“Pixie dust?” she ventured.
The girl shook her head solemnly. “Sorry.”
“Magic?”
“Nope. You get one more try.”
Aroostine considered her next guess.
“Love?”
The fairy girl popped to her feet.
“Close. But it’s moon glow.”
“Of course,” Aroostine said. She tried to keep a straight face, but the girl was so adorable it was ridiculous.
The girl appraised her.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
“No, you haven’t,” Aroostine agreed.
“I know. I know everybody who lives on the reservation. And the tourists are usually . . . white. Where do you live?”
“I’m from Pennsylvania. It’s pretty far away.”
“I know. It’s near New York, right?” the girl said proudly.
“Yep.”
“You’re Native, though. Like me,” the girl observed.
“Right again. My name’s Aroostine.” She smiled at the girl.
“I’m Lily.” The girl stuck out her free hand and Aroostine took her small palm in her hand and gave it a shake.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lily.”
“Thanks. My name’s a flower. My mom’s is a jewel. What does yours mean?”
“It means sparkling water.”
“That’s pretty.”
“So is Lily,” she told the girl. Then she asked, “What are you doing in the bushes? Looking for fairy houses?”
The girl shook her head. Her eyes were big and serious. “Waiting for my mom. She works inside.”
Aroostine tried to keep her judgment off her face. Maybe childcare was hard to come by on the reservation, but surely there was a safer place for the girl to spend her time than crouching in the bushes outside the casino.
“Do you always wait for her out here?”
The girl answered with a quick shake of her head, tossing her hair over her face. “Oh, no. Usually I stay at our place. I do my homework and get ready for bed. Mom works pretty late some nights. Most of the time we have dinner together and then I see her in the morning.”
Latchkey kid.
Aroostine flashed back to a very long time ago, before the Higginses adopted her. A memory of warming a plate her grandfather had left for her in the oven while he was at a tribal council meeting. Eating alone and crawling into bed and listening to the wind blow outside the window. She blinked away the memory.
“So what are you doing out here, then?” she asked.
“Mom said it isn’t safe to be home alone tonight.”
News of the murder must be making the rounds, if the girl’s mother thought she was safer hanging around the casino than tucked in her bed.
Headlights arced over her, and then Joe slowed the maroon Jeep to a stop near the bench.
“Well, I have to go, Lily. It was nice to meet you.”
“Good-bye, Aroostine. Have fun in Pennsylvania.”
The way the girl said “Pennsylvania,” as if it were the most glamorous location imaginable, made Aroostine’s heart squeeze in her chest.
She turned as she slid into the passenger side of the car and said, “Moon glow.”
She could hear the girl’s excited giggling as she closed the door.
They drove in companionable silence for several minutes, winding their way down the lushly landscaped hills that separated the resort from the rest of the reservation. Aroostine couldn’t shake Lily from her mind.
“Pull over, okay?”
Joe gave her a curious look but edged the Jeep to the side of the road. He put the vehicle in park and turned on his blinkers.
“Too much cake?”
“Nothing like that.”
She unbelted her seat belt and turned to face him full on. She inhaled deeply then exhaled.
“Uh-oh, you’re gearing yourself up for a big pronouncement. I can tell.”
She ignored the commentary. “Joe, I don’t want to go back to our hotel.”
“Okay? What do you have in mind? I’m game for a late night of carousing if you are.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Well, what then?”
She gnawed on her lower lip and considered what she was about to say. Was she sure about this?
Palmer and his blank, staring eyes. The long-eared rabbit, lying supine in the field. The uninterested police response. Lily’s small face, so somber even with all her fairy finery surrounding her in a cloud of glitter.
“I want to stay here and get to the bottom of Isaac Palmer’s murder. I have to, Joe.”
She braced herself for his reaction.
He just sat there, unmoving and staring out into the dark night. Finally, he turned the key and switched off the engine. He checked for cars and then opened his door.
