Skin Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 2)

by Melissa Bowersock

  “I’m good,” Sam said.

  Gabe took the chair opposite and after Roxanne brought Lacey’s water, she settled in another chair just off the corner of the couch.

  “Sorry,” Roxanne said. “We both just got home from work, so we’re not quite organized. Did you have a good trip?”

  “Yeah, great,” Lacey said. “It’s amazing out here.”

  “You’ve never been out here before?” Roxanne asked.

  “No, never.” Lacey sipped her water and set the glass aside. “I had no idea what to expect.”

  “Well,” Roxanne said, waving a hand, “as you can see, it’s all pretty normal. There is a mix here of traditional and modern, though, so you’ll see both.”

  “Grampa wants you to come out tonight after dinner,” Gabe said to Sam.

  Sam nodded. “Okay. Is he all right?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s fine,” Gabe said. “just, you know…” He gave Sam a knowing look. Lacey wondered if he would have said more if she wasn’t present.

  “So you’re a cop, huh?” Gabe asked her.

  “Ex-cop,” she qualified. “Private investigator now.”

  “And you guys solve crimes, huh? Like Batman and Robin?”

  Lacey glanced over at Sam, wondering what he had told them. And wondering who was supposed to be Batman and who was Robin.

  “Come on, Gabe,” Sam said wearily. “Don’t be a dick.” Gabe leveled a pleased look at his brother and Lacey thought she understood the dynamic. She and her brother teased each other mercilessly.

  “Well, why don’t I get dinner on the table?” Roxanne said. She rose and headed for the kitchen. Lacey popped up and was right behind her.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Let’s see,” Roxanne said. “How about glasses of water for everyone? Cold water’s in the fridge.”

  Lacey went to the cabinet Roxanne pointed out and got the glasses, then retrieved the pitcher of water. “So you work in the medical field?” she asked.

  “At the clinic,” Roxanne said. “I’m a tech.”

  “Is that here in Tuba City?” She poured glasses and set them all around the table, noting the six place settings.

  “Yeah, about five miles from here.”

  “So you don’t have the commute that Gabe has,” Lacey noted. “I’ll bet that can be tough in winter.”

  “Oh, yeah. But if it gets too bad, he just stays home. Always plenty to do around here.” Roxanne worked as she talked, forking tender, succulent-smelling meat from a crock pot into a bowl.

  “That smells delicious,” Lacey said.

  “Navajo tacos,” Roxanne said. She covered the meat and went to the stove, turning up the heat under a large cast iron skillet. “You ever had them?”

  “No.” Lacey carried the bowl of meat to the table and returned to watch Roxanne. “Tacos, yes. Navajo, no.”

  “You’ll like them,” she said, smiling. She pulled a towel off a pan of flat, doughy cakes and slipped one round into the hot oil in the skillet. Immediately the air was filled with the sound of sizzling, popping oil.

  “Gabe,” she called back toward the living room. “Call the boys. We’re almost ready.”

  Both Gabe and Sam got up, Sam wandering into the kitchen as his brother went out the front door and let loose with a piercing whistle. It wasn’t too many minutes before what sounded like a chaos of boys tumbled in.

  “Beat ya!”

  “Did not!”

  “Did, too!”

  “Hey,” Gabe said, cutting into the argument. “Look who’s here.”

  The two boys, both miniature versions of Gabe, glanced around. The sight of Lacey brought confused stares, but the sight of Sam unleashed wild joy.

  “Uncle Sam!” they both yelled. Together they ran to Sam and tackled him, pushing their uncle up against a wall with their exuberant greetings. Sam steadied himself against the wall as well as he could and hugged the boys back, laughing.

  “Holy crap,” he said, “where did these two right guards come from? Who are you guys and where are my nephews?”

  “It’s us, Uncle Sam,” the smaller one said happily. “It’s me, Griff.”

  “No, sorry,” Sam said. “My nephews are much younger than you guys. I just saw them a few months ago, and you’re not them.”

  “Lookit, Uncle Sam.” The older boy pulled back the sleeve of his t-shirt and made a muscle. Sam felt it and whistled appreciatively.

  “What’re you doing to get muscles like that?” he asked. Griff was imitating his brother, but was having less success finding the rounded head of his bicep.

