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

by Melissa Bowersock

  Roxanne had stopped what she was doing and stood staring at Lacey, hands on hips. “Wait. They actually asked you that?”

  Lacey laughed grimly. “Not in so many words. But it was there. ‘You really didn’t have any idea?’ ‘You never suspected anything?’ Like that.”

  “Reporters can be such jerks,” Roxanne said.

  “That’s the truth,” Lacey agreed. “I fully support what they do, but sometimes they choose aggressive and very unsympathetic ways to do it.”

  “Well,” Roxanne grumbled as she turned back to her preparations, “anyone who knows you can tell you’ve got integrity. The rest of them are just… ignorant.”

  Lacey touched Roxanne lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks,” she said.

  Roxanne grinned. “Don’t mention it.”

  By the time the first guests arrived, there was a healthy fire in the fire pit and the dining room table was ready to receive food offerings. Modesto and his family were the first to show up.

  This time Lacey was ready for his enveloping hug. The big man squeezed her gently, then introduced her to his wife and kids.

  “This is Irene,” he said, his big hand on the woman’s shoulder. “And our kids Simon, Jasmine and Paul.”

  Lacey shook Irene’s hand and waved to the kids, who were anxious to go find Carson and Griff. Irene was a small woman, not more than five feet tall, Lacey guessed, and very slender. She wondered how the woman stood up to her well-meaning but heavy-handed husband. Modesto was head and shoulders taller than she was.

  “I brought dessert,” Irene said. She motioned to a foil-covered pan on the counter. “Peach cobbler.”

  “Oh, good,” Roxanne said. “Yours is the best.”

  “Sounds yummy,” Lacey said. The three women went to reorganize the table, designating one end for desserts, but knowing they would most likely reorganize again and again as dishes came in. Lacey caught herself watching Irene’s feet as she walked. Nothing pigeon-toed about her.

  Modesto’s sister, Felicity, came next. She and her family blew in like a squall, loud and disorganized. Roxanne introduced them to Lacey, but even shaking hands was difficult amid the chaos.

  “Nice to meet you,” Felicity said. “Jason, quit whining. We’re not buying a new video console and that’s that. So you’re from L.A.? We went to Disneyland last year. Loved it.”

  “Hello, yes, oh, good,” Lacey mumbled. She shook hands with Ray, Felicity’s husband. He remained silent, but gave her a lopsided smile. Lacey wondered if he were just used to going with the flow instead of trying to get a word in.

  “David, get away from that table,” Felicity warned her younger son. “Jeanie, you and Kimmie watch him. Don’t let him pull anything off of there.”

  Five minutes with the Tsosies and Lacey already felt exhausted. The four children were in constant motion, as was Felicity. Tall and willowy, she moved and spoke with a nervousness born of a high metabolism or lots and lots of coffee. Lacey could understand why Ray seemed to simply stay out of the way.

  “I brought my green bean dish,” Felicity was saying. “Where do you want it?”

  “Over here,” Roxanne said. She led Felicity to the table, but Lacey hung back. She watched as the four Tsosie children scattered in their mother’s wake.

  “So you’re a friend of Sam’s?” Ray asked.

  Lacey was just as happy to turn her attention back to the calmest member of the family. “Yes.” She smiled. “He warned me about the size of his family, but it’s quite different being in the middle of it.”

  “Not for the faint of heart,” he said, chuckling softly. He was of average height and solidly built, with warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. Lacey liked him immediately.

  “And you live in Flagstaff?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Not a lot of job opportunities out here on the res.”

  “I can understand that,” she said. “Where do you work?”

  “At a block company. We make all kinds of cinder block.”

  Something tickled Lacey’s memory. “Is that the one just off the main highway through town? On the east side, where Gabe works?”

  “Yeah. I work in the yard, but Gabe works in the office. You know it?”

  “Sam pointed it out to me when we were coming through town. I’m amazed I even remember that. I’ve never been to Arizona before, so the drive over here was total visual overload.”

  “We do have some fabulous scenery,” Ray agreed.

