Cave of Bones

by Anne Hillerman

  Her sister was as different from Bernie as he could imagine. Darleen, always a talker, went into overdrive when she was angry or sad or discouraged. Most Navajo people he knew believed that words should be used sparingly and selected them with care to say only what was meant in the clearest way possible. Despite Mama’s best teaching, Darleen subscribed to the more-is-better approach. Chee steadied himself for an evening of serious listening.

  “Let’s go for a ride.” Darleen reached for her seat belt, revealing a large blue bruise on her arm.

  “Sure. Do you want something to eat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He pulled away from the school entrance onto a quiet paved street. The Institute of American Indian Arts, or IAIA, wasn’t convenient to anything, and that, in his opinion, added to its appeal when it came to Darleen. Kids without cars had to settle for on-campus distractions, minimizing the chance for chaos.

  “You remember CS?” She squeaked out the name. “He told me to take this program, even helped me with the paperwork. But now he totally ignores me, like I’m a big inconvenience. When I suggest that we do something, he’s too busy. And when his friends are around, he blows me off. Like he’s embarrassed. I don’t see him hardly at all because he’s working all the time, like tonight. I asked him if he wanted to come with me to dinner but no. No. No. He always says he’s working.”

  She underlined says with the tone of her voice.

  Complaining seemed to invigorate Darleen. She recited a litany of complaints against her boyfriend as Chee drove past houses in various shades of brown, large but clustered together despite all the open land here. He knew Darleen didn’t expect him to interrupt her monologue.

  “And when I try to tell him how I feel? He says I should focus on the program, work on my drawings, not think about him so much. And now when I asked him for a ride because I missed the bus, he told me he couldn’t do it because of the stupid videos and because his friend was coming to the studio. I’d like to know who this friend is.”

  Chee drove along, minding the speed limit, passing a woman walking a dog on a leash, kids riding bikes. He found a turnout with a view of the mountains to the northwest, parked, and turned off the engine, breathing in the spectacular panorama of a spectacular evening. The fading glow of sunset danced against the flanks of the Jemez range, and he could see the flicker of the faraway lights of Los Alamos, a city created to build the atomic bomb.

  Darleen stopped talking and looked out the window.

  After a while, Chee broke the silence. “I don’t know much about CS. Where is he from?”

  Darleen rattled off his mother’s born-to clan and his father’s born-for clan and those of his grandparents on both sides. “We’re not related. He’s not even related to you, Cheeseburger. Not that I’m thinking of marrying the big jerk.”

  “I ran into him today at a restaurant, but he pretended not to recognize me, and I didn’t immediately remember where I had seen him before.” He told her about the encounter. “Do you know a man named Clyde Herbert?”

  She glanced up at him. “What does he look like?”

  Chee described him.

  “I think I sort of met him, but CS didn’t tell me who he was. CS and I drove over to his house. The guy was, like, in the driveway waiting for us, and he walked up to the car and stared at me, like he was surprised I was there or something. Then he told CS he couldn’t do it until tomorrow, whatever that meant. Does he have a tattoo on his neck?”

  “That’s him. He was with CS at lunch. The guy has a real attitude.”

  She shrugged. “All I know is that when we drove away from Herbert’s place, CS said he was working with that guy, and then CS is like, ‘Oh, I don’t wanna tell you because it’s not firmed up yet.’”

  Chee heard the anger in her voice. He gathered his thoughts. “I’ve arrested Herbert a couple times for drugs and aggravated battery. He went to prison, and I thought he was still there.”

  “Battery? Was he stealing batteries? What’s up with that?”

  “No. Battery is hitting somebody. I think you—” He stopped. Darleen absolutely resented anyone telling her what to do. “I mentioned Herbert because he’s a convicted felon. I want to make sure you’re safe, especially if CS is hanging with him. Are they friends?”

  “I don’t know.” Chee could tell by the tone of her voice she was annoyed, but was it with him or CS? He’d try getting the truth from her over dinner, he thought, and he started the engine.

