~~~~~~
Sue Hanagarni-Yazzie listened, with the receiver tight against her ear, blocking out her young son who was in a temper. This was the second time Lucy Tallwoman had called. The first time, Sue had been outside in her garden to pick a few tomatoes for supper, and did not reach the phone in time to answer. Since Lucy’s new phone was installed, the pair usually spent a few minutes each day talking about one small thing or another. She was sure her friend would call back.
When Sue again motioned young Joseph Wiley to come in from his place––half-in and half-out of the screen door––the boy’s attitude turned even more surly. He frowned and shook his head. “No! I want outside…I wanta’ feed the horses.” The boy fell to muttering under his breath making his obstinate face as he glared at his mother. Exasperated, Sue gave him an equally determined look, and warned, “How would you like a big fat spanking this morning. I may even tell your father how you are and he will give you another spanking when he gets home.” She threatened all this though the boy seldom received as much as a swat on the behind and by now had grown impervious to such exaggerated threats.
“I’m going to call him at work right now,” Sue bluffed, picking up the phone. “He’ll be angry. He doesn’t like to be called at his office just to deal with bad little boys.” The two stared at one another for nearly a full minute before the boy lowered his gaze and came inside––purposely slamming the screen door behind him. He watched to see if his mother would acknowledge this door slamming to be the final word in the incident. He knew not to push Sue too far, however, and took notice when she shook a finger in his direction. “If you slam that door again and wake the baby, you’ll be sorry.”
Sue was a progressive Navajo mother who read books on child rearing and was not always sure the old Navajo way, of letting a child do as they pleased was the right approach. When she was a child, a traditional Diné mother saw no harm in a child acting up, occasionally, as long as no real harm came of it. And that mother might not have the final word in the matter anyway; her brother, if she had one, could take charge if he saw fit. It was an uncle’s place to oversee certain aspects of a nephew’s upbringing. The same was true for a girl; she often depended on an aunt or even older cousin for guidance. In so matrilineal a society a child’s father, traditionally, had surprisingly little say in such matters.
In olden times, a certain amount of independence was thought to build character in a child. It was thought they learned from their own mistakes that way and were then encouraged to be self-reliant––the better to prepare themselves for a life in those far more difficult times.
Sue found she was not alone in her more modern approach to child rearing. She had no brother or sister herself, and despite what Charlie’s Aunt Annie thought, she and her husband intended to raise their children as they saw fit. Charlie took an equal role in the boy’s upbringing despite traditional attitudes to the contrary.
This current standoff between mother and son was interrupted by Lucy Tallwoman’s second call. She had guessed her friend was probably occupied with the baby or temporarily, out of hearing. Lucy felt it rude to let a phone ring on and on, but decided now to give it another go, and this time let it ring just a bit longer.
Sue picked up the phone on its fourth ring and Lucy Tallwoman’s relaxed and almost imperturbable aura, even over the phone, seemed to promote a calming effect. Maybe Lucy would have some ideas in regard to her stubborn son. Though her friend was more traditional than she, Sue had noticed, of late, the new influx of money from Lucy’s weaving seemed to be having an impact––leaving her open to more progressive thinking. Slowly, the Begays are coming into the modern world, she thought. She and Charlie might be partially responsible for this and she hoped it would prove to be a good influence. That was not always the case when traditional minded people changed too quickly. Sue had seen it before.
~~~~~~
When Charlie came up the drive that evening the first thing he saw was Thomas Begay coming down the lane on the resurrected tractor. Joseph Wiley, grinning ear to ear, was sitting on his lap. Charlie smiled at the pair as he pulled abreast of them.
“Two fouled injectors!” Thomas called above the clatter of the little diesel engine. “That’s all it was! I was able to clean them myself and didn’t have to buy any new ones.”
