by Aimée Thurlo
“Keeps the engine running,” she said with an easy smile. “Now what can I get you, young man? The usual?”
He nodded. “I need some pecan pie and a mug of black coffee.”
“Leaded or unleaded?” she asked.
“Make mine leaded. I need to keep my eyes open.”
“Coming right up.”
She returned moments later with the pie and coffee. “I’m glad you came by, Gene. I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your foster father. His absence will be felt, and not just by the Diné.” He noted how she’d avoided saying his name, a custom among Navajos who didn’t want to call the chindi. Belief in the chindi, the evil side of a man that was forced to remain earthbound while the good merged with the universe, was strong even among Modernists. “We all miss him.”
“It’s just too bad that he never took on an apprentice. That Navajo widow sure had her sights set on becoming a medicine woman, but I guess he turned her down.”
“Huh?” Mrs. Nez gave him a surprised look. “I thought you boys knew about that. Rita something was her name, and she was crazy about your foster dad. I guess he didn’t feel the same way about her,” she said. “Maybe he never got over his wife.”
Gene knew about Hosteen Silver’s wife, though she’d passed away a few years prior to their arrival. Their foster father had seldom spoken about her, but it was clear that he’d loved her deeply. He and Dan had speculated that part of the reason Hosteen Silver had invited all of them into his life was to fill the void her death had created.
As Mrs. Nez moved away, he finished eating. The coffee had stirred him into alertness. As he thought of Hosteen Silver, Gene realized that there was still much they’d never known about him. Their foster father’s focus had always been on who they could become, not on who they’d been, and with that in mind, he’d also not spoken of his own past.
Gene remembered the questions Daniel had raised about their foster father’s death. Perhaps there was more to Hosteen Silver’s story than they’d ever realized. Then again, the same could have been said for just about everyone, including Lori. People’s lives were seldom as simple as they appeared to be on the surface.
As he thought about Lori, he smiled. Funny how his thoughts always returned to her. The connection between them seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. Then again, maybe the intensity of the chase was scrambling his brains, and once that highly charged situation was resolved, their feelings for each other would dissipate like morning fog under the sun.
Leaving a large tip for Mrs. Nez, he headed back out to the parking lot.
As he drove through town, he passed a familiar place. The Zuni man who’d carved fetishes for him and all his brothers had his shop here in Hartley. Gene turned, circled the block, then parked at the curb in front of the store.
Pablo Ortiz, a small, rotund man with gray hair and smiling eyes, greeted him from behind the old oak-and-glass counter, a relic itself probably a hundred years old. Gene said hello, then hung back as Pablo finished waiting on another customer. Passing the time, Gene searched beneath the glass, studying the stone fetishes resting on a rich velveteen cloth.
“It’s good to see you, Gene,” Pablo said at last, coming to join him. “So what can I do for you today? I saw you looking at my hand-carved fetishes. Did one catch your eye?”
“I’m trying to choose the right one to give a good friend,” he said, “and that’s turning out to be tougher than I’d thought. She’s a complicated person.”
“Tell me a bit more about her.”
Gene paused, considering his words carefully. The right match was essential. “She’s a woman of courage, but the past weighs her down, and those shadows keep her dreams shackled to the ground.”
Pablo considered it for a long time, and Gene didn’t interrupt him.
“I know which one,” Pablo said at last, then opened the cabinet and brought out a small carving of a black bird. “Raven isn’t one of the original fetishes our people carved, but an important lesson came to light as a result of its wisdom.”
“Will you share the story with me, Uncle?” Gene asked, using the title to show respect, not because they were related.
Pablo looked around the store and, seeing they were alone, nodded. “It was at the time of the beginning,” he said in a soft, compelling voice. “Raven and her friend were sitting on top of a mountain and, using their magic, began playing a game. They freed their eyes from their mortal bodies and sent them to specific points across the desert floor in a race of sorts. Mastery over all aspects of sight was part of Raven’s magic, and one with their natures.”
“So through their game, they honored who they were,” Gene said with a nod.
“Exactly,” Pablo said, “but Coyote was nearby, watching. After a while, he insisted that they teach him how to play. He refused to take no for an answer even though they repeatedly warned him of the danger. The Ravens eventually consented, but after plucking out his eyes, they flew away. Coyote waited in vain for his eyes to return, but that magic wasn’t a part of him. Forced to do something at long last, Coyote replaced the eyes he’d lost with cranberries, which is why coyotes have yellow eyes and why their sight is poor.
“The lesson, of course,” Pablo continued, “is that Raven’s magic is not to be taken lightly. Raven brings the power of transformation to those willing to nurture their dreams. Raven lives in the inner world, a place of protection for that part of us that’s most often injured by pain and rejection. Raven is a powerful ally who teaches us how to embrace the shadows, because they’re also part of who we are.”
“That’s the perfect fetish for her,” Gene said with a smile. “She’ll take good care of it, too.” Pablo wrapped it in a small box, but not before sprinkling a bit of corn pollen on it—a symbolic feeding.
