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

by R. Allen Chappell

  “I saw right away I was in serious trouble. Not from the police necessarily, but from Claude. He knew I was the only real witness…and that he’d previously said things he wouldn’t have if he had been sober. I managed to get out through the kitchen area, and with only the clothes on my back, headed down the alleyway for my old car. I kept it up the block at the house of an old lady who’s a friend of mine. I sold her a Bible once, and from time to time, stopped by to see if she needed anything. She was a good person; one of the few friends I had there.”

  “They let you have a car?”

  “We weren’t supposed to have a car, of course, but several people did; they just couldn’t keep them on campus.” Eileen sucked in a long ragged breath and continued, “When I jumped in, and started the engine, Claude raised up a little from the back and gave me a sign to stay calm. He said he would get us out of the situation and no one would get hurt.” Eileen grimaced. “I knew someone had already gotten hurt and he probably wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to me, should I not play along.” Eileen’s hands were shaking now and her lower lip quivered.

  “I only had two months left at the center. And I’d agreed to live with my Aunt Mary outside Salt Lake––at least until I got on my feet. My mother wanted no part of me. She made a point of letting me know she’d sent a letter to my father––wherever he was––and my uncle, asking if either of them might have a place for me. She told me she never heard back from them.

  “It was my Aunt Mary that finally stepped up; she said she had a job lined up for me in that little town in Utah where she lived. She even co-signed for my car loan so I’d have a way home and be able to get back and forth to work when I got there. But later I think she, too, started having second thoughts. She was married with a husband and two young children of her own.”

  Eileen paused, seemed to ponder a moment, before heaving a sigh of remorse. “As long as I’ve gone this far I may as well tell you the rest. Claude was in prison for armed robbery before being paroled, and later was referred to the Bible center. He and two friends were involved in the armed robbery of a liquor store. The store’s owner was shot, and though badly wounded, still managed to reach his own gun and return fire. One of Claude’s partners was hit and died instantly. When Claude was finally caught, he claimed he and his remaining friend were only customers in the store and had no part in the crime. The prosecutor didn’t buy it, of course, and slapped them with murder in the first degree.” Eileen thought back, determined to get the next part of the story exactly right.

  “On the night we were drinking, Claude told me it was him that actually did the shooting––trying to impress me with how macho he was, I guess. He told me he killed the liquor store owner, but of course, at first, he tried to convince authorities it had been the third guy…the now dead friend…who’d done the shooting. The prosecutor didn’t believe the story, but was left with little evidence to the contrary. Finally, he agreed to cut them a deal rather than see them walk. The plea bargain still involved a lot of years behind bars but they figured it was better than a murder one charge. So, they took the deal.” Here, Eileen stopped to gauge how Harley was taking her story. Seeing only sympathetic encouragement, she went on. “Maricopa County takes murder in the commission of an armed robbery very seriously, Harley.”

  Harley was not without experience in the legal system, though certainly not on a scale such as this. He nodded, silently acknowledging the gravity of the charges.

  “Claude Bell did eventually get out,” Eileen went on, “but his partner was killed in prison. The cops suspected, at the time, Claude was involved in that death, too, but again they had nothing they felt would hold up in court, and they had to let him out when his time was finally up. Claude probably thought his partner would eventually turn state’s evidence and maybe finger him as the shooter in the holdup, if only to lighten his own load.” Eileen’s shoulders slumped as she took a sip of her now cold coffee. “I must be an idiot to get mixed up with that guy. Now I guess I pay the price…one way or the other.”

  “How did you get away from him, Eileen?”

  “It wasn’t easy. We wouldn’t have made it as far as we did if I hadn’t saved a little money back from what my Aunt had been sending me occasionally. She had a good job and so did her husband and she said they could afford it.”

  “So…what happened then?”

  “So…we pulled into a gas station at Tuba city. After Claude filled the tank, he said he had to use the restroom––I had already gone while he was gassing up. As soon as he paid the cashier, and I saw him head for the restrooms, that’s when I just took off. I ran the hell out of that car until just before Tonalea; that’s when the engine cratered. I was lucky there was a kid on his way into town who stopped. He said he lived just up the road and told me his father fixed cars. He said if his dad couldn’t fix it for me he might still buy it…and he did. That gave me fifty bucks…but no car. The son gave me a ride into Kayenta and I hitched from there. I knew Claude would be right behind me but it’s not as easy for a man to get rides as it is for a woman. I hoped to stay ahead of him until I could lose myself somewhere on the reservation. So here I am. I guess you got lucky, huh, Harley?”

  Harley unconsciously made a little sound of sympathy as he looked down at the table. “Well, it’s not hard, now, to see why you would be trying to lay low, Eileen.” He looked up then, as though something else occurred to him. “What were you in the half-way house for, Eileen?”

  “Me? Oh, I was just a drunk. I finally sunk so low I signed myself into the Bible Center’s program––on the recommendation of my social worker. I had to sign a contract and everything.” She made a grim face. “I guess turning a drunk around is a tougher business than I thought.”

