by Aimée Thurlo
Ben held his hands out away from his body to show he was unarmed.
While one officer kept his weapon trained on Ben, the others grabbed the wavy-haired man, removed a second handgun from his inside holster, then forced him to the ground, face-first.
Slowly Jo set the shotgun down on a cardboard case of green beans. Tears were streaming down her face, but it was over. Turning to look inside, she could see that everyone from The Outpost appeared to be alive and unhurt.
Jo looked back just as Ben was being handcuffed. There was blood all over his torn shirt.
For a moment her heart stopped. “He’s Ben Stuart, one of us!” she called out, scrambling over the cases of canned goods and onto the porch. “Ben, are you hurt?”
“No. I’m fine,” he said, turning to look at her. “How about the others?”
“They’re okay, thanks to you,” she said as the cuffs were removed.
Jo gave Ben a shaky smile just as more officers arrived. While medics began to check the wounded, she turned to Leigh Ann and the others, who were all staring at the body lying on the floor beside the Coke machine.
“See his wrist?” Esther said. “He must be the man who killed Tom.”
Jo stepped onto the pallet and looked down. The slender, wiry-looking, dark-haired man lay in a growing pool of his own blood. On his wrist, where Esther was pointing, was Tom’s silver and turquoise watch.
* * *
A week later, as the trading post’s new door and frame were receiving their final coat of paint, Detective John Sanchez of the sheriff’s department stopped by. Ben, in uniform now, led him past the construction area into Jo’s office.
She was working at the computer terminal and looked up as she heard them approach. “I thought we were finished with all the paperwork, Detective. Do we still have forms to fill out?” she asked.
“No, we’re all done. The district attorney and every branch of government involved in investigating this incident finally agree that the death of Hidalgo’s bodyguard, Tony Gomez, was a clear case of self-defense. There’s nothing to keep Sergeant Stuart from returning to his unit. I’m just here to fill some gaps in the case for you,” he said, taking the offered seat.
“Detective Katie Wells was my partner,” Sanchez said. “Her involvement took me by surprise, but I’ve now learned that her reasons for working with Roberto Hidalgo were far more complicated than they appeared to be on the surface. I thought you’d want to know the backstory,” he said, then told them about Katie’s son, the blackmail, and how her plan to protect him had backfired.
“But in the end, she put her life on the line to protect you two and the other employees here,” Sanchez said. “With the information she was able to provide, and the rug and memory card we got from you, a drug network is now out of business.”
“How’s Detective Wells doing?” Jo asked him.
“She’s still recovering from the two broken ribs, but her ballistic vest saved her life. The man who was wounded in the neck by the shotgun pellets is out of intensive care and scrambling to make a deal by testifying against Hidalgo. The man who died, Gomez, turned out to be an illegal. His immigration papers were forged. He’d been Hidalgo’s bodyguard for years, and fits the description of a drug cartel thug linked to a dozen murders. We’re trying to get more on him, and have contacted Mexican authorities, but don’t hold your breath. The cops down there already have their hands full.”
“What will happen to Detective Wells and her son now?” Jo asked.
“Her attorney is pushing for witness protection in exchange for her testimony, Ms. Buck. My bet is that the feds will come through on that option.”
“Detective, you know where to reach me if necessary, right?” Ben asked him.
“Yeah, we do. Good luck, Sergeant Stuart,” he said. “Hope you’re safer in Afghanistan than you’ve been here.”
Sanchez stood, then held out his hand to shake Ben’s. He nodded to Jo, who didn’t offer hers.
After Sanchez left, Ben looked at his watch, picked up his travel bag from against the wall, and placed it on his chair.
“Sorry I couldn’t get a later flight. I wish I had more time,” he said, looking at her.
“I know,” she said, struggling not to get misty-eyed. She wanted him to remember her smiling, not all teary. “You’ll be back.”
“That, you can count on.” Ben took her in his arms and kissed her slowly and gently, wanting to imprint the memory in her mind and his own. When he finally released her, he smiled, seeing the look of passion there. “I love you, Jo.”
