Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3)

by Shannon Baker

  And then I’d driven away.

  Kyle directed me to turn north on a dirt track. Roads in Grand County, even rarely used ones such as the road into the Olson place, were plowed, constructed, layered, and packed with heavy equipment. They might deteriorate to washboards and potholes, but even then, they were better than the muddy trail I followed to where Kyle grew up.

  We wound around a low hill and nearly hit a rusted hulk of a Chevy four-door. Two other vehicle carcasses littered the grassy road, keeping watch over the plastic Walmart bags skittering in the wind.

  Kyle pointed to a rusted house trailer. Black trash bags covered two of the windows, and a bent screen door dangled by twisted hinges. “That’s it. Home sweet home.”

  I kept my mouth from hanging open and held back my incredulous exclamation. Broad-shouldered, proud, and cheerful Kyle, always clean, shirt tucked in, hair combed. Smiling, confident Kyle, healthy, smart, handsome. He’d come from this place?

  I parked in front, eyeing the cinderblocks that served as a front porch. “Your mother lives here?”

  “Ma, Shelly, and Alex. I tried to get my brother and sister to live with me in Dunbar, but Alex doesn’t like me much, and Shelly wants to keep an eye on Ma.”

  My old Boxer, Boomer, had had a more welcoming dog house than this trailer. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here now.”

  Kyle stared at the trailer. “She’s here.”

  “Shelly?”

  Sadness swallowed his face, and his dark eyes seemed black. “Ma.”

  With a steel set to his face, he pushed the car door open. By the time I scrambled after him, he was yanking back the useless screen. The morning air smelled fresh with the rain, and I wanted to stay out here, where the world seemed right. The grass wet my boots as I hurried after him.

  He pushed open a scratched and mud-smeared metal door. “Ma?”

  Right behind him, I caught a whiff of cigarettes, a century or two of greasy meals, and dirty clothes. The front door opened directly into the space between a grungy kitchen and cramped living room. My eyes adjusted to the dim interior, where a tiny woman with more gray than black in her hair, and a face like a dried peach pit, sat at a splinter-topped wooden kitchen table.

  The single-wide trailer held the night’s chill but none of the morning’s freshness. Dark, scratched paneling lined the living room, and a torn, rust-colored plush couch with no legs rested on carpet that peeled from the walls. A woven aluminum lawn chair comprised the rest of the furniture, along with upended plastic milk crates for tables. It made our backyard treehouse look like Club Med.

  The mite of a woman pushed herself to stand and hobbled toward Kyle, arms reaching up. “Kyle!” She wore faded and stretched black sweatpants and an old, long-sleeved sweatshirt with a ripped collar.

  He tensed and allowed her to hug him, gingerly patting her back. With her still clinging to him, he spoke. “Is Shelly around?”

  She stepped back and her arms dropped. Her smile looked strained. “No. She stayed over with Kim in Sand Gap.”

  An eight-by-ten graduation portrait hung in a cheap gold frame tacked to the paneling. It showed a young man, similar in looks to Kyle, but darker skin and eyes. I stepped closer and noticed another grainy framed photo of the same young man in a basketball uniform on the corner of the kitchen counter. A braided loop of grass draped over the corner of the frame. This must be Kyle’s brother Darrel. No other attempt at decorating was evident.

  Kyle inventoried the kitchen table, strewn with junk mail, dirty dishes, more than a few Budweiser cans, and various odds and ends. “Alex?”

  The woman turned to me with forced cheer. “Is this the woman you work for? Down to Hodgekiss?”

  He didn’t seem excited to make introductions. “This is Grand County Sheriff Kate Fox. Kate, Rita Red Owl, my mother.”

  I’d figured she was his grandmother. The wrinkles and way she seemed tired and used up made me think she had more than one generation on him. I extended my hand. “Glad to meet you.”

  Her dry hand felt like an empty leather glove, and after a mumbled greeting, her eyes shifted back to Kyle. “You should have told me you were coming out. I’d have cooked something.”

  Kyle ignored that, making me ache for Rita at his rejection. “Where’s Alex?”

  Rita looked up from a lowered head in an almost coquettish way. “You didn’t happen to bring groceries?”

  Kyle’s jaw ticked.

