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

by R. Allen Chappell

  The woman paused, and squinted past them, giving every appearance she was indeed thinking about it. “Hmm… yes,” she finally nodded. “I guess I did hear that. You are so seldom around this country now––I never know what’s going on with you for sure.” She looked away for a moment then murmured, “I am sorry to hear about your other wife Nephew…but if you’ll recall, I never took much to that woman.” She glanced thoughtfully at Eileen again. “I suppose things have a way of turning out for the best after all.” She and Harley then spoke for a few minutes more in Navajo before turning back to Eileen who had been standing quietly looking from one to the other as they spoke. Harley could see she understood almost nothing of their conversation, and she appeared to him as though she might bolt for the truck at any second. He moved closer and laid a hand on her shoulder in reassurance, saying under his breath, “It will be fine, Eileen. I can see she likes you already. Her name is Willie but you know older people out here don’t much use a person’s real name, at least not in that person’s presence. ”

  Eileen showed her teeth and asked in a grim whisper, “What do I call her then…Harley’s Aunt?”

  “No, just Auntie will be fine. She understands more English than she lets on, so don’t let her act otherwise with you. You probably already know enough words to get along. Her father is at a sing over by Big Indian Mountain and won’t be back for a few days. You’ll have some time to get acquainted.”

  “Her father…my God, how old is he?”

  Harley’s aunt, suddenly willing to understand English, threw back her head. “He’s eighty-six years old––too old to be running off all over the country going to sings.” She chortled. “He says he’s looking for a new wife,” and shook her head again. “I don’t know what the man would do with another wife if he found one…my mother has been gone for thirty years.” She raised her hands. “I ask him why he waited so long to start looking for a new woman. He said he had needed the rest.”

  This made Eileen smile and she began to think she could get along with this aunt of Harley’s…for a few days anyway.

  Willie, she went on to tell Eileen, was short for Willamina, which was her name on the Tribal Rolls. “That name was too hard for some people to say, so I’m just Willie, now. A person isn’t remembered much for their name anyway; it’s their hozo and how they treat other people that they become known for. But I guess a person has to have some kind of name, and Willie is mine.” The woman smiled her way through this but it was plain to see her name had long been a sticking point, and something she wanted to clear up right off the bat.

  While Eileen was putting away her things in the hogan, Harley fell back into Navajo with his aunt. He spoke quietly––telling her she shouldn’t let anyone know Eileen was up there and to not even mention her to anyone.

  “Why is that, Nephew? Are you ashamed of her? She seems presentable enough to me though she could do with some sturdier clothes for out here. That fancy dress won’t last long in the brush. She knows about going to the bathroom outside, I hope?”

  Harley sighed and admitted Willie might have to explain a few things to Eileen. He then told his aunt he had to go back into town––maybe for as long as a few days––on “unfinished business.” He said he would be back for Eileen as soon as possible.

  His aunt nodded agreeably to all this and said she would make his woman as comfortable as she could, but hoped she wouldn’t expect too much of them. She thought her nephew was still the same boy he had always been; a boy with a good heart.

  Now in a hurry, Harley took only a few minutes to say goodbye to Eileen, explaining he had to talk to Charlie Yazzie. Charlie would find a way to help her. He again assured her she was safe there and he would be back as soon as he could.

  She knew Harley was trying to do the right thing by her, but privately, Eileen wondered if someone like Harley…or even his friend Charlie Yazzie…was up to dealing with her problem? Claude Bell was a streetwise and ruthless killer.

  Willie Etcitty caught the expression on Eileen’s face and knew instantly what she was thinking. She realized then just how little the woman knew about Harley Ponyboy, and how much she had left to learn.

  He was almost back to the highway when Harley remembered he hadn’t asked his Aunt Willie if she still had the ‘Long Colt’ given her by her grandfather. The revolver should rightfully have gone to a grandson, but he’d had none. The old man did not give it to his son, he said, for fear it might wind up in the ‘old pawn’ at the trader’s.

