The Tale Teller

by Anne Hillerman

  “Speaking of supper, we’ve got some salad and a pork chop if you’re hungry.”

  “I ate at home with the mother-to-be. She can’t have much at one sitting anymore, so she’s snacking all the time. So am I.” He patted his belly.

  Bernie joined them. “At least have dessert with us. I made a pie.”

  “Is there coffee to go with that invitation?”

  “Sure.” But she hesitated a moment too long.

  Bigman shook his head. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

  Chee chimed in. “But I’d have some, too, if you make it.”

  “Sure, but try not to say anything exciting until I get back.” Bernie went inside.

  Chee motioned Bigman to a seat. “I haven’t seen your wife for a while. I didn’t realize you were about to become a dad.”

  Bigman focused on the watermelon. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a father. Melody tells me not to worry, but I mean, it’s scary, bro. Scarier than facing a drunk with a broken bottle and a bad attitude. What do I know about being a dad?”

  “Man, you’ll do just fine. You know how to solve problems. Think of it that way.”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t been around many babies. They’re little and vulnerable. How can you figure out what they want?”

  “Well, if you get stuck, you can always ask Bernie’s mom. She has advice on everything. Or watch a video on the internet. That always works, right?”

  Bigman laughed. “You ever think about having a kid?”

  “I do. Being a dad would be great. You have a chance to help a new person learn all about the world.” Chee thumped the melon again. “Relax. It will all work out.”

  Bigman stretched his legs under the table. “I guess you heard what happened when Bernie went for a jog. It was an exciting Saturday for the Shiprock substation.”

  “She told me you were the backup.”

  “Yeah, until the Feds came.”

  One of the things Chee liked about his Navajo friends was that they knew how to be quiet. They listened to Bernie run the water and to some birds along the river. A few moments later, the familiar aroma of coffee drifted through the kitchen window. Chee heard the click of the cabinet opening and pictured Bernie moving the cups to the counter.

  She rejoined them with napkins, sugar, and the three cups of coffee on a tray. She set that all on the table. “I’ll get the pie.”

  “Sit with us first. I want your ideas on something, Sister.” Bigman helped himself to coffee. “I was telling him about our adventures along the trail. Did you hear what happened after you left?”

  “Did the dog confess?”

  “Not yet. I know you think it was up to something.”

  “Usually they are, even Chihuahuas. So what happened?”

  Bigman grew serious. “Well, Agent Johnson walked up there to take a look at what you found, all confident and everything. I told her the scene was as secure as possible and motioned toward the red shoes. She went to the body through the weeds. I noticed that she took the same path you did. She squatted down by the guy’s face, and I heard her swearing. Then she straightened up all of a sudden and put her hands on her chest. She said, ‘Michael, Michael. You stupid jerk. I told you to be careful.’ Then she started swearing again and walked away from the body, toward the river.”

  Bernie moved a cup of coffee toward Chee. “Wow. What else did she say?”

  “Nothing. When she came back, I said, ‘So you recognize him?’ and she just turned toward the trail for a while and then asked me questions about what I’d seen. I wonder if the man was a former agent or a guy she investigated, or maybe an informant or something.”

  “Maybe even an old boyfriend.” Bernie took a cup of coffee for herself. “I’ll see what she’ll tell me when we do our interview.”

  Chee noticed Bigman fidgeting. Talking about the dead, even obliquely, wasn’t recommended for fathers-to-be. Time to change the subject. He gave the melon another final thump. “Sounds about perfect. Since you brought this lovely thing, I believe we should enjoy it.”

  “Absolutely. This is your house. You do the honors.”

  Bernie heard her cell phone buzz from where it was charging in the kitchen. She remembered that she had not called Mama.

  “I’ve got to catch my phone, so I’ll bring plates and a knife. I’ll be right back.”

  The call was Agent Johnson. She went right to business. “I’ve got some questions about the people you encountered on the trail. Can you meet me at the office tomorrow?”

  “You’re working late.”

