The Bible Seller: A Navajo Nation Mystery (Navajo Nation Mysteries Book 7)

by R. Allen Chappell

  “You know me, Rosie. I don’t talk to cops.”

  She nodded and rubbed her chin, “That’s a fact…as far as I know…but things have a way of changing, don’t they?” She stepped back with a disarming smile. “The cops already asked me about the truck…early this morning. I told them, same as I’m telling you, I don’t know a damn thing about it. Didn’t see nothin––don’t know nothin.”

  Thomas stood, quietly, knowing this was her last word on the matter; he raised both hands in resignation and turned to go.

  The woman’s voice hardened behind him. “Don’t ever come back in here Begay. I don’t know what your game is…but I don’t want you running it in my place.”

  Thomas nodded. “Not a problem, Rosie…” then stopped to look back. “Are we good now; me and you?”

  She frowned. “We’re good…but we’re through… I don’t want to see you back in here.”

  As Thomas moved toward the door, a man at a nearby table came slowly to his feet, put money down, and then shrugged into his Levi jacket. He reached the door just before Thomas Begay, and outside, stopped for a moment right in front of him––like he’d forgotten something, or maybe changed his mind and decided to go back inside. He was taller than average, thin, and well past middle age; his hair tied in a traditional bun at the nape of his neck. Thomas, not really paying attention, didn’t at first recognize him but when he half-turned and spoke, Thomas instantly knew him. The man spoke again, voice lower this time, gravelly and rough. In old Navajo, he whispered in that direct way someone might address a stranger.

  “I guess you don’t know me no more, huh, Gah?”

  Thomas stared at this man who knew he was called Rabbit as a boy. “I know you all right…what’s it been, thirty years?”

  “Maybe,” the man coughed. “I can’t keep track so good anymore.”

  “No, Gilbert, you were never very good at keeping track.” Thomas knew it was something his father chose not to remember.

  The man’s eyes were red-rimmed and rheumy in the dim light and he stared back at Thomas, seeming to take his measure after all these years, possibly comparing him to how he once was as a boy. He wavered, seeming less certain, as he noticed Charlie Yazzie sitting in the truck just up the street––obviously watching.

  Thomas thought, for a moment, his father was about to walk off…but he only straightened, and looking past him, studied the person in the truck. He seemed determined now to stand his ground. “I overheard you talking to the barmaid in there…” The man’s voice trailed off as he looked, bleary-eyed, at the door they’d just come out of, then thought of something else. “Uh…you got a couple of bucks you can spare?” He said this last part in English and couldn’t keep from licking his lips as he glanced back toward the bar.

  Thomas knew the look, and he knew what the man was thinking too, but only asked. “Did you hear something I ought to know?”

  “Maybe. Earlier in there, before you come in, there was a man asking around if anyone had seen a ghaw-jih in there,” the old man used the derogatory word for mixed-breed. “ ‘She is a small woman with red hair,’ he said, and asked again if anyone knew of such a woman. ‘She’d be a stranger…maybe just come into town the last day or so?’ ” He paused, looked again toward Charlie Yazzie and his tone grew suspicious. “Is that a friend of yours in that truck up there?”

  “Never mind about him, he’s no one you need to worry about.” Thomas’s voice took a sudden edge. “Did this man say what the woman’s name was?” and when Gilbert didn’t answer, asked sharply, “What else did he say?”

  “No, he didn’t mention no name. He said that probably wouldn’t mean anything now. But he did say he was offering a reward for information on her whereabouts. He seemed pretty flush, too; I seen him give the barmaid money, and it looked like a good bit.” He put a hand on Thomas’s arm. “You know you can’t trust that Ute woman in there, Gah? She’ll throw you in the river for sure if she can.” Then Gilbert put his hand out palm up and lifted his chin in a little jerk toward the bar.

  Thomas pulled out his last dollar bills and passed them over in the flickering glow of the neon sign. He thought his father looked even more frail and vulnerable as he took the money. The wind was kicking up and had a bite to it. A frontal system hung north of the La Plata and it was on the move. “You better go somewhere else to spend that. Someone inside may have seen us talking.”