Joseph Wiley waved excitedly at his father and called, “It’s fixed now…Thomas has fixed it!” Charlie nodded to them both and pulled on up to the house. Sue was standing on the front porch holding the baby who reached out her chubby little arms to him. She was going to be a daddy’s girl; that’s what everyone said. As she passed the toddler over to her husband, Sue gave Charlie a worried look. “I was talking to Lucy earlier; she hasn’t seen Harley Ponyboy lately. Lucy said Thomas went out to his place and Harley seemed all right to him. He said he had just been busy on his trailer.”
Charlie smiled to himself. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Harley Ponyboy. When he hears this tractor is fixed he’ll be by to borrow it in no time, I’ll bet. Harley mentioned to us at the auction he had some work to do on that sand-wash behind his place.” Charlie did his best to keep a straight face as he carried his daughter down the driveway to watch her brother ‘drive’ the tractor.
“We should build a shed for this tractor. It shouldn’t sit out in the weather––especially this winter.” Thomas liked to think ahead when it came to machinery but was not all that particular in thinking ahead when it came to most other things.
Charlie frowned, “I expect a shed will have to wait until I can make up what the tractor cost. You didn’t tell me it would need a shed.”
“It doesn’t have to have one but it will save you money over the long haul…maintenance and all.” Thomas handed over Charlie’s son and now the investigator had a child in each arm. “I was in town this afternoon to make arrangements for my father and pick up what he had on him when he died––not that it was much. Funny thing is…was they didn’t find any money on him. I’d just given him a few dollars and he never even made it to the other bar, apparently. I just can’t figure out what’s become of it, that’s all.”
“Did they say if the death certificate had been issued yet?” Charlie was curious.
“Not yet. The coroner said the lab results from the autopsy are on hold for some reason; he thinks they could be in tomorrow. The county cops learned, from one of the people where Gilbert was staying, that he was seen talking with a man a short time before his death. But the undersheriff didn’t attach any real importance to it. Their office had pretty much concluded it was natural causes from the start. They don’t seem to feel any further investigation is needed.” Thomas paused as he recalled what the undersheriff mentioned. “He said my old man had been doing some odd jobs around town and had been able to pay for his room, at least. About the only thing he had on him, though, was an old wallet with his PRCA association card…and a few pictures.” Thomas reached in his pocket, “…and this,” he said, holding out a blue silk bookmarker with the words ‘Living Clean’ printed on it. “This was in his pocket along with some change.”
Charlie stared at the bookmarker before raising his eyes back to Thomas. “This is just like the one found in Benny’s old truck.”
Thomas nodded, “I mentioned that to the undersheriff, and he thought someone might have been passing them out around town––some religious organization maybe.”
Charlie nodded. “Maybe.” But he was frowning when he said it and Thomas took this to mean he wasn’t convinced.
After Thomas Begay parked the tractor and said his goodbyes, he fired up his truck and left for home, without further ado. Charlie stood staring after him thinking about Gilbert Nez. He then put his son down, hefted the baby to his shoulders, and went to feed the horses. Joseph Wiley had to trot to keep up––all the while keeping a wary eye out for the formidable band of guineas roaming the neighborhood. The boy’s pup followed so closely he almost became entangled with the child’s feet. He, too, however, kept
a cautious eye out for the nefarious fowl.
9
The Vixen
Harley Ponyboy sat in a metal lawn chair on his rickety back porch. He’d built it soon after finishing the front porch––both now going to hell, as he put it. He fingered the chair’s worn paint and wondered if it had ever even seen a lawn; not in the ten years since he bought it at the yard sale in Kirtland that was for certain.
Due to recent rains the wash behind the trailer was running water––quite a lot of water for the time of year. It was slowly eating away at the shallow bank and was now no more than fifty feet from the back door. There was a time when Harley wouldn’t have cared if the whole place was swept away. The coming of Eileen Smith had changed everything bringing a better sort of life within his grasp. He was determined to make the best of so rare an opportunity.
“So, what do you think?” Eileen asked, coming out on the back porch, turning around, and throwing the towel off her dripping hair. She had cut it fashionably short and dyed it black. She whirled––flinging little beads of light in the afternoon sun.