She got out the passenger side.
He headed around the car, head down, and started toward a gravel path near the side of the road. She jogged after him.
“Joe? Where are you going?”
He looked over his shoulder and pinned her with a look that tore at her heart. His face was a study of anguish.
“I need a minute. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. Things have been so good between us. I’m trying not to screw this up. Please. Just go back to the car. I want to clear my head,” he nearly pleaded.
“Wait, please. I have to tell you this—it’s important. This isn’t about Sid or getting back in good graces at Main Justice. This is about me, something I have to do to be at peace with myself.” As she said the words, she was thinking of the little girl with fairy wings hiding in the bushes.
He shot her a look that she couldn’t read but nodded. “I hear you.”
He turned back to the dark path and walked into the woods.
CHAPTER SIX
Joe clenched and relaxed his fists as he trudged along the dark trail. Clench, relax. Clench, relax.
His thumping heart and the sweat beading at his hairline were signs either that his body recognized that his nighttime promenade through a strange field was ill-advised or that his anger at Aroostine was bubbling to the surface despite his efforts to quell it. Or maybe both.
He stomped farther along the path and paused near a copse of trees. He glanced back. He didn’t see Aroostine’s tall, lean figure near the road. He blinked in surprise that she apparently had done as he’d asked and gone back to the car. Not so long ago, she would have pushed the issue and followed him. But not anymore.
He leaned against a tree trunk and focused on slowing his breathing.
It’s progress that she’s consulting you, asking for your input, he chided himself.
It was true. Ever since she’d returned from DC, she’d been close-lipped—even for her. She was warm and attentive when they were together, but she didn’t ask what he thought about anything that didn’t involve their shared home life.
Switching Rufus’ brand of food? She’d engage in a heartfelt discussion.
Agreeing to the assignment at the US Attorney’s Office in Johnstown? She hadn’t even mentioned her new position until she’d been working there for almost a week.
And that was the way it had been with everything. If it involved their marriage, their home, or their families, they were a team. If it related to her career, he was persona non grata.
He understood. How could he not? She’d asked him to support her when she’d moved to Washington, DC, for her big break, and he’d agreed. But when the time came to actually put the pieces of his life in the tidy white rows of Bankers Boxes she’d assembled for him, he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t leave the farmhouse they’d restored together, room by room, over the early months and years of their marriage.
He couldn’t leave his workshop with the table where he’d sanded and carved and shaped planks and doors and boards into their new lives. Every design choice was stuffed full of memories, from the dry sink she’d found at a flea market to the wall sconces he
’d rewired to mount on either side of the fireplace mantle. He couldn’t leave the creek that ran behind their place, the meadow where they’d said their vows, the diner where they had breakfast on lazy Saturdays. He was paralyzed with grief every time he contemplated those blasted moving boxes, staring up at him empty and reproachful.
Meanwhile, she’d been sitting in a sterile, mostly unfurnished condo, waiting for him to do what he’d promised and come to be with her. Instead, he’d stopped returning her calls then served her with divorce papers.
Stop beating yourself up; look to the future, not the past. He repeated the words she’d said to him so often in the early days after they’d reconciled. And to their shared credit, they had forged forward together, leaving the past behind them, where it belonged. This trip was part of their new life together, a chance to make new memories to replace the ones they’d rather not dredge up.
But now she was going to go off on a mission. He’d known this was coming. He’d seen the excited glint in her eye when she got in the car.
The hill he’d been huffing up crested, and he stood for a minute and surveyed the dark outline of the mountains, the tall trees bending in the wind, and the stillness of the air. The quiet was pierced by a shrill birdcall. Joe started at the sound. Then a dark shape swooped overhead, low and close. He ducked, stumbled backward, and nearly lost his footing.
“A bird must fly.”
The voice came from the clearing to the right and scared him worse than the bird had. He grabbed a tree trunk to avoid tumbling off the ridge.