  The old man appeared momentarily doubtful––possibly unsure he could make it to the next bar––only blocks away. He finally nodded that he understood and, pulling up the collar of his jacket, turned up the street, then quickly made his way down an alley. Thomas watched him go wondering if this might be the last time he ever saw him. He thought he should feel more emotion but there was nothing left inside for Gilbert anymore. He’d heard he was back in town, but hadn’t expected to see him…and certainly not like this…there was just nothing left.

  Thomas had been only nine or ten the night Gilbert Nez walked out on them––saying he was going to follow the Rodeo circuit. He assured them he’d be back when he’d made a stake. The three of them were at the Intertribal Ceremonials in Gallup. Thomas and his mother were there to watch him ride; at the time, they believed Gilbert could do anything. He won the All-Around Champion Cowboy title that night. But those all-Indian rodeos weren’t Pro-Rodeo and the money hadn’t lasted long in the back-alley bars of Gallup.

  Charlie kicked open the truck door for his friend and slid back over to the passenger side. He had been listening to the radio as he watched and waited, and saw Thomas’s shoulders slump as he turned toward the pickup.

  When the tall Diné folded in behind the wheel, he sat motionless, staring out the windshield as he drummed a finger on the steering wheel.

  Charlie turned a curious eye. “Who was the old man?”

  Thomas looked over at him and his voice grew soft when he said. “He’s not nobody now…but by God, one night when I was a kid in Gallup, he was the All Around Champion Cowboy.”

  Charlie Yazzie knew instantly who he was talking about. He’d heard that story a number of times when they were in government boarding school. Thomas talked a lot about his father back then…back when he still thought the man might someday come home.

  “He’ll come rolling in sometime when we least expect it,” Thomas would say. “Probably driving a new truck and his pockets full of money.”

  Charlie turned to the side window, quiet, waiting for his friend to get his mind right.

  When Thomas spoke again, it was about the business at hand. That other thing, already back inside its box, was locked up good and tight. He squared his shoulders, put the truck in gear, and at the next stoplight turned to Charlie with a grin. “Hell, you could of come along with me in there, college boy. I couldn’t have done any worse if you’d been right alongside. Rosie had me pegged from the get-go. She hasn’t worked that bar all these years without learning a thing or two.” He chuckled, “In the old days a lot of people thought she’d go under after her husband, Chuck, died. But not me, I knew from the start she was the one who kept that place going.” Chuck was a big, rough-talking white man but he was a drunk, too, and a slow thinker. Rosie’s not either one of those things.”

  Thomas saw the light change, tapped his horn at the car in front of them. “It’s green!” he said under his breath. “You dumb bastard,” and then let the clutch out. The big diesel jerked forward and the car in front skittered away like a rabbit. “Rosie might be getting in a little over her head on this one though. She knows something and thinks she has all her bases covered.” He then went on to tell Charlie Yazzie everything that took place, both in the bar and outside with his old man.

  Charlie whistled softly under his breath and looked over at his friend. “Still, none of this may have anything to do with the death of Benny Klee. Whoever killed him and left his pickup here in town may be in Albuquerque by now…or wherever he was headed when he killed Benny.”

  Thomas nodded, “M
aybe so, but there’s still something about this deal that makes me think this guy came here on purpose…I think he’s still around all right. He’s not going to leave until he finds this woman he’s looking for.”

  The investigator mulled this over as he watched his friend from the corner of his eye. Thomas isn’t anyone’s fool and he has a lot more street time with this sort of people than I do. He could be on to something. Charlie rolled down his window and noticed the wind had died…leaving only enough breeze to spin a paper cup along the gutter.

