Kiss of the Bees w-2

by J. A. Jance

  With her heart pounding gratefully in her chest, she waited to see if Mitch Johnson was carrying a spare flashlight. She could hear him scuttling around in the dark. And then, just when she was beginning to think she was safe, she heard a distinctive scraping. Suddenly a match flared.

  Mitch’s fall had taken him several yards from where he had been before. The flame of the match flickered in a part of the cave where Lani hadn’t expected to see it. Not only that, in her eagerness to return to her hiding place, she had gone too far. Instead of being completely sheltered by the stalagmite, she had moved a few critical inches to the other side.

  “Why, there you are, little darling,” he said. “Come to Daddy.”

  And then the match went out.

  Brian was waiting at the gate when Candace and Davy finally stepped off the plane. He grinned when he saw Davy. “You guys must have been at the very back of the bus.”

  “Close,” Davy said. “Candace, this is Brian Fellows, my best friend. Brian, this is Candace Waverly. We’re engaged.”

  Suppressing a blink of surprise, Brian nodded again, taking charge of one of Candace’s bags while she carried the other. “Your mother mentioned something to that effect, but things are so chaotic right now, I’m not sure the information’s really penetrated.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a very long story,” Brian said. “And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait until we’re in the car before I tell it to you.”

  “It’s that bad?” Davy asked.

  “It ain’t good,” Brian replied.

  On the way down the concourse and while they waited for the luggage, Candace chattered on and on about how brown everything was and about how small the airport was compared to O’Hare. She seemed oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, but Davy had seen the bleak look in Brian’s eyes.

  Brian had gone home and traded the Blazer for his personal car, a low-slung Camaro. The mountain of luggage didn’t come close to fitting in the trunk. Candace finally clambered into a backseat already piled with two leftover suitcases.

  “All right,” Davy said to Brian as soon as they were all in the car. “Tell me.”

  As Brian related the story, Davy became more and more somber. Tommy and Quentin had been the banes of Davy’s childhood just as they had of Brian’s. In fact, it was the older boys’ casual meanness that had, in the beginning, united the younger two. Mean or not, though, Brandon Walker’s sons were still part of both families. To have to accept one of the two as Lani’s killer was appalling.

  “You’re sure he did it?” Davy asked.

  “I heard the tape,” Brian replied. “Believe me, it was pretty damned convincing.”

  “How’s Mom taking it?”

  “About how you’d expect,” Brian said. “Not very well.”

  “And Brandon?”

  “He’s better off than your mother is. At least he’s able to do something about it. The last I saw of him, he was on his way out to Rattlesnake Skull Charco with Brock Kendall, an FBI agent.”

  “Rattlesnake Skull? Why there?”

  “To meet Fat Crack. Wanda Ortiz called and said that according to Gabe, that’s where we’ll find Lani.”

  “Is that where we’re going?” Davy asked.

  “No. We’re supposed to go to the house.”

  “If the charco is where the action is, that’s where I want to be,” Davy said. “Let’s go there.”

  Brian cast a dubious look across the front seat toward his friend. “All right,” he said. “But first let’s drop Candace off at the house.”

  “No way,” Candace Waverly said from the backseat. “Where did you say you’re going?”

  “To a charco to see if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  “What’s a charco?” Candace asked.

  “A stock tank,” Brian answered.

  “A retention pond,” Davy said at the same time.

  Candace sat back in Brian’s cramped rear seat and crossed her arms. “If you’re going to the charco, I’m going too,” she announced.

  Davy looked at Brian. “I guess that’s settled then,” he said.

  “I guess it is,” Brian agreed.

  “How can it be so empty?” Candace asked, as Brian’s fully loaded Camaro swept west along Highway 86.

  “Empty,” Brian repeated. “You should have seen it years ago when Davy and I were kids. That’s when it was really empty. There are lots more people living out here now than there used to be.”

  Candace looked out across the seemingly barren and endless desert and didn’t believe a word of it.

