Hearts of the Missing

by Carol Potenza

Why was he avoiding her? Avoiding everyone?

  If Howard was hiding in the sage and chamisa, he was going to get wet. But he could be tucked into a shed, or under a car or truck. Anywhere in the neighborhood he knew and she didn’t.

  She dropped the shaft of light to the dirt to check for footprints. Her eyes narrowed. The ground had been swept clean. The only tracks she saw were hers.

  Nicky hurried to the back of the house. There was another large pad of dirt. She squatted in the bunchgrass to the side and let her light rake over the ground.

  No tracks, no nothing. The same swept dirt.

  The rain started in earnest and the drops landed darkly in the clean field around the back door, little round balls of water that sat on top of the dirt, only to shrink away as the earth sucked them down.

  The sound of rain crescendoed. Whether she liked it or not, she was done here.

  By the time she slid into the seat of her unit, her shoulders were soaked. From the console, she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped her face as the downpour drummed on the windshield and roof. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the scrubby neighborhood in brilliant blue light. She sat for a moment, rubbing her finger across her lips. Maybe the little girl—or her family—had more information about Howard Kie.

  She backed her truck down the driveway and drove in the direction the girl had walked. When she arrived at the home, its front door was open and the girl, a baby on her hip, rocked back and forth over the threshold. Nicky darted through the pouring rain to the covered porch and shook the water from her hair. The scent coming from inside the house was warm and stale.

  Light above the entryway spilled over the girl’s round face. Straight black hair fell to her shoulders, above a ratty T-shirt, jeans, and cheap pink shoes. She was thin, about twelve, Nicky guessed. The baby stared at Nicky, eyes unblinking, chubby cheeks and a button nose over lips smeared with a ring of food. A half-chewed Vienna sausage was clutched in one fat fist. The fingers of the other hand held the nipple of a bottle filled with a purple liquid.

  “I was watching. He wasn’t there, huh?” the girl said. “My stepdad says he’s crazy.” She glanced at the bandages on Nicky’s hand and neck.

  Nicky gave the girl a rueful smile, taking in the noise of the TV and the cluttered hallway behind. Movement caught her eye as another little girl, this one about six or seven, peeked out from a back room.

  “No, he wasn’t,” Nicky answered. “And I was really hoping to talk to him. Do you see Howard a lot? When is he home?”

  The girl shrugged, jostling the baby, who stuck the bottle in his mouth.

  “All the time, I guess. But me and Valeriena”—she gestured with her chin—“are at summer camp during most days now.”

  “Is your mom home? Maybe I could talk to her, see what she might know. I’m Sergeant Matthews. What’s your name? And who’s this little sweetie?”

  “I’m Venetia and this is Victor.” The baby wore a dirty, unsnapped onesie and a full plastic diaper, his legs and feet bare. “Nah. My mom and Bobby are at the casino. They should be back pretty soon.” Her smile had disappeared and the expression in her eyes was wary now.

  “Bobby?” Nicky winked at the baby and tugged a tiny toe. He clamped four little teeth on the nipple and ducked his head into his sister’s shoulder. She couldn’t coax a smile from him.

  “My stepdad. He’s Victor’s pop.”

  “They been gone long?” Nicky asked with a smile. “You had to get dinner? What did you eat?”

  “I’m old enough.” Venetia scowled. “I’m twelve, so I can stay at home alone. That’s what the judge says. Maybe you should go.” Her bottom lip pushed out and she notched her chin up.

  The younger girl crept up behind Venetia and spoke. “Vienna sausages and applesauce! And grape Fanta.” That explained the purple liquid in the bottle. “I’m seven. Victor isn’t even one year old. He can’t walk good yet.” Venetia tried to shush Valeriena, but she was obviously a chatterbox.

  “Hey, you got bandages,” Valeriena said. “You really lookin’ for that guy from over there? He’s kinda scary. He sweeps the ground all the time and I asked him why and he said to keep away very bad witches and spirits, like on Halloween.”

  Victor dropped his bottle. Valeriena bent to pick it up, wiped the nipple on her shirt, and gave it back to him.