  4

  The Hideout

  For the second time, Lucy Tallwoman honked her horn at Harley Ponyboy’s old trailer but still no one came to the door, or even peeked out the window, as far as she could tell. She could see Harley’s truck was gone, but he sometimes loaned it to one of the neighbors to haul something or other. He might yet be in there. After honking again, then waiting a reasonable amount of time, she at last decided Harley was gone for sure and reluctantly lifted a covered dish from the seat beside her, and then headed for the trailer’s rickety old porch. She deposited the bowl of lamb stew on the top step. Harley no longer had a dog so it should be okay there, she thought. It was moving on toward evening and he should be home soon, regardless––he hadn’t been drinking for a while now, and didn’t spend any more time in town than he had to, according to her husband. Lucy got back in her truck, still worried something might happen to the stew, and after sitting there a moment thought she should go back and set the food just inside the door…just in case. It occurred to her one of the neighbor’s dogs might come along; a dog could smell lamb stew a good distance. In the end, however, she decided it was an unnecessary bother and pointed the truck back down the ruts to the highway and home.

  Just as Lucy Tallwoman reached the last rise before the big road, she happened to glance in her side mirror, and despite the dust, could have sworn the container of stew was no longer on Harley’s front step. It was getting dark and she thought she might be mistaken. She certainly wasn’t going to drive back up there just to check. Her family was waiting for their bowl of stew.

  That night, around the table, Lucy said she had been to visit a sick clan member that morning, and on the way back, dropped off a little something for Harley Ponyboy as well. He wasn’t home, she said, but mentioned she intended to sit him down and talk to him again about that woman with the good job; the one who was thinking of taking another husband. The woman told Lucy she found being single not to her liking after all. The fact that she already knew Harley, and had even mentioned him in a favorable light, was a pure stroke of luck to Lucy’s way of thinking. “That sort of thing won’t be happening for you every day,” she meant to tell him should she get the chance.

  No one had seen Harley for a while now and Thomas, earlier, had mentioned it was beginning to worry him. “Harley don’t eat right when he’s out there by himself,” he said.

  Old Man Paul T’Sosi wondered, but to no one in particular, if Harley might not need the services of a hataalii such as himself? To his recollection it had been over a year since Harley’s last cleansing ceremony. Paul kept his patients’ records in his head, and since there were not that many, he was seldom wrong. “Maybe he’s having the urge to get drunk…or maybe he already is.” He looked pointedly at his son-in-law. “You know a man might need a little help from time to time, to stay on the wagon.”

  Thomas sighed, and cautiously allowed there was that possibility. Harley might have stumbled. “I guess we could take a run by there tomorrow and check on him. I did tell him last week I might have time to help him on his trailer this weekend.”

  Lucy Tallwoman raised her eyebrows at this, “I thought we were going into Farmington tomorrow?”

  Thomas looked surprised. “Hmm, well, to be honest, I guess I’d forgotten about that.”

  His wife frowned and looked at her father. “And you are going with him in the morning? I thought you were going to go with the sheep so the kids could get caught up with their homework?”

  Young Caleb Begay perked up his ears at this new possibility. Any chance to avoid homework was always at the top of his agenda. “I don’t mind going with the sheep in the morning. Ida Marie and I can easy take those sheep by ourselves.”

  His older sister puffed up. “You speak for yourself, little man. I’ve got to get caught up on some of that school stuff…and so do you.”

  Lucy looked from the children to her husband. “So what’s it going to be? It’s starting to look like I’ll be taking the sheep. Then who’s going to help the kids with their homework, huh?”

  Lucy was beginning to cloud up, and Thomas knew that was not a good sign. He glanced around the table, and ran everything around in his head for a moment, but still couldn’t come up with anything he thought might satisfy her.

  Paul T’Sosi shook his head. “I’ll take the damn sheep. You and Lucy can run by Harley’s place and check on him, and then maybe go on into town together.”

  Ida Marie spoke up, shaking her head at the adults, when she said, “I can help Caleb with his homework. I don’t need any help with mine. I just have some reading for history class on Monday.”

  Lucy shot Thomas a quick glance, and was about to say something harsh, when she suddenly brightened. “I’ll call Sue Yazzie to run into town with me. Thomas can go help Harley for a while then come back to check on the kids.” She looked pleased at so obvious a solution and glanced around the table, as though daring anyone to come up with a better idea, but of course, no one could.