  They reached a thoroughfare that took them past the Santa Fe Community College and eventually to a busier street. Darleen told him to turn right and directed him to Harry’s Roadhouse, a few minutes east of town. They ordered pizza, roasted chicken with green chile, and sat at a window table waiting for it. Chee had a coffee and Darleen ordered water and a side salad. In the years Chee had known Bernie, beginning when she was a rookie cop and he was her boss, she had never ordered a salad at a restaurant. Now that they were married, she never made one at home, although she politely had a bite or two of the ones he created if he included iceberg lettuce and she could eat around the other vegetables. She liked green chile with pinto beans and chicken but would never have considered either of them on a pizza. Only pepperoni for her. He missed her already.

  Darleen ignored him, preoccupied with eating the salad, checking her phone, and texting. He enjoyed the smell of baking pizza and the diner-like feel of the place. The decor reminded him of Blue Moon, one of his favorite stops in Farmington, except that Blue Moon had no pizza and Harry’s had no milkshakes.

  When the pizza arrived, Darleen looked up. “You know, even though CS is acting like a big fool, I’m glad I came to the school here. The program is awesome. The drawing teacher comes from, you know, one of those tribes up in Canada where they live by the ocean. He has us walking around drawing stuff, quick sketches. He does some, too, and then we all talk about the drawings, but he only lets us say what we like about the other people’s work. In the first class he asked us to do this really cool assignment.” Darleen smiled for the first time that evening and talked on.

  If it hadn’t been for the uneasy feeling he had about her boyfriend associating with a thug, Chee would have let Darleen’s stream of consciousness roam free. Instead, he corralled it with a question when she paused for breath.

  “This pizza is good. Do you and CS come here?”

  “Yeah. We have the veggie because he doesn’t eat chicken or sausage or anything.”

  “Does he live with relatives here?”

  Darleen picked up the pizza slice and took a bite. “He’s using his friend’s apartment.”

  “What’s it like?” A safer question, Chee figured, than Have you been there?

  “It’s little.” She slipped off her sweater, revealing the discoloration on her arm beneath the sleeve of her T-shirt.

  “That’s quite a bruise. What happened?”

  “An accident.” She tugged her sleeve down. “Do you remember that cool movie we made of the grandmother out by Coal Mine Canyon who wanted to talk to the president, you know, the Navajo president, and bring her sheep along?”

  “I know you guys went out there to chat with her about the situation. I haven’t seen the video.”

  “He says he’s still working on it.” Her skepticism rang in the words.

  “You know, just like you don’t believe him, I don’t believe that bruise was an accident.”

  She took a sip of water. “Are you going to eat that last piece?”

  He moved the pan away from her. “You can have it if you tell me what happened to your arm.”

  “It’s nothing. Forget about it.”

  “Remember I said the reason Herbert went to prison is that he hit someone? It was a woman he lived with. He broke her ribs. It bothered me to see CS with him, and it bothers me that CS pretended we’d never met.”

  “Maybe he didn’t recognize you. He wouldn’t have expected to see you in Santa Fe.”

  “Herbert knew wh
o I was, and I hadn’t seen him since his trial.”

  Darleen put the last slice of pizza on her plate. “CS isn’t mean like that. No way.”

  “Then why won’t you tell me what happened?”

  The words hung between then as the server cleared the plates and offered dessert, which they declined. Chee went to the cashier and paid the bill.

  When he returned, Darleen stood and slipped on her jacket. “Don’t tell Bernie about Herbert and CS. Please. She’s got enough on her mind helping Mama while I’m taking this class.”

  “I won’t say anything for now. But you need to tell me the truth about that bruise.”

  “It was an accident, OK?” Tears pooled in her eyes. “Leave me alone. You don’t have to take me back to campus. There’s a bus stop right at the corner.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I’m a big girl.” She snapped out the words. “I really can take care of myself.”

