fight the feeling that she was slowly suffocating. Forcing her breathing to remain even, she followed Wilson back to the surface.
When she finally felt the sun on her face, she sighed in relief. "It's hideous down there."
"It's more than the enclosure. There's something disgusting about going deep inside the earth to conduct profane ceremonies/'
She nodded in complete agreement. As far as she was concerned, it was disgusting to go there for any reason. "Tell me what happened after they saw you."
Wilson quickened his steps back to the truck, as if he wanted to outrun the memories by leaving the area as soon as possible. "They saw your brother first. He was ahead of me, and Paul was behind. Clifford said something I couldn't make out, and suddenly the skinwalkers stopped. They were still for only a few precious seconds, but, fortunately, that was enough to help us escape. We ran and ran, and finally ended up at Fred Benally's hogan. He was there working for a patient."
Benally was the hataalii who'd instructed Clifford. "I know Clifford decided to become a Singer his senior year in high school. Was this incident with the skinwalkers the reason for it?"
Wilson considered it. "No, but I think it helped him define his own priorities. You see, the encounter scared both of us. Up till that time, neither of us had paid much attention to the stories about skinwalkers. We'd figured that they were just a way to explain things like sickness and bad times."
"Clifford never mentioned any of this to me."
"He didn't tell your father either. The only person who knew was your mother. She warned Clifford back then that
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his real battle with the skinwalkers was yet to be fought. That scared him. He made up his mind to develop all his skills, because he felt certain that someday his life would depend on them. He told me that your mother didn't usually get those feelings, but when she did, they could be counted on."
The story surprised Ella. There was so much about her own family she'd never known. Raymond Destea's love for the Christian religion had effectively discouraged open discussion on subjects that, in retrospect, should have been addressed in detail to clarify potential choices. Customs that related to the native religion had never been quite clear to her.
Ella stole glances at Wilson as they journeyed back to his home. Although he wasn't outwardly aggressive, he was as strong as Shiprock itself. It had obviously taken a great deal of courage for him to return here, but he hadn't hesitated, knowing she'd need his help and guidance to understand the threat he claimed they were facing. A man who stood by his words and actions was very rare. She wanted to believe Wilson was such a man.
"Paul said he and Loretta are being watched by the police. You better stay on the lookout too," Ella warned. "Remember, if nothing else, you're guilty of harboring a fugitive, and Blalock would have you arrested on that charge in an instant if he thought he could use it to break this case open."
"He'd do the same to you," he countered.
"You bet. I'm more guilty. I'm violating the law I've sworn to uphold."
"You're being torn in two," Wilson observed sadly. "I wish there had been some way to spare you that."
"I have no regrets about my decisions. There are some
loyalties that supersede even my allegiance to the letter of the law. But I'll need your help and Clifford's cooperation to see that the spirit of the law is upheld, and that the ones who killed my father are caught and punished/'
He nodded once, but she couldn't tell whether it was in acknowledgment or approval. Despite his honesty, Wilson was still an enigma to her. Every time he'd been with her, he had in effect tried to frighten her away from the investigation. Was Wilson sincerely afraid for her, or was he literally using ''scare tactics" to manipulate her?
Ella realized that she should have asked for a background check on Wilson too. She'd take care of that as soon as possible. She had a feeling Peterson would jump at the chance, but suspected Blalock would give a less biased report.
One thing was very clear. Whoever Ella asked to investigate Wilson Joe would have to do it without his knowledge. He seemed to be, at least for now, one of her few allies, and she couldn't afford to lose his trust or help.
''Why don't I follow you to the tribal police office? Maybe I can help out. I know some of the officers."
The offer was tempting. Ella had no desire to have a confrontation of any kind with her father-in-law. Having Wilson there would keep the conversation on track, away from unresolved issues from the past. But this was her responsibility, not Wilson's, and she'd have to deal with it.
Randall and she had never agreed on much, that was certain. She'd been told by more than one relative that the chief had blamed her for his son's enlistment. Randall Clah maintained Eugene had joined the army to impress Ella. There was no truth to it—Eugene had set his own goals in life, and he'd never worried about impressing anyone. Ella had also heard that, extending his logic, Randall Clah held her partially responsible for the accident that had claimed Eugene's life. After Ella had joined the bureau, the rift between them had widened even more.
"I appreciate your offer, but I need to do this myself," Ella said. "I may have to get nasty and ugly, and you shouldn't be associated with that. By now the labs have done all the tests they need. I have a feeling Randall hasn't released the body for other reasons."
"Like what?"
"He's against anything I do or want. That story goes back a long way," she answered softly.
"I've heard," he admitted.
Wilson followed her to her own vehicle and waved good-bye as she drove away. It was shortly after three when Ella pulled into the police station parking lot.
Parking, Ella speculated for a moment, wondering if Randall should be considered a potential suspect. But what motive could he have had? His only tie with her family had died with Eugene. If ambition and control were driving fac-
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tors for the skinwalkers, Randall certainly stood nothing to gain. As police chief, he was already top cop.
