After watching Merilee disappear down the hall, Bernie extracted her cell phone, called the tow company again, and got a recording. She took her phone charger from her backpack and plugged it into an outlet in the living room, near a chair from which she could see both the front door and the hallway that led to Merilee’s bedroom.
The bing of incoming e-mail reminded her of Leaphorn’s promise to do some investigation into the Cruz family. She’d see if he’d sent something—she hadn’t checked all day. While she was at it, she’d look at the highway conditions and the weather forecast for the morning.
Leaphorn’s messages added to her wakefulness. They had come in when she was looking at the old bones, and both had the subject line “Merilee Cruz.” The first one had two attachments—tricky to open on her phone—so she looked at the second message first.
Just as he always did face-to-face, the Lieutenant got right to the point.
Here’s what you need to know:
Merilee’s husband, Roger Bateson, an experienced boater, died at Navajo Lake under suspicious circumstances. The widow, who was not at the scene and reported him missing, tried to block an autopsy on Navajo cultural grounds. Because the man was non-Navajo, her request was denied.
The autopsy found some anomalies, as you can read in the attachment, but confirmed that drowning was the cause of death. The police report showed that he was not wearing a life preserver, hit a rock, and was thrown from the boat.
Although one of the husband’s relatives, a state policeman, pushed for a murder investigation because of animosity between the couple, the case was closed.
She clicked on the first attachment, and after some churning, the police report opened in a new screen. She squinted to read the small print on the face of her phone, but finally gave up and opened the autopsy attachment. It was even worse, a bad scan of a photocopy that might have been blurred to start with. She put her phone down and rubbed her temples.
She went to her backpack and grabbed the Wings and Roots binder and Walker’s folder. The annual reports Cooper had given her included financial summaries, board minutes, and other material. These, plus the information Councilor Walker provided, seemed like the perfect way to use this extra work time: pages of numbers and official-sounding jargon.
She opened Cooper’s blue binder to the budget sheets, wishing she had paid more attention to bookkeeping in school. She started with January and found the line item accounting of the tribe’s grant to the program noted as income. In the narrative summary, she read how the money was spent: “funding the program for Navajo youth.” She thumbed through the rest of the summaries. The grant money was always listed and accounted for: how much the tribe had initially given Wings and Roots, how much had been spent that month, and the total amount remaining. It looked legitimate. She’d double-check the expenditure pages next. If everything jibed, she could tell Councilor Walker to worry about something else, like her daughter Annie.
But another entry caught her attention, a pattern of donations: $25,000 every three months. She went back to the January summary where she’d seen it first. She moved on to February, March, and April. Over that period, the group’s income from fund-raising and grants declined to only a few hundred dollars. There were adjustments in expenses, but the income-to-outgo gap widened. Then came the anonymous gift, and the program was back in the black.
She double-checked to make sure that the tribal grant, earmarked for the program, hadn’t been somehow diverted into this unnamed donor fund. That money was secure, as far as she could tell, and devoted to subsidizing Navajo students for adventures in the outdoors. Who was behind the $25,000 donations? The wealthy grandparents of a child the program had helped? She didn’t know any Navajos who had that kind of money, but the program helped non-Navajos, too. Maybe a former student who appreciated what she’d learned and used it for a successful career was pitching in.
She left the budget summaries and turned to Cooper’s compilation of the minutes from the monthly board meetings. Her director’s report was high on the agenda. In January, Cooper explained that the budget deficit was caused by a problem with an anticipated grant from a foundation that had agreed to support new, nonpaying students. The announcement had generated great publicity and a deluge of applications. The foundation reneged on its commitment, Cooper had written, but the agency had already accepted some of the new non-paying students, mostly teenagers from what she called difficult situations. The board agreed to honor its commitment to the teens already accepted. Cooper said she had alerted the staff that, if the budget situation did not resolve itself, the program would have to be cut and group leaders laid off. She stressed the role of fund-raising to fill the gap.