  “I know what you’re talking about, Eileen. I have been bad ta drink for a long time myself…sober over a year now…but that don’t mean much with me. My friend Thomas says he and I will always be just one drink away from bein’ drunks again.” Harley bit his lower lip. “I know he’s right, too. I’ve quit a bunch of times––never for as long as Thomas––but he has a wife and kids ta look after.” Harley smiled over at her. “At least that’s the excuse I use when I take off on a bender.” Harley wanted her to understand that he, too, had his demons.

  “So, what’s the verdict, Harley? Am I down the road or what?” There was a catch in Eileen’s voice and the last vestige of bravado slipped away as she lifted her head to look him in the eye. This Harley Ponyboy was now the only person she had to turn to; and when he seemed at a loss for words, she murmured, “I’ll get my stuff together…and that won’t take long.”

  Harley shook his head, held up a hand, and with a half-smile assured Eileen, “This don’t change anything for me, Ms…Smith…is it?”

  Eileen managed a weak smile. “Oh…that. I was pretty sure you knew it wasn’t Smith––but it is still Eileen—Eileen May, actually. I know my Navajo name, too. My Aunt Mary told me its Atsii At’ee. But I guess we better stick with Smith for now.”

  Harley rolled the Navajo words around on his tongue and smiled, “Antelope Girl, huh? I think that is a fine name.”

  The two sat across from one another, each trying to get their head around where they were going and where that might leave them. Neither had a clue what they were in for.

  10

  Home

  Well after midnight, Harley’s old truck was still some miles from their turnoff. Eileen sat slumped against the passenger side door sound asleep. and Harley looked over at her from time to time trying to keep from dozing off himself. He thought he should warn her again about the door, but hated to wake her. He had taken the precaution of jamming a screwdriver between the door and the frame hoping that would help.

  It was a gray fox, jumping out in front of them, that finally cured his drowsiness. He hit the brakes and swerved––nearly throwing Eileen through the windshield––which was fortunate as the door he had fixed popped open, and she was lucky not to fall out. She c
aught herself and glanced over at Harley, saying. “What the hell…?” She straightened, pulled the door shut, and leaned forward a bit to peer out the windshield.

  “You’re not falling asleep are you, Harley?”

  “Not now, I’m not.” He looked over and grinned. Harley had always maintained that a person was better off running over a small animal than risk going off the road and maybe getting someone killed. He was also aware few people seem able to make that reflexive decision in time to avoid a catastrophe.

  “You said you fixed that Goddamned door!”

  “No, as I recall, I said I thought it was fixed––but that you should be careful of it.”

  Eileen glared across at him but was too tired to argue. “How much longer is this going to take?” She frowned. “Will there be some daylight by the time we reach the turnoff?” She peered out the side window into the velvety darkness, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, and fighting back doubts that continued to plague her every waking moment. Despite Harley’s assurances, she couldn’t help wondering if this truly was her only option. She couldn’t imagine taking off into the backcountry in the dark. Harley already told her it was rough going up there–– dangerous even––for someone who didn’t know the country. “Some of these roads aren’t even on the map. That’s what makes it the right place for us,” he assured her.

  Far up a canyon, south and west of Monument Valley, Harley Ponyboy had family ties, clansmen mostly; he seriously doubted anyone could find them once they were off the main roads. Dawn finally began sketching the nearest buttes in silver, and the hoodoos were brought to a ghostly reality. He was just pointing out some of the more interesting rock formations when the turnoff appeared. Harley gently tapped the brakes and eased onto a side road.

  After an additional bone-jarring hour, Eileen saw what he meant by isolated. Why would anyone want to live out here? They passed several abandoned hogans, one with a large hole knocked in the side, probably, she thought, to allow the escape of some dead person’s chindi spirit. Her mother told her all about those evil spirits and the damage they could do, should they take a notion, but it had made little impression at the time.

  They passed yet another dwelling. An old couple stood in the first rays of the morning sun to watch as a young boy and his dog pushed a flock of mongrel sheep to a distant line of hills. Eileen slowly shook her head as she watched the boy. No more than nine or ten years old, what sort of future does that boy have to look forward to?

  “Now, who did you say I would be staying with?” She couldn’t remember him mentioning a name.

  “My mother’s sister––not her real sister you understand––she’s her clan sister…a cousin of hers, I think.”

  “She lives all alone out here?” Just the thought of it gave Eileen a chill.

  Harley turned slightly while keeping one eye on the road. “Auntie Willie is not exactly alone. But she did set her husband’s saddle outside the hogan years ago… so only she and her father live there now.”

  “She sat his saddle outside the door? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Harley smiled as he thought about how to put it. “I was only a boy at the time, myself, but I remember asking my grandmother the same thing. ‘How can it be that a woman has only to set her man’s saddle outside the door and she is then divorced––just like that? The man never even tries to come back?’ ”

  “My grandmother said, ‘That is just the way it has always been with our people.’ So…a woman who finds she can’t get along with her husband and decides she wants him to go away will do that thing with his saddle. Then he has no choice but to go and leave her alone. If he didn’t, he would not be at one with his people and he’d even risk reprisal from his wife’s family.” Harley chuckled at the matter-of-fact simplicity of the thing. It showed the wisdom of his people, he thought. “Eileen, you’ll like these folks we are going to see. They are old school Navajo. You might learn a lot about your Diné side from them and probably a lot about your white self, too; in fact, I’d almost bet on it.”

