"Just leave them on the patio. As soon as my wife returns, we'll load them into our van and take them to town."
Ella worked quickly, eager to leave as soon as possible. As she set down the last box, Williamson returned. He said, "Have you made any progress in the investigation?"
"It's not my case, officially," she answered, surprised he'd asked. Maybe Williamson had realized that he, now in her father's position, could be the next target, if stopping the church was the murderer's goal.
"I know that, but I can't imagine that buffoon, what's-his-name, Blalock, getting anywhere without your help."
Ella had to smile. Even Anglos were having a hard time accepting Blalock.
"He's certainly not very personable, but he's quite competent," she said out of respect for a professional colleague.
BLACKENING SONG X 193
"I certainly hope so," the reverend muttered, a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
Ella patted the top of the box. "This is everything," she said, fastening her cop's scrutiny on the reverend's face. He could be putting on an act. After all, he was the only person she knew so far who had gained from her father's death. "I'll be on my way now."
As she turned away, she caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the hill behind the church, watching. Sudden anger shot through her, and she strode toward her truck. Williamson shouted something, but she didn't take notice. She hopped behind the wheel and in a flash was under way, tires spinning in the gravel. She raced straight uphill, hoping the wildly fishtailing truck would stay together. "I've got you now, buddy boy," she muttered under her breath.
Seconds later, she slammed to a stop. A cloud of gravel rose around her as she leaped out, gun in hand. "Come out from behind the rocks. Now!"
Two elderly Navajo men stepped forward slowly, eyes wide.
"Is this the way all FB-Eyes introduce themselves?" the older of the two asked. His coal-black eyes transfixed her coldly.
Ella studied him carefully, returning her pistol to its holster. The man wore his long gray hair tied back. A silver and turquoise squash blossom hung from his neck. There was an authoritative air about him, and despite his age, he stood ramrod straight.
"Who are you, and why were you watching us?" she demanded, less sure of herself now. He seemed indignant, but not threatening.
"I'm Samuel Pete," he answered calmly. "We're here because of you."
"What do you mean?" Ella asked, remembering Wilson had said this man was an excellent bow-hunter, skilled in tracking—someone who could have managed the skin-walker's illusion.
"I'm Herman Cloud," the other man said. "We were curious about you. There's been a lot of talk."
Ella's gaze shifted to him. Cloud's hair was salt and pepper, his face lined with deep furrows that attested to long days in the sun. He wore old work jeans and a long-sleeved chambray work shirt. His belly hung over the thick silver belt buckle at his waist.
"Everyone knows we're on your brother's side," Samuel Pete added sternly, "except you, it seems. You don't lack confidence, L.A. Woman, but you do lack common sense."
She stared at him aghast. So that's what she'd been dubbed. "Why do you call me L.A. Woman? This is my home too."
The man chuckled softly. "You don't act that way." He glanced down at her gold Seiko watch, a gift she'd given herself years ago, after she'd closed her first case. It had taken months to pay off on her only credit card.
"I am part of the Dineh."
"In some ways, maybe."
"How long have you been watching me?"
"Long enough to know that you rush headlong into things you don't understand. In the FBI, don't they teach you how to survive?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?" she countered, rankled by his attitude, especially since he was right. "Were you keeping watch over my home last night?"
"No, but we do try to keep an eye on your mother during the day. It's the least we can do for your brother. At
night, once you're there, your mother shouldn't need extra protection/' Samuel Pete answered.
They appeared to be sincere. "Will you help me? Do you have any idea who might be trying to frame my brother for my father's murder? Perhaps you've heard others talking ..." She allowed her words to trail off, hoping one of the men would fill the silence.
"We know your brother has made enemies, but we don't know who's doing this to him. If we did, we would pass the word, and our people would handle it themselves. We don't need you," Samuel said.
"Handling things yourselves would be a mistake. Unless my brother is cleared in a way that the courts accept, he'll never be free to go on with his life."
"We'll do our best to help him, but we can't give you answers we don't have."
Ella knew that these men could be a wealth of information if they chose, but getting them to trust her was another matter. "Can I count on you for help if I find out anything?"
"Your brother has many friends," Samuel Pete responded, without giving a clear answer. "We'll be around." The two men turned and walked off.
"Wait! At least tell me where I can find you if I need you."
Neither man slowed. They walked off down the side of the highway. Ella kicked the right front tire of the truck, hard. Instead of gaining needed support, she was losing ground.
Dejected, she got back into the truck and coasted down to the church. Reverend Williamson was sitting on a wrought-iron bench. "I tried to tell you," he said, coming over to the truck. "I'd spotted them before, hanging around.
Either they knew you were corning, or else they followed you here."
"They didn't follow me/' she said flatly. "Did you tell anyone I was coming?"
"My wife knew, and some of the women's auxiliary." He paused. "I think that's all."
Which meant everyone had known. You had to work hard to keep secrets on the Rez. "No harm done, Reverend."
"Thanks for bringing the clothing by."