  That pistol, according to the grandfather, had once belonged to a white man who had come riding through his grandfather’s summer camp on Montezuma Creek. It happened well south of Bluff, Utah, in 1902, during the Time of Ripening Corn.

  The stranger was wearing only a pair of pants, his socks, and the pistol. He hadn’t eaten in two days, he told the Navajo, and didn’t even have a blanket except the one under his saddle, which he only had use of when it wasn’t on the horse.

  The Indians gave him something to eat and drink, and after that the man offered to trade for a fresh mount, and a blanket in return for his jaded horse and empty pistol. He had no cartridges for the gun, he admitted. The Indians thought this somewhat strange. Why would someone carry an empty gun around with him? The white man’s horse was on its last legs and worn out, but obviously well-bred. Willie’s great grandfather, after taking some time to think about it, made the trade.

  It was many days later the Navajo learned the truth of the business. The white man had come from the little Mormon community at La Sal Junction, cross-country, heading for his ranch at the northern edge of New Mexico territory––not even a state at the time. He was known to raise horses for a living and bought and sold stock around the La Plata valley. The people down there said he kept good horses and was honest in his trades.

  There’d been an unfortunate dalliance with a Mormon woman, the trader told them, and the rancher had barely escaped with his life––leaving half-naked––taking only enough time to empty his pistol at the husband and the woman’s brother who came in hot pursuit. The Mormons later told it around that the man only escaped by having a better horse and staying to rough country.

  The incensed husband and his brother-in-law thought, for a while, they had him; the Dolores River was in flood at the time and they doubted he could ford it. But he did, somehow, though nearly drowned in the attempt.

  His pursuers, being of a more cautious nature, were not so reckless as to follow a desperate man on a good horse across raging waters. They reluctantly gave up the chase and no more was heard of the incident.

  Harley had seen that pistol many times––had even shot it as a boy. He hoped his Aunt Willie still had it…along with some cartridges to go with it. Not that there was any danger of anyone finding Eileen, but still...

  11

  The Calling

  Alfred Nakii wished he could hold out a little longer…maybe give Harley and the woman time to get better situated…but he was exhausted and at the end of his rope, so to speak. He knew this person would not give up and would not leave him alone. No, he thought, this is probably the end. Alfred could almost visualize his brain swelling inside his skull from that last crack on the head. A black void already hovered above his one working eye, and as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he became even more convinced it was only a matter of time. This person was that dangerous sort he had known in jail; the kind who had nothing left to lose, and was thus capable of doing the worst sort of things. This particular man seemed very good at what he did and wasn’t likely to stop until he got what he wanted. He would make him talk eventually; Alfred was sure of it now.

  Oh, he knew where the couple was headed all right. They would be going to Harley’s people below Tsé Bii’ Ndzigaii. That would be the place to hide the woman. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell just that; it was big country up there and it wasn’t likely a stranger could find them in such a place.

  Alfred doubted he could take much more. He was almost c
ertain all the fingers on his left hand were now broken, not just torn loose at the joints, but crushed with his own hammer. When the man started on his right hand…that was when he would probably have to tell.

  Alfred Nakii was not a weak man, and would not ordinarily have thought anyone could make him tell what he didn’t want known, but this stranger was not to be denied; already he had Harley’s name and the kind of truck he drove. He was sure the man intended to kill him whether he talked or not. He was beginning to look forward to that––and the quicker the better.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie Yazzie and Thomas Begay were in good spirits. It was high time they confronted Harley Ponyboy and let him know they were aware of his new “live in girlfriend,” as Thomas referred to the mystery woman. They joked as they drove the considerable distance to Harley’s place.

  “It must be serious,” Charlie grinned. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in over a week now.”

  Thomas chuckled as he pictured the look of dismay on Harley’s stout little face when they demanded he fess up. He knew Harley would think it impossible that they had figured it all out for themselves…he had been so careful.

  Charlie thought they should just come right out with it––sparing their friend the embarrassment of his subterfuge.