In February, Cooper told the board that $25,000 the previous month from an anonymous donor had put the group back in the black: “We received a cashier’s check in the mail made out to Wings and Roots with a note that said the money was to be spent as needed.” She wrote that she was “exploring all options” to find another underwriter to cover the unbudgeted increase in enrollment and to reduce expenses. The pattern repeated with another donation for the same amount arriving in April, July, and then quarterly. The money didn’t cover the entire deficit, but Cooper made enough other cuts to keep the group from going under. From what Bernie read, the board hadn’t questioned the source of the donation, at least not as a group where minutes were taken. Had Domingo Cruz made the appeal to Mr. and Mrs. Anonymous? Was this somehow connected to his disappearance?
She wondered if this could be the money Franklin had mentioned that Dom himself gave. Could he be involved in the illegal pottery business with Manzanares? She thought about the lucrative market for ancient Indian pottery, and filed the thought away.
In the minutes of the July meeting, she read, “As they discussed the budget, Cooper reminded the board that she had not had a raise in the five years she had been director. She said that Cruz, Mayfair, and some of the other staff volunteered to work extra hours to help with the budget situation.” The budget summary showed Cruz and Mayfair donating their overtime salaries with the hours recorded as if they were cash. She didn’t know enough about accounting to know if this was standard procedure, but at least the group was transparent about it.
The tribe’s money, to Bernie’s eyes, seemed properly documented. She wondered if the board had praised Cooper for securing the $25,000 gifts, or blamed her for letting the funds drop so low. The minutes were silent about that.
Putting the report aside, she skimmed the paperwork from Councilor Walker, copies of what she’d read in the Wings and Roots minutes and clippings from the Navajo Times, mostly bad news. The newspaper articles quoted Walker as saying she thought there was something questionable about the way the agency operated. One of the stories confirmed what Cooper had told her about Walker’s relative who worked for the program and had been fired. The reporter quoted Walker as saying that the man had been a whistle-blower, and that was why he’d lost his job.
More awake than ever, Bernie thought about going to the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate but decided against it. Setting down the reports next to her backpack, she walked to the window. The storm had tapered off to a light flurry. At this rate, snowplows and sand trucks would do their magic, and she’d be able to get back to Shiprock as soon as the tow truck liberated her unit.
A patch of light reflected off the snow. It came from the other side of the house, the wing where Merilee’s guest room was. Maybe Franklin was having trouble sleeping. If he was awake, she could retrieve her blanket and ask some questions about Dom, Merilee, and Manzanares. She wondered if he had heard Dom talk about the generous but mysterious donor. It would save her some steps in the morning and the hassle of a follow-up call.
She stepped into the hallway, triggering a motion-activated night light that made it easy to find her way. Heading quietly toward the guest room, she saw that the door to what must be Merilee’s bedroom stood open. The rumpled bed was empty. As she moved farther
down the hallway, she realized she didn’t have to worry about being quiet. The sobbing coming from the guest room would have drowned out any noise she might have made. She moved a few steps closer and saw the two of them, their arms around each other as if forming a circle of protection.
Her brain was packed with questions, but she understood the power of grief. She went back to the chair and thought about how nice it would be to be home again.
When the phone woke her, it was beginning to get light outside. She spoke to Captain Largo, then called the tow company again and learned she was next on their list. She dressed and walked into the cold, bright new morning to clear her thinking and get her bearings for the challenge ahead. Snow had filled last night’s tracks and sparkled on the trees and power lines in the predawn glow. She didn’t go for her usual run, but she sang morning prayers, brushed off her unit, and scraped the windshield.
Then, knowing he was an early riser, she called the Lieutenant to see what he had learned from reviewing the Wings and Roots files. Perhaps, as often happened, his insights and his connections would surprise her.
Leaphorn answered on the first ring, his voice strong. After some pleasantries he asked, “So, did you have any questions about what I sent you?”
“I couldn’t read the attachments clearly, sir, but I assume your summary covered it.”