  Davy, meantime, seemed preoccupied with something else. “You told me about finding bones at the charco, and about Quentin’s fingerprints showing up on some of them. What I don’t understand is why Quentin would have taken Lani there. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nobody says it has to make sense,” Brian told him. “All I know is Fat Crack said that’s where your dad should look and that’s where he’s looking.”

  “Who said that?” Candace asked.

  “A friend of ours,” Davy answered quickly. “His name’s Gabe Ortiz. He’s actually the tribal chairman.”

  “He’s an Indian, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it sounded like Brian called him by some other name.”

  “Yes.” Davy rolled his eyes. “Gihg Tahpani,” he said. “Fat Crack.”

  “So is Fat his first name and Crack’s his last?”

  Candace asked the question so seriously that Brian burst out laughing while Davy was reduced to shaking his head. Obviously he had failed miserably in preparing Candace for the culture she was stepping into.

  “Fat Crack is a first name,” Brian explained good-naturedly. “But it’s also sort of a friendly name—a name used between friends. So when you meet him, and until you know him better, you probably ought to call him plain Mr. Ortiz.”

  They turned off onto Coleman Road. “What kind of shoes do you have on?” Brian asked, looking at Candace’s face in the mirror.

  “Heels. Why?”

  “I was just over this road in a Blazer yesterday. If the Camaro doesn’t high-center on the first wash, I know it will on the second.”

  “On the what?”

  “Wash. It’s a dry riverbed. A sandy riverbed. We’re going to have to walk from here, so the car doesn’t get stuck.”

  “That’s all right,” Candace said. “I have some tennis shoes in my roll-aboard.”

  Brian pulled over on the side of the road. The suitcase in question was one of the ones that had wound up in the backseat with Candace. While she dug through it to find her tennis shoes, Davy and Brian stood outside the car, waiting and looking off up the road toward the charco. Finding her shoes, Candace kicked off her heels and then moved to the front seat. She was sitting there tying her shoes when she saw something strange on the shoulder of the road a few feet away.

  As soon as she had her shoes tied, she walked over and picked up a small medallion with a strange black-and-white design woven into it. “Hey, you guys,” she called to Brian and Davy, who were waiting for her on the other side of the road. “Come see what I found.”

  Davy sauntered over. As soon as he saw what was in her hand, though, his jaw dropped. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

  “It was right here. Along the side of the road . . .”

  “Brian, come here, quick. Fat Crack’s right. Lani’s been here. Look!”

  Sprinting across the road, Brian Fellows stopped in his tracks the moment he caught sight of the basket. “You’re right,” he said. “She has to be here somewhere . . .”

  The three of them were standing there in stunned silence, staring up the mountain, when they heard a cry. “Help.”

  The voice was so faint that at first they all thought they had imagined it. Then it came again. “Help. Please.”

  Brian Fellows was the first to start off up the mountain. Davy followed directly on his heels, wit
h Candace bringing up the rear.

  Tackling the mountain straight on, with no zigzagging to ease the ascent, made the going slow and difficult. From time to time they had to pause for breath, but each time they did, the voice was a little stronger. “I’m here. In the bushes.”

  “It sounds like Quentin, doesn’t it?” Davy asked.

  Nodding grimly, Brian Fellows drew his weapon. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. Neither Candace nor Davy were. “You’d better drop back and let me go on by myself.”

  “Like hell,” Davy said. “Come on.”

  Frozen in terror, Lani crouched against the wall. The stalagmite that had once provided shelter was now a trap. If she moved away from behind it, he would see her and shoot her. She could hear him out there, crawling ever closer to her hiding place. She could hear him breathing in the dark. Now that he had located her, he came forward without bothering to squander any more of his precious matches, trusting that she would stay exactly where he had seen her last.

  And the truth was, she didn’t have any choice. She was so cold and had sat in one position for so long that her legs ached with cramps. The pressure was so great that she was tempted to come flying out of her hiding place and make straight for what had to be the passage to the outside. But she didn’t do it.

