The Tale Teller

by Anne Hillerman

  What had he overlooked? Could someone want Mrs. Pinto to think the shipment contained a precious remnant of the past if it didn’t? His thoughts returned to Tiffany’s sudden death. Mrs. Pinto had said the young woman was worried about not respecting the dead. If she was a thief, she had reason to be concerned. Could she have taken her own life?

  As he approached Fort Defiance, his cell phone rang. He answered on the speaker phone, thinking it was Louisa, but he recognized Jessica’s voice.

  “Young lady, you’re working late.”

  “No, sir. Well, yes, I have the late shift. I wanted you to know that I found that report on the old accident you wanted.”

  “Great work.”

  “It’s not me, really. They are organized at the New Mexico Department of Transportation. They located what you needed right away using the date for the Indian Market and the fact that two people died on 666.”

  “When can I take a look?”

  “I could email it.”

  Leaphorn hated reading long documents on the computer. He waited for her to move to the next option.

  “Or, tell you what, I’ll print a copy. If I’m gone, I will leave it on my desk with your name.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I’ll come by for it tonight.”

  “Sir, can I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why did you want this?”

  Appropriate, he thought, and respectfully timed. “Part of the case you are helping me with involves some items that may have been in one of the cars in that accident.”

  “Cool. A clue from an old case, like something on TV. That rocks. I’ll leave the report here for you tonight.”

  “Thank you. And I’m hoping you can do me another favor.” He asked her to check on Tiffany Benally, to see if she had a record.

  “Glad to help. When would you like this?”

  “In about an hour if you can.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He arrived in the town of Fort Defiance, rang the bell at the animal shelter, and stood by the kennel in the back of his truck while he waited for a staff member. Leaphorn noticed that the dog was sitting calmly. It looked at him with clear, trusting eyes. He had a stash of jerky in the glove box, and he pulled it out and offered a piece to the animal. It took the treat gently from his hand and swallowed without chewing.

  The attendant, a young man with braces on his teeth, lifted the dog and the cage out of the truck for him. He spoke in English. “Is this the animal from the Shiprock police station?”

  Leaphorn nodded. “What happens to it now? This dog was found with a dead person. I think it could use some extra attention.”

  The attendant looked puzzled. “Sorry. I don’t speak Navajo.”

  Leaphorn tried English. “Wha happen to da dog?”

  “I don’t know what happened to it. The guys up there in Shiprock know its story, so you should ask them. It’s probably a stray causing trouble.”

  “Get dopted?”

  “What?”

  “Da dog get a home?”

  The man shrugged. “Who knows, man? We’ve got a lot of dogs here. We’ll keep it until we know that the investigators don’t need it. Then, if no one wants it, we’ll put it down.”

  Leaphorn recalled Largo saying that the dog stayed with the body, even though it was hot, even though it could have gone to the river to cool off and get a drink. Good luck to you, dog, he thought. You were a loyal friend and you deserve a second chance.

  He turned on the radio to KTNN and heard Pine Tree Clan Singers, and then an ad for the Native Broadcast Enterprise Scholarship, and then a sales pitch for Cowboy Bob and one-stop shopping for Chevrolets. The half-moon was up when he pulled into the Window Rock police station. Jessica was on the phone, but she had a large envelope and a sweet smile for him. He put the envelope on the passenger seat with the cardboard box, drove home, and started a pot of coffee.

  While the coffee brewed, he sat at the table and, with a sense of excitement, took a look at the information.

  The report, compiled by New Mexico State Police officers and archived by the New Mexico Department of Transportation, was thorough, too thorough almost—filled with information that didn’t matter to his case. He flipped through the pages, learning the makes of the vehicles involved, the estimated time of the accident, and the fact that both drivers were deceased when the first responders arrived. At the scene, the investigating officer found four empty beer cans on the floor of the cab of the truck driven by Rick Fernandez. The report noted that Alvin Begaye and a passenger, a woman named Rita Begaye, were in the sedan with Alvin driving. Rita’s address and phone number were included, and the information matched Alvin’s. Given the woman’s age and the surnames, Leaphorn assumed she was Alvin’s wife, sister, or cousin. Rita had gone to the hospital.

