Berke twisted his lips into a smirk. “I memorized it for you: ‘Ryana, you’ll know what to do with this. N.’”
“Know what to do with what? What was in there?” Ryana’s voice had a touch of panic. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Instead of speaking to the question, the agent gave her a look reserved for idiots or young children. “You have more information about Michael Debois and how and why he died than you’re telling us. Playing dumb doesn’t work with me.”
Bernie sucked in her breath. Michael was the name Bigman had passed on to her, the name he had heard Agent Johnson say when she saw the dead person near the running trail. And the name Johnson had mentioned to her.
Ryana leaned away from the agent. “You’re crazy, man. I don’t know any Debois.”
“You called him Nicky Jones. What do you know about his murder?”
Ryana’s mouth fell open. Bernie noticed that she had started to shake.
“Nicky’s dead? Nicky! What happened?”
“You tell me.”
Bernie heard a low rumble and saw the flashing lights of an approaching tow truck bounce against the windows. “Are you seizing the car?”
“Yeah.” Berke glanced out the window. “I called for the truck as soon as I realized what we were dealing with.”
“Tell me what happened to Nicky?” Ryana sounded panicky and scared. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
Berke gave her a hard look. “We can get into that tomorrow. I’ll have more questions for you when we know everything you’ve got in that trunk.”
“I’m not . . .” Ryana stopped talking when Bernie put a hand on her arm.
Bernie frowned at the FBI agent. “Stop it. Don’t be a bully. You’re badgering her. She’s answered your questions several times. Act like you’ve got a heart.”
“Who are you, Officer Manuelito, to lecture me? I’ve probably been doing this job since you were in high school.”
“Ryana’s another victim here. She’s trying to cooperate.” Bernie felt like punching the jerk. “Whatever credentials you have don’t give you the right to be cruel.”
“This doesn’t concern you, but that attitude of yours concerns me, and I’m going to make it a problem for you.” Berke glared at her, then went outside to supervise the tow. He drove off with his partner, following the sedan and the big truck, without another word to Bernie or Ryana.
Ryana stood at the window, watching Nicky’s car disappear. Bernie sat on the couch. After a few minutes, Ryana retreated to the bedroom at the back of the house. Bernie kept thinking about what to tell Ryana’s aunt, but she had only come up with a handful of ideas when Dolly Natachi drove up in her little Ford. Bernie gave her the information about her brother first, stressing that he was responding to the hospital treatment.
Dolly took that news well. “When I saw that police car out there, I tried to think of what I’d done to get myself in trouble. Then I wondered about my brother and if someone had come with bad news. I’m glad he’s holding his own.”
“My husband, Sergeant Chee, has seen him, and so has your niece, Ryana.”
“Ryana said she wanted to spend the night, and that she needed to talk to me about something important. I thought she would be here by now.”
“She’s in the bedroom. I heard her crying.”
Dolly shook her head. “This breaks my heart. First my brother and now Ryana’s troubles. Too much bad news for one day.”
“Did Ryana say what she wanted to talk to you about?”
“Her boyfriend moved out and she didn’t know what to do.” Dolly sighed. “When that girl came back from Phoenix, we all thought she would settle down. But then she let that guy Nicky move in with her. He was nice enough, but not very forthcoming.”
“What was she doing in Phoenix?”
“She said she found a waitressing job and took some acting classes. But that girl bought a fancy car. When she came back to live near her grandfather and went to work at the senior center, she was happy. But then something changed. She sold her car. She started to work lots of overtime. I wondered why she needed all that money because she never went on vacation. Never bought expensive stuff. When she and my brother visited this weekend, I sensed that something made her fearful. Maybe that boyfriend was mean.”
Bernie thought about how to put what she needed to say next. “Two FBI agents came here before you arrived, to talk to your niece. They told her the boyfriend, Nicky, had been killed. They took the car Ryana drove out, Nicky’s car, because of something suspicious in the trunk. From the tone of their questions, they think the one in the bedroom knows something about the murder and what’s in the trunk.”