  Rita smiled. “That’s okay. You’re busy. Do you have any cash? We could use some gas money.”

  I wanted to jump in for Kyle and give her a few bucks. He seemed so cold.

  Rita took hold of his hand. “Sit. I’ll make some coffee. I think I have a cookie or something here.”

  Kyle jerked his hand away, stood motionless for a beat, then lunged past me, streaking down the narrow hallway. His boots clumped on the threadbare shag carpet, and the trailer shook. He threw himself against a closed bedroom door.

  I reached for my gun and started after him, but before I had it out of the holster, Kyle shot from the room and knocked into me on his way out the door.

  What the—?

  I sprang into the room, saw the open window, and figured someone had recently shimmied out. I whirled around to follow Kyle.

  Rita screeched behind me as I hit the door in time to see Kyle sprinting across the wet prairie in pursuit of a black-haired kid. It looked like those Animal Planet videos where the cheetah races the gazelle and throws itself on the poor beast, tackling it to the ground.

  I caught up with the two of them rolling in the sand and grass. Kyle grabbed the kid by the back of his hoodie and hauled him to his feet. He gave the boy a shake and let go. “Where are you going?”

  The kid, a spittin’ image of Kyle, except darker skin, glared at him. “Away from you.”

  No denying this was Alex, Kyle’s younger brother, even though Kyle’s skin was lighter. Their matching faces shot rage at each other.

  I tucked my gun into my holster, noting that I’d actually drawn it.

  Kyle scratched the back of his head as if trying to resist smacking the kid. “Why weren’t you at the sweat?”

  “Why were you there?”

  Kyle practically vibrated with his effort at restraint. “Because Shelly asked me.”

  The kid’s mouth twisted in bitterness. His eyes were nearly black, without the warmth of Kyle’s. “Sure. For Shelly. You’ll do anything for her.”

  The same hand that scratched his scalp dropped to slap his thigh. He won the battle and spoke with a calm voice. “The sweat was for you, misúŋka.” Kyle thumped Alex in the chest. “For you.”

  Rita hurried toward us, her scruffy Kmart tennis shoes gathering moisture from the grass. Her thin arms lost in the sleeves of her sweatshirt, she shouted at Kyle. “You leave him alone. He done nothing wrong.”

  Kyle and Alex both ignored her, so I stopped her. “We’re not here to arrest Alex. We’re looking for Shelly.”

  Rita looked at the ground, not at me, like someone used to being disregarded. “Shelly’s a good girl.”

  I nodded, keeping my eye on Kyle and Alex as they exchanged barbs and harsh words. “We only want to talk to her. Do you know where she is?”

  Rita’s head whipped up, and she shot me a hateful glance before rushing forward, putting a hand on Kyle’s chest and shoving him away from Alex. “I said to leave him alone.”

  Kyle’s eyes flashed but he didn’t move.

  Like a dog that attacks a badger as soon as you shoot it, Alex raised his chin and shouted at Kyle. “Don’t come out here acting like you give a shit about any of us.”

  Rita’s face, prematurely aged with alcohol and hard living, sagged. She pushed baggy sleeves up skinny arms and stepped forward. “If you cared, you’d have brung us something.”

  I might’ve agreed with Rita. She lived in such poverty, would it kill Kyle to give her a few bucks?

  His face looked like a bronze statue. “Look, I’m only here t
o find Shelly. Do you know where she is?”

  Alex sneered, his dark eyes so much like Kyle’s except filled with unchecked rage. “Right. The golden girl. She gets the grades and the awards. Makes you look good in your white world.”

  Rita’s sleeves slipped down, making her look like a child in her father’s clothes. “You keep pushing her to be like you. Making her lose her culture.”

  Steel edged Kyle’s voice. “The Lakota culture isn’t alcohol and filth.”

  The whites of Rita’s eyes were shaded a dull yellow from alcohol. “Go away. We don’t need you here. If you were a real Lakota, you’d be finding Darrel’s killer, not getting all your big white dollars and kissing up to the other sheriffs.”

  Alex stepped forward, his face full of bitterness. “You think you’re some kind of Lakota warrior. Medals and fucking Marines bullshit. But Darrel, man, he knew what being Indian was.”