Harley, though taken by surprise at the new look, was aware that saying just the right thing could be critically important at this point. He studied her carefully, for an embarrassingly long moment, before answering in an unsure voice. “It makes you look…more Indian, I guess. Younger, too—I like it.” This was apparently the right thing to say. And he beamed as she broke into a smile.
“Good. I was hoping that would be your impression. I’ve always felt reinventing one’s self, from time to time, never hurts a person.”
“Well, it looks very nice on you.”
“Thank you and it’s very good of you to say so, too.” Eileen was beginning to suspect she had fallen into a situation with distinct possibilities despite what little she might have to work with.
Harley, again, felt caught up in that indefinable glow of well-being that had for so long eluded him and was reaffirmed in his newfound belief there might be better times to come. Eileen perched herself on a porch railing and the two of them sat quietly, looking across at one another, each with their own quite different thoughts.
Both heard the sound of the engine at the same time and then the tortured squeal of a truck’s brakes coming down the little incline before the slight climb to the trailer. Eileen came instantly alert. “Sounds like you have company.” She jumped to her feet and headed for the back door.”
Harley frowned. “Don’t worry yourself, Eileen. I’ll take care of it.” He came around the back of the trailer to see Alfred Nakii sitting in his truck, watching the front door, about to sound his horn: that being the proper thing to do on the Dinétah. Only very close friends or relatives would think of getting out and knocking at the door.
“Yaa’ eh t’eeh,” Alfred called out as he saw Harley coming around the end of the trailer. He gestured with his chin. “I saw your truck and figured you were at home.” He got down and the men shook hands as Harley returned the greeting.
Cocking his head to one side, Harley inquired how things were going for his neighbor.
“Oh, everything is fine, Harley. I just come from Farmington and thought you might like to know…there’s talk down at Rosie’s place…some stranger is looking for a small red-haired woman––about like the one I dropped off here a few days ago, I guess.” Alfred looked away when he added, “No one knows what he wants with her. It could be anything, I guess.” And here his neighbor was quick to reassure, “…but I never said nothing about her to no one.” He gestured toward the trailer with a push of his lips. “If she’s still here you might want to see if she knows who that man could be,” he shrugged. “He could be her husband, or even the law, though they say he don’t look like a law. Anyways, I thought you might like to hear it. You never know these days what people are up to.”
Harley listened without any discernible change in his expression, and waited until Alfred was completely through before nodding. “I appreciate that, Alfred, but that woman is gone now; she left the next day. She said she was headed ta Albuquerque. I doubt we’ll be seeing her again…if she was the woman they were talking about.”
Alfred nodded his head and was satisfied he had done the right thing back there in town. Harley had always been good to him, and to his mother, too, back when she was alive. A Navajo of the old sort doesn’t forget that sort of thing.
Harley knew Alfred didn’t believe Eileen was gone, of course, and didn’t expect him to. But he knew Alfred would not tell anyone about her being there now. It’s just the way people used to be before things changed on the reservation. The two men talked a while longer: Alfred assuring his friend he was there should help of any kind be needed.
“Well, I’ve been thinking I’d take a little trip up ta visit relatives. If you see me gone I’d appreciate it if you could feed Jake for me from time ta time. If you see you can’t, just turn him loose. He’ll stick around and be all right––if he don’t get himself run over.
“Oh, I’d be happy to see to him for you. There won’t be any need to turn him loose.”
As his neighbor got back in his truck he turned and looked at Harley a final time. “Oh, I almost forgot. That man is staying in one of Rosie’s upstairs rooms at the Social Club and he’s saying around that he will give a reward to anyone who knows where to find that woman…just so you know.” He put the truck in gear and winked at Harley Ponyboy as he backed out of the yard.
Harley stood looking toward the corral and Jake, who in turn watched him, making sure it wasn’t time to eat. Mules have an inner time clock that alerts them within a few minutes of their regular feeding hour. It wasn’t time yet and Jake knew it, still…if Harley was drunk things could change. Jake was a mule that liked to cover his bases.
