ers back, and started fishing for his clothes from a nearby chair. “Okay, thanks, Dot. No, don’t call anyone else. I know, I know. I’ll get back to you later.”
“What’s going on?” Ginny whined. “It’s not even daylight yet.”
By then Hawk had fumbled his way into his clothes and began
searching for his shoes and socks. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got to go.” He shoved both socks and cell phone into his pocket, pushed his feet into his shoes, and hurried out the door.
★
“You’ve got to see a doctor, Dad,” Becky pleaded. “Look at you. Your
arms are skinned up and you can hardly walk.”
“Oh, stop mothering me. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was
twelve years old.” Grover sounded angry. “I’ll be fine. I just don’t have 184
the balance I used to, that’s all. What kind of a fool Indian falls off his own horse, anyway?”
“Horse?” Becky said, failing to hide the exasperation in her voice.
“You were riding a horse?”
“Horses are good for what ails you,” Grover said. “And, besides,
Blackie is real gentle.”
“Okay, Dad, you win. I’m going to stay with you for a while, until I
know for sure you’re all right.”
“Good.” Grover nodded his approval. “Now, can you help me back
into bed? I’m a little tired.”
Becky helped her dad into bed and then sat down on his worn couch
to assess the situation. She got up, pulled one of his prescription bot-
tles from the kitchen cabinet, and wrote down the doctor’s name. She
glanced into the bedroom where her dad had already fallen asleep. She
needed some information and it was obvious she wasn’t going to get it
from him, so she left a note and headed toward the Indian Health Clinic
in Sycamore Springs.
The landscape disappeared from her mind as she drove. She couldn’t
take care of herself, how could she be expected to take care of her dying father? They had never shared secrets with each other, and in her estimation, it seemed too late to start now. She doubted anyone at the clinic would talk to her, but she had to try.
She parked and walked into a crowded waiting room full of weary-
looking elderly people, young pregnant women, and crying babies.
Walking over to the receptionist’s window, she mustered the most posi-
tive attitude she could.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Rebecca Silver. My dad is Grover
Chuculate. I was wondering if I might be able to talk to his doctor.”
The middle- aged Indian woman sitting on the other side of the glass
enclosure looked past Becky into the waiting room. “Is your dad with
you?”
“No, he isn’t. He fell yesterday and he doesn’t want to come in.”
The woman smirked. “It’s kind of hard to do anything for him if he
ain’t here.”
Becky bit her tongue and remained silent.
“Sign in,” the woman said, “and I’ll put you on the list, but I
wouldn’t hold my breath about getting any information from anyone
185
around here unless your dad has already signed the form to allow you to do that.”
“Oh, could you check?” Becky asked.
“Have a seat. I’ll get back with you.” She slid the glass window shut.
Becky retreated from the window and noticed a man in a white coat
appear behind the unfriendly woman. They spoke for a few moments
and the woman, looking unhappy, disappeared through a door. The man
smiled at Becky and followed. A minute later, a door opened and the
man in the white coat called Becky’s name. “Ms. Silver?”
Becky jumped to her feet and walked toward him. “Yes?”
“Come with me,” he said.
Becky followed the white coat down a long hallway and through an
open doorway into what appeared to be an employee break room.
“Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward a small table in the corner.
“Would you like some coffee or a soft drink?”
“Whatever you’re having,” she said.
He pulled two bottles of water out of a refrigerator, placed them on
the table, and sat down. He looked too young to be a doctor. He had kind
eyes, black hair and brown skin, and a confidence that filled the room.
“I’m Mickey Barehead,” he said, and offered his hand. “I’m a phy-
sician’s assistant here at the clinic.”
Becky shook his hand and realized her hands were sweating. “Becky
Silver,” she said. “Grover Chuculate’s daughter.”
“You’re just as beautiful as Grover said you were.” His smile lit up
his entire face.
“You know my dad?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve known your dad for a few years now. He gave me
riding lessons two years ago, and he’s been known to take me fishing
on occasion. He even taught me where to find the best wild onions. He
always talks about you.”
Becky looked down at her hands, trying to will her eyes to absorb
the tears that were trying to escape.
“You know, legally, I can’t tell you anything about your dad’s med-
ical records. But I can tell you stories about a friend I have and you can draw from that.”
Becky nodded. “He fell,” she said. “He won’t let me bring him to
the clinic.”
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Mickey grinned. “I’m not surprised. He’s pretty much done with doctors from what I can tell.”
“Well, I can’t just let him suffer.”
“He’s been suffering for quite a long time, Becky. Has he told you
he has leukemia?”
“Yes.”
“He has refused treatment to prolong his life. Once he reaches the
point where the pain is too much to bear, he promised me he’d call so
we could make arrangements for hospice. I’m not sure he will do that,
though. Do you think we’re at that point?”
