Matthews stared at the sheriff with what could only be described as a dumbfounded look. Danny figured Matthews had to be asking himself the same question that he had: how could someone supposedly too drunk to walk still manage to drag a body to the cliff and toss it over? But Matthews asked about the weapon instead. “How did you know the gun belonged to George?”
“It didn’t. Tony said the pistol was his. He kept it in his truck for shooting rattlers and such when he was scouting out possible listings for acreage in the country.”
Matthews rubbed his chin. “So, let me get this straight,” he said. “Your belief is that George found this weapon and decided to shoot Nick and steal the truck.”
Sheriff Pritchard nodded. “That’s exactly what happened. He thought he’d gotten rid of the body and the gun by throwing them over the cliff. Then he gets back in the truck to make his getaway. But he drank too much booze first and wound up plowing into a tree instead. He’s lucky we got there when we did or he’d be dead, too.”
“Which reminds me,” Matthews said. “You got a phone call about the incident while I was at your office. Who called it in?”
“Anonymous.”
Danny studied Matthews’ face. He didn’t look like he bought the sheriff’s line of bull and his next question confirmed it. “Have you considered the possibility that this whole episode was a set-up?”
The sheriff shook his head and said, “There is no evidence to suggest anything of the sort.” He tapped his holster for emphasis and added, “Now, where are you hiding George? I’ve wasted enough time yakking about this. He’s our prime suspect in the murder of Nick Rossi and I’m hauling his ass off to jail where he belongs.”
“No one is hiding George,” said Matthews. “He was hurt in the accident, as you well know. He’s still recovering from his injuries so I left him in Reba Longstreet’s care. If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll go inside the Long House and talk to her about George’s arrest.”
By this time, several villagers had congregated outside the Long House when word of the sheriff’s arrival had become known. Pritchard watched the growing crowd warily and said, “Just make it snappy. And don’t try any funny business.”
Danny didn’t think the government man was inclined to turn George over to the sheriff. He’d asked too many probing questions, especially the last one. Danny had to respect the guy somewhat. He wasn’t taking whatever the sheriff dished out at face value. Not many whites would stand up to the law for an Indian that way. Danny fought the urge to follow Matthews into the Long House. As much as he wanted to hear what he told his mother, Danny was more interested in what might happen outside the Long House. By now, the entire village was aware that the sheriff planned to arrest George. The number of onlookers had grown to a sizable number and their grumbling rippled through the gathering like water over sharp rocks. They were an agitated and dangerous bunch. If a fight broke out, Danny wanted to be front and center for all the action. He needed to fight.
What he didn’t need was to talk to Ellie again. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d acted earlier. The wisecrack about her name was one thing, but spouting off about the dam to her father was worse. She probably thought he was a jerk even if what he said was the truth. Danny liked the way she stood up for her father, though. Ellie didn’t let on that they’d already met and he wondered why. Indian or white, girls were a mystery. Bella, his sometime girlfriend, could be a real spitfire when crossed, which was another problem altogether. If she even suspected that he might be interested in another girl, she’d dump him faster than a rattler’s strike. Not that he was interested in Ellie. She was so beautiful that she seemed more like a fantasy than a real live girl.
Danny hadn’t told anyone about seeing her at the Pioneer Cemetery but Walter knew him too well. He’d guessed something had happened there that affected Danny deeply. Walter said only a woman could be the source of so much emotion. But it wasn’t until Walter saw Ellie at the feast that he knew for sure. “Aw, man, you’ve gone and flipped for a white girl, haven’t you?” Danny had denied it, which just made Walter more convinced. “Remember, we have an important meet tonight.” Walter had seen Danny with Ellie and her father after the ceremony and his warning still rung in his ears, “Don’t waste time with that chick. She’s never going to fall for an Indian. Besides, her father wouldn’t let her.”
Sheriff Pritchard ignored the disgruntled rumblings from the crowd and lit another cigarette. A coughing fit followed his first drag. After he’d settled down, Danny said, “I don’t think the government man believes your wild tale any more than I do.”
“I don’t give a plug nickel about what you believe. Or Sam Matthews, either. You’re lucky I don’t run you in along with George.”
Here it comes. Danny knew the sheriff couldn’t resist drawing him into this story somehow. “On what trumped up charge?”
“You can drop the innocent act. You know very well that you’ve destroyed private property at Baker Bluff. Your signature was all over the place.”
“I’d never even heard of the place until a few minutes ago.”
The sheriff took another long drag on his cigarette. “So you say, but I have proof.” He pointed the cigarette at Danny. “Stay out of trouble or else.”
“Or else what?”
Pritchard glanced at the Long House. “Or else you and your buddies will find yourselves in worse shape than old George.”
Danny wasn’t afraid of the sheriff’s threats. The man had no idea what trouble was but he’d find out soon enough. Everyone would. But for now, he’d leave the fight over George to his village brothers. It was past time for him to go.
Chapter Eighteen
If Mr. Matthews thought banishing Dessa and Ellie to the Long House would save them from the turmoil surrounding Nick’s murder, he was mistaken. Granted, Ellie was upset but her father’s dismissal hadn’t helped the situation. She complained that he was treating her like a little baby again. “He thinks I’m too fragile to hear what the big brave men have to say.”