  The report made no mention of what had happened to the vehicles, but Leaphorn assumed they had been towed to the nearest impound lot. Before he went to the trouble of tracking that down, he’d use the old phone number and address to search for Rita Begaye. If he was fortunate enough to find her, he would see what she could tell him about the jewelry that might have been in the car the day of the accident.

  It was too late to call her now. For the second time since taking the case, he felt like he was making progress. He wished Louisa had been there to share his delight at the breakthrough.

  Jessica had included a note that Tiffany Benally had no criminal history.

  Leaphorn headed toward his bedroom. Giddi followed.

  “What are you doing here?” The cat’s green eyes studied him, and then she jumped on his bed. Giddi usually slept with Louisa. He let her stay.

  11

  As always, Jim Chee’s voice over the phone made Bernie smile.

  Her day, she told him, had been routine and frustrating. Her efforts to track down the heavyset Navajo man she had observed before she realized her jogging path was also a crime scene had been futile. Now she faced paperwork, and then she was off to see her mother. “Did I tell you Sister is considering one of those work-from-home offers?”

  “No. Did you try to talk her out of it?”

  “Of course, but you know how hardheaded she can be.” Bernie laughed. “What’s new in Chinle?”

  “I heard a rumor that Ryana used to work in the movies. I found proof that she had a fancy car in Phoenix, so maybe she used to be famous. But when I searched, nothing. And Mark, the tech expert here, couldn’t find any information on that either. I guess it’s another lie.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “I haven’t had a chance.”

  “Darleen might know. They spent time together over the weekend. I’ll see what Sister has to say.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “Will you be home tonight?”

  “You bet.” She heard his tone brighten. “I can’t wait to see you. Any news on the Bigman baby?”

  “No. Sandra would have told me and everyone in the Shiprock chapter.”

  After Chee hung up, Bernie recalled her first encounter with Ryana, back when Mr. Natachi and the girl came every weekend to visit at the house down the road. Ryana radiated happiness. She and Darleen played together. Later, when both girls were sneaking up on adolescence, they would race on the high school track. Ryana, with her longer legs, usually won. Then Ryana’s parents moved to start work in Chinle, the girls got involved with other friends, and they lost touch except when the family came back to see Mama’s neighbor Auntie Dolly.

  Bernie called Darleen. Her sister sounded unusually perky for such a hot afternoon.

  “Guess what? My envelopes just got here. I can start to work.”

  “Sister, before you do, I could use your help with something, too. An investigation.”

  “Whoa. Really? What is it?”

  Bernie explained.

  Darleen started talking as soon as Bernie stopped. “That is so, so cool. Ryana didn’t mention making movies. Maybe we could rent one or s
tream it on the computer.”

  “Chee has been calling her, but she isn’t answering. Is there any way to find out what movies she made without asking her directly?”

  “Yeah. I’ll check it out and call you back?”

  “I’m going to visit Mama tonight. We can talk then.”

  “Sure thing. Hey, I’ll show you the supplies for my job then, too.”

  “I wish . . .” Bernie stopped. The deed, however foolish and ill-advised, was done. “I wish you good luck in finding out about Ryana’s life in the movies.”

  “Maybe she was just a voice-over, you know, like in the Navajo Nemo or something. I’ll check on it right now, Sister. You know what else?”

  “What?”

  “This is the first time you’ve asked me to help with a case.”

  Bernie had been at the substation about an hour when Sandra buzzed her.

  “No baby yet. Darleen is on the phone. She sounds excited. Is everything OK with your mom?”

  “I think so. I’ll let you know. Put her through.”