Becky drew in a quick breath. “He didn’t say anything about that
to me.”
“Your dad is tough, and he made me promise he could die on his
own terms. I told him it was his call, and I plan to stand by my words.”
Becky began to sob. “I waited too long to come home, didn’t I?”
He spoke in a comforting voice. “You’re here now. That’s what
counts.”
Becky tried to collect herself.
“I tell you what,” he said. “How about I make a friendly non- doctor
visit before long?”
“Oh, would you?”
He handed her a box of tissue from another table and she dabbed at
her eyes and blew her nose.
“I’d love to. Tell him I’m overdue for an update on his fishing tales
and I’ll try to get by and see him in the next few days. I’ve got to get back to work and see if I can help empty out that waiting room.”
A nurse poked her head into the break room. “Break’s over, Mickey.
Get your ass back to work.”
“See you later,” he said, and disappeared into the hallway.
187
Chapter 31
Lance took the travel mug of hot coffee Sadie had given him and drove
toward town to pick up the search warrant he’d already called about.
The warrant was waiting for him when he got to his office, so after lock-
ing the arrow with the white feather in the evidence cabinet, he grabbed
the warrant, refilled his tra
vel mug with more coffee, and drove back
toward the Buffalo Ranch in record time.
Besides searching the house, Lance wanted to scrutinize the crime
scene again in daylight to see if he’d missed anything the night before.
Then he’d turn it over to the lab team to collect evidence. The sun had
made its grand entry earlier, as the pink and orange streaks in the sky
faded to a solid powder blue. It promised to be a long day, and he was
already tired.
Sheriff Long had assigned Deputy Jennings to secure the murder
scene the night before. It would be interesting to see if Jennings had
managed to stay awake on the job.
A trail of dust followed Lance’s vehicle all the way to the Buffalo
Ranch. When he got there, much to his chagrin, he could see yellow
crime- scene tape flapping in the morning breeze. Someone had breached
the perimeter of the crime scene. He let his vehicle roll to a stop as he scanned the area. Jennings had better be paying attention.
Behind the tall fence, the small buffalo herd grazed in the distance,
and Lance wondered who was going to take on the task of caring for
them. But that was for someone else to figure out. He just wanted to know who had killed the man who owned them— the man everyone hated.
As Lance approached the barn where Angus had died the day be-
fore, he saw Jennings’ vehicle near the barn and a black Lexus in front
of the house with the trunk popped wide open. Lance parked behind the
188
Lexus and got out as Eugene Hawk came out the front door carrying a long gun.
“Morning, Councilor. You’re up early this morning.” Lance placed
his foot on the back bumper of the Lexus. “What do you think you’re
doing?”
Hawk stopped in mid- stride and straightened his spine. “I just
stopped by to pick up some of my things.”
“Your things?” Lance nodded toward the entrance to the Buffalo
Ranch. “Do you see that yellow crime- scene tape blowing in the breeze
down there?”
Hawk’s eyes shifted toward the road and then back to Lance.
“I guess you must’ve skipped class the day they talked about tam-
pering with evidence at a crime scene, so I’ll refresh the information for you. Everything on this side of that yellow tape belongs to my criminal
investigation, regardless of whether you think it is yours or not. And
now your freaking fingerprints are all over it.”
Jennings opened his car door and scrambled toward the house.
“Something wrong, Lance? He said he was Clyborn’s lawyer.”
Lance shot a warning glance at the deputy. “Get some gloves on and
take this rifle from Mr. Lawyer and take it back into the house. I’ll deal with you later.”
Jennings turned and ran back to his vehicle.
Lance, his foot still planted on the back of the Lexus, turned and
scrutinized the items in the trunk— six bottles of water, an empty card-
board box, and a camouflage- colored high- velocity crossbow, complete
with a pistol- type grip, a trigger pull, and an attached quiver of three arrows.
“This is a pretty fancy crossbow you’ve got,” he said. Pulling his
handkerchief from his pocket, he picked the crossbow up and raised it
into the air. “I guess you know I’m going to have to confiscate the con-
tents of your trunk, too.”
Hawk spoke with urgency. “That crossbow is mine and has abso-
lutely nothing to do with Angus. You can’t take anything out of my
vehicle. I know my rights.”
Lance looked up at Hawk, who had moved closer to the edge of the
porch.
189
“Really?” Lance said. “I guess I’m a little vague on those rights, so I can either take this crossbow, or you can come with me and explain those
rights to the judge.” Lance stared into the distance as if trying to remember something and then pinned his gaze back on Hawk. “However, best
as I recall, the judge took a couple of days off, gone fishing I guess you’d say. But you can wait in jail until he comes back if you want. Probably
be only a few days, maybe a week.”