"You're welcome." Ella headed back to Shiprock, passing Cloud and Pete by the side of the road. Engaged in conversation, they never looked her way.
Since she had to pass the college, she decided to look for Wilson. With luck, maybe she'd run into Blalock somewhere along the way. She wanted to see if he'd completed the background check on Wilson. On second thought, perhaps she should wait. He was probably still annoyed with her for losing him in the desert.
She went by the old college—a wing of the old boarding school—and saw Wilson's vehicle in the parking lot. Ella maneuvered her truck into a visitor's parking space. Inside the building, she walked the empty halls until she found his name on a door.
The minute he saw her, Wilson's smile widened. "Hey. I tried to call you this morning, but you'd already left."
She was getting tired of being snubbed and treated like a pariah. Wilson's warmth was invigorating. "I was hoping you can tell me more about Samuel Pete and Herman Cloud." Ella told him about her encounter.
"Pete lives on a little farm just west of the Hogback, but he's always on top of things. I figure he's in his late sixties, but it's not slowing him down. It's too bad you couldn't get
BLACKENING SONG X 197
him to open up to you. He probably doesn't know anything that you could take to court, but I'd be willing to bet he's heard plenty."
"And the other one?"
"Herman is about ten years younger than Samuel, and the two have been fast friends for several decades. Both are staunch traditionalists. They've always supported your brother in spite of his youth because he's very dedicated to the old ways."
"Can they be trusted?" Later she'd see if her mother and Peterson shared Wilson's evaluation. Although she liked Wilson, she still wasn't 100 percent sure he was trustworthy.
"Yes, I'm certain of it. They'd also make formidable allies—if you could earn their trust."
"I can try," she answered. "By the way, have you heard they've nicknamed me L.A. Woman?"
He chuckled. "The college kids started that, after hearing stories about you
from their parents."
"I suppose it could be worse."
"Oh, far worse," he agreed, then chuckled again. "Besides, I always liked the Doors."
She shot him a stony look. "Is there any chance that you can talk to Samuel or Herman and find out what they've overheard or suspect? Maybe you could persuade them to talk to me."
"I can talk to them, but I doubt they'll tell me any more than they told you. I know them because of Clifford, but they don't approve of some of the life choices I've made. I don't hold to the old ways as much as they think a teacher should."
"Well, that's that, then." She took a seat at one of the student desks.
"By the way, I ran into Paul Sells at the gas station. He was scared, shaking like a leaf. Peterson had come to see him, apparently on your behalf, to pick up a message Paul had for you. But Paul doesn't want to talk to a cop, even Yazzie, so he just said somebody was following him. ,,
"What was Paul's real message to me?" Ella watched Wilson carefully. "Did he say?"
"Yeah. He told me to tell you to concentrate on taking care of yourself. He would take care of his sister."
"Did you try to find out why he was so scared?"
"I did. I figured the stakes were too high not to ask. He and Loretta have been seeing packs of coyotes, late at night. Only he's convinced it isn't real coyotes, but skinwalkers in coyote shape. Apparently he picked up a small swatch of cured pelt that had been snagged by a juniper behind Loretta's home."
"What's he going to do?"
"He's armed to the teeth. No one could sneak up on that house. Someone's always keeping watch. He and his uncles take turns."
"Good."
There was a light knock at the door, and an elderly Navajo woman, wearing dark slacks and a cotton blouse, entered. Wilson took a small bundle of Navajo-language textbooks from her hands. The woman eyed Ella skeptically. Ella suddenly remembered what it felt like to be sent to the principal's office.
Wilson quickly introduced them. "Bessie Tso, this is Ella Clah."
"L.A. Woman," Bessie said softly, and nodded. "I've heard about you."
"Bessie is our cultural anthropology professor," Wilson added.
BLACKENING 5QNC X 199
Ella studied Bessie Tso. Her face was remarkably free of wrinkles. Her eyes glowed with an unmistakable fire. This was a bright, alert woman who'd fought to attain whatever she had. Despite her weight, Bessie's movements were limber, and Ella had the impression that Bessie's body wouldn't dare disobey her. One thing perplexed Ella, however. This woman seemed as modern as Ella herself, yet seemed vaguely disapproving of her. "Pleasure to meet you, Professor."
"I've heard a great deal of talk about you, but I'm still not certain where you stand."
"On what?"
"The church for one, and the college."
"I think it's up to the community to decide what it wants," Ella answered.
"Yes, but do you think both should be erected, and that they'll fulfill a useful function?"
"They will to those who want them."
"Oh, come on! Only a politician gives nonanswers like that. You must have an opinion of your own."
"I am giving you answers, though obviously not the ones you want to hear," Ella said a little more sharply than she'd intended.
"No matter how long you straddle the fence on issues like these, sooner or later you'll be forced to make a choice. Be prepared. It's not enough to stand aside and let things take their course."
Bessie walked out. Ella said to Wilson, "Is she always like that, or do I bring it out in her?"
Wilson chuckled. "She's always like that. Plus you bring out her fighting instincts. With your family involved on both sides of the issues, people have been speculating on where you stand. She was looking for answers."