  “Yeah. I don’t like the way that dead guy showed up here. Nine a.m. OK for you?”

  “Yes.” As if I have a choice here, Bernie thought. “I have some questions for you, too.”

  “I’ll tell Largo about the meeting.” Johnson ended the call.

  She brought out the knife, plates, and more napkins. Chee sliced off the end of the watermelon and then a thick round that he cut into thirds. He put a wedge on each plate. Bigman picked up the melon and took a bite. “A good one.”

  Chee tried his. “This is the taste of summer. I’m glad you brought it.”

  Bernie’s was untouched, and he noticed the look on her face, one side of her mouth a bit higher than the other. “That was Johnson, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. We’re meeting tomorrow. I’m glad. It will be nice to share what I saw, even though it doesn’t seem like much. If she knows the dead guy, that should make the case easier to solve. I want to talk to her about staying involved in the investigation.”

  They ate for a few minutes, and then Chee reached for her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “See that guy sitting there, the man who brought the watermelon, a cop who confronts gangbangers high on meth or a maniac with a knife on a regular basis?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, he needs some reassurance as he prepares to face his own little bundle of joy.”

  Bigman cleared his throat. “The situation is totally different. I got training to become a cop, but what do I know about diaper rash, bottles, putting a Little Someone in a car seat? I’ve never been around a tiny new person. It makes me nervous, I admit it, to think this little soul will be dependent on me and his mom.”

  Bernie said, “You’ll learn. Our parents did.”

  “I hope so. I feel more comfortable at a traffic stop than in charge of a newborn.”

  “You’ll be a fine father. Don’t worry.” She took a bite of the watermelon, juicy, delicious, and the color of a brilliant sunset. “Did you get this at the flea market?”

  “No. My neighbor’s boy grew it at his grandmother’s place.”

  “They had a few at the flea. Hey, do you remember Mr. Natachi?”

  Bigman nodded. “He’s the gentleman who lived near your mother, right? I think he was kind of sweet on her.”

  “That’s the one. I ran into him this morning at the market. He’s living in Chinle now with his granddaughter, Ryana. They came to visit his sister, and he found his stolen bolo tie here in somebody’s booth.”

  “That was fortunate.”

  Chee wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Not so much for the guy who had it for sale. Bernie got a description of him.”

  Bernie said, “He left after he returned the old man’s bolo. A few hours later, Ryana called and implied that her grandfather didn’t remember things very well and that the bolo hadn’t been stolen. Mr. Natachi seemed sharp to me.”

  Bigman pursed his lips. “That sure gets my attention. It makes me think someone in the family took it. Maybe a relative on drugs, something like that. Something to follow up.”

  He finished his melon and put the rind down on the plate. “Sergeant, I, ah . . . this is awkward. I need to ask you a favor. I know I’m supposed to go to Chinle tomorrow to work with Lieutenant Black there on those stolen-property cases. But Melody believes that the baby will decide it wants to get born while I’m out, you know. Or
while I’m driving where there’s no cell service for her to call me.”

  They watched Bigman collecting his thoughts.

  “You and Largo get along great. I was wondering if you could ask him if he’d send the rookie to Chinle? The experience would do him good.”

  Chee said, “Did you hear what happened to him?”

  “Don’t tell me.” Bigman smiled. “He tried to bust that tough gal from Newcomb who always has the weed in the back of her car.”

  “No, no.” Chee exhaled. “He placed himself in the middle of an argument about some rotten hay and got a broken nose and a puffy eye for his troubles.”

  “How bad is he?”

  “He has to breathe through his mouth. His eye has swollen into a tiny slit.” Chee narrowed his own in sympathy.

  “That explains why I got the call to back up Bernie even though I was out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I was glad to see you. When is the baby due?”

  Bigman made a tent with his fingers. “Any day. Next week? Tomorrow? The official arrival date is ten days from now, but Melody doesn’t think she’ll last that long. It’s my fault she’s anxious. I told her I’d attend the classes with her about labor and delivery and all that, but I got called in to work those nights.”