  Just then Sam came in from the back through the sliding glass door. He cast about, checking the faces in evidence, and made a beeline for Roxanne.

  “Can I borrow your truck? I want to go get Grampa.”

  “Sure.” Roxanne pointed with her chin toward the kitchen. “The keys are on the counter, over there.”

  “Sam!” Felicity’s voice rose an octave as she squealed the name. “Come here. Where have you been?” She wrapped herself around Sam and planted a kiss on his cheek, then had to wipe off the lipstick with her fingers.

  “Been outside beating Modesto’s ass at horseshoes,” he said. He stopped to give Irene a quick kiss, then glanced around and saw Ray with Lacey. “Ray,” he called across the room. “Horseshoes outside.”

  Ray nodded. “Okay. I’ll wander out in a bit.”

  As Sam grabbed the keys on his way past the kitchen counter, he stopped near Lacey.

  “You doing okay? Keeping your head above the chaos?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a smile.

  “I’m going to get Grampa. Be right back.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  The blast of cold air that snuck in as Sam made his exit sent a shiver up Lacey’s spine. “Cold out there,” she said to Ray.

  “You ought to go stand by the fire,” he said, motioning toward the orange flames visible through the slider.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I’m just going to get my vest, then I’ll be right out.”

  Making her way down the hall—barely avoiding several kids running into Carson’s room—she went into her room and grabbed her down vest. As a precaution, she locked her suitcase. With so many kids running around, she didn’t want any of them accidentally discovering her weapon buried beneath her clothes. She pulled on her vest and headed out back.

  Gabe and Modesto were just finishing a game of horseshoes. The outside flood lights lit up the throwing lane, and the clank of the iron shoes hitting the posts reverberated in the cold, dry air. Ray stood ready to play the winner—Gabe—and waved to Lacey.

  “You’re next,” he said.

  Lacey laughed. “I’m, uh, not too sure about that,” she said. “I think I’ll just stay by the fire.”

  She backed to the fire pit, feeling the warmth of the fire easing muscles tightened by the cold. She jammed her hands into her pockets and watched the game.

  She’d watched her dad play horseshoes when she was growing up; the family attended many firefighter picnics over the years. He’d tried to teach her, but her hands had been too small to hold the shoe correctly, plus she had trouble getting the distance. As the old memories floated back, she realized her mother would probably call some time this evening. Lacey had turned her phone off; she’d call her mom tomorrow.

  It wasn’t long before Sam returned with Ben. He parked the truck amid the growing jam of vehicles and grandfather and grandson walked together directly into the back yard. The old man was welcomed with called greetings and hands shaken, a quick hug or two. As Sam returned to the rotation for the horseshoe game, Ben came to stand with Lacey beside the fire.

  “Hello,” Lacey said, smiling. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Ben nodded and smiled, the deep wrinkles of his weathered face shadowed dramatically by the firelight. He offered her his arm. She put hers through his and snuggled close. He smelled of smoke and sage.

  The antics of the men were far more entertaining than the progress of the game. A player who missed the post by inches groaned and gnashed his teeth
while the others hooted and jeered. A player who managed to throw a ringer was pounded on the back mercilessly by his fellows. Some of the young boys came out to watch and added their cheers and catcalls to the chorus. Ben looked over at Lacey and shook his head, smiling.

  An unfamiliar man came out the back slider, accompanied by two more boys. The boys immediately ran off to join their cousins, but the man walked over to Lacey and Ben.

  Ben said something in Navajo, shaking the man’s hand.

  “Grampa,” the man acknowledged. He turned to Lacey.

  “Lacey Fitzpatrick,” she said, putting out her hand.

  “Mike Begay. Sylvia’s husband.” He jerked a thumb back toward the house. “She’s inside.”

  “Maybe I’d better go inside and help,” she said. “We must be getting close to dinner time.”

  Sliding her arm away from Ben’s, she walked toward the house. She’d no sooner reached the door than it slid open and two more men stepped out.

  “You must be Lacey,” one said. “I’m Johnny Dohi, Carmen’s husband.”

  “I’m Neal Camacho. My wife’s Andrea,” the other said.