Dolly stared at the ceiling and Bernie gave her time to absorb the information. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm and steady.
“I know that girl. She’s made mistakes, but she would never hurt anyone. She told me she took classes so she could help the elderlies where she works if they had a heart attack or something. Those FBIs don’t have it right. They should leave her alone.”
Bernie called Agent Johnson from the patrol car. It was after hours, but considering what had happened, she figured she might catch the agent in the office.
“Manuelito? What’s up?”
“My mother’s neighbor’s niece, Ryana Florez, was questioned in the murder of someone named Michael Debois, a man also known as Nicky Jones. He’s the person I found by the trail, right?”
“I’d heard that word spreads fast in Indian Country, but this beats the record.”
“I was with Ryana when Berke showed up this afternoon. She told the truth about not knowing what Nicky had in the trunk. Why did you guys target Ryana?”
“I can’t talk to you about this now. Let’s just say that girl isn’t who she seems.”
“I agree with you on that.”
She heard Johnson exhale. “Like I said earlier, I’m not talking about Nicky, but I owe you lunch. Call me back on my cell phone, and we’ll make a date.” Johnson gave her the number.
Bernie dialed right back.
“OK, if I were talking, I might say that Michael became Nicky because of his computer skills on the dark side and some special information he shared with me. When he got bored with being safe, he decided to move to Chinle and resume his old life of online scamming and then ventured into new territory. If I were talking about this, I might say his murder is linked to that string of burglaries in Chinle, an online account that was hacked, and to a certain people who hated him. But I can’t talk about this.”
“So . . . the sweaty guy was involved?”
“Hired help. Your description of his missing finger came in handy. So, thanks.” Bernie heard some muffled conversation in the background, and then Johnson said, “Gotta go.”
“Did you know that someone shot Ryana’s grandfather?”
“Berke mentioned that. There’s always something going on out here in Indian Country, always a subtext. That’s what I’m learning about the reservation. It’s complicated to figure out who knows who, who is related, who owes somebody a favor. Every answer seems to spawn a flood of fresh questions.”
Johnson’s insight surprised Bernie. “What are your questions?”
“I am puzzling over why, besides being involved in helping kill her boyfriend, a young woman with no record of violence would conspire to attack her own grandfather.”
“Run a search for Roxanne Dee. Then tell me why Ryana asked my husband for two thousand dollars.”
Bernie pointed the unit to Mama’s house, wishing she’d walked so she would have had more time to anticipate the questions from her mother and Darleen.
The aroma of chicken soup greeted her as she entered the house. Mama was in the kitchen, a good thing. Darleen looked worried.
“What happened over there? We saw that white car drive off and that little car that Ryana had up on a tow truck.”
“I’ll tell you about that in a minute.” Bernie spoke softly. “I let Mama know ab
out Mr. Natachi getting shot.”
“That’s why she made soup. All the chopping helps her not be so angry when bad things happen.”
Bernie said hello to her mother.
Mama kept her attention on the pot she was stirring. “This is almost ready. I just have to let the spinach melt.”
“I’ll set the table, Mama, and then I’ll serve it. One of your shows is on TV.”
Mama washed her hands, saving the water in the plastic tub she always kept in the sink. “Your sister needs to finish making salad and then we can eat.”
Darleen came into the kitchen. “I know how you love salads, so this one is special. It has marinated cucumbers.” They heard the TV click on and Darleen lowered her voice. “So what happened over there?”
Bernie spoke in a whisper. “Ryana got questioned by the FBI because of what was in the trunk of that car.” She didn’t wait for Darleen to ask. “A bunch of jewelry, computers. They suspect her of being involved in murder.”
Darleen’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “It’s crazy. Murder? No way. That wasn’t even her car. She told me she had to sell her car because of the blackmail.”
“You said blackmail?”
