven in a long braid down his back. He wore a white headband, and canvas running shoes rather than boots.
The hataalii watched the older man ride away toward the bosque for several seconds, then finally turned and waved, inviting her over.
“You got my note, I see,” he said as Jo drew near.
“Yes, Uncle,” she said.
He gestured with his lips toward the medicine hogan, a six-sided pine log structure with a single entrance covered during the winter season only by a heavy wool rug woven in shades of red, black, and gray. “Come inside.”
The interior was stark, with a small added wooden shelf, a fire pit in the middle, and sheepskin pelts for sitting. A kerosene lantern sat in one of the several corners along with boxes of ceremonial items. She sat on the north side, as was the custom for unmarried women.
“You’ve come very far in your training, but you still have much to learn,” he said after a brief silence. “Although you’ve shown dedication, you’re now letting other things interfere with what you set out to do. To become a Singer, you have to want it more than anything else; otherwise, you won’t succeed.”
“My life has changed, Uncle. Others are depending on me. I won’t be able to continue my training until things are more settled at the trading post.”
He stared at a small black beetle making its way across the dirt floor of the hogan. “Your trembling, is it still troubling you?”
“At times, yes,” she admitted.
“When it does, do you reach for the token as I recommended?”
“That helps me,” she said, nodding, “but a killer’s still out there, Uncle, and he’s threatened me personally. Until this is resolved, I can’t go forward with my apprenticeship. To do that, I have to be able to walk in beauty, free from fear.”
He lapsed into a long silence, then finally spoke. “It’s very difficult for a woman to become a Singer. I told you that the first day you came to me. The situation you’re facing now will eventually be resolved, but by then, your focus might have shifted. Do you still have feelings for the murdered man’s son?”
Her previous relationship with Ben had been common knowledge, so the question didn’t come as a surprise. “It’s complicated,” she said after a beat
.
“The problems women Singers face go beyond not doing certain Sings while pregnant. Their focus tends to shift to family sooner or later. Will becoming a Singer have your heart, or only a piece of it?”
Jo stared at the packed dirt floor of the hogan. “Becoming a Singer is the path I choose to walk. The rest of the pieces will fall into place if they’re meant to be.”
He nodded, approving of her answer. “I’ll do a brief pollen blessing over you before you go.” The hataalii picked up a basket, turned it over to use as a drum, and began to Sing.
Jo repeated each line of the prayer, matching his intonation. It was important to show respect but not humility before the gods.
“On the trail of beauty, I walk,” he said, finishing.
Jo repeated the words, feeling the power of the spoken word wash over her. The blessing had renewed her strength. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Jo slipped off her cuff bracelet. It wasn’t of great value, but it was all she had to give. “Take it, Uncle. When you’re ready, bring it to me at the trading post and I’ll trade it for anything we have at the store.”
He nodded once. “I accept your gift.”
On her way to work minutes later, Jo heard the old pickup squeaking and rattling as it traveled over uneven ground. Once she finally made it to the highway, the ride became easier.
As she thought about things, Jo wondered if that’s the way it would be in her life, too. At first, bumps would be all she’d be able to see and feel. Then, sooner or later, the way would finally clear.
* * *
Jo spent the next two hours calling customers who’d prepaid and were waiting to receive their Mexican-made rugs. She’d assumed some would cancel after being told of the delay, but no one did, though several seemed more upset than she’d expected.
Ben walked in just as she placed the phone back down again. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and the stubble made him seem even more masculine somehow. As she looked up at him, she felt a stirring inside her. That awareness wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she fought it.
“You came in later than usual this morning,” he said. “I hope you got some rest after what happened last night. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. I needed to make a stop this morning.” Although she saw the questions in his eyes, she didn’t elaborate.
“Any idea what you want to do about replacing those presold rugs?”
“I’ve spoken to almost all of the customers who placed those orders and it’s clear they still want the rugs, so I’m going to call León next. I’ll ask him to get another shipment ready for us,” she said. “León should be happy to make the extra sale, so I don’t expect any problems, and insurance will cover most of our loss.”
“We’re also going to need an SUV or van to pick up the replacement rugs. Have you contacted the insurance company yet?”
“No, but I have the policy information right here and the state police will be faxing a copy of the report later today.” She swiveled around in her chair, opened the file cabinet, and brought out the insurance folder. “If you can call our insurance agent and give her the details, I’ll contact León.”
“Roger,” Ben said, taking the folder and leaving for his own office.
After quickly confirming León’s number, Jo placed the call. His wife, Teresa, answered, but instead of their usual friendly exchange, she immediately placed Jo on hold.
León answered a moment later. “Miss Buck, this is León. How can I help you today?”
She told him about the hijacking, leaving out the details. “Some of our customers are upset, so I’m going to need a duplicate order as soon as possible.”
“Did I understand you right? You said you were robbed?”
“Yes. We were about a hundred miles from The Outpost when it happened. They got the rugs and my old SUV.”
“At least you weren’t hurt,” he said. “I can find you some more rugs from my supplier, but you’ll have to stay on your guard. This isn’t business as usual, not anymore.”