“Ayóó ninshné,” she said, speaking the words in Navajo. “I’ll be here when you come home.”
Suddenly the office door swung open, and all the employees were standing there. Leigh Ann was holding a huge cake. “And so will we!”
He looked down at the cake, which said, HURRY HOME.
“Thanks, guys!” he said, then gave Jo a wistful smile. He’d had other plans for his last hour with her, but appreciated the sentiment anyway.
“If you blow out the candle, then you’ll be back safe even sooner than you expect,” Leigh Ann said.
“Is that local lore?” Ben asked.
“Hell no. I just made it up, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”
He laughed, and blew it out. “You never know. Wishes sometimes come true,” he said, looking at Jo.
“Amen to that,” Esther said.
“Now, let’s eat!” Del said.
As slices were passed out, Ben’s gaze locked with Jo’s. In those gentle brown eyes he saw his future, one filled with endless possibilities.
Read on for a preview of
Looking Through Darkness
Aimée Thurlo and David Thurlo
Available in July 2015 by Tom Doherty Associates
A Forge Hardcover ISBN 978-0-7653-3404-6
Copyright © 2015 by Aimée Thurlo and David Thurlo
CHAPTER ONE
Leigh Ann Vance stood beside the cash register and gave silent thanks that she still had a job. Business wasn’t booming, but at least it was steady, and it beat the hell out of that waitressing job she’d had five or six years ago. Here at The Outpost, she’d never once had a beer spilled on her by a drunk or been groped by some horny cowboy.
The only plus back then was that the job got her out of the house and gave her spending money that didn’t require her to justify the expenditure to Kurt. Life was definitely better now.
Waving at the last customer of the day as the woman stepped outside, she sighed. It was six p.m. and she’d been here since six in the morning. Although she was in her mid-thirties, at the moment, her energy level was down to zero and she felt ancient.
“You know that you don’t have to put in such long hours, don’t you?” Josephine Buck said with a weary smile as she double-locked the door and flipped around the closed sign. Jo owned The Outpost Trading Post, which was located just east of the border of the Navajo Nation in San Juan County, New Mexico.
“You can use a hand,” Leigh Ann said. “Your work days are even longer than mine.”
“That’s true, but I can’t afford to pay you for the extra hours. The trading post is doing better now, but business is still not up to where it was before the recession.”
“I don’t mind helping out. Working here is better than going −.” She stopped speaking abruptly. As friendly as Jo was, she was still the boss, and there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
“It’s your home, isn’t it?” Jo said softly. “You don’t want to live that house any more, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Leigh Ann admitted in a quiet voice. “I can make ends meet since my sister Rachel is paying her share of the rent, utilities and food bills, but I hate that place now. Every time I walk in the door, I think of Kurt, our screwed up marriage, and his accident. He cheated on me and left me nearly penniless, but I still feel guilty for not being able to mourn him. I’d sell the place tomorrow if I could, but with the housing market in t
his area what it is I wouldn’t be able to get what it’s worth.”
“It’s tough to make these typeof decisions alone,” Jo said with a nod, then glanced in the direction of Ben Stuart’s office. Leigh Ann was using it now as Jo’s only salaried employee, but she knew it would always be Ben’s office. Before that, it had belonged to Ben’s father, Tom Stuart, the late owner of The Outpost. He’d left the trading post to Jo, but she and Ben now ran it together.
“You really miss him, don’t you?” Leigh Ann said quietly. “How long has it been now, six months since his unit touched down in Afghanistan?”
Jo nodded. “Six months and eight days. We Skype a lot, but seeing his face sometimes makes the separation a lot tougher. He’s right there on the screen, so close I can reach out and touch him, but still so far away.” Jo shook her head. “At least he’s alive and well, and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s really nice that you two found each other again.” Leigh Ann said, giving her a bright smile. “On that note, I better get going. I’ve got to climb into the attic, and I don’t like going up there after dark.”
“Problems?”