“Yeah.” Darleen’s voice rose. “Can you believe . . .”
Bernie put a finger to her lips.
Darleen whispered, “You remember those movies, right? Well, somebody threatened to show them to her grandfather if she didn’t pay him to keep quiet. So she did, but then the guy kept coming back, asking for more money. Finally, she told him she couldn’t pay, and she thinks that’s when he hurt Mr. Natachi.”
“Wow. Do you believe her?”
“Why not?”
Bernie opened the drawer with the silverware as she spoke. “Well, Ryana lied to me about her grandfather’s bolo being stolen and about his memory. And then she lied to Chee about who shot him.”
“Ryana told me the blackmail guy was really angry when he called her.” Darleen opened the refrigerator and pulled out the salad and the container with the cucumbers. She took a tomato from a basket on the counter and washed it. Then, talking the whole time, she reached for a paring knife. “The dude threatened to harm Mr. Natachi if she didn’t come up with two thousand dollars. She started to cry when she told me.”
“Did she recognize the voice?”
“No. She doesn’t know who is doing this. That makes it worse.” Darleen poured cucumber pieces into the salad bowl. “I didn’t know what to say when Ryana told me.” She took the tomato, cut it into wedges and added them. “I was glad when you showed up and I had to get out of there, but I wish I could have helped her.”
Mama’s voice came from the living room. “Girls. Let’s eat. You are too slow in there. Stop talking and get moving.”
Bernie barely tasted the soup and ate just enough salad not to be rude. Her mind kept returning to what Darleen had told her.
Mama wanted to talk about Mr. Natachi and shared pleasant memories of him dating back decades. Mama knew her way around a story, and Bernie let the words wash over her with no obligation to respond or react. She left as soon as she could without disrespect. When she said she had to get to work, she told the truth. She needed to share what she’d learned with Chee.
“Blackmailed? That’s what I wondered when she asked me for two thousand dollars.”
“Sister said Ryana has been paying someone to keep this movie stuff quiet.”
“Does she know who?”
“She told Darleen she doesn’t.”
Chee’s tone grew lighter. “I learned a few things today, too. All the burglary victims participated in programs at the senior center. Nicky taught a class there, and besides telling them they should consider grab bars in the bathroom, he talked about ways to safeguard valuables at home.”
“Grab bars in an outhouse? Did he know some of the old ones don’t have indoor plumbing?”
“Sweetheart, you’re getting in the way of my story.”
“Go ahead.”
“He asked the old folks to tell him where they kept their valuables so he could assess the safety. A few days later, their things disappeared without any obvious disruption, as though the thief knew exactly where to look.”
“Interesting.”
“Ryana recommended Nicky’s program to her boss, and she was there when the victims gave up the hiding places. That links her to other thefts as well as her granddad’s. If someone is blackmailing her over the movies, she’s got motivation. You said her car had jewelry and computers in the trunk?”
“Not hers. Nicky’s.” Bernie remembered Ryana’s reaction to the letter Agent Berke read. “She honestly didn’t know that stolen property was in the car. And Johnson told me that Nicky wasn’t really Nicky.”
She explained.
“Any word about the Bigmans?” Chee sounded tired.
“Not yet.”
“You’ve had a long day. If you want to stay in Chinle tonight . . .”
“I don’t. I want to curl up next to you. I can make some phone calls out of Shiprock tomorrow, and Lieutenant Black and his folks can wrap things up. We need to verify that some of the stuff in that trunk came from the elderlies at the Chinle center.”
As he finally headed home, a chalky half-moon rose over the high desert. He knew stories, of course, about creatures who roamed at night causing trouble. He’d seen enough trouble for one day.
Time to go home.
The lights were on in the trailer when he pulled into the driveway. Even though she’d had a long day, Bernie had waited up. Her smile chased away most of his fatigue. He kissed her, and she responded, then slipped away. “I’ve been considering the whole messy Ryana business. I have some ideas I want to bounce off Agent Johnson tomorrow, but I’d like to try them out on you.”