“What do you mean? What’s going on? Is there something else I need to know?” He sounded afraid, as if he’d been the one nearly killed last night instead of Ben and her.
“I’ve told you too much already,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll make some calls, then let you know how soon I can have a replacement order ready for you. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.”
The next thing she heard was a click, then silence. Jo placed the receiver down and stared at it for a minute longer, lost in thought. She was still trying to figure out what was going on with León when Ben strode into her office, his face flushed with anger. He crossed the room, noisily pulled out a chair, and sat facing her.
“You wouldn’t believe the crap I just got from the insurance agent, the same woman who has been getting yearly checks from us for probably fifteen years. Nothing but bureaucratic runaround. The bottom line is that the van was still in Dad’s name, so the claim must be handled by the trustee. I called Mike and he said he’d take care of it, but it’ll probably take a week to get everything sorted out. The one bit of good news is that Mike told me he expects everything connected to the trading post will be transferred to your name soon. There are a few legalities he still needs to clear up.”
“Will the insurance cover the purchase of a new van?”
“No. They’ll reimburse us market value, so we’ll only have enough for another used one. In the meantime, we’ll need to rent another set of wheels. I called around, got the best deal I could get, but it won’t be cheap.”
Jo leaned back, suddenly feeling exhausted despite the fact it wasn’t even noon yet.
“What happened with León?” he asked. “You looked worried when I came into the room.”
She gave him the highlights. “I don’t get it. He should have been a little more upbeat. He didn’t lose a client, we weren’t hurt, and he gets twice the sale.”
“Don’t overanalyze it. He’s like my dad, old-fashioned. He may be trying to protect you in his own way because you’re a woman.”
“Maybe,” she said, unconvinced.
“I’m going to go to Farmington to pick up the rental van. I’ll be riding in with Del, if you’re okay with that.”
“Sure.”
After Ben left, Jo answered two calls from clients checking on special orders they’d placed. Then, as soon as she hung up, Leigh Ann came in.
Jo looked at her and sighed. “Please tell me that everything at least went well here yesterday.”
“We had our ups and downs, but everything turned out fine. We also had more customers than we’ve had in a long time,” she said, describing the day and Ambrose’s cooperation.
“That’s all good to hear. You did a great job yesterday.”
“Now for this morning’s problem. Regina hasn’t shown up yet. Should I call and find out if she’s coming in?”
“Give her a little more time. We all have complicated lives.”
“You know she’s having trouble with Pete, right?” Leigh Ann asked.
“Just that he’d hurt his arm, and was having problems finding work. But if it’s also hurting their marriage, that would explain why she hasn’t been very talkative lately. I knew something was wrong.”
“Women—we can feel each other’s pain. Maybe it’s intuition, or maybe we just don’t close our eyes as much.”
Jo smiled. “Maybe so.”
The rest of the day, including the afternoon, went by without any hitches. It was seven thirty, a half hour after closing, when Jo finally took a break. Her stomach was growling loudly, and she realized that the only thing she’d eaten today was a Snickers bar and a half dozen cups of coffee.
Jo stood and walked around a bit, stretching her legs. The store was silent and empty. Ben had gone home about ten minutes ago, and he’d been the last to leave. Although the front door was locked, the loading dock was still open a crack. They usually kept it propped open with a ro
ck to create a good air flow and make the evaporative cooling more effective.
Jo had walked down the hall to the storeroom, ready to lock up, when she caught a faint whiff of tobacco in the air. For a minute she didn’t move. Tom had smoked off and on all his life. Was it his chindi? No one else here smoked.
Suddenly an arm snaked around her chest, and a rough hand clamped her mouth shut. “Don’t fight me!” he ordered in a harsh whisper.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jo saw a second figure, wearing a rubber clown mask, step out from behind a stack of wheelbarrows, holding what looked like a pillowcase. “You’re going with us. Then you’re going to tell us where Old Man Stuart hid that shit.”
The voice sounded familiar, especially that pronounced Hispanic accent. This was Tom’s killer, the man who’d threatened her over the cell phone. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what these men were planning for her. They’d torture her and she’d be unable to save herself, because she still had no idea what they were after. Eventually, when they realized that, they’d kill her. Her only choice was to fight back now and catch them off guard.
Jo bit down hard on the fingers covering her mouth, then kicked up with her heel.
Her attacker yelped and pulled his hand away from her mouth. He grabbed her around the waist and leaned back, lifting her off the floor.
As the clown with the pillowcase rushed forward, she bent her knees, then kicked him in the chest with both feet.
Recoil from the collision knocked her and her captor back. As he stumbled and fell, she twisted free. Jo landed on the hardwood floor butt first, then rolled away, jabbing her side into the handle of an overturned wheelbarrow.
“Get the bitch!” clown face yelled, regaining his balance and advancing.
Jo rose to her knees. The man who’d grabbed her was wearing a werewolf mask and was struggling to his feet as he adjusted the eyeholes, trying to clear his line of sight.
Jo was still on the floor, caught in the middle, when she heard Ben’s voice.