“Yeah, squirrels. Rachel began feeding them, putting raw peanuts along the back wall. I didn’t mind - I figured it would keep them outside - but recently one’s gotten into the attic.”
“You sure it’s a squirrel?”
“Pretty sure. I haven’t seen any signs of mice yet, but squirrels are running everywhere in the yard. Rachel swore she was only feeding one, but I guess it brought its friends and relatives.”
* * *
Leigh Ann drove home slowly in her old Jeep. She envied Jo. The young Navajo woman had ties to her culture that would sustain her no matter what the circumstances. She had rediscovered her relationship with Ben and had a wide circle of friends and a solid support system in place at the trading post. Ben had even helped her pay for the construction of a small hogan behind his house next to The Outpost, a place he insisted could be her medicine hogan someday.
Leigh Ann’s own life was vastly different. She’d been alone since long before her husband had died in a hunting accident more than a year ago. Their marriage had been nothing more than a sham. Even though she was sharing her home with her sister, Rachel, they weren’t close and mostly went their own ways.
She parked in the driveway and walked past the ADT sign in the front yard. She could no longer afford the security service, but she’d left the sign up, hoping it might deter anyone thinking of breaking in.
As she stepped into the small foyer, she saw Rachel coming down the stairs wearing pink sneakers, white exercise shorts, and a light blue, sleeveless, crop-top T-shirt. Rachel had dyed her beautiful ash blonde hair a garish shade of red that made Leigh Ann cringe. The color didn’t do a thing for her, but Rachel loved it.
“You’re home earlier than usual,” Rachel said, leaning against the bannister. “I picked up some takeout. Just pizza, but there’s plenty left in the kitchen.”
Leigh Ann forced a smile, looking down at her own jeans and turquoise knit The Outpost polo shirt, complete with store logo. The jeans were feeling a little tight around the waist today.
She’d told Rachel that she was trying to lose a few pounds but, as usual, Rachel couldn’t remember anything that didn’t directly affect her. “Thanks, I’ll pass on that, but before you start your exercises, I’d like you to hold the ladder for me while I go up into the attic.”
“Why? There’s no telling what’s up there—spiders the size of your fist and maybe even mice. It’s just not safe. Remember when I helped you store Mom’s things? Except for that one spot, there’s no flooring, just insulation and the sheetrock ceiling. You can’t put weight on that without falling through.”
“Kurt placed some flat boards on top of the rafters to create walkways and more storage space. Otherwise his fishing gear and golf clubs would have fallen through ages ago.”
Rachel gave her a wan smile. “Come on, Leigh Ann, it’s really hot and creepy up there. Why do you care if the squirrel set up a nest? Let it.”
“They chew through stuff and might eventually short out some electrical wiring. It’s a fire hazard. There’s way too much junk up there anyway, and I need to clear some of it out.”
“Are you thinking about selling the house?” Rachel asked quickly, a touch of panic in her voice.
Leigh Ann knew that Rachel was saving a lot of money by living with her. By sharing expenses, they could afford this large, three-bedroom home instead of being stuck in one-bedroom apartments in Kirtland or Farmington, farther east.
“No, I’m not selling. This isn’t a good time for that, but that’s not the point. Besides the danger to the wiring, we don’t want to provide homes for creatures who might bring in the plague or hanta virus.”
“Okay, but you hate closed-in spaces and creepy crawlies as much as I do. Let’s get someone else to do it.”
“We can’t afford an unnecessary expense like that, and I’m through putting this off. Something’s been running back and forth up there. If it’s a squirrel, then I have to find out how it’s getting in and out, and see what damage it already caused. If it’s mice or rats, then we need to set traps.”
“Okay, okay. How can I help?” Rachel said with a sigh.
“Stay close by in case I need you.”
“Once you’re at the top of the ladder, I’ll hand you a broom. If anything gross is dangling down from a spider web, you can swat it away.”
Leigh Ann smiled. “You recall that cabin we squatted in the summer Daddy lost his job?”