  Bernie wrinkled her forehead. “Every week?”

  “Actually, I volunteered for duty so I could miss the classes. I didn’t want to be there for that female stuff. Now, this is the last week, and Melody told me there’s a film about the whole birth process tomorrow night and then intensive coaching for both of us the next three nights. She said she really needs me to go with her. She never said that before. Then she started to cry.” Bigman turned his hands palms up. “I’d rather go to Chinle, but I might get stuck working where I couldn’t get back in time for the movie or the last three classes. You know that a case can get dicey, even one that seems simple like this burglary stuff.”

  They knew. Drug use and burglaries went together like weft and warp, and they’d heard rumors of mafia types hanging around Chinle. Bernie and Chee had both been on more than one call where something that should have been simple grew complicated and violent, and took a long time to resolve.

  Bernie wiped the watermelon juice off her hands with a napkin. “I’ll go to Chinle for you. Chee can get Largo to OK that.”

  “No, I’ll handle the Chinle burglary stuff.” Chee saw Bernie frown. “You have to stay here to deal with Johnson and the body, and to figure out if the Shiprock guy selling Mr. Natachi’s bolo has ties to Chinle and the rest of the crimes there. I’ve worked well with the Chinle commander before, so that ought to make things go a little smoother. It’s all up to the captain, of course, but I think he’ll agree.”

  “Thanks.” Bigman sighed. “I appreciate whatever you can do for me, man. Melody is really on my case about this darn movie. I hope the rookie gets back to full steam soon.”

  “We all do. He’ll need to pull his weight so you can be with the new mom and help with that little one when it gets here. Your wife will need a break and some extra attention, too.”

  Bernie nudged him with her elbow. “Sergeant Chee, how did you get so smart about family dynamics?”

  “Oh, it’s another of my superpowers.”

  Country music that sounded like Loretta Lynn on a bad day intruded on the night. Bigman looked startled, then pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s my wife. Do you mind?”

  “Go ahead.” They listened to him say “Yes” and “Of course” and “It’s all set” and then “Don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”

  He turned to them both. “She has bad leg cramps. I’ve got to go. Thanks for talking to Largo about this, Sergeant.”

  “That movie might come in handy when you’re on patrol and a baby is about to get born. Think of it that way.”

  Bernie smiled. “I get any calls involving pregnant women, I’m referring them to you. You’ll be the department’s specialist.”

  Bigman winced. He gazed at the watermelon. “I want you guys to keep that, but could I take a piece home for the missus?”

  “Sure.” Chee cut a big slice.

  “Bring it in the kitchen, and we’ll put it in a bag.” Bernie walked inside, and Bigman followed. “You want some pie, too?”

  When she removed the tea towel covering it, the fragrance of fresh peaches, cinnamon, and sugar competed with the char of burned crust. The smell reminded her of how the mystery of the bolo had absorbed her. Now the murder had added to the problems to solve. She could hardly wait to talk to Johnson tomorrow.

  “You keep the pie. I forgot that Melody is supposed to watch her sugar.”

  “Let us know about the baby.”

  After she walked him to the door, she cut a piece of pie for Chee and one for herself, using a fork to break off the burned parts. She took dessert back to the deck. They watched the stars begin to show themselves in the dark distance.

  “I’m looking forward to working the local connection in the burglaries. I want to find the man who tried to sell that bolo.”

  “Mr. Natachi was fortunate that you came along when you did.” Chee put his arm around her. “I’ve never seen Bigman like that. He’s so uptight, you’d think this was the world’s first kid. Do you picture me that way when I’m about to become a dad? All nervous and worried?”

  “No, you’d just call on another of your superpowers. I know I’m not ready for parenthood yet. Are you?”

  He kissed her in answer. Then he reached for the pie.

  5

  The Navajo Inn was about half filled, the customers a mix of area families, bilagáana and Diné, along with summer tourists, all enjoying the bounty of the breakfast buffet. Leaphorn spotted Jim Bean at a table by the windows.