  “Chopping firewood,” the boy said proudly.

  “Yeah. I’ll remember how proud you are of those muscles next time you complain about your chores,” Gabe said. “Hey, we’ve got a guest here. This is Lacey Fitzpatrick. Lacey, meet Carson and Griff.”

  Lacey stepped forward and shook hands with both boys. “Carson, Griff. Nice to meet you. How old are you guys?”

  “Twelve,” said Carson, taking the lead.

  “I’m ten,” Griff said.

  “So you two must be a big help to your dad around here, huh?” Lacey asked.

  Griff nodded enthusiastically, but Carson scowled.

  “Okay, guys,” Roxanne said. “Go wash up for dinner. We’re about ready.”

  The race that was interrupted earlier began again, the boys thundering down the hall.

  “I win!”

  “Did not!”

  “Did so!”

  Lacey chuckled. “Keep you on your toes, do they?” she asked.

  “Oh, please,” Roxanne said, laughing. “Don’t get me started. Okay, let’s sit.”

  She directed Sam and Lacey to the far side of the table opposite the boys, while she and Gabe took the ends. Immediately she passed the warmer of flat bread to Lacey.

  “What is this?” Lacey asked, taking a round. “It smells wonderful.”

  “Fry bread,” Roxanne said. “Use it like a tortilla and pile whatever you want on top of it.”

  As bowls were passed, Lacey took a bit of everything: meat, tomatoes, onions, diced potatoes, cheese. Before she was done, she realized she had a veritable mountain of food on her plate.

  “Uh oh,” she said, eyeing the construction. She noted Gabe folding his less loaded fry bread and eating it like a taco. There was no way she could do that.

  Sam gave a soft chuckle. Leaning toward her, he said, “You can use your knife and fork if you want. Whatever works.” He folded his as well and bit off a chunk.

  “Okay,” Lacey said. “Good.” She cut a small section off and popped it into her mouth. And sighed.

  “That has to be the tenderest meat I’ve ever had,” she said.

  “What is it today?” Sam asked. “Antelope or coyote? Maybe horse?”

  Lacey blanched. “Horse?” she squeaked.

  Gabe punched his brother in the arm. “Now who’s being a dick?” he asked.

  Carson and Griff giggled.

  “Gabe, please,” Roxanne warned.

  “Hey, he said it first,” Gabe said in his own defense.

  Roxanne gave him a baleful stare, then turned to Lacey. “It’s beef, Lacey. Really. Just cooked in the crock pot for about twenty hours.”

  “Well, it’s fabulous,” Lacey said, cutting another piece. She shot Sam a menacing look.

  Roxanne leaned close. “Now you see why I can’t teach these little monsters any manners when they’ve got two hooligans for role models.”

  Lacey laughed. “Yeah, I see that.” She looked around the table and smiled. Nice family, she thought.

  By the time everyone pushed plates away, Lacey was stuffed. She was going to have to do double workouts when she got home; that much was obvious. When Roxanne stood up and began collecting plates, Lacey was up on her feet to help.

  “Relax, Lacey,” Roxanne said. “I’ve got this. Boys, bring your plates.”

  Lacey settled in her seat again as both boys began carrying plates to the kitc
hen. Griff came and took Lacey’s, his round face peeking at her shyly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to him.

  He grinned and whirled back to the kitchen.

  “You can take my truck to Grampa’s,” Gabe was saying to Sam. He tilted his head at Lacey. “Don’t want to tear out the bottom of Lacey’s car.”

  She perked up then. “Oh?”

  “Rough road,” Sam said.

  “Oh. Okay.” Rough road. Like how rough, she wondered.

  Gabe got up and retrieved car keys from the kitchen counter and tossed them to Sam. “You should go. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Okay. We’ll just bring in our stuff from the car first.” Sam got up to go outside and Lacey was right behind him.

  When they brought in their luggage, Roxanne directed them to a back bedroom for Lacey. “Sorry about this,” she said, motioning toward bunk beds and Transformers posters on the wall. “This is Griff’s room, but he’ll double up with Carson.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Lacey said. “I’m sorry to put Griff out of his room, but hopefully it won’t be for long.”