  “Go away,” Rita repeated, her voice like a terrier’s bark.

  Alex flopped his hood over his head. “Look at you, Apple. You forgot where you came from. Listen to me, man. Red lives matter.”

  Kyle bristled with impatience. “What’s that mean?”

  Alex pointed. “If Shelly’s gone, it’s on you. She knew Darrel didn’t accidentally get killed by some hit-and-run. Someone wanted him dead. And the white man, he let it all go. Just another dead Indian. But Shelly. She wants justice for her brother. You think the white man’s gonna let that stand?”

  Banded together, Alex and Rita generated their own pool of animosity. Rita thrust her chin out. “Hell, no.”

  Kyle seemed baffled. “What’s Darrel have to do with Shelly disappearing, and what do you know about it?”

  Alex lost some of his bravado and glanced nervously at Rita. “I don’t know where Shelly is, man. She’s all whitewashed, like you. She don’t tell me nothing.”

  Frustration and irritation made Kyle growl. “Then what are you talking about?”

  Alex acted as if he’d rather be throwing punches than words. “What I’m sayin’ is you shoulda found Darrel’s murderer. Not get your paycheck from the people who hate us.”

  12

  Kyle stared at them for a moment, then turned and strode toward the cruiser.

  I hurried after him and flopped inside. “What was he talking about? Your brother’s hit-and—”

  “Just drive.”

  “But—”

  “Damn it, Kate. We’re not Leave It To Beaver, okay? It’s the rez. It sucks.” If I kept poking him, he might explode.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  When we drove through Sand Gap, Kyle nodded toward The Stop. “Pull in.”

  I found a space between a rusted Toyota about Diane’s age and a low-riding Frankenstein of a pickup. Kyle jumped out and slammed the door.

  Since the rain had let up, I opened the back door to let Poupon have a break. He didn’t make an effort to sit up but gave me an expression that clearly told me he’d prefer I left him alone. Before I got to the front door, a group of teens burst out. They scattered like my badge carried the plague.

  The door dinged as I entered the clean and well-lit convenience store.

  Kyle stood at the counter addressing a round woman about Susan’s age, with a glorious fan of black hair hanging to her waist. She stared at Kyle without expression.

  He acted casual. “Have you seen Shelly around lately?”

  It took her several beats to give him a deadpan answer. “She don’t hang out here no more. Too good. You know.”

  Kyle maintained good cheer. “How about Alex?”

  Her weight fell to one hip, making her hair sway. “Someone die? That why you’re here?” The girl picked up an apple from a basket on the counter containing browning bananas and dusty fruit. She bit into it and spit the bite on the floor. “We don’ like apples in here.”

  Kyle lifted his arm toward her. “Kate, this is my cousin, Kim.”

  An obese man lumbered from a room behind the cash register. His wide grin was the first welcome I’d seen on the rez. “Kyle Red Owl. Don’ you look pretty in dat uniform.”

  Kyle’s shoulders relaxed, and he met the man as he came around the counter and they clasped hands, slapping each other on the arms. “Gordon.”

  Gordon spoke with a thick Lakota accent. “What brings you here, man?”

  Kim dug behind the counter and brought out a wooden baseball bat. She slapped it in her palm. “Rotten apples.”

  Kyle held up his hands and gave her an exasperated sigh, as if dealing with a naughty child.

  Gordon’s laugh boiled from deep in his belly. “Be nice.”

  Kim sneered at Kyle and me and sauntered to the back room.

  Gordon shrugged. “Sorry ’bout my li’l sis. She don’ like cops.”

  Kyle gave a friendly snort. I didn’t think much would be gained if I got all indignant.

  Kyle and Gordon gossiped about people I didn’t know, passing the time as if they had no cares. I wandered down one aisle filled with every imaginable snack food. Up another aisle with a deli and soda fountain, along with espresso and slushy machines. Clean floors, neatly stocked shelves, bright lights, everything you’d expect from a highway quick shop.

  I approached as Kyle finally got to his point. “Seen Shelly around lately?”

  Gordon shook his head. “Naw. Haven’t seen her much for a coupla months. Quit comin’ in with the other kids.”

  “How about Alex?”

  Gordon grinned. “That little shit. Tried to beg gas off me las’ week.”