  Darleen sounded breathless. “You won’t believe what I found, what kind of movies Ryana was making.”

  “Tell me.” From the tone of her sister’s voice, Bernie guessed they weren’t preschool music videos.

  “Naked movies of the triple-X kind. Gross. Is this stuff against the law or anything?”

  “No. Ryana is an adult and as long as she did it without being coerced and the movies don’t show anyone getting killed or—”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “I hope you’re not too upset.”

  “This stuff is embarrassing, you know?” She heard Darleen exhale. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Was there more than one movie?”

  “I found three, then I decided to call you. I couldn’t look at any more. I called because I know you wouldn’t want to talk about this with Mama around.”

  “How did you discover the movies?”

  “It was tricky. I couldn’t find anything under Ryana’s name, and I was running out of ideas, and then I remembered how people in entertainment change their names, like that woman involved in the porno business who sued the president. I thought of how you can put up a photo of someone on a social network site, and the computer tells you who it is. I had a photo of Ryana from the weekend. I wasn’t sure how to do it, so I asked CS.”

  CS, perhaps Bernie’s least favorite of Darleen’s male friends, was a would-be video artist. “Is CS there?”

  “No, he’s in Santa Fe. He’ll never finish editing his movie. He helped me over the phone. A bunch of photos of Ryana came up with a different name, and when I searched that, her movie name, I found, well, what I found.”

  “What’s Ryana’s movie name?”

  “It’s Roxanne Dee.” Darleen spelled it. “I guess the Dee stands for Diné.”

  Or delicious, Bernie thought, or devious. She asked Darleen to send her links to the videos. She wasn’t sure how or if Ryana’s movie career fit into Mr. Natachi’s stolen bolo. As she was thinking about that, Sandra buzzed her.

  “Is everything good at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Largo wants you to check out a place near Toadlena where a young woman Chee needs to interview may have gone.” Sandra gave her Ryana’s name, her cell number, and Mama’s neighbor’s address.

  12

  Sometimes Joe Leaphorn got lucky, and this was one of those times. He called the old number for Rita Begaye and found it still in service. He listened to the phone ring, and as he considered what sort of message would best prompt a call back, a person answered.

  “Yá’át’ééh.” Leaphorn asked for Rita Begaye, fully expecting to learn that no one by that name lived there.

  Instead, the young voice on the other end said, “Big Rita or Little Rita?”

  Leaphorn considered the question. “Big.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “OK. Lil.”

  “Hold on.”

  Leaphorn heard a television in the background. He’d begun to wonder if the child who answered the phone had forgotten about him when a woman’s voice interrupted his musings.

  “Yá’át’ééh.”

  Leaphorn asked if she spoke Navajo, and when she said she did, he introduced himself as a retired police detective working to help a woman in Window Rock solve a mystery. “I found the name Rita Begaye on the report of an old accident along with this phone number. You are not in any trouble. That Rita was a passenger in a car that was involved in a fatal accident. Was that you, ma’am?”

  “Yes. What is this mystery?”

  Leaphorn shared the same version of Mrs. Pinto’s assignment he had distilled for Peshlakai. He mentioned that the anonymous gift included the necklace, earrings, and the missing bracelet. He told her Peshlakai had created the set and believed it had disappeared after the accident. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  It only took her a moment to respond. “Peshlakai? I don’t remember much about that jewelry.” He heard uncertainty in her answer. “It was ages ago.”

  “Maybe if I ask you some questions, memories might come back. It won’t take long. It’s important.”

  “Go ahead then.”

  “First, just to confirm, were you in the car that was wrecked?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited, but she didn’t volunteer anything more. He decided to move slowly.

  “Would you tell me about that trip?”

  He heard her sigh. “The one who died was my husband. We were just married, and I had never been to Santa Fe or to a big art show like that one, the famous Indian Market. I don’t like talking about it. Why are you stirring this up?”