  She tossed her duffel on the bed and dug out her parka. She couldn’t imagine what else she might need, so left it at that and went to join Sam in the living room.

  “…Big Rock Canyon,” she heard Gabe saying to Sam. “Grampa’ll show you.”

  Sam nodded and watched Lacey approach. “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. She wasn’t exactly sure that she really was ready, or that she had any idea what she was supposed to be ready for.

  ~~~

  FOUR

  The road to Grampa’s started out level enough. As Sam pulled the truck away from the house, the headlights slewed across a couple of small mud huts and some rough fencing. Then they found a dirt road that led out into the empty darkness.

  “How far is it?” she asked. The rocks that littered the road caused the truck to shimmy and rattle violently. She was very glad they hadn’t brought her car, and wondered how long any vehicle lasted out here if it was leaving a trail of nuts and bolts behind.

  “Few miles,” Sam said. “Not far.”

  Good. She braced her feet against the floorboard and concentrated on keeping her body upright when the truck lurched and slewed sideways.

  Rough road, she thought sarcastically.

  Sam slowed the truck to a crawl and steered it down a steep embankment. Lacey put both hands on the dashboard and pushed herself back against the seat, having to fight both the tendency to fall forward with the slope and the sideways lurch as Sam drove over rocks and potholes. She gritted her teeth against the constant shimmy and wondered where in the hell they were going.

  The headlights revealed a narrow, sandy wash at the bottom of the slope, too narrow to serve as a road. Instead, Sam guided the truck up the slope on the opposite side, but on the slant, so Lacey slid toward her side window and hoped to hell the truck wouldn’t roll. Sam walked the truck up the road—road, ha!—crawling up over rocks and dropping down heavily into ruts. As they gained more elevation, the road turned more directly upward, allowing Lacey to sit without sliding sideways, although she still braced herself against the constant rattling.

  They topped the ridge and Sam picked up speed, then slowed again as they crossed another wash, this one not as deep nor as narrow. Finally he turned left and sped across flatter ground. The headlights jittered and bounced, but Lacey thought she saw a construction, something squat and conical, coming into view.

  Sam drove directly to the large mud-sided hut and stopped the truck, cutting the lights. Lacey could see no evidence of activity in the hogan with the exception of a thin ribbon of smoke escaping from the stovepipe through the roof, quickly torn apart by the night breeze.

  “Come on,” Sam said. He piled out of the truck and Lacey scrambled to follow, tobacco in hand.

  Sam walked to the door and knocked. Lacey noticed the door was wood, an odd contrast to the hard, dried mud of the outside walls of the hogan. She looked up at the sky and was stunned by the proliferation of stars, more than she had ever seen. They looked like handfuls of tiny diamonds strewn across black velvet.

  Sam called out something in Navajo. At a muted response from inside the hogan, he pulled the door open and motioned Lacey in. She ducked beneath the low doorway, stepped inside the dim dwelling and stopped.

  The hogan seemed much larger inside than it had from the outside. Lacey’s eyes jumped to the patterned rugs scattered around the dirt floor, the basic, rustic wood stove in the center of the room, the table and few chairs. Crude wooden shelves held a haphazard collection of ceramic pots and woven baskets, pails and kerosene lanterns, as well as dozens of other things she had no reference for. From the gloom of the back of the hogan, a small figure rose and walked toward them.

  He was dressed in blue jeans and a plaid Western shirt, his hair pulled back in the traditional Navajo bun. He walked stiffly, slightly bent over. Lacey thought she’d be pushing it if she said he was five feet tall.

  Sam spoke softly in Navajo, gesturing toward Lacey, and then she heard her name.

  “This is my grampa, Ben Firecloud,” Sam said directly to her.

  Lacey was unsure how to respond, but the old man put out a shaky hand to her. She clasped it warmly with both hands, the pouch of tobacco in the mix, and when their hands parted, he held the pouch. In the dim light, she thought she could see a childlike crinkle around the ancient eyes, and a small smile on his lips.

  “Hello,” Lacey said. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She had no idea if he understood her words or not, but hoped her voice would convey the sentiment.

  Ben turned slowly, his steps shuffling, and gestured toward the right side of the hogan. Sam nudged Lacey and urged her that way.