  Thomas, on the other hand, preferred Harley should sweat. “We’ll make it a payback,” he said, “for his underhanded ways.” Thomas was enjoying himself. “Why, if it hadn’t been for those underwears on the line, he might have gotten away with it. Then God only knows when we would have found out.” It was not the way an old friend conducted himself in such things was his silent opinion.

  As the pair pulled up in Harley Ponyboy’s yard, Charlie shut the big Chevy engine off and the two sat studying the place––not willing to credit the absence of a vehicle to mean no one was home.

  “No truck?” Charlie murmured.

  “That don’t mean no one’s here; the woman could still be hiding inside, like before.” Thomas wasn’t one to be discouraged by so slight an indicator as a missing truck. He got down from the Chevy motioning for Charlie to follow.

  “Well, there’s no underwear on the line this time.” Charlie was beginning to think they had wasted a trip.

  Thomas, though, was already on the porch, and even before knocking, he tried the doorknob…not really expecting it to swing open. When it did, they were surprised––not about it being unlocked, but rather, that it had been rehung and swung smooth and noiseless. Having been long accustomed to using their shoulder to force the door open they were momentarily caught off guard. The door had been that way since Harley bought the trailer; he often said it was as good as being locked but without the hassle of carrying a key.

  Thomas grinned. “You see the difference in having a woman around? There’s something to be said for it.”

  Charlie murmured, “Anita, apparently, was not the right woman to motivate him.” He said this with no disrespect and though Thomas knew it was true, he still was a bit put off by the investigator using the woman’s name. Harley’s ex-wife was just the type whose chindi might hop right down to see who was calling it.

  Thomas stuck his head inside and called softly. “Anyone here…” And then louder, “Anyone to home?” Both men paused. Listening.

  “I guess not.” Charlie muttered.

  Thomas immediately noticed the new paint and gave the work an approving nod. He admired craftsmanship in any form and thought his friend might have finally acquired the skill of painting––a talent that had eluded him over the years. He moved to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator to see it virtually barren; other than a few condiments–– ketchup mostly––it had been cleaned out. There were three bottles of the red sauce, along with one of mustard and an outdated jar of mayo. He turned to the cupboards and found them equally bare of anything remotely edible. “They didn’t even leave a doughnut.”

  Charlie peered through the open door to the front bedroom and then the closet, also standing open. “It looks to me like they cleared out. There are no women’s clothes in this closet.”

  Thomas, already in the back bedroom, sounded puzzled when he called back. “Harley only has a couple sets of decent clothes to his name and they’re gone. There is only his work clothes and some of Anita’s old stuff left hanging back here. No sign of the other woman.” After a moment or two Thomas emerged from the bedroom looking worried. “The bedding’s gone…all the spare blankets along with it.” He looked behind the door and frowned when he said, “Harley’s old shotgun is gone too. And he always keeps a couple boxes of shells in here with it, but there’s none left now. It looks like those two went somewhere they might need a few supplies; from the looks of it, they could be gone a while.” His brow furrowed, “Harley must have thought they might need a little protection to take that old shotgun along.”

  Charlie agreed. “Looks that way all right.” He cast a critical eye around the living room. “Everything’s nice and neat, though. No sign of being in a rush as far as I can see…almost like they were going on a little camping trip somewhere and planned to be back soon.”