After a short visit, Gene said goodbye and headed back to his brother’s sedan. He knew Lori would love it and, not wanting to wait to give it to her, decided a quick visit to the DMV was called for. Raven would help her as she faced today’s challenges.
It would also give him an excuse to reassure himself that everything was okay. He still hadn’t managed to get rid of that uneasiness, of the feeling that not all was as it should be.
Dismissing the thought, he headed over to the DMV.
Chapter Eighteen
As Gene approached the DMV’s parking area, his blood turned to ice. One police car was in front of the entrance and a second in the alley, which was blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape. People were milling along the sidewalk and standing in clusters around the front of the building.
He recognized several people gathered around one of the police officers. They were all DMV employees.
Gene parked quickly, looking for Lori as he did, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Farther down he could see three more DMV employees gathered around another officer, but Lori wasn’t with them, either.
Leaving his brother’s sedan, Gene hurried over to the closest police officer.
“What’s going on?” Gene asked, noting the familiar face.
“I wondered when you’d show up,” Sergeant Chavez said, then called to a third officer who’d just arrived, asking him to keep watch over the alley and the back door of the office. Finally turning to Gene, he said, “I suppose you heard that Lori Baker’s been kidnapped?”
Despite the sudden storm threatening to erupt inside his brain, he managed an exterior deadly calm. “I didn’t know, not until this moment. Who did it—and how?”
“Sorry, I thought that’s why you were here. Come inside with me. Take a look at the evidence and see if you have any theories.”
Gene, trying to maintain his cool, followed the sergeant through a waist-high gate in the main counter that gave access to the employee area. Walking past several desks, they approached a small room at the back of the building. The wooden door to the lounge or staff break room, judging from the furnishings inside, had been badly damaged after being forcibly opened.
“This is as far as we can go. You can look from here, but nobody goes in except for the detectives and the crime-scene unit,” Chavez said, holding up his hand to block Gene.
“How much do you know so far?” Gene asked, shifting to look past Chavez. There were signs of a struggle, with two metal chairs upended and the small table askew. At least one cup of coffee had been knocked onto the floor, and there was lipstick on the foam cup, Lori’s shade of pink. At least there was no blood anywhere that he could see.
“From what the staff says, Ms. Baker came in through the foyer wearing a wig today, but it obviously wasn’t as good a disguise as she’d hoped,” Chavez said.
“How did it go down? Did he come in through there?” Gene said, pointing to the steel door marked Employees Only Exit on the back wall of the break room. From what he could tell, it opened into the alley. There was a keypad for an electronic lock above the sturdy handle, but neither it nor the door itself showed any sign of damage or tampering.
“According to the staff, Ms. Baker took her break around ten-fifteen. She was in here alone, door closed, for about five minutes. Then one of the clerks heard what sounded like a yelp, a cut-off scream maybe. Two employees rushed over, but the door was jammed shut from the inside, with a chair against the knob. They forced it open, but that took almost a minute, and by then Ms. Baker was gone. Strangely enough, her purse is also missing.”
“So she was taken out of here through the alley, which is why you have that area taped off.” Gene sniffed the air, detecting an unusual odor. “What’s that smell? It’s chemical and familiar to me....”
“It’s ether. It’s used by truckers to help start cold engines. You can get it in most auto shops, and in a few high school chemistry labs, probably. We think Lori Baker was rendered unconscious, though she put up a struggle,” Chavez said, gesturing around the room.
“Are there any surveillance cameras with a view of the front or the alley?”
Chavez shook his head. “Cameras are only in the service areas and the front parking lot. We’ll be checking the feed for possible suspects—people who were outside or leaving the building around the time she disappeared.”
“But right now you have nothing?” Gene pressed, his voice hard as he fought to keep his emotions buried.
“We don’t have a suspect, if that’s what you mean by nothing,” he snapped, “but we have preliminary information. The rear door wasn’t forced, so either she let a stranger in, which isn’t likely, or she knew her kidnapper or kidnappers. It’s also possible that someone knew the code and entered from the alley before or after she went on break. In that scenario, either the code was compromised or it was an inside job.”
“Have you questioned all the employees and the customers here at the time?”
“We’re in the process of doing that now, but so far, nobody saw anyone but Ms. Baker go into that room. A customer said that she saw someone in a white van racing out of the alley a little after ten, but she didn’t notice the vehicle tags.”
“Is there any chance that one of the outdoor cameras caught it?”
Chavez shook his head. “Wrong angle.”
“What about coverage from a business across the street, or maybe down the block?” Gene said, continuing to press.
“It’s being handled.” Chavez met Gene’s gaze with a stony one of his own. “Let’s get something straight right now. I know my job. I’m cutting you some slack and telling you what’s what because your brother is with the department, but make no mistake. This is our case, and you need to back off and let us do our job.”
Chavez escorted Gene outside, then walked away to talk to a detective who’d just arrived on the scene.
Gene watched for a moment. There was no way he was staying out of this. He still remembered what he’d told Lori when he’d dropped her off earlier that morning. The words clawed into him now.
