The Bone Man

by Vicki Stiefel

  “Hey, Wes, how goes it?” I said. It was great to hear a friendly and familiar voice. “It’s Tally. I’m looking for Rob.”

  “He’s out on a case.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’ll try his cell. Have a good one, huh.”

  “Wait,” Wes said.

  “What’s up?” I tried to play it casual, but I heard the catch in his voice.

  “I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

  “About . . . ?”

  “You don’t know. Shit.”

  “Whatever ‘it’ is, I don’t know it, Wes.” Panic. “Is Doc Morgridge okay?”

  “She’s fine, Tal. Let me put you through to Gert.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Look, Wes. I have not a clue what you’re talking about. Gert’s on the line. I already tried her. What’s the deal?”

  “Fine. Um . . .” A sigh. “I don’t feel good about this. Just remember that, okay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Did you catch that? I do not feel good about this.”

  “I caught it. I caught it. What?”

  “Your boyfriend. That Cunningham guy.”

  My heart stopped. “Yes?”

  “He’s been shot up bad.”

  “Bad?” I whispered. “He’s not dead, right? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’d tell.”

  Aric shook my arm. I pulled it away and mouthed, Stop it! “Go on.”

  “Some gunfight or other,” Wes said. “I guess he’s out there in some hospital.”

  My throat squeezed tight. “Where is he?”

  “Place called Crownpoint.”

  “Not Gallup?” I said. “How bad is he?”

  “Not good, Tally,” Wes said. “Not good at all.”

  “Okay.” I signed off. The world spun. Hank. Hank. Nothing could happen to Hank. But something had. I couldn’t bear it.

  “We’re on our way to Crownpoint, right?” I said.

  Aric’s sideways glance was anything but comforting. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got to get to the hospital there. Now. Period.” I folded my hands in my lap and searched for calm.

  Aric slapped the steering wheel. “No time.”

  No time? Of course, our deadline to make it to Chaco Canyon. For Niall and his daughter. Except . . .

  I shook my head. “I can’t help it. I have to stop.” I explained about Hank and what had happened.

  Aric got quiet. Too quiet. It was obvious he had more to say, whereas I had nothing else to say. I was going to the Crownpoint hospital. That was it.

  Mile after mile of scrub and desert passed as we climbed one hill and drove down another. I slung my hand onto the swaying door strap. The rhythmic motion felt good. Time, time, time.

  It was taking forever, and all I could see was Hank as a little kid with a crush on me. Hank, the sheriff of Hancock County. Hank, in bed and walking Peanut and playing hockey and . . .

  What had happened? How had the shooter gotten to Hank? It made no sense. Of course, I’d been the one to screw up. I’d left him there in that motel room. I was sure he’d be fine.

  I was wrong. So wrong.

  I spotted a dozen cows grazing on the scrub, then three coyotes slinking toward them.

  A sign for Crownpoint. A jackrabbit leapt across the road. Aric swerved so he wouldn’t hit it.

  “How far are we from the hospital?” I said.

  “Not far.” He tapped a tune on the dash that I guessed played in his head.

  My head was silent, lonely. I tried to see Hank in my mind’s eye, but I was alone, and he was gone, and I couldn’t see him at all.

  The land flattened. Up ahead, simple homes, maybe a school, and I thought I could see the hospital. My heart beat faster, my mouth dried.

  “I guess, well, turn wherever.”

  Aric nodded, tapped the dash, faster, harder. I bit my lip. Please let him be okay.

  On the right. There. The hospital. “There it is, Aric.”

  He flew past the street, letting the truck pick up speed.

  “But, Aric.”

  We raced across the desert, through the town.

  “You’ve got to stop,” I said. “I’ll walk if I have to.”

  “I can’t, Tally. We’ve got two people who might die.”

  I cracked the door. I could leap out, roll. I would see Hank.

  “You’ll kill yourself.”

  Faster and faster the truck moved.

  And suddenly a sound. A siren.