With a final calculating glance at the mule, the little man went back in the trailer and sat down at the table. Eileen came from the bedroom, moved directly to the stove, and put coffee on. Neither of them spoke, just waited for the coffee to perk, and when it was done she brought two steaming cups and sat across from him. “So, what did Alfred want?”
Harley took his time doctoring his coffee to suit him, and then, without looking up, and in a low voice, said, “Alfred says there is a man in town looking for you––he’s offering money ta anyone who might have information.” He took a cautious sip of the hot liquid before looking up to see a flicker of what he thought could be fear cross her face. Still she didn’t speak as her face became an inscrutable mask.
“Why is this man looking for you, Eileen?” Harley did his best to remain calm as though just making conversation. He’d already thought of everything it could be, but still was not ready for the answer when it came.
“He wants to kill me,” and she didn’t bother to look away when she said it. “His name is Claude Bell. He came to the Rehabilitation Center in Phoenix just after I did. He’s part Indian…that’s what he said… and he seemed nice at first. Told me we Indians had to stick together. He was on parole but admitted he’d started drinking again after they let him out and said he thought it might be getting the best of him. His parole officer got him into the program at the Bible center. He and I became friends––you know how it is with drunks––they tend to hook up with other drunks.”
Harley nodded––being well aware of the truth in this.
She toyed nervously with her cup and pointed to the stove to see if Harley wanted more coffee.
He put a hand over his cup indicating he didn’t and found himself fighting back a wave of sympathy for the woman.
“But why would this guy want to kill you Eileen?”
“I know things, Harley––I got lucky and was able to get away––but I knew he’d come after me. He’s smart...and he’s killed before…maybe more than once.” Eileen’s features were an emotional desert betrayed only by an almost indiscernible hint of dread. “He and I were members of the same Bible sales team––canvassing the poorer neighborhoods and contacting local businesses for donations. Selling Bible
s is how the outreach center supports itself…along with a few government grants and individual contributions. Our team leader was a recovering alcoholic himself. He lived at the center and was the director’s right-hand man. He had, several times, cautioned everyone not to let personal relationships get in the way of our goals. ‘Sobriety First,’ he told us. He also made it clear that alcoholics, in early recovery, seldom make reliable support people.” She forced a laugh. “Boy, was he right about that.”
Harley nodded and tried not to show his concern for where this was going.
“One night, Claude smuggled in a bottle and we hid out in the laundry room. Like a fool I let him convince me we could get away with it…you know…that a couple of drinks wouldn’t hurt.” Eileen shook her head. “My father always said I was a stupid girl, and I guess I was out to prove him right. Apparently, someone from our team spotted us and reported back to the leader. When he found us, there was a terrible row and he told me to go to my room.” Eileen gasped softly, as though she’d remembered something and suddenly couldn’t get enough air; she paused to gather herself.
Harley squirmed in his chair suddenly not sure he wanted to hear what was coming, and all the while knowing there was no choice. The genie was out of the bottle and he was afraid now where that might lead. He gestured for Eileen to continue in spite of himself.
She took a sip of coffee and a large gulp of air as she attempted to collect herself. Harley knew she was putting the thing together in her mind––as much for herself as for him. Through the window he saw clouds building a dark line to the west and thought he could smell rain through the open door.
Eileen, staring through that same window, was unable for a moment to tear her eyes away; then she eventually turned back to Harley to continue her tale.
“The next morning, I came awake to the sound of people running up and down the halls. The place was already a mess––cops everywhere––and several people rounded up for questioning, but there was no Claude Bell to be found. He’d slipped away hours before the body was discovered.” She hesitated, her voice only a whisper. “Our team leader was dead––throat slashed with a box cutter—they found him lying in a pool of blood. Claude used a box cutter in the shipping room from time to time and carried it with him everywhere.” Eileen feared for a moment she wouldn’t be able to continue, but choking back a sob, forced herself to go on. She knew Harley needed to hear it; though at times he appeared on the verge of stopping her himself. She only shook her head––held up a hand for quiet––and went on.
The Bible Seller: A Navajo Nation Mystery (Navajo Nation Mysteries Book 7) Page 8