He’d promised to watch her back and, one way or another, he intended to keep his promise.
LORI REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS slowly and, as she did, realized that she was in a bedroom inside somebody’s home, tied to a chair with what looked like drapery cord. Her thoughts were jumbled and, trying to lift the fog that clouded her senses, she shook her head.
She regretted that instantly. She had a world-class migraine, and there was one spot at the back of her head that throbbed with a vengeance.
She drew in a slow, steady breath to keep from vomiting, then looked around. The bed to her right held some embroidered throw pillows, evidence of a woman’s touch. The room itself was sparsely furnished, with a cedar chest at the foot of the bed, and a small chest of drawers. It appeared to be a guest room.
Lori shifted, moving back and forth, trying to edge her chair closer to the door, but the legs of the chair thumped harder on the hardwood floor than she’d expected. She didn’t make it far before she heard someone curse and the door was thrown open.
Lori stared at Steve Farmer, stunned. “You, Steve? You’re the man who’s been making my life crazy? But why? I’ve always tried to help you at work!”
He tossed her laptop and purse down onto the bed along with her cell phone. Lori could see the cell phone battery had been pulled, which meant nobody could track her location. But her laptop wasn’t completely closed and she could see the display. It was powered up, which meant there was hope.
“You really have no idea?” Steve asked, a haunted look on his face.
“None,” she said, tugging at the ropes that bound her wrists and held her to the chair. Steve had to be crazy. That was the only explanation that made sense. She had to find a way to get free or, worst-case scenario, buy time.
“Do you remember last Monday?” he said.
“What about it?”
“You took your break at the same time I did, and we sat at the table by the Coke machine. We each had our laptops out and I think you were blogging.”
“This is about my blog? But I never write about work or mention any of my coworkers. It’s only my random thoughts, and just on my webpage. What’s it got to do with you?”
Steve held up a small flash drive. “Do you recognize this?”
“Yeah, it’s a flash drive. So what’s your point?”
He held it up close to her face. “It looks just like one of your flash drives, doesn’t it? You use these to back up your current files before shutting down your computer.”
“So what? A million other people do the same thing!” She stared at the device a moment longer. “Wait—are you saying that’s my flash drive?”
“Now you’re catching on.”
Lori drew in a shaky breath. “Which would make the one I picked up, yours.” She slowly began to realize the implications of that one mistake. “So that’s why it wouldn’t accept my files when I tried to back up later that night at home. It kept telling me the drive was full, which I knew wasn’t true, so I just used a different flash drive. But what could possibly make your backup files so important that you’d risk getting killed over them, or killing someone else? Do you realize how many crimes you’ve committed for, what, a few megabytes of text?”
“Lori, shut up for a second,” he snapped, then began pacing. “What you took from me was an illegal download. I stole Jerry’s password and used his computer to get every licensed vehicle owner’s address and social security number in this state.”
She gasped. “Why would you do something like that? You can’t possibly think you’d actually get away with it! You’ll get fired for sure and probably serve jail time.”
“That’s my problem. I’m doing what I have to do. You wouldn’t be part of this at all if you hadn’t walked off with my flash drive. I really tried to keep you out of this, too. I did everything I could, from snatching your purse to searching your house and car.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me for it?”
“And risk having you connect me to an illegal download? You’d check to make sure, then I’d be screwed. You’d turn me in.”
/> “I never tried to access the files, so I had no idea it was your flash drive,” she said. “I just assumed the memory chip had gone south somehow—been corrupted.”
“I was so sure you’d figure it out, but when you didn’t say or do anything, I assumed my luck was still holding. I planned to sneak up and grab your purse after you left the restaurant that first night. I knew that you’d had a problem with Harrington, and he and I are the same size, so I dressed like he did and hoped the disguise would throw you off.”
“It worked. I was sure it was him....”
“Then you got mixed up with that Navajo man. I tracked down his name later and looked up everyone associated with him. It was easy to check on next of kin, since out here almost everyone owns a car or truck,” he said. “I never intended on hurting you, Lori. All I ever wanted was to get that flash drive back—without letting you know it was me. That’s why I also switched Harrington’s plates around, to confuse you.”
“But you put my life in danger, Steve. Duane Hays came after me with a gun—and he didn’t miss by much.”
“I know. When I heard about it on the news, I couldn’t believe what he’d done. I told him not to hurt you. Then I got worried that he’d somehow end up identifying me to the cops. There was no way I could risk getting arrested, not before I got those files back. So I went to work early this morning to try and download the information again. I was ready to search Jerry’s office from top to bottom until I found his new password. I also brought a hand towel and a can of ether I got from an auto shop just in case I ran into Harvey. Fortunately, he was having breakfast in his car and never even saw me. Nobody else came in early, so I had plenty of time, but I still couldn’t find Jerry’s new password.”
“You conned me about that client with the ex-wife back at the DMV, didn’t you?” she realized, putting the final pieces together in her head. “You were hoping to get any password that would let you download those files again.”
“Yes, but it didn’t work, so I had to think of something else.”