  Not one of them suspected her plan would turn out as it did.

  5

  The Searcher

  Charlie Yazzie had barely finished feeding the horses, and was still filling their water tank when he heard the neighbor’s guinea hens screeching. He looked up to see a Navajo Police unit making its way up the gravel drive––straight into a gaggle of the alarmed fowl. The birds were good watchdogs but they were beginning to get on Charlie’s nerves. His wife, Sue, liked to watch them and said they picked every bug out of the garden––yet left the tomatoes untouched. She now considered the birds her allies and was increasingly protective of the raucous fowl. Little Joseph Wiley liked to chase them, but they occasionally turned tables, and chased him instead. Several times the boy’s pup had to come to his rescue.

  As the police unit came closer, Charlie could see Billy Red Clay silently cussing the guineas while doing his best not to run any over. When the policeman finally pulled up to the corrals, Charlie could see his mouth still working––cursing under his breath.

  Charlie was laughing as he called, “What’s up Officer…don’t like guineas?”

  One male bird, bolder than the others, chose this moment to charge the policeman and Billy had to kick at it to change its mind. “Why in the hell would anyone put up with these things?”

  “People say they’re good eating…if you can catch one…which I haven’t seen anyone do yet. And they hide their eggs out, so they’re no good for that either.”

  Billy patted his sidearm, “I’ll bet I could catch a few.” He grinned. “Have you eaten any of ‘em yourself?”

  “No, but I would if I thought I could get away with it. My son can’t go out in the yard without the dog and they’re running him ragged.”

  Billy leaned on the corral to watch silently as the horse tank filled, almost to the brim, before Charlie shut it off; then the policeman remembered the reason for his visit. “I thought you might be interested in what’s going on with the Benny Klee investigation. I haven’t heard from the Feds as yet this morning, but our boys have been poking around a little. Hastiin Sosi was out to the old man’s place yesterday to break the news to his wife. When she finally calmed down, she claimed her husband had quite a lot of money with him. She told Hastiin he was going into Farmington to trade trucks and intended to finish the deal with cash to avoid any more payments. She said he’d been saving up for a long time. Hastiin had to tell her no money was found on her husband, or in the truck. He
said she was some disappointed to hear that. Then later she asked if the old man’s gun had been found in the truck? He didn’t always take it with him, she said, but since he was carrying so much cash she thought he might have.” Billy went on talking before Charlie could ask. “Dudd Schott’s boys didn’t find any gun. Not that I could see in any of the reports anyway.”

  “She didn’t say how much money he had with him, did she?”

  “No. I guess the old man was pretty tight lipped with her when it came to his money. He was a silversmith and apparently doing pretty well with it these last few years. The old man just told her it was time he had a newer truck and that he could afford it.” Billy frowned. “The wife said he left the house by himself. He asked his youngest son to go with him earlier in the week, she said, but the boy thought it might take his father most of the day to find a truck he liked and just didn’t have time for it. He works in the mines up there somewhere. The officer looked down and scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “I’ll bet he wishes he’d gone along now.”

  “So, you figure Benny picked up someone along the way? Someone he knew…or a hitchhiker maybe?”

  “Could be. We’re going to give it to the media this afternoon…see if maybe someone was spotted hitching around there yesterday morning.” Billy’s voice trailed off as he watched Sue’s mare wring her tail and charge up to the water tank to nip Charlie’s gelding on the rear end. She ran him off and then drank her fill. “She in season?” Billy thought the mare was.

  “Beats me.” The investigator shrugged, then grinned. “She’s always been a little mean with other horses. She’s good with Sue, though, that’s all I care about.” Charlie turned down the water and started the hose down the little ditch to the peach trees.

  Billy looked the trees over with a critical eye. “I remember when you planted those… I believe they will make you some peaches this year.” He sounded almost jealous at the thought of it. He liked peaches and his own few trees had done poorly the previous season.