Nonetheless, Lucy Tallwoman was not one to be denied and secretly vowed to stick with her friend Sue Yazzie, who was equally displeased with her husband’s tight-lipped refusal to share. Only the day before Sue told Lucy she was tired of relying on the radio for the “latest” news in the murders when her own husband was obviously better informed. Then too, there was that other thing only the two of them knew. Lucy was not sure why her friend was so adamant no one else should know just yet, but for now she would keep the secret.
Thomas Begay looked at the plate his wife brought him and knew instantly it was retaliation for his refusal to “spill the beans,” as she put it. It was mutton, but a poor cut and overcooked. He said nothing, pretended to enjoy it, and knew anything else might lead to even stricter measures. His father-in-law had eaten early and was already asleep in the old hogan behind the house. He doubted the old man had been served this same dish. Paul T’Sosi wouldn’t have stood for it. He sensed there was more to this than he knew, and wondered if he should bring it up with the old singer in the morning.
~~~~~~
When Thomas picked up Harley Ponyboy for the trip back up to the dig, his friend saw immediately he was out of sorts yet hesitated to ask why. Thomas Begay tended to be a little testy when it came to personal matters.
After a few miles of total silence Harley could see Thomas’s mood had not improved and figured it time to get things out in the open, though as gently as possible. “So what’s with the frogmouth this morning, Big Boy?”
Thomas half-turned and glared at the little man. “What the hell are you talking about, Shorty”?
When Thomas called him Shorty, Harley knew there was no point in pursuing it further, and turned to the window with a frown. Now they both had frogmouths and it was a long ride to the dig.
Professor Custer heard Thomas’s diesel truck coming for quite some distance and automatically added to the pancake batter, then threw extra slices of bacon in the pan too. He knew the two liked pancakes and bacon and would be pleased he’d thought of them.
Harley was the first one through the tent flap and smiled as he sniffed and guessed breakfast was near ready. “That smells good George.” then indicated a still stoic Thomas with a thumb over his shoulder. “Doc, don’t pay no attention to ‘String Bean’ here. His nose is out of joint this morning, so he probably can’t smell those pancakes.”
The professor glanced at Thomas and chuckled, then saw immediately it was the wrong thing to do, and turned grimly to the bacon sputtering in the pan; now it was three frogmouths for breakfast. George carried a huge plate of pancakes to the table then went back for the bacon and coffee pot. He already set the table with plates and cups, when he heard the truck coming.
“Were either of you two aware Paul T’Sosi had been digging into a burial at the back wall of the alcove?” The professor was sure one of the two would have noticed the old man digging around back there.
Harley looked up, mouth full of pancakes, but didn’t let that stop him from answering though it did make him a bit hard to understand. “I saw him back there, but he never said anything about a burial.” He turned to Thomas. “Did the old man say anything to you about a burial?”
Thomas, who had spent more time at boarding school than Harley, finished swallowing his mouthful before his terse reply. “No, he didn’t.”
“Well,” the professor said, “He did, and it’s turned out to be an unusual one too––male about twenty years old, with two arrowheads in him. Looks to me like these people might have come under siege at some point.”
Harley looked up from his plate, obviously interested. “Maybe it was just a jealous husband from right here in the village?” and then chortled over his little joke
“No, they weren’t Anasazi arrow points, they’re rougher and not so finely knapped.” The archaeologist was adamant. “It was outsiders, no doubt about it. The question is, where did they come from and who were they?” The professor peered in the direction of the burial as though he could see through the canvas wall. “It’s an awfully shallow interment. I’m not so sure this one should be left in place.”
“In situ you mean?” Since Harley had learned the meaning of the phrase he used it whenever possible, especially in Thomas’s presence.
Thomas rolled his eyes, and swallowing the last of his coffee, appeared to take a turn for the better as he asked what else had happened in their days off.
George Custer considered the two Diné for a moment, wondering if he should tell them about the visit from William Crawley and then decided there was no reason not to. It might put them on their guard to be aware of the man and what he was capable of.
As the professor told them about their business competitor’s visit, Thomas, still mopping up his pancakes, raised his head and ventured the opinion, “I don’t think we should leave anyone alone in camp for a while, at least not at night.”
It was then Harley mentioned spotting unfamiliar tire tracks when they parked Thomas’s diesel earlier. Harley made a habit of taking notice of such things thinking it sharpened his skills as a tracker. “They were big tires… truck tires and fairly new.”
“It could be this Crawley fellow came back in the night.” Thomas offered.
The professor thought about this before saying, “Could be, but he was driving a regular car when he was here yesterday and not a truck.”
Harley nodded at this then changed the subject, bringing up the fact that he felt better with the professor having the gun. He looked over at Thomas and asked George if he might give them a little demonstration of his skill with the weapon. He was prone to stick up for the doctor and only the day before had taken exception to Thomas Begay doubting the professor’s ability with the revolver.