  Even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized that the darkness in I’itoi’s sacred cave was far stronger than Mitch’s matches. If he’d had plenty of them, he would have been using them by now instead of scrabbling along in the dark. And without light, the power of darkness and the power of bats was far greater than the evil Ohb’s.

  Deep in the cave, Lani had met Nanakumal. By touching her, Bat had taken away Lani’s fear of the darkness and had infused her with his power. From now on Dolores Lanita Walker would still be Forever Spinning to some, but in her own heart she knew that she was changed. As soon as the bat’s wings grazed her skin she was also someone else. From that time on, Lani would call herself Nanakumal Namkam—Bat Meeter, knowing that Bat Strength and Ant Strength would both be part of her strength.

  Suddenly Lani’s spirit was alive again, like one awaking from a deep sleep or else from death itself. Something Nana Dahd had told her was called e chegitog. The cold no longer mattered. She had come into her own just the way Nana Dahd had told her she would someday. No matter what Mitch Johnson did to her, he couldn’t take that away.

  The song spilled into her mind without her even being aware she was thinking about it.

  O little Nanakumal who lives forever in darkness,

  O little Nanakumal who lives forever in I’itoi’s sacred cave

  Give me your strength so I will not be frightened,

  So I will stay in this safe place where the evil Ohb cannot come.

  For years Betraying Woman has been here with you.

  For years your strength has kept her safe

  Waiting until I could come and set her free

  By smashing her pottery prison against the rocky wall.

  Keep me safe now too, little Nanakumal

  Keep me safe from this new evil Ohb.

  Teach me juhagi—to be resilient—in the coming battle,

  So that this jiawul—this devil—does not win.

  O little Nanakumal who lives forever in darkness,

  Whose passing wings changed me into a warrior,

  Be with me now as I face this danger.

  Protect me in the coming battle and keep me safe.

  Brian was the one who found Quentin Walker, found him trapped faceup and helpless in a bed of manzanita. Knowing at once that his half-brother was too badly hurt to pose any danger, Brian holstered his weapon.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I didn’t do it,” Quentin sobbed. “Tell Dad I didn’t do it.”

  “Didn’t do what?” Brian asked.

  “I didn’t kill Tommy. He fell. He fell in the cave. I tried to help him. I swear. But he died anyway.”

  Davy, who had stopped to help Candace up a ledge, arrived just in time to hear the last sentence.

  “Lani’s dead?” he demanded.

  When Quentin looked up at Davy, his eyes wavered as though they wouldn’t quite focus. “Lani’s not dead,” he said. “Tommy’s the one who’s dead. He’s been dead a long, long time.”

  “But where’s Lani?”

  “Lani? How should I know where Lani is?”

  Davy reached down and grabbed the neck of Quentin’s shirt. He would have shook him, too, if Candace hadn’t stopped him. “Leave him alone, David,” she gasped, fighting to regain her breath. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

  Letting go of the shirt, Davy turned and looked up the mountain. “She has to be in the cave,” he said. “I’ll go. You two stay here with Quentin.”

  “Lani! It’s Davy. Where are you?”

  Davy! For a moment, Lani thought she must be dreaming. It was impossible. Davy was in Chicago. He couldn’t be here.

  “Lani!” he called again. “Can you hear me? Are you in here?”

  She heard him then, heard the sound of movement in the passageway. It was true. Davy was here. He had come to find her, to save her. Instead, he was crawling directly into the arms of Mitch Johnson. Somehow she had to stop him.

  “Davy,” she screamed. “Go back! Don’t come in here. He’ll kill you. Go back.”

  The cavern reverberated with a hundred echoes and then fell silent. There was no further sound of movement from the passageway.