At the door, Ella practically collided with him.
Chief Clah glared at her. "What are you doing here? I warn you, any more 'misunderstandings' like the one you pulled at the morgue and I'll have you arrested/'
"I came to see you, Father-in-Law," she answered flatly. Ella refused to allow herself to get angry, but she couldn't resist annoying her stuffy father-in-law a little.
"What about? I don't have the time to talk right now."
"My father's body."
His expression changed from hostile to guarded. "I called Hector Silva earlier. He'll bury your father if you want him placed in the Christian cemetery."
"You didn't have to do that," she said, surprised. "But thanks." She meant it.
"I did it out of respect for your mother. I wanted to present her with solutions, not problems, when I called to tell her the body had been released."
Ella had expected a fight, been braced for one. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved by her effortless success. "Would it be all right with you if I went inside and used a telephone? I'd like to call home and make sure Mom's okay."
"Ask the officer at the front desk to let you use one of the lines there. Now I've got to go," Randall snapped.
As Clah strode out the door, Peterson Yazzie came down the hall; the trace of a smile on his face told Ella he had overheard. She shrugged and said, "I guess he's used up all his civility for the year. At least I don't have to wonder about how he feels about me." Peterson almost laughed.
"You won't have any privacy at the front desk. Use the phone in my office." He led her to a tiny, windowless room.
"Help yourself. I'll wait out here in the hall. Dial nine to get an outside line."
Ella stepped inside. Yazzie's office was no larger than a closet, but he'd obviously spent time making it personal. Achievement certificates hung on the wall, alongside commendations he'd received throughout his years on the fo
rce. There was a photo of him shaking the hand of the current tribal chairman. Another showed him at the All-Indian Rodeo, standing near the state governor.
She'd been told how ambitious Peterson was, and these photos made that easy to believe. He had undoubtedly pressured the chief to get the office. Small or not, it was a mark of prestige. The department's facilities were extremely limited. Her mother's letters had often mentioned Peterson's efforts to become chief of police. She'd wondered how her father-in-law felt about that, especially because her own parents had always been quite close to Peterson.
Ella sat behind the desk and dialed home quickly. Then, assured her mother had handled the news of the release of Ella's father's body well, she opened the door. Peterson stepped into the office, half closing the door behind him.
"I haven't been able to get any more background information on the people you wanted." He spoke quietly. "Your father-in-law has pulled the files on just about everyone who knew your father. If he catches me going through them, I'm history."
"He doesn't plan on working the case alone, does he?" Ella had heard that Randall Clah was a good cop, but it was felt that as chief of police he should be delegating more responsibility to his staff.
Peterson shrugged. "Don't worry, I'll get a look at the files. The chief only locks his office when he leaves the sta-
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tion. Next time he's here, as soon as I'm sure he'll be away from his desk for a little while, I'll borrow the files. Ten minutes, and I'll have copies for you." Peterson was whispering. Hearing footsteps in the hall, he cleared his throat to warn Ella. The radio dispatcher, a young Navajo woman in her early twenties, walked past. She gave Peterson a big smile and didn't seem to notice Ella at all.
"Silva has retrieved my father's body from the morgue," Ella said in a normal tone. "Reverend Williamson will say a prayer as they inter the body."
When Ella arrived home, Wilson was waiting on the front porch, and Rose was tending her garden. As Ella came up the walk, Wilson stood and nodded a greeting.
Ella returned the nod. She said quietly, "It's my duty to gather some of my father's possessions so they can be buried with him."
"I'll drive you and your mother to the church grounds. That's why I came over here."
Ella wasn't surprised that Wilson knew about the release of her father's body, but his offer of a ride did surprise her. Attending a graveside service was something few Navajos did willingly. But she refused to become suspicious of Wilson. She needed the support. Even her mother had declined to be present; her own beliefs made different requirements of her.
"You've been a good friend to my brother, and to me. But if you'd rather, there's something else you could do to help me. My mother won't be attending this service. I wish you'd stay here and make sure she's handling things okay."
"I don't think she's going to need me as much as you
will. You're really all alone here. Unless I'm very much mistaken," he said softly, "this duty is going to be difficult for you."
"I won't deny that," Ella admitted.
"Then let me come with you."
Maybe she should have argued a bit more and released him from the offer. Yet, the truth was, she wanted him there. Facing her father's burial alone, with only Mr. Silva and the Christian minister present, left her feeling as cold as if she'd been standing naked in a snowstorm. "I'd be grateful if you'd come."
"Then the matter's settled."
Almost three hours later, they stood side by side at the grave site. The sun was sinking quickly into the horizon as the preacher concluded his prayer. His wife was by his side, holding a Bible. While the coffin was lowered into the ground, gruesome images of what the killers had done to her father's body flashed through Ella's mind. Ella dropped the blanket-wrapped bundle of her father's possessions onto the coffin. It landed with a dull, hollow thud that echoed the way she felt inside. She nodded at Mr. Silva, who began to fill the grave.