  Leaphorn explained his assignment again, this time adding a bit about the missing textile and his speculation that tracking the bracelet would help him find the dress. “I read the accident report on the crash, but it left out a lot of things. Mr. Peshlakai told me that the last time he saw that bracelet, he consigned it to your husband for the sale. I’m wondering how it got packed in a box that came to the museum.”

  “You think the dress in that box belonged to Juanita?”

  “That’s what the donor wrote. We need to make sure. If it’s true, it would be a treasure for our nation. I think the missing bracelet could lead me to the person behind the gift.”

  “OK then, here’s what I remember.”

  She started with the car wreck. It was late at night after a busy day. US 666 was two lanes and dangerous because of speeding, animals, drunks, and more. They had been driving for hours, and had just passed Tohatchi when she saw headlights approaching and moments later realized the oncoming truck was headed right for them. “I think the man was drunk. My husband moved to the far side of the road and then to the shoulder. The other guy just kept coming at us. It happened fast. You know how loud those trains in Gallup are? The sound was louder, worse. It gives me nightmares still.”

  He heard her take a deep breath.

  “After that, my brain went fuzzy. I remember a woman talking to me in an ambulance. I had to stay five days in the hospital. They told me my husband died right away. The one who did this to us died there, too, on the highway. We were only married two months before the accident.” Leaphorn heard the rumble of old grief in her voice. “I hate that road. I don’t care that they changed the name. Two little months, and then he was gone forever. My arm and my ribs were broken, and my heart was broken, too.

  “When they said I could leave the hospital, I called my sister to help. She told me I needed to get my suitcase, you know, my clothes and all that. There was some trouble because I didn’t want to see the car. He had died in there, you know? My sister found somebody to help with that part, I mean, getting my things out and my husband’s things, too.”

  Rita told him how she’d stayed with her sister, unable to work or care for herself.

  “The money my husband made from the show went fast, but it helped me get by until I could work again. H
e liked to carve animals. I have a few of them still. That’s what he took to market. Those things and the jewelry for Bullfrog.”

  “Bullfrog?”

  “Yeah. That’s what he called Peshlakai.”

  He heard the suggestion of a smile in her voice for the first time. “Bullfrog had beautiful silver work. I loved those bracelets, especially the one with a family of bears. My husband said he would trade for one for me, but they all sold out in Santa Fe. That was a good weekend until it turned into sadness.”

  Both he and Bullfrog Peshlakai had made a mistaken assumption, Leaphorn realized. “Let me be sure I’ve got this right. You and your husband had already been to Santa Fe. The accident happened when you were coming back, is that right?”

  “Yes. We were there the day before the official market opened and all day on Saturday. We didn’t stay Sunday because, like I said, he had almost sold out, and we were tired, ready to get home. We packed up a few eagles and a little bear and some jewelry and left before it got dark Saturday night. I wanted to get on the road because I had to work Monday. I lost that job because of the accident.”

  “Did your husband keep records for his business, any notes on what he sold?”

  “When he finished a piece, he made a little sketch of it and he would write the asking price, a space for the sale price, and the time it took to make it. When it sold, he put down who the buyers were so if he ever got in a gallery or had a show, he could send an invitation, an email or something like that. I don’t know how he got so smart.”

  “Did he include the people who bought Bullfrog’s jewelry on the list?”

  “I don’t remember. I know he kept that money separate and . . . Hold on.” Leaphorn heard a muffled voice in the background, and then Rita was back. “I have to go. We have to leave for the doctor’s.”

  “One more question: Do you still have the paperwork from that show?”

  When Rita spoke again, her voice was different, softer. “I saved it. I don’t know why, exactly. We had so much fun on that trip, and then it was all over forever. I miss him.”

  Leaphorn knew what it was like to miss someone, how the numbness of shock fades into profound, bone-deep loneliness. “If I could take a look at those records, it might help the lady who hired me get some peace of mind.”