  “Hello. Nice to meet you.” Lacey had hoped she could keep all the names straight, but the abundance of dark-haired, copper-skinned men was making it difficult. “I was just going in to see how the dinner plans are going.”

  “Good luck with that,” Johnny laughed. “Just stay out of Roxanne’s and Sylvia’s way.”

  As soon as she stepped inside, she regretted it. The gaggle of women around the table was daunting. They were rearranging platters and trays on the table, and doing it with loudly expressed opinions about how it should be done.

  Lacey stood and stared.

  “Sylvia, I want all the side dishes together, but on both sides of the table,” Roxanne was saying. “That way we can have two lines going.”

  The room suddenly went quiet. Several pairs of dark eyes were on Lacey. She managed a smile. “Hi.”

  The tightly packed group broke apart and the three new women came over.

  “I’m Sylvia,” one said.

  “I’m Carmen,” said another.

  “Andrea,” said the third.

  “Nice to meet you all. Lacey Fitzpatrick.” She shook their hands. Sylvia was tall and slender, her dark hair pulled back in a French twist, her nails and make-up flawless. Carmen was shorter, with her hair cut to chin length and curling under slightly. Andrea wore her hair in the traditional Navajo style, the bun at the nape of her neck. They all regarded her with blatant curiosity.

  “Lacey,” Roxanne called, “stick your head back out the door and yell at Gabe, would you? Tell him it’s time to start cooking hot dogs.”

  “Will do.” Lacey did as she was asked; luckily Gabe was not a contestant in the current game, and he came right in to get the hot dogs for the back porch barbecue.

  “Is there anything else still to do?” Lacey asked Roxanne when Gabe had gone back outside.

  “Nope. We’ve got it all covered. What do you and Sam want to drink?”

  Lacey checked the big open cooler in the kitchen and pulled out two sodas. She felt like one or two of the women watched her every move. It was an eerie feeling, especially thinking that one of them could be…

  Felicity sidled over to Lacey with friendly enthusiasm. “I thought you and Sam were dating,” she said, “but Sylvia said you work together.”

  Lacey remembered Lou saying something about Gabe sharing the news article about their earlier case. He must have shared it with Sylvia, as well.

  “That’s right.” Lacey didn’t elaborate. She knew if Felicity wanted to know more, she’d ask. Lacey got the distinct impression that Felicity pretty much said whatever came into her head.

  “What do you do?” the woman asked.

  “I’m a private investigator,” Lacey said.

  Felicity’s eyes widened appreciably. “Ooh. What kind of—”

  “Hot dogs are ready!” Gabe burst through the back door, a plate of grilled hot dogs steaming. Behind him came Modesto, Ray, Mike and several of the children.

  “The line starts here!” Roxanne called out. She took the plate of wieners from Gabe and set it in its proper place on the table, then helped Irene and Carmen move the children through the line before the men started in. “Lacey, Felicity, get over here before these locusts go through and take everything. Here’s a couple plates. Gabe, where’s Sam and Johnny? Where’s Grampa?”

  “Still outside,” Gabe said, snagging a deviled egg. “They’ll get here.”

  Lacey shuffled into the line, steered in place by Roxanne’s helping hand, and loaded up her plate. She took only small amounts of each dish, but still managed to fill her plate.

  “My God, there’s so much,” she murmured.

  “Take as much as you want now,” Roxanne said. “There won’t be much left later on.”

  Lacey just shook her head. She couldn’t imagine so much food disappearing so quickly. But this whole event was unfamiliar territory for her: the number of relatives, the running, squealing children, the mounds of food. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been at a social event with so many people.

  She felt a distinct relief when she reached the end of the long laden table and stepped away from the line. Just then Sam and Ben came in. She grabbed the second soda she’d set aside and offered it to Sam.

  “This okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “You doing all right with all these crazy Firecloud women?”

  She saw the hint of a smile. “Yes, fine. Oh, I didn’t get a drink for Ben. What would he like?”

  “I’ll get it,” Sam said. “He’ll just have water, and as soon as we can snag him a plate, he’ll go back outside. He can’t take too much of the modern world.”