  When he couldn’t talk her out of it, Chee left Darleen there and drove back to his motel. He changed out of his uniform into soft jeans and a plaid shirt. Then he phoned Lieutenant Leaphorn. When he thought he’d have to call back, Louisa Bourbonette, Leaphorn’s housemate, answered.

  “Sergeant Chee, how nice to hear from you.”

  “Good evening. You seem a little hoarse.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  They chatted a moment, and then she said, “I bet you want to talk to Joe. I’ll give him the phone.”

  “Yá’át’ééh.” Leaphorn’s voice sounded clear and strong. “Chee, how are you tonight?” He spoke in Navajo, the language that came to him more easily than English.

  “I’m fine, sir. How are you?”

  Leaphorn said he was feeling fine and added that he had accepted a set of new assignments and was enjoying the work.

  Chee never much enjoyed talking on the phone, unless it was to Bernie. And even in person, face-to-face, he felt awkward making small talk. This was doubly true in conversations with the Lieutenant, the man who had been both his mentor and his biggest critic. “Captain Largo sent me to Santa Fe for some training, so that’s where I am.” He described the classes and some of the old-timers Leaphorn might know. All that took about a minute. Then Chee steeled himself and got to the point.

  “I could use some help, sir. Do you remember Herbert Clyde from Fort Defiance?”

  “No.”

  Chee paused. Leaphorn, at least before a crazy woman shot him in the head, never forgot a name or a face.

  “He’s a stocky guy, sir. He used to rodeo until he got into meth. Mean. He had a wife in Shiprock. I arrested him a few times, once in connection with that drug trafficking case we were helping the feds with. The rest was domestic violence.”

  “I don’t know any Herbert Clyde, but if you’re talking about Clyde Herbert, of course I remember him. He beat his wife with a Smirnov bottle, broke her bones. Why do you ask?”

  Chee, who prided himself on his own excellent memory, felt his face warm with embarrassment. He plodded on. “I just saw him in Santa Fe. This dude’s associating with Bernie’s sister’s new boyfriend. I thought you might be able to help me fill in the blanks.”

  He heard Leaphorn sigh. “This is the girl with the blue hair who got arrested. Darleen.”

  “Yes, sir, but the blue is gone and she has green streaks now. She’s up here in Santa Fe, too, for a week in a special art program. I’m concerned that this guy she’s hanging with might be trouble. She said the boyfriend and Herbert are working on a project together. But she didn’t know what the project was.”

  Chee paused, but when Leaphorn didn’t say anything, he continued. “I can’t check on the boyfriend while I’m here in Santa Fe, but I’m wondering if he’s been in some trouble, too. I haven’t mentioned any of this to Bernie. I didn’t want to bother her with it, at least not until I know what’s going on.”

  Leaphorn might not want to do him a favor, but Chee knew the old lieutenant was fond of Bernie.

  “What’s this boyfriend’s name?”

  Chee told him and gave him CS’s approximate age and physical description.

  “Aoo’. I’ll check on Clyde Herbert, too, and I’ll e-mail you what I find out. And Chee?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “It’s a very bad idea to try to keep a secret from your wife. It never works out well, even if your intentions are good.”

  Before Chee figured out how to respond, Leaphorn had hung up.

  5

  Jim Chee had just turned on the TV when his phone beeped with a text. Darleen had left her sunglasses in his truck. Could be drop them off for her at school on his way to his own class? She told him what dorm she was in and said he could leave them for her at the desk.

  No, he thought. He had to be at the police academy early, and her campus wasn’t on the way to anywhere. He’d drive them out to her tonight. He felt uneasy and the drive might help him relax. Besides, he wanted to check on her after seeing that bruise.

  He drove down Cerrillos Road to Rodeo Road, then south on Richards Avenue, once again past the community college and into the foothills until he reached Darleen’s school. It pleased him to see a security guard at the campus gate. He explained his mission, and she found Darleen’s name in the student directory, told him how to get to the dorm, and waved him through.

  At the front desk, he learned that Darleen had signed out for a movie required for class. He left her sunglasses with the attendant, a young woman in her early thirties with black-framed glasses who was engrossed in reading something on her laptop.