  Aric looked in the rearview mirror. “Cop. Shit.”

  “I see.” I slid my hand to the door handle.

  As we coasted to a stop, I leaned my shoulder against the door and raised the handle.

  “Don’t,” Aric said.

  I turned the handle. Beneath the red bandana that sat in Aric’s lap was a semi-automatic handgun. The barrel pointed straight at me.

  A chill skated down my spin. Aric wouldn’t shoot. Of course not. But I was intimate with how the bullet from a nine mil could rip through your gut.

  I waited. In the side mirror I watched as the cop approached. The men talked low and slow, so I couldn’t hear. The cop was Navajo. Zuni and Navajo were never the best of friends.

  Then the cop walked away. I looked at Aric, his eyes dead and angry. The gun never wavered.

  Screw it.

  “I have to.” I flipped up the handle and leapt. I hit the ground hard, and my crappy left knee gave. But my right one held, and I sprang forward, stumbled, ran.

  “Tally!” Aric hollered.

  I heard the whine of the truck door opening, but I ran on, past the cop and headed to town. It wasn’t far, and someone beeped. And then this ancient green pickup was keeping pace with me.

  “Hey, lady!” someone hollered.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t stop running.

  “Why’s that crazy Zuni chasing you?”

  I glanced up to see a straw-hatted Navajo smiling down from his truck. “That crazy Zuni wants to marry me.” I was panting hard now.

  “You wanna marry him?” the Navajo asked.

  “Hell, no!” I said.

  “So get in,” he said.

  The green truck stopped, and I ran around to the passenger side and hopped in.

  “Tally, dammit!” Aric hollered.

  The Navajo laughed and put the pedal to the metal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  People stared as I walked through the doors of the Crown-point hospital. Because I might scare Hank, I went to the ladies’ room and splashed some water on my face. I didn’t bother to look. I knew my face was a train wreck. Hank had seen worse.

  Aric might have arrived by now, but I didn’t much care. He couldn’t drag me out of the hospital by force. I couldn’t believe the Navajo cop had let him go.

  The small hospital’s waiting room overflowed with people—men, women, old, young. I found the reception desk. The young gal at the desk had her nose buried in a textbook.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m looking for a friend, Hank Cunningham.”

  She slid a place mark into the book and smiled up at me. “I’m sorta new. Does this Cunningham work here?”

  “No,” I said. “He’s a patient.”

  She bobbed her head. “I don’t think so. I never heard of him.”

  “I’ve been told he was shot and brought here.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think so, lady. We got only one guy here who’s been gun-shot, and that’s my cousin’s brother-in-law. He shot himself in the foot. Can you imagine that?”

  I had to think. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You know, I’m just the temp while Sally goes to lunch. I bet she knows.”

  “Where can I find her?”

  “Out back, having a smoke.” She smiled. “I hope you find your friend.”

  “Me, too. Thanks.”

  I found my way out back. It wasn’t far. Except way too many men and women were smoking, maybe a dozen, with more than half of them women. Some l
eaned against the building, while others paced and talked on their cell phones.

  I walked up to a Navajo woman who wore jeans and a fluffy top.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for a gal named Sally. She’s the receptionist.”

  She wagged the cigarette. “Over there. She in trouble?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, that’s different.” She flicked her ash, shrugged, and turned away.

  The wind picked up, and I tightened Niall’s fuzzy. As I walked toward Sally, I shielded my eyes from the midday sun. She was short and stocky and wore a red windbreaker and jeans. Her long hair was bound in a single braid. She looked around fifty. “Sally?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Her sing-song voice was almost musical. “Boy, you look like you been through the wringer.”

  “You could say that. Um, I’m looking for a friend. The girl at the desk said you might be able to help me.”

  She ran her cigarette across the wall, where a million other marks existed, and dropped it into to another large can labeled Butts.

  “I probably can’t,” she said. “But run it by me. C’mon, walk with me. I’m supposed to walk. Helps the diabetes.”