  She was glad to see the old man take one of the simple wooden chairs at the table. She couldn’t imagine him trying to fold those old bones enough to sit on the rug on the floor. She slid into the chair across the corner from him and Sam took the one opposite her.

  “I’ll apologize in advance,” he said. “Let me find out what Grampa thinks is going on.”

  She nodded, and the two launched into a quiet discussion, the strange sounds washing over her.

  She looked about the hogan. With her eyes adjusted to the low light of the kerosene lamp, she could make out the structure of the walls and ceiling. The walls were made of horizontal poles, stacked and tied into an eight-sided enclosure. The ceiling, however, was much more striking. There, the poles were alternately interwoven, each side tied into its two neighbors, almost as if they were braided. The roof rose from the walls, growing smaller as it went higher, the apex crowned with the stovepipe that poked out the top. Staring at the intricate construction, Lacey thought it a rustic work of art.

  The interior walls, she noted, were hung in places with animal pelts or blankets decorated with geometric patterns. There were no windows, and no pictures on the walls. The back of the hogan, opposite the door, seemed to be a jumble of blankets, and she wondered if the old man slept there.

  She couldn’t imagine this shuffling old soul living out here alone, not when the family had comfortable homes. She was warm enough with her jacket on, but had to wonder how cold it got out here in midwinter. Did Ben chop his own wood? Haul his own water? It seemed such a crude life for someone so fragile.

  She was jarred out of her musings when Sam and Ben seemed to come to some decision, and Sam rose from his chair. He turned to Lacey as Ben shambled to his feet.

  “Grampa’s going to take us to the place where my cousin’s body was found. I’m going to see if I can pick up on what he was feeling there.”

  “All right.” Lacey stood and watched Ben fight with his chair, his feet tangling with the legs. She wanted to offer help but wasn’t sure if that would be received as she intended or as an insult. She was glad to see Sam finally step forward and help the old man separate himself from the chair.

  Ben pulled on an old flannel-lined denim jacket and
they all exited the hogan. She was thankful Sam headed for the truck; walking anywhere with Ben would take forever. She opened the passenger door and, smiling back at Ben, climbed in to take the middle seat, leaving the old man the somewhat easier climb to the outside seat. When he finally settled beside her, she impulsively slid her arm through his. He looked over at her, his weathered walnut-colored face a map of wrinkles, and winked at her.

  He smelled of smoke and something else, something like the smell of lard in Roxanne’s kitchen. Not exactly Old Spice, she thought, but not bad, either.

  Sam started the truck and pulled on the lights. He backed away from the hogan, his arm across the back of the seat as he went. Then, shifting into drive, he started forward across the desolate ground. The bluish tinge of the headlights made it look like another planet.

  Ben directed Sam in the strange language, occasionally pointing with his right hand. His left lay comfortably against Lacey’s thigh. She absently rubbed his arm with her left hand, feeling the way the jacket sleeve floated around his thin arm.

  The truck bounced and jittered. They drove through a few shallow washes, just depressions where the rainwater took the path of least resistance. Lacey peered into the cones of light that led the way and hardly noticed the jolts and shimmies.

  Suddenly Ben called out, gesturing to the right. Sam stopped the truck too quickly and it skidded a little on the loose ground. The two men talked back and forth, then Sam backed the truck and brought it forward again, angling it so the headlights slewed to the right. He cut the engine but left the lights on, and they all clambered from the truck.

  Ben tottered across the uneven ground, so Lacey went and linked her arm with his again, allowing him to steady himself against her. He grinned at her, and she saw for the first time that his teeth were alarmingly worn down, just nubs, actually. She guessed it was just good that he had teeth at all.

  He called to Sam, directing him with his voice and hand. When Ben stopped, Sam walked on alone. He covered the barren ground slowly, his shadow stretching out into the distance along with the beams of light to either side.

  Lacey watched him walk. He took slow, careful steps, stopping to peer at the ground, then moving on. Ben would occasionally call out and Sam might move a bit one way or another. Finally he stopped and hunkered down, his arms crossed over his knees. He turned his head slightly as if listening, and again Lacey thought of a cat on the hunt. For several moments, he crouched completely still, the only movement being the slight swirling of his long hair in the breeze.