  “So they don’t have running water, right?”

  “Well, of course they do, Eileen. They are at the upper end of the canyon. Yellow Rock Spring runs right past the hogan. Good water, and plenty of it, at least this time of year. Later on, maybe not so much, but you will be gone before then.”

  Eileen felt a shiver run through her––she was a town girl and knew this was not going to be easy, but thought at the time it will be easier than what’s waiting for me back in town. Claude Bell finding her was something she didn’t even want to consider.

  In the first flush of sunrise, the rust-stained walls of the canyon took on a crimson glow and a breeze wafted, clear and cool, down the big wash. At midday, a slack tide in the diurnal flow would bring a delicious stillness along with an almost palpable, soul-soothing quiet. The respite would last only an hour or two. Then the return flow of warm air would start back up the canyon, sometimes building to a strong breeze, which would then blow until dusk. Harley Ponyboy drank it all in and was happy in that way people sometimes are when revisiting a place of fond memories.

  The harder the climb, and the rougher the climb, the more Eileen’s doubts grew. By the time they finally jolted and jounced their way up yet another side canyon, she was ready to throw in the towel.

  When Harley finally stopped the truck in a little whirlwind of dust, she turned. “I can’t do this!” She murmured.”

  “Can’t do what, Eileen?” Harley turned to see the expression on her face; she cringed as she looked about the little clearing in the cedars. The hogan was a big one, but old, showing the many different colors of mud chinking that washed down the creek over the years. The main dwelling was flanked on one side by the ubiquitous brush arbor, or summer hogan. Eileen could make out rudimentary cooking facilities, and across from that, some chairs and a cot. There was a ‘50s Ford pickup parked off to one side and an ancient horse drawn wagon lay broken and splintered; a sad reminder of an era that now seemed to make no sense. Neither vehicle had moved in years; the truck’s wheels buried deep in dried mud from the he-rains. The two visitors rolled down their respective windows and listened to the great soughing of the wind through the juniper and stunted pine. There was a rustling of oak brush above the clearing and, somewhere beyond that, the comforting sound of running water.

  Eileen May took no solace from these things and drew further within herself. “I can’t live out here, Harley, I’d go crazy. What do these people do all day? There’s nothing here.” Her voice sank nearly to a whisper, “People don’t really live like this…do they?”

  Harley smiled. “You won’t be living here, Eileen. You’ll only be their guest for a few days, that’s all. You won’t have ta do anything you don’t want to.” He smiled. “It might be a good chance ta study your Bible. Remember how you said it would comfort a person during bad times?”

  As they talked, a dog broke from the brush barking only once before rushing the truck. He then stood his ground, growling at Eileen, and daring her to step down. An older woman came from the creek with a bucket that slopped water as she walked, spilling some down her long skirt. A small woman, no taller than Eileen, bent now with age and certainly never as attractive.

  The older woman paused to stare at so unlikely a thing as visitors, then recognizing Harley Ponyboy, her eyes lit up. She called off the dog and waved one arm toward the hogan as she continued in that direction––she did not set the bucket down nor did she slacken her pace.

  Harley got down from the truck and went around to Eileen’s side to remove the screwdriver jammed in the door. Eileen stepped out, but stayed close to the truck, suspiciously eyeing the dog that stood back now, but did not wag his tail or grin at them. “Will that thing bite me?” She got no immediate response and continued to hang back.

  Harley smiled at his aunt and waved back. He then reached into the bed of the truck lifting out a large cardboard box of things they’d brought from his trailer. Eileen stood
quietly for another moment; the dog causing her to form an even more hopeless opinion of the place. Now, on the ground, she couldn’t help feeling vulnerable and reluctant to move away from the escape pod of Harley’s truck.

  “A-hah-la’nih,” the woman called from the doorway, finally setting her bucket down, and coming toward them with a smile, which turned to a questioning glance as she looked Eileen over with that curiosity peculiar to those from isolated places with few people.

  Harley returned the old woman’s affectionate greeting, giving his aunt a warm hug, before turning back to his companion, who he politely introduced but without offering details as to who she might be or their relationship.

  His Aunt Willie Etcitty nodded her head at him and said in Navajo, “You have not been here in a long time, Nephew.” She paused to glance again at Eileen but just as quickly turned back to Harley. “Is this your new woman, then?” She clucked to herself and bit her lip to prevent saying something she might later regret. Finally, she whispered, “She’s not so big as that other one you had before.” And couldn’t help adding, “I just hope she is a little better natured,” and grinned to show she was only half-serious.

  “No, Auntie, my wife died some time back. I’m sure someone must have told you that by now.”