  Kyle looked irritated. “That Marquis burns twice what it should.”

  Gordon tipped his head back. “Not Shelly’s car. That new one he got.”

  “Alex got a car?”

  That deep rumble from the bottom of his core. “An old Chevy, like a ’84 long bed. You ain’t seen it?”

  There hadn’t been a pickup parked at Rita’s trailer. Kyle frowned. “Wonder where he got the money for that?”

  Again, Gordon’s mirth boiled over. “I don’ think he got the money. Way I heard, he tol’ Hersh Good Crow he had money comin’ and Hersh, he believed Alex. But the money didn’t come. Alex couldn’t even get gas. I heard Hersh took the truck back.”

  Kyle and Gordon chatted back and forth before Kyle dug in his back pocket and brought out his wallet. Flipping it open, he pulled out three twenties and laid them on the counter. “Put this on Ma’s bill. Tell Aunt Birdie I said hi.”

  Kim plodded out, still holding the baseball bat, and looked at the bills. Her lip curled back. “Oh, cuz is suddenly concerned about his mother. Don’ spend his Sundays talkin’ to her about old times. Jus’ want to pay her off. And using those bills. You suck, cuz.”

  Kyle reached for the cash. “Forget it.”

  Kim smashed the bat on them before Kyle could pick them up. “Leave ’em. Rita’s got a big bill.”

  I gave Kim a tough look before sauntering after Kyle into the gray afternoon.

  Poupon ignored us as we climbed back into the cruiser. I pulled out on the highway heading east. “What did Kim mean about ‘those bills’?”

  Kyle didn’t look at me. “Indians don’t like twenties. Andrew Jackson’s picture.”

  I squirmed, embarrassed I hadn’t thought of that.

  “They’ll be happy to get it.” He sighed. “They won’t tell Ma I paid it, but they’ll keep giving her credit.”

  “Why didn’t you just give her the money?”

  It took him a minute to answer. “It wouldn’t have gone for food or gas.”

  The rain pelted down again. “You don’t suppose Shelly’s car broke down or ran out of gas and she caught a ride with a friend?”

  “She would call me.”

  “She did.”

  He slammed his palm on the dash. “And I wasn’t there because I was trying to help Alex by going to the sweat. Now she’s in trouble.”

  We came to the Nebraska state line. Up ahead the Pepsi sign for Frankie’s showed a pinprick of light
in the heavy sky ahead. I glanced at the familiar sign that highlighted every highway entering our state. Most places it said, “Nebraska…the Good Life. Home of Arbor Day.” But someone had spray-painted over it, declaring this place the Dead Life. Home of Death.

  I tried to sound reasonable. “Shelly might not be in trouble. She’s a teenager. They’re so wrapped up in themselves they don’t care about anyone else. Maybe she’s with a friend and didn’t even think you’d be worried.”

  His voice rumbled. “Not Shelly. She’s always thinking of other people. She wouldn’t go to school off the rez because she had to look after Ma.”

  I knew a thing or two about wacky mothers. “Your mother didn’t seem like she needs someone to look after her.”

  “Ma was having a good day.”

  “What is Shelly’s plan for your mother when she goes to college next fall?”

  He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Shelly thought she could get Ma’s sister to take her in.” He paused to explain the relationship. “Gordon and Kim’s mother.” He opened his eyes and stared at the upcoming disaster of Dry Creek. “Birdie’s not a whole lot better than Ma. I’m worried they’ll suck Shelly back to stay with them.”

  I blurted it out without thinking. “You can’t let that happen.”

  His frustration hit me full face. “Right. I need to get her out of there. But every time I try, something drags her back. And Alex, he’s even worse. Fifteen and headed for an early grave just like—” He cut himself off.

  “Like Darrel?”

  He didn’t respond, and I slowed to the speed limit to pass through Dry Creek. But I jerked the wheel and pulled into Frankie’s Smart Shop instead.

  Kyle stirred. “Craving a Colt 45 for the drive home?”

  I yanked the keys and opened my door. “Let’s see what Barnett is up to.”

  Kyle scanned the parking lot that contained a white Toyota that chugged and sputtered with no driver and an old silver-and-red flatbed Ford F-150. He scrambled from the cruiser, still looking confused.