The professor hemmed and hawed as he often did when uncertain, and in the end, said he probably was not quite as proficient as he once had been…but that he would be happy to engage in a little target practice with them. He had brought along plenty of ammunition and suggested they all take a turn with the weapon, then unexpectedly declared whoever proved to be the best shot could be in charge of security and allowed to pack the big revolver around. The gun had become a constant hindrance to his work, he said, if one of them proved to be a better shot he would be happy to relinquish it. Thomas perked up considerably at this development and grinned then winked at Harley.
The three of them walked a short distance from camp, and brought a small sack of empty tin cans along with them; Harley set these up on a small log a reasonable distance away. The professor brought out the ammunition, passed out a handful of cartridges to each one smiling when he cautioned, “This gun might be of a larger caliber than you boys are used to.”
Harley Ponyboy had only limited experience with handguns in general and particularly not with a .357 whose kick and loud report surprised him. He hit none of the five cans, though one was knocked over by a bullet whizzing past it. He looked a little crestfallen as he passed the revolver to Thomas, who smiled to himself as he hefted the gun a few times to get the feel of it, then reloaded and took a shooter’s stance, gripping the gun with both hands, as he had seen his nephew Billy Red Clay do when demonstrating his police training.
Thomas’s first shot hit the log just below one of the five cans. Harley smiled and said he’d done good…if that was the actual can he had been aiming at. Thomas frowned, examined the sights, then fired another round, which went a tad high and only clipped a short twig off a bush behind the log. He now appeared a little nervous, but on his next shot hit a can just at the lower rim, which sent it spinning into the next one, and knocking both cans off the log. Thomas immediately called it two hits.
Harley began to protest but the professor held up a hand, saying, “No, Harley, that’s all right, we’ll let it stand; two it is.”
Thomas, grinning now, took careful aim and touched off a final round, which clearly went wide, leaving the remaining cans unscathed. He again frowned and pretended to check the sights before handing the we
apon back to the professor. “I’d get those sights checked Doc.”
Custer acknowledged this with a grunt and made a point of saying, “For not having shot a gun like this before, that’s actually pretty good shooting, boys A little more practice should bring you right along.”
As the professor reloaded, Harley set the cans back up on the log. When he returned George nodded, then threw the gun up and hit four of the five cans in quick succession. On the last shot the handgun only clicked and the professor said, “Oops! I guess I only put in four rounds.” Then he smiled. “I probably wouldn’t have hit that last can anyway.”
Thomas looked at Harley who was grinning ear to ear, and wondered if his friend had known how well the professor could shoot. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that Doc?”
“Oh, shooters go back a long way among my people, I still have family in Northern Ireland who keep British Webleys wrapped in oilcloth and buried in their back yards…just in case.” He was grinning as he said this and its full political significance winged past the two Navajo. Still they were impressed.
The professor slipped the revolver back in its holster. “Well, boys, it looks like site security will remain under my jurisdiction for a while yet. I hope everyone feels safer now.” He then turned and walked nonchalantly back to camp, but when he was out of earshot couldn’t help chuckling to himself.
While Harley and Thomas began gathering gear and packing up specimens, George Custer thought he’d better check things out at the dig. Only moments later he came hurrying back with a concerned look on his face.
Harley stopped wrapping newspaper around a corrugated cooking pot and raised his eyebrows at the professor. “Forget something, George?”
“Yes, I forgot to check on that truck I heard last night. Apparently we had another visitor up at the dig.” The grim faced professor surveyed the camp. “Funny, the only thing I can find out of place up there is the new burial by the back wall.”
Thomas walked up about that time ready to carry another load down to the truck. He’d heard a little of the conversation and asked, “Someone messing with that burial?”
“Not exactly, but I think someone did leave us a message…or more likely a warning. The hands are now crossed over its chest.
After a short reflection Thomas decided it might just be local kids. “They are all over this country at night, drinking and carrying on like wild Indians. They make all sorts of mischief in these old ruins; they’re not afraid of them like the old people.”
The professor wasn’t so sure. “I somehow doubt this was kids. It took someone with a pretty good knowledge of human anatomy to place those bones so precisely. I think someone wants us to know they’re watching, though to what end I can’t imagine.” George paused, seeming undecided what to do, but then said, “I think I’d better run into town and have a little talk with Charlie Yazzie.”
Harley put down the half-wrapped pot. “I’ll go up to the dig and take a look around too Doc.––if it was kids there should be some sign of them.” When he’d thought about it a moment he added, “I’ll go back down to the road, too, and take a better look at those tire tracks. There’s something a little weird about all this.”
Thomas spoke up, “If it’s not kids it might well be some sort of witchery, at least that’s how it seems to me.” He aimed this last at Harley and was pleased to see him miss a step and curse.
George Custer shook his head and thought, this is all we need, they’ll probably insist on another ceremony if Harley can’t come up with a better explanation.
~~~~~~
Charlie Yazzie noticed the message from Billy Red Clay as soon as he entered the office. He knew Billy was working on the Karl Hoffman shooting in his spare time, anxious to clear his name in the investigation, despite being warned anything he turned up might be considered inadmissible in a court of law. Billy’s note asked if they could meet for coffee at the Diné Bikeyah. Charlie didn’t like the idea of going behind Captain Beyale’s back and was well aware the FBI would like it even less. Still, he owed Billy a favor or two and didn’t see how having a coffee with the tribal officer would be a problem.