“That place was beyond creepy. No windows in the bedroom, and you could hear things moving around at night in the walls and under the floor,” Rachel said, and shuddered. “Remember that huge, hairy spider that crawled onto the pillow between us that night? Man, did we scream.”
“To this day, I still can’t stand spiders,” Leigh Ann said. “That’s why, as a general rule I’ve avoided the attic. Kurt and I made a deal. I cleaned the house and he was responsible for the garage and attic.”
“It looks like it’s our job now,” Rachel said with a smile.
A few minutes later, at the top of the ladder, Leigh Ann aimed a flashlight around the hot, dusty attic. After a moment, she hoisted herself up the rest of the way, stepped onto a board, and pulled the long dangling chain connected to the single-bulb fixture. The confined space was suddenly flooded with light.
The place was so dusty it made her nose itch, but at least there was no damp, musty smell. The roof had never leaked. Of course they were in the middle of a drought and rain was as rare as unicorns.
She studied the layers of insulation and the simple board walkways, and looked closely at the electrical wiring and metal conduits that supplied the heat, air conditioning, powered the ceiling lights and the various circuits. At least is seemed to be in good shape. Fitted together sheets of plywood placed across the rafters supported plastic containers filled with Christmas decorations, a metal book stand, fishing tackle boxes, and several fishing rods. Fine dust and spider webs covered everything.
Close by was a stack of long, flat boards. After a moment’s thought, Leigh Ann realized that Kurt had probably used them to create temporary paths across the rafters. One false step onto the sheetrock or insulation could be dangerous or fatal.
Farther across the attic where the pitched roof sloped down to the walls, she saw another makeshift plywood platform. Several cardboard boxes and one made of metal, maybe a tool box, were nestled in a pile of fluffy insulation that must have been pulled loose. A couple of black plastic trash bags covered a long object underneath, maybe another fishing rod. The loosened insulation seemed like a potential squirrel hiding place.
“Whatcha see?” Rachel called from below.
“Mom’s stuff and a bunch of man toys. I’m going to check out a place I think the squirrel was interested in. I don’t think it’s there now, but I’ll take a look and make sure nothing’s damaged. Then I’m going to br
ing back some junk and hand it down to you. It’ll be dusty, so be prepared to sneeze.”
As she spoke, Leigh Ann laid one of the long, wide boards across the rafters in the direction of the possible nest.
“Want the broom, just in case?” Rachel asked.
Leigh Ann felt something brush against her leg and tried not to flinch. “Good idea. I can probe the insulation without putting my hand into … whatever.”
Two minutes later, on hands and knees, Leigh Ann inched along the first board, broom and extra boards beside her across the rafters. As she moved, she’d pick up another board and position it in front of her as she created a path toward the boxes. Soon, she’d placed the last board in position and was less than five feet away.
She extended the broom toward the pile of loose pink insulation, then gingerly touched it to the top of the material. She cringed, hoping the squirrel wouldn’t leap out and run right down the board.
Nothing. She wiggled the bristles of the broom around a little. All she saw was a little dust and some pink fibers drifting up into the light.
“So far, so good. Nothing’s in the nest,” she called out.
“Good!” Rachel said, her voice suddenly much louder.
Leigh Ann looked back toward the ladder. Rachel’s head was sticking up into the attic. “Joining me?”
“Uh-uh. Sorry, Leigh Ann. This is as far as I go.” Rachel seemed to study the situation. “Hey, maybe the squirrel is underneath those trash bags. Stir it up a bit.”
“Not funny, what if it attacks?”
“Nah, it’ll run toward the wall or a vent and maybe we’ll see how it’s been getting in,” Rachel said.
“I don’t want to get any closer until I’m sure it’s not hiding somewhere.” Leigh Ann inched forward, straining for a closer look. “I wonder what’s in that gray metal box?”
She shifted the broom to the top of the box, pressed it against a small handle, and tried to pull it toward her. When she realized there was a string attached to the handle, she tried to break it away with the broom.