  “One more question. Where is the studio for videos?”

  “That’s the next building over. If you want to talk to somebody about using the lab, you should come back tomorrow. I don’t think anyone’s there now except maybe some students.”

  He walked to the building anyway, in the hope that maybe he’d run into CS and could have a little chat with him about his felon friend. The building looked dark and empty, and there was only one vehicle outside—an old minivan idling at the loading dock. He heard roughness from the engine. If his truck sounded that bad, he would be worried.

  A gray-haired woman stood outside the van by the side door, fumbling with the latch.

  “Ma’am, do you need some help?” He felt for the small flashlight in his pocket.

  She looked up and stepped away from him.

  “You scared me, sneaking up like that. Who are you?” She was a small woman with a loud, authoritarian voice. Probably a teacher, Chee guessed.

  He didn’t move any closer. “It looks like you could use a hand there.”

  She inched toward the van and stared at him. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  The fear in her voice surprised him.

  “I’m Jim Chee, Navajo Police, the brother-in-law of one of the bridge program students.” He switched the flashlight to his left hand, pulled out his ID, and shone the light on it as he held it toward her.

  “OK, Sergeant Jim. I’m Beverly Lomasi. Hopi and Laguna Pueblo. I teach here. Bring over that flashlight, and help me slide this door closed.”

  He walked to the minivan, noticing that even though her hair was gray, she was not elderly. Perhaps in her forties. He discovered that the side door needed to be fully reopened and closed again with a firm push.

  “Now, shine that light on the building’s back door here so I can get my key in. I forgot my laptop inside.”

  “Do you work in this building?”

  “I’m glad you’re suspicious.” She reached inside her jacket and pulled out a strap with her college ID card. He aimed his light toward it. Same woman.

  She let the card dangle on the cord. “Like it says, I’m the assistant director of media arts and this is the media arts building. Who’s your student?”

  Chee told her.

  Mrs. Lomasi said, “Shine your light down a little. This lock is tricky.”

  He did as directed.

  “I work with the bridge progr
am. I can’t place Darleen.”

  “She has green in her hair. A Navajo who likes to draw.”

  “Oh, right.” Mrs. Lomasi fiddled with the lock. “She sketched a picture of me while I was teaching. Not bad.”

  “Do you know a guy named Clayton Secody? He goes by CS.”

  “CS? I see him in the studio and around campus. He’s working on a video project so he can finally graduate. Why do you ask?”

  “Darleen is hanging out with him. I’m curious.”

  She finally got the door to open and flicked on the switch inside the entrance. “CS, huh? Tell Darleen she needs to—oh, never mind. Kids don’t want advice from anybody except their friends.” She turned away from him.

  “Do you know if CS is here tonight?”

  “He was here, and I’m sure he’ll be back. He’s doing a lot of editing.”

  Chee said, “Would you like me to wait and walk back to the van?”

  Mrs. Lomasi laughed. “Nope, but thanks for the offer. Tell Darleen she needs to turn in her homework.”

  He returned to his truck for the drive back to the motel. Somewhere in the distance he heard a coyote and a few dogs barking in response. Mostly, what Chee listened to was the welcome silence he had been missing. Santa Fe’s cacophony of traffic noise, car radios, and the occasional siren made him a little edgy. Combined with Darleen’s stonewalling when it came to her bruise and the day’s steady bombardment of strangers, including the prickly Mrs. Lomasi, the noise left him out of sorts and off balance.

  He parked in the motel lot, noticing the city noise again. He wondered if Darleen appreciated the quiet of the campus.

  Bernie had given him a book last week and he’d packed it in his suitcase. It was by a fellow Shiprock person, Luci Tapahonso, the Navajo Nation’s first poet laureate. He thought it an interesting gift. He liked to read, but he stayed with nonfiction, especially history. He’d brought Luci’s book with him to make Bernie happy but it was whittling away his prejudice against poetry. He’d read a little more after he called her. He sat in the chair next to the bed and dialed.