  “Thank God you’re alive,” Davy called back. “But it’s okay, Lani. We found Quentin down the mountain. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Once again there was movement in the passageway. “The killer’s still in here, Davy. It’s not Quentin!” Lani howled. “Go back, Davy, before he kills us both.”

  “Davy!” Mitch Johnson called out. “Did you say Davy? Not little Davy Ladd. Come on in, Davy. I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt anybody. You’re right. It was all Quentin.”

  Now there was movement again, but not in the passageway. Now it was in the cave itself. “Keep talking, little girl,” Mitch Johnson whispered hoarsely. “Just keep talking. I’ll find you, you little bitch, if it’s the last goddamned thing I do.”

  Another match flickered to life.

  “Lani,” Davy demanded. “What’s going on in there? Who’s in there with you?”

  For a moment Lani was quiet. Mitch Johnson was an implacable enemy—more determined to find and destroy her than he was concerned about his own capture.

  Nana Dahd had told Lani more than once that the Tohono O’othham only kill to eat or to save their own lives. In relating the story of the evil Ohb, Rita had always said how proud she was that, in the moment when Diana Ladd might have killed Andrew Carlisle, she had chosen instead to spare him, trusting his punishment to the Mil-gahn system of criminal justice.

  In a moment of understanding that went far beyond her years, and far beyond anything Mitch Johnson had told her, Lani understood that somehow, still alive and in prison, Andrew Carlisle had taken that piece of Tohono O’othham honor and turned it into something evil. He had used it cheawogid—to infect—someone else with the same evil that had fueled and driven him.

  Nana Dahd had died too soon to know how wrong she was. But Lani knew. The telltale cheposid—the brand—Mitch Johnson had burned into her breast was proof enough that, as long as he lived, so did Andrew Carlisle.

  Those thoughts streaked through Lani Walker’s mind as she sat bat-still in the cave, watching the momentary light of the match flickering in the darkness and listening as Mitch came stumbling toward her. Had she screamed again, the echoes might have thrown him off and sent him in the wrong direction, but suddenly she knew that was the wrong thing to do. Instead of hiding from the evil Ohb, Bat Meeter wanted him to find her.

  “I’m here,” she said quietly, pulling herself to her feet. “I’m waiting.” A storm of needles and pins shot down her numbed legs. She had to cling to the stalagmite to keep from falling, but she held her
ground.

  “Lani!” Davy shouted. “Please. What’s going on?”

  “He has a gun, Davy,” she said, speaking slowly in Tohono O’othham. “His name is Mitch—Mitch Johnson. The evil Ohb sent him here. He wants to kill us both.”

  “Speak English, you little bitch,” Mitch Johnson swore. “You’re a goddamned American, speak English.”

  He was only a matter of yards away from her now, creeping along the wall on the same path Lani had followed, as that match, too, flickered and burned itself out. Pulling herself around the rock, she stood directly in his path.

  “You’ll have to come get me, Mitch,” she taunted. “I’m right here. I’m waiting.”

  Grunting with effort, she tugged off one of her boots. “Here,” she said. She tossed the boot a few feet in front of her. The explosion that followed reverberated back and forth inside the cavern. Clinging to the cold stalagmite, grateful for its solid presence, Lani thought there had been a dozen shots instead of only one.

  She had ducked her head and closed her eyes, so the flash of light hadn’t affected her. But her ears were roaring. From far away she could hear Davy calling to her. “Lani! Lani! Are you all right?”

  “I’m still here, Mitch,” Lani said again, not raising her voice, barely speaking above a whisper. “I’m here and I’m waiting.”

  Carefully judging the distance, she pulled off the second boot as well, tossing it slightly behind her and to the left. She heard him rush forward, close enough that she felt him brushing past her as she ducked back behind the stalagmite once more. There was another explosion of gunfire, another ear-shattering roar. And then nothing.

  For a second or two Lani thought she really had gone deaf. She was afraid that the silence that suddenly surrounded her would always be there, that it would never lift. But then, from very far away, she heard Davy calling again, pleading this time.