  “Yá’át’ééh.” Bean stood to greet him and flashed his ready smile. Leaphorn noticed that his friend had thickened around the middle and had a glint of gray at his temples.

  Leaphorn sat across from him, and the waitress brought coffee. He put the brown envelope from the museum director on the table between them.

  “I read about what happened to you a few years ago, Lieutenant. You look pretty darn healthy for a guy who almost died.”

  Driving to the restaurant that Sunday morning had stirred Joe Leaphorn’s memory of the attack that put him in the hospital. He never again parked in the spot where the shooter had ambushed him. He gave Bean a look intended to say he did not want to talk about the incident.

  “I got your note that speaking English gives you a bit of trouble. Don’t worry about it. Just say it and I’ll figure it out.”

  “Ya still workin?”

  “I’m planning to retire next year. I want to write a book about postal inspectors.” He held up his large hand, palm toward the Lieutenant. “Now, I know you’re thinking that nobody much cares, but you’d be wrong.”

  Leaphorn raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t give me that look. The Postal Inspection Service is the oldest federal law enforcement agency, even older than the Declaration of Independence. We go back to 1772, when Ben Franklin became the first person appointed as what they called a postal surveyor. His job was to make sure the mail stayed safe and got to where it was going. The Continental Congress named him postmaster, and when George Washington became president, he kept Franklin on the job. We were the first federal law enforcement agency to use the title of Special Agent for our officers, and we kept it until 1880, when Congress decided we had to call ourselves inspectors.”

  Leaphorn sipped his coffee, and Bean changed the subject. “So, from what Louisa said, you have a case you think an old postal inspector might help with.”

  “Rye. Read dis.” He’d typed up a note explaining the anonymous gift that he needed to trace, the phony return address, and the fact that a potentially valuable item was missing. He gave it to his friend.

  Bean read and nodded. “You need to find out if the piece was actually in the box before you can claim it was stolen. That means trackin
g down the shipper, who obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Thas wha I tink.” Leaphorn cringed at his broken English. His professors at Arizona State University would be horrified.

  Although he had dutifully eaten his oatmeal that morning, the aroma of sausage and bacon from the buffet table gnawed away his resistance. He looked toward the line of people, and back at Bean.

  “Joe, I just saw the waiter put down a full tray of potatoes.” Bean pushed his chair away from the table. “Let’s go.”

  Leaphorn took a bit of everything except the oatmeal in the big cauldron. He noticed that Bean loaded his plate with fruit but added a sampling of the other choices. He enjoyed his friend’s passion for life—he went for the gusto. As Leaphorn served himself some bacon, he heard a voice.

  “Save me a little of that.”

  Across from the bowl with the melon and strawberries, he saw a woman he privately referred to as Dahsáni, or Porcupine. The Diné honored the animal as one of the People’s protectors. Tribal Councilor Elsbeth Walker deserved the name, not only because of her prickly attitude but also for her strong commitment to whatever cause she took up on behalf of her constituents. An unsmiling teenage girl and a young man in a wheelchair followed her in line.

  “Councilor Walker, good morning. This is Jim Bean, a friend from my days as a lieutenant.”

  The councilor nodded to Bean across the buffet table. “Elsbeth Walker. Nice to meet you.” She spoke to him in English. “These are my children, Annie and Dylan.”

  Mrs. Walker said, “Mr. Bean, what brings you to Window Rock?”

  “Catching up with a friend, this old man here.”

  “Are you in law enforcement?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m a postal inspector.”

  “I happened to be in Washington at a meeting a few years ago when those letters with anthrax caused such a panic. Was that one of your cases?”

  Bean stabbed a pair of plump link sausages and moved them to his plate. “Well, yes, ma’am. The FBI did quite a bit of the work with us on that.”

  Annie looked bored and embarrassed. Her brother seemed interested in him and Bean. Because of Dylan’s age and the wheelchair, Leaphorn wondered if his disability came from military service in one of the recent conflicts. The Navajo Nation had a high percentage of veterans, disabled and otherwise.