  “Veni stold twenty dollars from Mommy and Bobby ’fore they left to get drunk. She used that to buy a good dinner. I’m not hungry anymore, but we had to hide the rest, otherwise Bobby gets real mad, ’cause it’s a waste of distribution. But he’s super-happy now, ’cause of distribution Victor’s gonna get he didn’t have before.”

  Venetia frowned at her sister. “Take Victor and go watch TV, ’kay?” She passed the baby to Valeriena, who settled the little boy on her hip, her arms barely able to encircle him. She leaned to the side for balance. The two of them looked like a large Y.

  “’Bye, lady police officer. Hope your hurts get better soon. Victor smells like pee, Veni. We got more diapers?”

  Venetia dropped her gaze as she shook her head. “Didn’t have enough money.”

  Once Valeriena and the baby disappeared in the back, Nicky said, “Who can you call to come stay with you until your mom gets back?” When Venetia made to argue, Nicky cut her off. “Call someone, or I’ll take you to CPS. Child Protective Services—”

  “I know what they are. And then what? We stay for a couple of days and they give us right back here,” the girl replied, her upper lip curled.

  The rain had slowed to a gentle hiss on the roof and earth. Nicky crossed her arms and waited silently, knowing what Venetia said was true, but refusing to budge. The children weren’t safe alone at night by themselves. She couldn’t change much in their lives, but she could help them right now.

  Venetia shifted on her feet, mouth turned down. “My aunt. I can call her.”

  “Okay. Do it. I’ll wait until she comes. And if she doesn’t…” She let the statement rest on the air. “Lock the door and only open it to me or your aunt. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Nicky waited until the lock engaged and jogged back to her unit. She drove to the mini-mart, empty of customers because of the rain and the time. The clerk was a sleepy-eyed young man with a precision faux-’hawk. She asked him questions about Howard Kie and the little girls, modifying her purchases because of his answers.

  The front window of the store was slick with rain, the broken plate glass from the burglary replaced. She’d purposefully avoided looking at it, building up her courage. Finally, while the clerk ran her card, she walked to it and stared at her pale reflection, warped by the streaming water, and searched the other images reflected from the inside of the store. Mirrored in one corner was a magazine rack behind her and she laughed out loud, getting a curious smile from the clerk.

  Kim Kardashian was in the window.

  Nicky shook her head, gathered her bags, and headed to the door when she saw a bulletin board covered with ads.

  “Hey. Can I have a couple of these pushpins?” she asked.

  “Take what you need, Officer.”

  With the pins in her sack, she hurried out to her truck. The rain was a drizzle now and the air smelled clean and fresh. Thunder sounded, but distant. There would be more rain, probably on and off all night. Hopefully it would clear up for the Blessing Ceremony tomorrow.

  Nicky drove to Venetia’s house and dropped off more food, diapers, and wipes with the girl, who assured her the aunt would be there in the next few minutes. Eyes wide, she stammered her thanks.

  “I’ll wait until she comes,” Nicky said. “Lock the door.”

  Back at her truck, Nicky grabbed the last grocery sack and headed to the old adobe shack. The downpour had erased her footprints. Instead of leaving more, she stepped around the open area, balancing along the rocks lining the yard. When she reached the front, she pinned the bag on the door and left the way she came.

  Nicky waited for the children’s aunt, w
ho was very apologetic. They chatted about the situation, and once she was confident the kids were safe, she left, dissecting the last couple of days as she drove. There was so much to process, so much information running around in her head, she hoped she’d get some sleep that night.

  But when she finally got home, that faint hope shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Someone had smashed out the front windows of her house.

  * * *

  Howard crouched behind an old lawn mower in the leaky, spider-filled shed by his trailer, muscles taut, until the purr of Agent Matthews’s engine faded into the patter of rain. Shivering, he swiped his hand over his head and neck, chasing tickling legs as they scurried across his skin. His brain ached, like drums beating behind his eyes. He was cold, wet, and his glasses kept fogging up. But he had discipline. The same discipline you needed as a war chief, and he stayed patient and still until she really, really left, instead of just driving to the mini-mart and back. He almost fell for it the first time. Almost got up and went home.