  Lacey stepped aside so they could enter the line. As she passed Ben, she put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. He grinned at her, the worn down stumps of teeth showing.

  She settled on one end of the couch and was slightly dismayed when Felicity plopped down next to her. Sylvia took one chair and Carmen and Andrea claimed the last seats. Lacey had the feeling of a fly being circled by spiders.

  “So what kind of things do you investigate?” Felicity asked without preamble.

  “Oh, lots of things,” Lacey said casually. “I just finished an investigation into fraud, and I do some surveillance, serve subpoenas. Things like that.” She hoped to keep the discussion generic, but had a feeling Felicity wasn’t going to be put off.

  “But Sylvia said you and Sam work together. How do you do that? What cases have the two of you worked on?”

  Lacey took a breath. “The last time we worked together, we solved a murder,” she said. She glanced around. “You all know about Sam’s … talent, right?”

  Some of the women nodded. Carmen sat back slightly in her seat. Lacey noted that; either distaste or unease about the topic. Felicity leaned forward, probably wanting more sordid details. Sylvia got very still.

  “Well, I can’t say too much,” Lacey hedged, “because the trial’s not over, but we discovered a man had been murdered, but his wife made it look like he’d disappeared in a boating accident.”

  “And you found out by Sam’s talent?” Sylvia asked.

  Lacey hesitated. Sylvia’s voice was skeptical. Did she not believe?

  “That’s right. We were able to gather clues from the ghost.”

  “Ooh.” Felicity sang a ditty of the Twilight Zone theme. “Da da da da, da da da da.” She laughed nervously. “Have you worked on others?”

  Lacey nodded, not eager to go into it. “We worked on the case of a serial killer. Guy raped and murdered nine young girls. Buried them in his back yard.”

  The women were silent. Yeah, that’s a buzzkill, Lacey thought. Even Felicity was quiet for once.

  “Men like that should be strung up by their…” Sylvia’s voice was hard. When Lacey glanced over, she noticed the woman’s face had a distinct red glow to it. This was som
ething that really upset Sylvia; as it should.

  “I know,” Lacey agreed. “But the good news is we caught him.”

  “How awful,” Felicity said, lagging behind. “Nine girls? How old were they?”

  Lacey sighed. “The youngest was eleven. The oldest was fourteen.”

  She saw Carmen’s eyes stray to where some of the kids were perusing the leftovers, picking out deviled eggs or stuffed celery.

  “My daughter, Rachel, just turned twelve a couple months ago,” Sylvia said. Her eyes glittered like dark glass, and her color was still high. “If any man ever touched her I could kill him and not bat an eye.”

  Lacey glanced around. She could see the tightening of Carmen’s jaw, the slight nod from Felicity. They could all appreciate the sentiment, lawful or not. They were all mothers, and this was a mother’s worst nightmare.

  “Well, anyway,” Lacey said, “we caught him. He’s been sentenced to death, but of course he’s appealing it.”

  “Will he be executed?” Felicity asked.

  Lacey took her time answering. “I think so. It’ll take a while for the appeals to play out, but yes, I think he will.”

  “Good,” Sylvia muttered. At the same time, she turned in her chair. “Mike, I need another soda. Would you get that for me?”

  Lacey watched Mike disengage from a conversation near the table and go to the kitchen for the soda. Quite the prima donna, she thought, since Sylvia was actually closer to the kitchen than he had been. He brought her the soda without a word, and without meeting the eyes of any of the other women. Embarrassed, Lacey thought, but stoic.

  “So what do you all do?” she asked the other women. They seemed relieved to get back on familiar ground, more mundane ground, and happily chatted about their jobs, even Andrea, a stay-at-home mom.

  Lacey was glad to be off the hot seat so she could focus on her food—and watch the others surreptitiously. She glanced around at their feet, trying to gauge shoe sizes. Felicity, who was closest to her, seemed to have slightly larger feet, and Lacey had pretty much ruled her out, anyway. The woman had no filters between her brain and her mouth, so Lacey could not imagine her being able to keep such a dark secret.