  “I’d be happy to.” I fell in beside her as we walked the perimeter of the hospital. I hesitated. Fear tightened my throat. What if Hank were mortally wounded? Or brain damaged? Or paralyzed? I had to know, of course.

  “My friend,” I said. “His name is Hank Cunningham. He’s law enforcement from Boston.”

  “Anglo, right?” she said.

  “Yes. I just found out he was injured. I came right away. I’m scared, Sally.”

  She led me inside. “I gotta call up first. Okay?”

  “Sure. Is he . . .”

  “Can’t say. Not allowed.” She shooed the other gal from the receptionist’s desk. She reapplied her lipstick, popped a Tic Tac, then lifted the phone to call. Her eyes were sad when she looked at me.

  Oh, no. “What?” I said. I couldn’t believe this. I just couldn’t. My stomach cramped with fear.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I am.”

  The same thing Wes had said on the phone.

  The waiting room chair was soft, too much so. I fastened my eyes on the bowels of the hospital and didn’t move. People entered and left. Occasionally I’d glance at the entrance, half expecting to see Aric stride through. But he didn’t come.

  I dozed, which seemed impossible, but I did. And my fear grew. I checked Hank’s watch for the hundredth time. I rubbed the dial, the band. He’d worn the watch forever. I had to be at Chaco by sunset. I didn’t know how long that would take, but I suspected an hour or so.

  I couldn’t leave, yet I would have to leave sooner, rather than later. What was taking so long? Why couldn’t I just go up and see Hank?

  I held my hands up to Sally, a silent how come. She gave me a shrug and went back to the phones. I slumped back in the chair. Hank was dead. I was sure of it. Someone was coming to tell me, and that’s why there was the wait. I wanted to stand up and scream.

  Shouts at the entrance made me turn. Aric zoomed through the front doors at a run.

  He held out his hand. His eyes worried, fearful. “We gotta go, Tally. We gotta go now.”

  He was right. Of course we did. Niall and his daughter would die otherwise.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go. I’m . . . I’m waiting for nothing.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Wait.” Sally shook her hand at me.

  “Can’t, Sally. I . . . I’ll come back later.”

  She raced around the reception desk. “You can’t go!”

  “Now, Tally!” Aric said.

  I walked forward, and we were almost to the front doors when . . .

  “Tally!”

  The voice whipped me around. I blinked. Rubbed my hands across my eyes. Hank stood right there, wearing his chinos, a green crew shirt, and boat shoes. “Hank!”

  I ran up to him, threw my arms around him, and hugged and hugged and hugged. I began to sob, and then I kissed him long and hard and, finally, when I felt semi-sated, I sighed and tucked my head beneath his chin.

  God he smelled good and felt good and . . .

  His arms were tight around me, and he was rocking me back and forth. Except something was very wrong.

  I peeked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Nothing to understand, Tal.”

  I sighed again, content in his embrace. Except . . . sure there was something wrong. I moved to back away, but he held me tight. Too tight.

  I pushed, and his arms remained locked around me.

  “Let go, Hank.”

  “Tally . . .”

  I jammed my foot on his instep and pushed hard.

  “Damn!” he said.

  I was free, and I backed away, watching him try to stare me down with that Cunningham doggedness I knew so well.

  I looked behind me, and there was Aric, chaw in cheek, arms folded, legs crossed, hip against the wall. The relaxed Zuni, except he was anything but. I moved toward him, and he straightened.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I said, trying to grasp a wisp of sanity.

  Aric snorted. “Simple. This thing with lover boy has all been a scheme to get you to do what he wants. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

  I looked from Aric to Hank. But no. Hank wouldn’t give me that kind of unnecessary grief. “Hank? Wes said you were hurt. Badly hurt. Is Aric right?”

  Hank walked forward, eyes on me, but he spoke to Aric. “I don’t know, Special Agent Bowannie. Is it right or not?”

  “Special Agent?” I said. “Like in FBI Special Agent?” My world was spinning. Hank unhurt, Aric an FBI agent.