Dessa voiced a similar complaint but stopped short of expressing her true grievance. Mr. Matthews’ annoying assumption that the girls needed to be protected because of their delicate female sensitivities wasn’t the problem. A white boy murdered by a Celilo Indian was the scoop of a lifetime for any reporter and Dessa happened to be in the right place at the right time. Except that she wasn’t. She was stuck inside the Long House where she couldn’t hear a thing. And that was the real problem. If there was some way she could sneak outside, she could beat the actual reporters from The Dalles Chronicle to the story before they even knew what had happened. She’d already reimagined the headline for her newsletter: Celilo Indian Arrested for Murder.
“You and I know you’re strong girls,” Reba said, in a comforting voice. “But men, especially fathers, can’t always accept that. They see their role as protectors.” She guided the girls to the same bench they’d shared earlier. “Sit here and I’ll be right back with some water.”
While she was gone, Dessa scrutinized the layout of the vast hall for an escape route. It was not encouraging. The only way outside was through the door they’d just entered. Even if she could somehow slip away without Reba noticing, she’d have no cover once she’d made it outside, especially if Mr. Matthews and the sheriff were still standing nearby. It was possible that there was another, less exposed exit in the food prep area, but that’s where Reba had gone for their water. Another possibility would be a restroom with a handy window—preferably large enough for her to squeeze through.
When Reba returned, she carried two metal cups. “Our water comes straight from the falls,” she said, handing the cups to the girls. “We have a pump in the yard but always keep several jugs in a cooler when we have feasts.”
“Thank you,” Ellie said. “Mmm. Cold and refreshing.”
Dessa wasn’t as easily pacified as Ellie. It would take more than a cold drink to distract her from pursuing a great story. Unwilling to risk offending Reba by refusing the water, she thanked her and took a quick sip. “Is there a restroom here I could use?” she asked.
Reba shook her head. “Our Long House is built the way our ancestors’ built theirs. We use an outside facility.”
Perfect. “That’s okay,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “Just tell me where to find it.”
“I’m sorry, but I must ask you to wait,” Reba said. “As soon as Ellie’s father comes to fetch us, I will show you. I’m sure we won’t be here long.”
Drats. Reba might not have known the real reason behind Dessa’s need for a potty break, but Ellie wasn’t fooled for a minute. She gave Dessa the old “I know what you’re up to” eye roll. They had worked together on the newsletter long enough for Ellie to know how much Dessa liked being in on things. The sheriff’s account of Nick’s murder was just too exciting for her to miss. Dessa should’ve anticipated that Ellie would see through her ploy. Even though she’d fallen for Tony Rossi’s lying eyes and every whopper he’d ever uttered, Ellie had Dessa’s number and called her bluff. “You just want to listen to what the sheriff has to say.”
Dessa figured Ellie wanted to do the exact same thing, but was too chicken to act on it. She elected to change the subject rather than deny the accusation. “I had a wonderful time tonight,” she told Reba. “Too bad the sheriff had to come along and spoil things.”
“We’re used to it,” Reba said with her eyes lowered. “He doesn’t like us.”
“Why’s that?” asked Ellie.
“It’s just one of those things.” Reba sighed and added, “He’s not the only white person who feels that way.”
Ever the cheerleader, Ellie said, “If they’d been at the feast tonight they’d change their minds for sure.”
Reba sighed again. “You’re both sweet girls, but you have much to learn. Some people’s attitudes are changing, but it is a slow process. When I first came to Celilo we weren’t even allowed to eat in the restaurants in town. They put signs in the windows that said, ‘No dogs or Indians Allowed.’
“What? But . . . but that’s just not right!” Ellie blurted.
Ellie’s indignant reaction was typical of her. She knew that prejudice existed in the world, but still found it hard to believe the blatant and disgusting examples of it.
Dessa had no doubts. What’s more, she knew that the movie theater in town wouldn’t let Indians sit anywhere near their white patrons. Indians were restricted to the balcony seats only. If her mother’s rants about the “dirty drunken Injuns from Celilo” were any indication, it was no wonder they had trouble in town. “I’m so sorry,” Dessa said. Reba assured her that it wasn’t her fault but Dessa still felt guilty on behalf of her mother. Maureen was Catholic (considered questionable in some circles) and she was married to a Jew, which made social acceptance a doubly difficult struggle. Did she think that her position on the social ladder would somehow rise a notch or two higher if she denigrated those she believed to be even less socially acceptable? If so, that was as disgusting to Dessa as any sign or theater policy in town.
“A lot of things happen that aren’t right,” said Reba. “Including the sheriff accusing George Featherstone of murder.”
“My dad won’t let him go to jail if he’s innocent,” Ellie said confidently.
“From what I’ve seen, your father is a good man,” Reba said with a slight smile. “But the law is not on our side.”
“You don’t trust the sheriff, do you?” said Dessa.
“Not for a minute. George had no reason whatsoever to kill anyone. Especially not a white man. Such a thing could only bring us more trouble than we already have.”