  The two men moved back out to the porch carefully shutting the door behind them. When they looked at one another, it was plain they were both worried and it showed. Charlie, turning thoughtful now, gazed up the ridge separating Harley’s place from that of Alfred Nakii. “Maybe Alfred knows something?”

  ~~~~~~

  Alfred’s old pickup truck was pulled right up to the door which now stood ajar. Charlie sounded relieved, “Well at least it looks like Alfred might be at home.” Then shook his head, “Doesn’t anyone up here ever lock their doors? Alfred, apparently, doesn’t even shut his.” He smiled. “I guess that’s because neither one of them has anything worth stealing and everyone knows it.”

  Thomas, however, wasn’t smiling when he pushed the door open and saw Alfred lying in the middle of the room covered in blood. The couch behind him and even the walls were speckled with gore. Both men immediately thought Harley’s neighbor was dead. This caused Thomas to back up a step, and look cautiously around the room, possibly fearing the man’s chindi could already be hanging around ready to pounce on some unsuspecting innocent.

  Charlie edged past the tall Diné and stood staring at Alfred Nakii––immobilized by the pitiful sight of a once so familiar person. As he studied the motionless form he thought he detected the flutter of an eyelid and immediately jerked his head toward Thomas. “I think he may still be alive.”

  The tribal investigator quickly sank to one knee and first tried whispering, but when there was no response, raised his voice. “Alfred, can you hear me?” He put his ear so close it nearly touched the man’s swollen lips and asked yet again. Putting a finger on his neck, Charlie thought he detected the vestige of a pulse. “Thomas, get him some water and put something under his head.” Charlie was already on his way out the door to the truck and two-way radio. They were high enough here, and close enough to town, that he felt sure he could reach tribal police for an ambulance. Still, he held out very little hope for poor Alfred Nakii. Whoever did this had left him for dead––and Charlie thought this might yet be the case––should help not arrive quickly.

  When Charlie returned, Thomas had a sofa pillow under Alfred’s head and was holding a cup of water to his lips. “He’s trying to say something but I can’t quite make it out. He’s a tough bastard, Charlie, but he’s taken a hell of a beating. If they get someone out here fast enough, though, I think there’s still a chance he might make it.” He turned his head toward the investigator. “Do you think this has anything to do with Harley and that woman?”

  The investigator watched silently from the door; the thought had already occurred to him. This beating of Alfred Nakii was more than likely connected to the disappearance of their friend Harley Ponyboy and this mystery woman.

  ~~~~~~

  Thomas Begay paced the hospital corridor while Charlie sat talking quietly to Navajo Policeman Billy Red Cl
ay. The Tribal officer also thought the vicious attack on Alfred Nakii might have something to do with Harley Ponyboy’s sudden disappearance. He told Charlie he was meeting with Agent Fred Smith later that morning to hear if the FBI’s investigation of the assault might shed further light on the situation. Billy knew it would be days before the official reports were released––but was also aware Agent Smith had a better than average sense of crime scene evaluation and might already have something for them. Crime analysis had been his specialty with the Bureau in Albuquerque and Fred had rightfully earned a reputation for being both perceptive and thorough.

  Though Alfred was still in surgery, the doctor on duty made it clear the man’s chances of regaining consciousness were not good. “Slim to none…” was his blunt reply when Thomas asked. “The internal bleeding alone is probably enough to kill him…not to mention the head injuries.” The doctor had been at the hospital a number of years––worked on a lot of Indians––and admitted he was continually amazed at how tough the people were. He had, more than once, been proven wrong when predicting an Indian wouldn’t survive a particular trauma.

  Late in the afternoon, Alfred Nakii did indeed rally, but only for a short while. Captain Beyale of Navajo Police had assigned a man to stay by his bedside in case he came around; the officer told them Alfred could only mumble a little before, again, lapsing into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the policeman was unable to make sense of what few words he could make out.

  The doctor, for his part, thought it remarkable Alfred had hung on even this long, but still felt there was little hope.

  When word of what happened got around––and on the reservation these things always get around––Charlie Yazzie put the word out he would like to hear from anyone who might have anything helpful concerning Alfred Nakii. Within hours he received a call from a former client of Legal Services. Charlie had once intervened for the woman in a spousal abuse case. She was now determined to repay that kindness. She said she had seen Alfred Nakii in the Social Club only the day before and heard him in conversation with another customer. The two of them were talking about some woman with red hair. Charlie’s interest was piqued at once; his client had worked part time at Rosie’s for a long time and in their previous dealings, he’d found her to be reliable.