"I wasn't being evasive—that really is my position. I feel very strongly about the people's right to choose/'
Wilson shrugged. "Even so, you're hedging. If one side had to take precedence over the other, which would you support?"
Ella met his gaze. "I'd be starting a third group, and insisting that all parties involved reach a compromise. Don't you see? I really don't favor one over the other. What I do favor is the right to free choice."
"You really should think about it and decide whether building—or not building—the college and church better suits the needs of the tribe. Making that decision will help you keep things in focus." Wilson placed the books Bessie had brought on the bookshelf. "Like you, I've lived in both worlds for many years. My heart is with the old ways, but I know we need the new to survive as a people. You have to find your own balance point. As far as I can tell, you haven't."
"I choose not to choose. Since I don't live here, I don't feel it's my right to interfere. Besides, it'll help me keep my objectivity throughout this investigation."
"Maybe it's easier for me to take a stand, since whatever happens affects me directly. Working with the students has also helped me focus my thinking." He paused, gave her a long, speculative look, then continued, "I'm giving an orientation workshop this afternoon for incoming students. Why don't you stay? You can be a guest speaker. You're a prime example of the range of educational and employment possibilities open to our people these days."
"But I don't have anything prepared," she said, surprised by his request.
"Have you done any public speaking?"
She nodded. "The bureau encourages their agents to
BLACKENING SONC X 2Q1
take an active part in community affairs. I've given talks at high schools and community centers/'
"This won't be that different. It's very informal. If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can summarize your academic background and then turn it into a question-and-answer session."
There was no graceful way to decline, not after all the help he'd given her. Even if he intended to put her on the spot, she could turn it to her advantage. Radical groups often recruited from students, and this would give her a chance to meet some of them. "I'll give it my best shot," she agreed, hoping the time would fly by.
Ella watched Wilson closely as he gave his opening remarks. She envied the way he positioned himself in both the progressive and traditional worlds. What surprised her most was that he seemed comfortable everywhere. He'd learned to live with the differences, without compromising his own views.
"In conclusion," Wilson said, "education is necessary to protect and preserve the old—language, culture, and religion—and keep it a living part of our modern world. As a service to our community, Special Agent Clah has consented to speak to us today. She's made the most of the grants and scholarships our tribe offers, using them to help achieve her goals and contribute a life of service."
Ella glanced at the group of thirty incoming freshmen. She synopsized her education and all her training to become an agent. Then she opened the floor to questions.
"Members of your own family are in a great deal of trouble," one young Navajo man said slowly. "Will you use your connections as a law enforcement officer to help
them?" The noise in the room stilled, and Ella could hear people breathing.
The unexpected question threw her momentarily, but she quickly recovered. "If I could, I probably would, but that's just not the way it works. I'm officially prohibited from being involved in the investigation. My interest is personal, and not a part of my duties as an FBI agent."
"Many believe that your brother is the key to the problems the area around the new college has been having." The young woman speaking looked at the others as she spoke. "Deformed animals are being born, and troubles plague the community near there. Would you bring him in, if you knew where he was?"
Ella glanced at Wilson; he returned her look calmly. Clearly this was her show as far as he was concerned. Good—because she intended to respond to the challenge these kids were issuing. "I'd be legally bound to take some action, like anyone else in this room. But I wouldn't make such an arrest myself. As I said, I'm not working t
his case. I'm here as a private citizen."
"Are your loyalties to the bureau greater than those you feel for the Dineh?" another co-ed asked.
"The two don't conflict," she answered. "The bureau is an investigative service, which serves the People as well as others."
"How does your being a federal agent help the tribe? Isn't it a form of disloyalty to use tribal scholarships to get an education that will benefit those outside the Rez more than us?"
"Our ways teach that everything is interrelated; one event always affects another. What I do outside the Rez isn't separate from what happens here; it's all part of the bal-
BLACKENING SONG X 2Q3
ance," Ella said, a bit surprised by the tack the student had taken. The room grew silent.
"Thanks for talking to us, Agent Clan," Wilson said, taking the opportunity to step forward. Ella went to the back of the classroom and waited while Wilson finished his lecture. Finally he directed the group to adjacent rooms, to speak with other professors. When the students had all left, Wilson came toward Ella, hands spread apologetically.
"It wasn't my intention, but your session turned out to be a trial by fire," he commented ruefully. "That deserves at least a soft drink on the house," he added with a wry smile.
"I accept. My mouth has definitely gone dry."
They went down the hall to the faculty lounge. Although the room was barely the size of a large closet, it looked comfortable, filled with worn, thickly padded easy chairs and a threadbare sofa. A large window faced the river, framing a vista of the small fields lining the old flood plain of the San Juan River. Above the valley, dry mesas stretched beyond sight into the clear sky.
Wilson handed her a can of soda from a vending machine, then sat beside her on the sofa. "You did an excellent job with the students. I really didn't expect them to ask those kinds of questions, but I figured it'd do more harm than good if I asked them to change the topic."
Blackening song Page 16