“We knew Nick Rossi,” said Ellie. “He was only seventeen and Mr. Rossi’s cousin. They worked together at the real estate office and helped us find the house we bought.”
“His sudden death must be very upsetting for you.”
“It is,” Ellie said. “But I really only knew Nick slightly. Mr. Rossi, he’s the one who’ll be upset and sad.”
Tony didn’t strike Dessa as the type to mourn the loss of his cousin for long—probably no longer than it took to find another gofer. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to keep that assessment to herself. If she continued to bite her tongue every time Tony’s name came up, her smart-ass reputation was going to take a hit. And her tongue wouldn’t fare too well either.
The Long House door opened and Mr. Matthews entered. “How’re you girls doing?” he asked.
“They’re both doing very well,” Reba said. She touched Ellie’s shoulder as she rose from the bench. “You have a strong daughter, Sam Matthews. There’s no need to worry about her.”
Ellie smiled as she brought the water cup to her lips. Whether she knew it or not, Reba had just made a friend for life.
“Thank you,” he said, looking fondly at Ellie. “I’m very proud of her.” Dessa guessed that was about as far as he would go. No matter what Reba said, Mr. Matthews was the kind of parent who’d never stop worrying about his daughter.
“What did the sheriff say?” Reba asked.
Dessa held her breath while she waited for Mr. Matthews to respond. She knew he wouldn’t get into anything gory, but she hoped he would at least cover the where, why, and how of the case. If her article were to be halfway interesting, she’d have to report more than just the name of the victim and his accused killer. Unfortunately for her journalistic aspirations, Mr. Matthews’ explanation was short on details.
“Sheriff Pritchard’s story has more holes than a leaky rowboat, but we have no choice,” he said. “We have to turn George over to him.”
“I know, but . . . jail, it will not be a good place for him,” Reba protested. “He’s too old, too sick.”
“It’ll be all right,” Mr. Matthews said. “I won’t let anything bad happen to him.”
Dessa knew Mr. Matthews was a nice man, even a good man as Reba had said. But his ardent support of an Indian he didn’t know made no sense. What was she missing?
Reba’s eyes searched his face for reassurance. From what she’d said earlier, trusting a white man’s promises had to be difficult.
Mr. Matthews acknowledged her fears. “Given Sheriff Pritchard’s attitude toward your people, George’s arrest is a very troubling development. He will need a tribal lawyer as soon as possible. In the meantime, I will do whatever I can for him. You have my word.”
Every bone in Dessa’s body said there was something going on here besides simple kindness. And she needed to find out what. Any good reporter would do the same.
With Mr. Matthew’s pledge still hanging in the air, they went outside. The sheriff stood next to the bird pole smoking a cigarette while a large group of villagers congregated nearby. He’d assumed a casual, relaxed stance, but it was just for show. Hard gray eyes scanned the villagers’ movements. His right hand fidgeted with the holster strap. The day had cooled off, but steady drops of sweat ran down the side of his grim face. Nervous sweat. Trembling gun hand. Mr. Matthews read the signs and took the girls aside. “I want you to stay close to me,” he said. “This could get dangerous.”
Dessa’s heart beat faster. It was probably foolish, but she hoped that things did get dangerous. A little danger would do nicely for her purposes.
“Where’s Danny?” Reba asked, eying the crowd anxiously.
Sheriff Pritchard tossed his cigarette on the ground and crushed it out with his boot. “He took off. Probably up to no good, but I’ll deal with him later. Right n
ow, I want George Featherstone.” His thin lips twisted in a haughty smirk. “Quit stalling, Matthews. You’ve hid behind the squaw’s skirts long enough. Turn him over. Now!”
If the sheriff’s intention had been to arrest George without incident, he’d made a royal mess of it. Furious shouting erupted following his rude and hostility-provoking demand. Reba had been right about this man. He hated her and her people. Her face was impossible to read, but Mr. Matthews’ outrage was unmistakable. His whole body bristled. He took the girls’ hands in his and stepped forward so that they were positioned between the villagers and the sheriff. Mr. Matthews spoke in a strong, no-nonsense voice that could be heard above the clamor behind them. “Re-phrase your request, sheriff. Respectfully this time.”
Dessa looked over her shoulder at the villagers. Mr. Matthews’ forceful response to Sheriff Pritchard had grabbed their full attention. It seemed to her that they were taken aback by how he had admonished the sheriff. They’d quieted down but the tension in the air was still raw.
Sheriff Pritchard glared at Mr. Matthews, a muscle tensing in his jaw. There was total silence now, as if everyone were holding their breath to see what the sheriff would do. His eyes shifted from Mr. Matthews to the crowd. Any fool could see that he was seriously outnumbered. The question was whether the sheriff believed his authority as armed lawman gave him the upper hand. It was clear that he didn’t like being challenged by Mr. Matthews but he shrugged his bony shoulders as if unconcerned. “Oh, what the hell,” he said. “Whatever makes you feel better. How’s this? I’d like you to turn over George Featherstone now.”
“Not quite there yet.”
“I’d like you to turn over George Featherstone, please.”
Celilo's Shadow Page 17