A man stepped out of the dark, holding a lantern.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, a smile creasing his tanned, lined face.
Joe examined the man’s face in the light dancing from the lantern. He looked to be in his midsixties or so. Long white hair, parted and braided into two neat plaits, hung over his shoulders.
“Uh, no worries, ” Joe lied. It was clear the man was a Native American and presumably a local. But it wasn’t at all clear why he was traipsing around in the dark while a murderer was on the loose.
The man extended his right hand. “I’m Matthew Cowslip. Everyone calls me Boom.”
Joe wiped his sweaty palm on his slacks and then shook Boom’s proffered hand.
“Joe Jackman.”
“I know.”
Joe cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. The hairs on his arms stood up. Was this an ambush? The notion never would have occurred to him a year earlier, but being targeted and drugged by a prostitute in a bar, spirited to a remote cabin, and held hostage by a homicidal Eastern European gangster tended to make a guy suspicious of overly friendly strangers.
“You do?”
“Sure. You’re with Aroostine Higgins, correct?”
“I’m her husband,” he said in a half growl, his worry mounting. He didn’t know which direction the man had come from. What if he’d already encountered Aroostine at the car? What if he’d hurt her . . . or worse? He clenched his fists at his side.
“Of course. Ms. Higgins called in the report of the tragic death of one of our young people, Isaac Palmer.” Boom gave a sad shake of his head at the mention of Palmer’s death but kept his face open and friendly, as if to reassure Joe that he meant no harm.
“Are you with the tribal police?”
“No, no. But I’m an elder and a member of the cultural board. We’ll be working closely with the police.”
“How?”
“Community patrols, encouraging people to talk if they saw something, that sort of thing.” Boom’s eyes narrowed and his voice took on a pained note. “And, of course, helping to ensure our guests feel safe.”
“Your guests?”
“The white fat cats who want to tour our grounds, gamble away their money in our casinos, and enjoy some overpriced alcohol and meals while they’re at it. It wouldn’t do for our profits to dip if they get scared off by the death of one expendable Indian.” Anger clouded his face for the briefest moment. And then he smoothed it away with a too-bright grin. “Which reminds me, did you enjoy your dinner?”
“Price was right,” Joe joked. Boom’s mercurial mood shifts were making him uneasy. And humor was Joe’s fallback when he was uncomfortable. He wanted to get out of the woods and back to his wife.
Boom laughed and clasped Joe’s shoulder with his free hand. “Very good.”
“Well, Mr. Cowslip—”
“Please. It’s Boom.”
“Okay, Boom. I need to get back to Aroostine. She’s waiting in the car. I just had to . . .”
Joe didn’t intend to tell this guy he just had to get away from his wife before he said something he regretted. Before he could come up with a plausible lie, Boom supplied one.
“Relieve yourself?”
“Yeah, right. Nature called.”
“Hmm. Well, yes, hurry back to the missus.”
“Nice meeting you,” Joe said as he turned to head back down the trail.
“Do you know what happens when you clip a bird’s wings?”
Joe turned back, disconcerted by the odd question. “No.”
Boom turned the lamp in his hand toward himself. He looked exactly like a ghoulish jack-o’-lantern.
“It doesn’t have a way to cope with flightlessness. It becomes irritable, meek, anxious, and fearful.”
“Oh-kay.” Joe started backing away.
“I hope you and your strong, brave wife will stay on the reservation for a few days.”
“Why’s that?” Joe wondered where he was headed with this sudden change in topics.
“We need her help. We need an outsider who understands our ways and traditions and can also navigate the federal issues that Isaac’s death will certainly stir up.”
“What federal issues would those be?”
As far as he knew, Aroostine had honored Sid’s request not to mention the potential embezzlement charges to anyone on the reservation. And he couldn’t help wondering how Boom knew his wife’s heritage. Did word spread that fast? Or was Boom more connected than he was letting on?
“I’m sure you know as well as I do that Isaac found evidence of embezzlement at the casino.”