The restaurant was quiet. The mid-morning rush had subsided, and there were only a few older locals scattered around the room. Charlie chose his usual booth near the back and ordered a cinnamon roll with his coffee. He was a few minutes early and fell into quiet introspection as he waited for his order. How many times had he and Sue sat at this same booth and had coffee or lunch––back when she was still Sue Hanagarni working for Legal Services. It seemed like a long time ago, but then three years was a long time, and it was flying by since the birth of their son. Joseph Wiley would be four before they knew it and ready for preschool. Sue mentioned several times she thought she might return to work when the boy started school. She had worked her way up to office manager before leaving Legal Services to have the baby. Sue was still considered the best manager they’d ever had. While the current crop of office help left a lot to be desired, he still wasn’t sure he would be comfortable with her coming back, not to mention, administration had changed. Much stricter rules applied regarding nepotism. The reservation was still the reservation; it seemed like everyone was related one way or another. He still hadn’t managed to have that little talk with her, even though he was now prepped for it. The truth was he was afraid it wasn’t going to be a “little” talk at all. He wasn’t sure he was ready.
Billy Red Clay paused at the door and looked toward the back booth. Charlie Yazzie appeared lost in thought and hadn’t noticed him. Billy gave a little half-wave in that direction as he started back and was nearly there when he heard a voice behind him. It was Professor Custer. “Glad I caught you, the receptionist said I’d find you and Charlie here.” They were at the booth now. Charlie Yazzie blinked at the two of them and, for a split second, appeared surprised. He extended a hand to the Tribal officer and then to George Custer who appeared a little hesitant and unsure.
“Looked like you were having some deep thinking going on.” Billy shook hands with the investigator.
“Yes, I was,” Charlie admitted and smiled at the pair.
The professor slid in beside him then looked over at Billy Red Clay, “I hope I’m not interrupting a private meeting?”
“Not really, there were just a few things I needed to talk over with Charlie, and actually, I had a question or two you might be able to help with.”
Charlie looked puzzled, “Sounds like you two might be on the same track this morning.” The waitress came and took the latecomers order, then smiled at Charlie, “How’s that cinnamon roll?”
Charlie assured her it was good as usual, and couldn’t help but notice the warm smile but hoped it wasn’t due to any perceived notion he and Sue weren’t getting along. The girls at the Diné Bikeyah were long time admirers of Charlie Yazzie, and this one had seemed particularly disappointed when he married Sue. He was becoming paranoid since his talk with Thomas and Harley, and was nearly convinced someone was spreading rumors. He turned to the professor. “What’s on your mind George?” Charlie decided he would address the professor first, in case Billy Red Clay had something more private to discuss later.
The professor brought the two up to speed on what happened out at the dig, including the visit from William Crawley. He wanted that conversation on record. There was also the matter of the midnight visit to the alcove the night before. Custer laid all this out for the two and immediately felt better having it reported to the proper authorities, albeit unofficially.
“Hmm,” Billy Red Clay said, as though reading the professor’s mind. “I’ll file a report on the desecration of the burial when I get back to the office. Actually, some of this ties into what I wanted to talk to Charlie about.” He turned to the investigator who had a mouthful of cinnamon roll. “When you were out at Luanne Keyonie’s place, did you by chance talk to her mother, Martha? There are rumblings she might be on the Hopi tribal board soon. Her feelings against excavating those r
uins are pretty strong according to some people I’ve talked to.”
Charlie shook his head. “No, she wasn’t home at the time but her daughter mentioned she wasn’t very happy about the work up at the site.”
The professor took a quick drink of coffee, nearly burned his mouth, and frowned at the cup before protesting. “Surely you boys don’t think she was the one who was up at the alcove last night.”
Billy looked at the professor, “Here’s something you may not know. Martha works as a nurse and physician’s assistant at the clinic in Shiprock, and after hearing your account of the placement of skeletal parts up at the dig, it reminded me how serious she is in taking a stand against those excavations up there. She is a staunch Indian Rights advocate, and certainly has the expertise to reposition those bones. Just a thought of course, but maybe worth looking into.”
The professor held up a hand, “Well, some of the bones did still have connective tissue holding them together, at least somewhat, but they were rearranged by someone who obviously had some training.” He snorted, “But it could have been William Crawley, too. He would be my first choice. The man has the knowhow, and would have the most to gain if my outfit was out of the way.” He looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, “He’s been known to intimidate rivals before…and worse. If the stories out of Central America are true.”
Billy Red Clay spoke again, “Tribal police now have several suspects on their list in the Karl Hoffman murder, including me of course,” The young officer frowned at the thought of it but went on, “James Erdric is still suspect, too, no one can corroborate his statement that he was there with the road crew at the time of the shooting.” Billy held up his hands, “Now, that he’s dead no one can seem to remember where the man was when Hoffman was shot. The wild card is this William Crawley. There’s no doubt he had business dealings with both Hoffman and Erdric, but with both of them dead, it’s unclear exactly what that business was.
Wolves of Winter: A Navajo Nation Mystery Page 15