  Slowly and stiffly, he stood and left the shed, heading to the adobe shack. His shoes squelched in sandy puddles. When he could, he stepped on rocks or bunchgrass, so the witches and evil spirits would lose his trail.

  The war chiefs were still after him and he was tired from the fear he felt all the time. Sick from the lack of beer. But he could think better, and he had to be vigilant. Howard shuddered. They took the hearts of their enemies so they would wander lost. And he was their enemy because he would expose them.

  They would be at the Blessing Ceremony tomorrow night in Salida and he would spy on them, disguised. His clan mask—a family mask—was good. The guy at the mini-mart said he’d give him a ride. He would figure out their game and gather evidence, prove they killed Sandra to cover up their crimes and killed others to increase their power.

  Howard glanced at the house and froze.

  There was something stuck to the door, but its outline was fuzzy through his fogged-up glasses. He crept closer, each step placed carefully so he wouldn’t leave tracks. A large bag of Flamin’ Hot Fritos was pinned to the wood. The cop had left a peace offering, an apology.

  Suddenly delighted, he smiled. It was a good sign. And he had something to offer in return.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Howard let the tips of his blue-powdered fingers brush the cop’s jacket before he darted into the Blessing Ceremony crowd. It was like he glided through the tsa’atsi, so fast no one could see him. He pivoted to see if the lady cop had noticed, and bumped into a bishbiina, a Sky-Bird person, which knocked his own mask askew. All he could see now was down. The forked branch he’d stuck into the hole near his left ear sagged and he stopped unsteadily to twist it back in place, then righted the mask.

  His chest swelled with euphoria. Free. Out of hiding, but still hiding. The chill air deep in his lungs made him part of the night, the tiny stones that poked through the soles of his moccasins made him an extension of the earth. He wanted to yell and chant and dance because whoever had been tracking him—including Sergeant Matthews—would not know him. He was not Howard now, but the sum of his ancestors. Part of those who lived in his family’s kəətsi mask.

  People streamed around him as he swayed on the road, invisible. But they weren’t people, they were hanutra. Sucking in a great, happy sigh, he smelled the mud and wood and stink of antelope hide that made up his mask. Breathed in the essence of his father and grandfather and all his fathers from the Beginning. From naha’aya. From the Day before Yesterday. He did it again. His chest inflated, absorbed the power of them. It was the feeling of belonging.

  Part of it was the beer he’d drunk. A whole six-pack, and quick. It also gave him courage and fleetness. His clan was Antelope. Nothing could catch him. Nothing.

  Howard rotated his head slowly and the light from the streetlamp turned the eyeholes into binoculars as he searched for her. He squinted. His glasses would not fit under the mask, so some things were blurry.

  She was over there, with those other cops. Not other cops. The others weren’t cops. One of them was from his class at high school. Savannah Analla. She’d always been nice to him. But she was nice to everybody. She walked away with that Chishe—Apache—kid. That guy had never been nice to him.

  The drums and rattles sounded and tingles ran over his skin. It was time for the blessing. It was time to fool the fools, but he had to be careful. The war chiefs had spies everywhere.

  As he hurried through the crowd, he took one more opportunity to brush Sergeant Matthews’s clothes with his hand. The blue powder and paint would leave the mark of the Sky Clan on her. His own blessing? Maybe.

  He’d marked her car, too, when she’d parked, so he would know where to leave his gift for her. His payback for the Flamin’ Hot Fritos she’d pinned on the door of the adobe. His payback for finding him.

  Howard wrinkled his forehead and his skin rubbed against little bumps on the interior of the mask. Sergeant Matthews found him—even though he’d swept—which meant she was not evil. Because sweeping keeps away the evil spirits.

  The drums and rattles were louder now and he shivered. He’d hidden his gift underneath the first car to be blessed and he knelt on the rough concrete to retrieve it. The elemental Sky war chief and his attendants were ahead of him. Box clutched to his chest, Howard danced into the group unnoticed. They moved to the lady cop’s truck. He waited as the war chief pressed his mudded hands against the hood. Waited as the war chief’s attendants pulled out the cop’s gift—he squinted—bags of roasted coffee, and handed it away. Waited as gifts were given in return, placed in the back and front seats. Drums thrummed in his head. The flood of Sky-masks moved to the next car. More footsteps and singing behind him as the next war chief came.