Joe stared at him. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” he lied.
“I doubt that very much. Your wife didn’t make the trip out here to talk to Isaac about the weather. Don’t worry, it’s not common knowledge. But as a member of the cultural board, I have to have my finger on these issues.”
“Right. It wouldn’t do for your guests to get the wrong impression.”
“Or the right impression, as the case may be. But in this instance, I think my people have a serious problem.” Boom’s voice was grim.
“Oh?” Joe said reluctantly. Joe wasn’t at all sure what Boom was up to but his desire to end the weird conversation and go find his wife was becoming urgent.
“A fish rots from the head, Mr. Jackman. I’m convinced the information Isaac uncovered traces directly back to Lee Buckmount.” Boom dropped this bombshell with a triumphant note in his voice.
It was clear from the way Boom emphasized the name that he expected a reaction. He was going to be sorely disappointed.
“Who?”
Boom sighed. “Right, why would you know? Mr. Buckmount is our chief financial officer.”
“There’s a tribe CFO?”
“Technically, he’s the CFO of the tribe-owned corporation that operates the casino and resort, but that’s just a nicety. He is, in reality, basically the CFO of the three tribes who form the reservation, yes.”
“And you think he killed Isaac Palmer?” he ventured, not at all sure why Boom would be sharing his theories with a stranger in the woods. Unless their encounter wasn’t random.
“I didn’t say that. I think Isaac Palmer’s death is related to Mr. Buckmount’s activities.”
“You sound like a lawyer. What activities would those be?”
Boom shook his head, his braids whacking against his neck.
“I’m not sure. Possibly drug activities. I’ve thought for a while he’s had a problem, but I’m not sure. That’s why I need your wife’s help.”
Joe stiffened at the thought of Aroostine wading into a scandal involving tribal politics ugly enough to result in murder. “I’m not sure why you think Aroostine can help you.”
“Because our community is small and insular. And because the outside views us with disdain and suspicion. But she understands our ways—and yours. Please. Mr. Jackman, let her do what’s in her heart.”
Boom’s timbre was pleading and sincere. But Joe was just creeped out. It was like the guy had installed a listening device in the car or something. How could he possibly know what was in Aroostine’s heart?
“Um—”
“Just spend the night. The cultural board maintains an authentic home we offer to rich, white philanthropists who want to get the flavor of life on the res. You’re welcome to it. Stay, watch the sun rise over the majestic mountains and enjoy some of our cook Selena’s hand-ground cornmeal cakes for breakfast. You’ll be my guest. If you still want to go back to your luxury resort after experiencing all of that, well, then go right ahead.”
For a possibly demented old guy, Boom sure was a masterful salesman.
“Well . . .”
“Talk to your wife. See what she says. If you want to stay, I’ll see you at the guest cottage. It’s just two doors down from Isaac’s house.”
Joe left the man standing in the clearing and hurried along the trail back to the road. A jumble of thoughts whirled through his mind as he tripped over rocks and roots. Boom’s comments about drugs, crime, and profit on the reservation were background noise. Joe kept coming back to the cryptic remarks about clipping a bird’s wings. He couldn’t be responsible for grounding his wife, flightless and listless. He had to let her fulfill her purpose.
A bird must fly.
He quickened his pace as the ground flattened, running back to her.
Aroostine milled around the car for a moment after Joe stalked off. She had no intention of getting back in the Jeep just because he’d told her to. At least he hadn’t said “I told you so,” in response to her announcement. That was progress of a sort.
Slipping into the passenger seat held some appeal. She was tired. No, she was more than tired. She was drained. She’d started her day with a sunrise hike and ended it by finding a murder victim. Closing her eyes and leaning back against the headrest sounded like a much better way to wait out Joe’s fit or tantrum, or whatever he was doing, than pacing back and forth.
Chilling Effect (An Aroostine Higgins Novel Book 2) Page 4