Jennings reappeared wearing a pair of blue rubber gloves and threw
an identical pair to Lance. Jennings walked up to Hawk, took the rifle
from him, verified it was unloaded, and then carried it back into the house.
Lance laid the crossbow back down, shoved the handkerchief into
his pocket, and pulled on the rubber gloves. He carried the crossbow to
his vehicle and put it in the back seat, and then walked over to the Lexus and glanced through the windows. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave
my crime scene, but before you go, is there anything you’d like to share
with me regarding your dead client? Like who might’ve killed him?”
Hawk walked to his car, slammed the trunk lid closed, then stopped
and turned toward Lance. “I’ll have your badge, Smith.”
Lance grinned. “Give it your best shot, Esquire.”
As Hawk drove away, Lance shook his head. His next task— figuring
out what Hawk was hiding.
Lance bounded up the steps to the house and entered. A pool ta-
ble, surrounded by leather furniture, sat in the middle of the dark living room. Exotic animal heads stared blankly from the high walls. The air
reeked of stale cigars and cigarettes, and empty beer bottles covered the top of a corner bar. With no television or entertainment center anywhere
in sight, Lance wondered where the Clyborns had spent their evenings.
He couldn’t imagine that playing pool and drinking beer captivated their
entire lives.
A collection of rifles rested inside a glass display case. Lance opened
it and surveyed the weapons. Still wearing his rubber gloves, he checked
each firearm to make sure it was unloaded and then sniffed at the barrel
of each one. He realized his method of investigation wasn’t very scien-
tific, but he was quite sure none of these rifles had been fired recently.
Conversely, the odor of gun cleaner was not present. Nonetheless, he’d
have the lab add this arsenal of weapons to Hawk’s rifle.
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Hoping to find a note, he continued working his way through the house and into the dining room and kitchen where he’d talked to
Camilla the night before. Maybe she’d committed suicide by purposely
careening into the creek.
Her empty glass remained on the table next to an ashtray full of
cigarette butts. He moved to the counter and thumbed through a stack
of junk mail. On the bottom of the stack an opened envelope from the
Delaware County Treasurer with the words “Do not discard— Tax Bill
Enclosed” in large red letters caught his eye. He pulled out a tax bill
and couldn’t believe what he saw. The Clyborns were about to lose the
Buffalo Ranch for unpaid back taxes.
Lance returned the bill and the envelope to the counter. While the
tax bill was a surprising revelation, it didn’t help answer the question of who murdered Angus.
He walked out the back door and toward the barn to study the crime
scene. The barn, the house, and the other buildings sat in a carved- out
valley surrounded by hills and ridges covered with red oak, blackjack,
sycamore, pine, and cedar trees, not to mention underbrush so thick a
man could hide in it for weeks an
d never be found. To discover where
the shooter had taken the fatal shot would be next to impossible. He
would have to solve this murder some other way.
★
Eugene Hawk sped away, leaving the Buffalo Ranch behind him. He
was past caring what happened to the ranch and its entire herd of bison,
including the embezzled animals the chief had demanded he hide there.
Angus Clyborn was dead, and even though he wasn’t even buried yet,
Hawk could feel the arrogant white man’s hands tightening around his
neck, choking off his last breath. He involuntarily coughed and stretched his neck as he drove toward Sycamore Springs.
Deputy Sheriff Smith had complicated his life even more this morn-
ing. If he’d gotten there a little sooner, he could have had his belong-
ings and been long gone before Smith showed up. But this hiccup would
go away soon enough. As soon as he could, he would pay a visit to
the district attorney and see what he could do to complicate things for
191
Smith. In the meantime, he still had one large problem looming over his head— the white buffalo calf.
He’d tried to do the right thing by hiding the calf, but everything
had changed now, and he was running out of time. He couldn’t risk
being found out. He’d already put his career in jeopardy by agreeing to
embezzle buffalo for the chief, and hooking up with Angus had been the
worst mistake of his life. Just being in the same room with Angus had
made him feel like he needed to take a dip in the creek to wash off the
stench of the yonega.
As a child, Hawk had lived with his grandparents, accompanying
them to stomp dances, Green Corn Festivals, and other Cherokee gath-
erings. His grandfather taught him to respect his elders and to share with his neighbors. He taught him about the right path in life, tried to teach him the Cherokee language and the traditional ways of his ancestors.
But when Hawk got older, he rebelled. He decided he didn’t want
to be Cherokee; he wanted to be like his white friends. He found him-
self struggling, falling into the abyss between the worlds of Indian and
white. He forgot about his grandfather and, in doing so, he lost his moral compass. He had sold out for status and money, turning his back not
only on his grandparents, but all of his ancestors.
When the white buffalo calf appeared, he thought it was a sign. He’d
Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch Page 23