  It was time.

  He shuffled his feet to the beat, the blessing chant humming from his mouth, and leaned into the backseat. The rattles shirred loud and hollow and drowned out all else.

  Howard wavered in despair. This could have been him. He could have been a war chief. He could have stopped the sacrifices. Dizzy from the scent of coffee, he stared, vision blurred with tears, as the other gifts started to shake and move. Sourness rose from his stomach to coat his throat. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and placed his box.

  There. It was done. Drained, he pressed his hands against the cold metal skin of the truck and left his mark. He took a deep breath of his ancestors again and absorbed the strength he needed. The drums still pounded in his head, but the rattling dropped to a whisper as he backed away and melted into the crowd.

  Howard looked for the cop. She stood there, along with the big man. He would stay a little longer, make sure she drove away. Once she opened his gift, she would try to find him again. He sniffed against tears. He must be strong.

  On knees that felt like they were filled with water, he stumbled across the road.

  And waited.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Now, how did I know to get four cups of coffee?” Nicky asked as she walked toward Ryan, Savannah, and Frank. “Cream and sugar’s in the middle.”

  Frank’s gaze roved over her face. His lips tightened momentarily, but quickly relaxed into a grin. “Coffee, huh? Getting right back up on the horse that threw you.” He took the tray from her and looked pointedly at her bandages. “How are they?”

  Nicky held out her hand, now covered by a large flesh-colored pad. “Better.” She tilted her head and smiled sweetly at Savannah. “So, did you catch them up on all the juicy gossip?”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady.” The lenses of Savannah’s glasses flashed in the streetlamp. “You were supposed to take yesterday off and rest, and you didn’t. Admit it,” she said. “And then you arrive at my house last night, and wouldn’t tell me anything, and I’m your best friend. And I even let you sleep in this morning, left you breakfast, and didn’t bother you all day.” She tugged her sweater closer and shivered in the unseasonably cold night air. Ryan pulled h
er into his chest. Lips compressed, she glared at Nicky.

  “We’re all worried about you, Nicky,” Ryan murmured. He looped his arms around Savannah’s waist as she tried to burrow under his uniform jacket.

  Nicky raised her eyebrows. “All of you, huh? Even you, Frank?”

  “Yup.” He stirred a tiny cup of cream into his coffee. “I got my partner’s back.”

  Nicky relaxed. “Thanks.” She looked around. “Where’s your real partner?”

  “PJ? He was in this morning. We extracted a big snake out of a bathroom in Tambora Park.” Nicky shuddered and screwed up her face. Frank laughed. “But he only worked half a day. Said he felt sick, so he went home. I brought in the conservation truck for the blessing.”

  Drums echoed around them. The ceremony would start soon.

  “So this is your first blessing?” Nicky asked. “Say, has anyone explained—”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Nicky. And stop being so nice to her, Frank,” Savannah demanded. “Tell us what happened. Now.”

  Nicky pursed her lips and scanned the milling crowd. “Not much to tell, really. When I got home last night, the gate to my property was open and the windows along the front of the house smashed with, I assume, a crowbar left in the courtyard. Luckily, the inside of the house wasn’t touched.” She shrugged. “Took some pictures, made a call.”

  “To Dax,” Savannah finished flatly. “Janet did this, didn’t she?”

  Nicky swallowed, throat tight. “Yes.” She took a quick sip of coffee. “Dax was very apologetic. Said she’d gone off her meds and promised nothing like this would happen again. He sent a couple of guys over immediately to take measurements and board everything up. The windows are standard size. They’ve already been replaced.” She swirled her cup. “There was blood. Janet cut herself on the glass. That was probably why she didn’t try to get inside. I kept the crowbar and had it dusted for prints.”

  “You have evidence this time,” Ryan said.

  “There was evidence last time. It didn’t mean much, did it?” She couldn’t keep the bitter edge from her voice.