Orange and lavender lit up the sky as the sun began its final surrender to the gathering night. "I'll meet you back at your truck in a minute," she told Wilson after the casket was completely covered.
Ella picked a handful of the wild sunflowers that grew near the fence, then placed them over the dark soil of the newly covered grave. "I will get the ones who did this to you. You would have said my motive is revenge, and asked
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instead that I forgive. But evil can't be left unchecked; otherwise it continues to destroy. The scales must be balanced."
Ella rose to her feet, resolve and purpose strengthening her, to discover Reverend Williamson hovering a discreet distance away. His wife had gone back to the rectory.
The Anglo minister approached her hesitantly. "It really wasn't necessary for those items to be buried with him."
"Not to you," she answered. "Our family feels the need, however."
The reverend shook his head. "What I meant was that your father is at peace. He was a good man. You should be proud of him."
"I am," Ella replied simply.
"Tell your mother she will always be welcome at our services. And you too, if you choose to remain here."
"Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn't count on either of us attending," Ella said gently. "My mother respected my father's choice while he lived and always supported him, but her own religion will sustain her now."
"And you?"
"I don't share either of my parents' beliefs."
The minister nodded pensively. "Tell Rose that I'll always keep her in my prayers."
"Thank you, Reverend." Ella managed a smile. "By the way, Reverend, my mother and I were discussing the church and we were wondering who would minister to the Navajo congregation now. I understand Willy Ute will be taking over?" Ella tried to make the question as non-threatening as possible.
"He would like to, but he doesn't have enough training. I've given this some thought. I worked closely with Raymond for years, and I believe I share his compassion for
your people. I'm going to step into his footsteps, for now at least. I think he would have wanted it that way."
"I wish you the best of luck, then, Reverend. Thank you for your candor." Ella nodded to Williamson, then walked away. If Williamson was an ambitious man, and she knew that some evangelists were, then Williamson definitely remained a suspect. With her father's murder, Williamson had doubled his congregation.
Ella joined Wilson in his pickup. Feeling a little bit guilty, she confessed, "I've never liked that man."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's a holdover from when I was a kid. I used to resent when he telephoned and interrupted Dad at home in the evenings. That was the only time we had with him." She shrugged. "But that's not all of it. He's so sanctimonious sometimes, he sets my teeth on edge. The only beliefs he respects are his own. I don't have anything against his religion, but I resent his attitude."
"I've heard others question his tolerance." As the miles stretched out before them, Wilson broke the silence. "Something's on your mind. What is it?"
"I've been considering asking my mother to stay with relatives. I just don't know how safe she'll be all alone at the house as I continue to investigate, especially considering what has already happened to us."
"I doubt she'll go anywhere, or allow anyone to come stay with her. I expect she'd see it as admitting she couldn't take care of herself, and there's no way she's going to do that."
"Maybe she could move in with Loretta for a while," Ella countered. "That's not too far from home, and I could tell her I'm worried about Loretta."
"Then the risk to each of them would double. It could
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tempt others to try and kidnap them both and force your brother out of hiding/'
"Good point/' Wilson thought almost anything that forced Clifford to come forward was a pretty good idea, but even she wouldn't recommend this tack.
"You could talk to your mom, maybe convince h
er to go visit your Aunt Merilyn, at least for a few days. They've always been fond of each other." Wilson came to a stop in Rose's driveway.
"I can try. And thanks again for being there for me this afternoon." Ella smiled as she stepped out of Wilson's pickup.
As Wilson drove away, Rose hurried out to the front porch. Suspecting trouble, Ella held her breath, searching her mother's eyes for a sign. When her mother smiled, Ella breathed again.
Ella almost ran up the steps to her mother. "Is everything all right?"
"Stop worrying. I was just hoping to catch Wilson before he drove away. I could use some help with the water pump. The handle's stuck. I've tried oiling it, but it doesn't make any difference."
"I'll take a look at it."
"Someone has to force it, then it'll start working again. This has happened before."
"You probably just need a new handle." Ella remembered when the red pump had first been installed, when she was in grade school. The paint had long since been rubbed and weathered away.
"No, I'll just keep fixing it. No sense in replacing something that's still working."
168 X AIMEE & PAVIP THURLO
Ella smiled. Some things never changed. Her mother never threw out anything. What became obsolete was always kept in reserve—just in case. The question "in case of what" had never been answered. Items broken were likely to remain broken. Every once in a while, something would serve an alternate purpose. A spare tire became a swing for years, and an old leaky washtub, a planter.
"I'd better get to it now," Ella said. "It'll be dark soon."
Ella walked around to the back of the house, where the pump was. They had running water in the house; this pump provided water for her mother's garden. Ella tried the handle with one hand, then both, but it was stuck fast. Placing her entire weight on it, she leaned into the curved metal. Slowly the handle gave.
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