  I looked around. A dozen faces were turned to us, as if we were stars in some soap opera. I guessed we were. I read pity on some faces, humor on others, fascination on others.

  Sally the receptionist’s face wore regret and guilt. She’d been a part of the scam. I guess most of OCME had been, too.

  Let’s trick Tally into coming home. For her own safety.

  Yeah, right.

  “Sorry, guys.” I saluted and ran out the door.

  I ran beside hedges and around cars, zigzagging around anything that might hide me from view. I made it to a parallel street, heard shouts, and stuck out my thumb. Almost immediately, an old woman in a battered van gave me a lift. I ducked down, peeked out the window, and saw Aric and Hank racing after the van. I was away. I sighed with relief.

  I embellished a tale of two rival men, which the old woman found quite amusing. She was a neat old gal—a sheep farmer and weaver. She dropped me at the high school, per my request. I needed time to think, and I doubted Frick and Frack would figure out where I’d gone.

  I thanked her and entered the school.

  I checked Hank’s watch, the one I’d lovingly massaged minutes earlier. Pa-thetic. It was two. I still had time to make the sunset appearance in Chaco. Inside the school, I signed in at the front office, saying a friend who was moving to town wanted me to look at the library. That got me by, and I found the large room with no trouble. The school was small and low-ceilinged, but a sense of pride was everywhere, from the banners that read: Go Eagles! To a trophy case with athletic and academic trophies.

  In the library, computers marched in a row, with a few students pounding the keys. The library stacks looked just like any other, and I felt a sense of home that made me long for Boston.

  I certainly was a stranger in a strange land. Hank and Aric—both men I trusted had lied to me. I’d survive. I took a seat at one of the desks.

  Why couldn’t I figure this thing out? What was really going on? The pots weren’t that valuable. Oh, an undamaged one would bring thousands of dollars. True. But so many deaths? That meant higher stakes, so why couldn’t I see what was really behind all the killing. Didi had started to write bloodfet in her own blood, no less. That mattered. I guessed the Bone Man did, too, but I had no
clue about him, either.

  The Bone Man might be the killer, the guy who was after me. I felt a central will in all the attacks, yet the actual person remained illusive.

  There was no way I wasn’t going to Chaco that night. I kicked the leg of the desk.

  “Ma’am, are you angry at our desk?”

  I looked into the face of the pretty Navajo girl peering down at me with questions in her eyes.

  She made it easy to smile back at her. “No, I’m not. I just have a lot on my mind. Do you have a map of Chaco Canyon?”

  She returned my smile, and out popped two dimples. “Of course we do.”

  I followed her through the stacks to shelves beneath high windows. Inside what appeared to be a bound notebook, she pulled out a large, folded map. She spread it on the top of the shelves.

  “Where do you want to go in Chaco, or do you just want to tour around?”

  I studied the map. “Here.” I pointed to Chetro Ketl, whatever that was.

  She nodded, her eyes again smiling. “Oh, yes, that’s very beautiful.”

  “What’s this road?” I asked. “The one off Fifty-seven.”

  She held up a finger and walked off. The map looked good, but not good enough. I needed details so I wouldn’t end up eaten by the death squad, or whoever they were.

  A soft grunt made me turn, and I stared into the serious face of a Navajo teen. He wore cowboy boots and jeans and a plaid shirt, with a red bandana tied around his page-boy haircut. The outfit struck me as traditional, intentionally so, right down to his Navajo turquoise bracelet.

  “You bothering my sister?” he said.

  “Hi. My name’s Tally. And I don’t think I’m bothering her. She offered to help me, and so she is.”

  He grunted again, folded his arms, and set his face into a rigid stare. The fact that I topped him by a good five inches didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  “Joe. And don’t try to get friendly.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it, Joe. I just like to know names, is all. I’m from Boston.”

  He snorted. “So? You think you’re better than us?”

  Oh my, this was one angry boy. “No. Why would I think that?”

  “ ’Cause of money.”