“Sure, honey, but I could use some food to get my brain in gear.”
“Mama sent soup home with me, and we have peaches. You can eat while I talk.”
He finished the soup as he listened to Bernie’s account of Ryana’s situation.
“Did I tell you Mr. Natachi got me to promise to keep Ryana safe?” Chee smiled. “How could I say no to that old man?”
“Good luck with that.”
“He knows something is going on with her, but he won’t talk about it.”
Bernie had been standing as they talked, but now she sat down across from him. “I think there are two scenarios here, and that’s what has us confused. I got involved in this because of Mr. Natachi’s bolo, and it looked like it was tied to the other burglaries.”
“Right. But now I don’t think so.”
“Me neither. I believe the man with the fresh haircut who first had the bolo is key to this whole mess.”
Chee nodded. “Too bad you don’t have a better description of him.”
“No kidding.”
Chee picked up his dishes and started toward the sink. “Have you heard anything from the Lieutenant about his big case?”
“No.”
He looked at Bernie, realizing, again, that she was beautiful. “Let’s get to bed, sweetheart. We can deal with this tomorrow.”
18
Instead of heading back to Flagstaff, Leaphorn drove to La Posada. He parked in front of the old hotel. “Les talk.”
Louisa gave him a puzzled look. “Get your laptop. I can read your typing better than your handwriting and it’s quicker.”
He would have done it anyway and bristled at her bossiness. They walked through the hotel’s big front doors, past the gift shop and the lobby, and out to the garden. Except for a woman walking a fuzzy white dog, they were the only people there. They found a bench under the portal and declined a waiter’s offer of wine or a soft drink. Leaphorn opened his laptop, and she opened the conversation.
“I could see, back at the restaurant, that the discussion about tea bored you, but I hope you realize I was building rapport with Mary.”
“I unnastan. So kay.”
“No, this has turned out badly. I’m
discouraged.”
Leaphorn typed: Rafferty told the truth about packing the dress. That narrows the possibilities.
“Narrows them to what? You think someone at the museum stole it?”
He didn’t appreciate her tone, but the question was legitimate.
He resumed typing. That could be, and Tiffany had the access. Or someone at the post office, either here or in Window Rock. Maybe Mary removed it from the shipment. But I—he deleted the “I” and typed “we”—have made progress. We know for sure that Rafferty is the donor and that he put the dress in the box. We know it exists. Now we have to find it.
Louisa looked at the screen. “Mary? You saw how loyal she is to the Raffertys. It was a struggle for us to find out whom she worked for. I don’t see her stealing from them. A random postal employee? Think of how many packages they must process in a day. How would someone at the post office even know what was in there? And it would be smarter to take the whole box. No one was expecting it, so no one would know it was gone.”
Leaphorn thought. He typed, Good point about the post office. I still have questions about Mary.
“I watched Mary when you said what you did about the Long Walk. She had clearly never heard that story before, and without it, she wouldn’t understand that the dress had value. But she knew a lot about the bracelet, didn’t she?”
Leaphorn nodded. He typed, If whoever took the items had taken the inventory list, no one would have even known they were missing.
Louisa tented her fingers. “What if whoever did this wanted to embarrass the museum and Mrs. Pinto?”
“Rye.” He typed, Or Tiffany? Any more ideas?
“Not right now.” She shook her head.
Leaphorn typed, Let’s talk to Bean’s contact at the post office, see what he knows about Mary. He found the text with the contact information Bean had sent. Like many things in the town of Winslow, population 10,000, the post office was convenient. They parked, went inside, and asked for the man Bean had mentioned, Arnold Sakiestewa.
“Arnie’s in the back. May I help you?”
“No. I needa talk ta him.” Leaphorn showed the woman his Apache County deputy credentials, presented to him on retirement. Their official look and the embossed gold badge on the card got her attention.
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