“That’s right. I looked at the material you gave me from Councilor Walker. She has a reputation as a watchdog of tribal money, and those anonymous donations that keep the Wings and Roots rolling along got my attention, too. I’m going to do some additional checking. So far, I don’t see any problem with misuse of Navajo funds. Any questions on that?”
The rhythm of footsteps drew her attention to the hallway. Merilee, dressed in a dark skirt and red turtleneck sweater with a large turquoise necklace and matching earrings, nodded to her and headed to the kitchen.
“No questions as of now, sir. I looked at the agency’s minutes and financial reports for a few years. I’m not an expert, but it seemed to me that all the Navajo money was appropriately used. I puzzled over those donations, too. I appreciate your looking into that.”
“I heard that a blizzard closed the interstate last night. Did you get caught up in that?”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I had time to review the financial documents Mrs. Cooper gave me.”
She ended the call and joined Merilee. The aroma of dark coffee dripping into the mug stirred her brain to pleasant, professional wakefulness. “Good morning. The coffee smells good.”
Merilee gently pushed the cup that had just brewed across the countertop toward her. “I heard that the interstate is open. Local school and government offices have a two-hour delay. I hope that doesn’t include your tow truck or my clients for this morning. I saw you on the phone. Is there news about Dom?”
Bernie held the steaming cup of coffee in both hands.
“No. The captain called to tell me that Larry Hoffman died early this morning.”
“Poor man. Those injuries must have been worse than they seemed.”
“It looks like the cause of death was a drug overdose.”
“I know he had trouble with his back. Maybe he took too many painkillers. I liked Larry. It’s a shock to hear that he’s dead. I didn’t think he was in bad shape physically, except for the shoulder and the broken nose. His death—”
“Hold on,” Bernie interrupted, hearing a noise outside the house. “I think the tow truck is here.”
The driver had climbed out of the truck to study the situation. It looked as though he’d put in a full night’s work. “Sorry,” he said, “I couldn’t get here sooner. This will just take a minute or two.”
When he smiled, Bernie noticed his dimples. “I appreciate you coming,” she said.
“I could have been here last night except for the big mess on the interstate. I just finished with that and stopped for breakfast.”
He attached a chain, pulled the unit up the snowy embankment, and was on his way in twenty minutes.
Back in the kitchen, Merilee was stirring sugar into her mug.
“We were talking about Larry and his accident,” Bernie said, picking up the thread again. “You need to tell me about Manzanares’s role in all this and your involvement with him.”
Merilee sighed. “I will. It’s complicated. I offered to show you the greenhouse. Why don’t we talk out there for a few minutes?” She opened the connecting door. The snow had slipped off the steep glass roof, and the sun shone in warmly.
“It’s lovely in here, isn’t it?” Merilee closed the door behind them. “You know, I marvel at the amazing plants that thrive out there in nature, kind of like the girls we work with in the program. But these hothouse beauties are my passion. Unlike Manzanares, they are just what they seem to be. Beautiful without deceit. I could kick myself for getting tied in to him.”
Bernie gazed through the greenhouse glass at the blue sky as she inhaled the irresistible sweetness of orange blossoms, a fragrance she remembered from her days at the University of New Mexico, when she would head to the biology department’s greenhouse to study. One of the things that made her proud to be Navajo was the way her creation story honored plants as well as the Insect People and the Animal People.
Merilee motioned her to a bench near a vivid purple-and-red fuchsia.
“Tell me more about Manzanares’s connection to you and your brother,” she said.
“He hates me, bullies me, does whatever he can to make me miserable. But like I said, you need to ask him. He hasn’t spoken to Dom more than two or three times that I know of.”
“What about the girl who went to the hospital. Do you know about that?”
Merilee grimaced. “I heard about her. She couldn’t have come across datura growing out there in the winter, that’s for sure. I don’t think you’d find it in the Malpais, anyway. As a cop, you know more about teens and drugs than I do, and how some kids think that what comes from a plant can’t harm them. But the incident gives Councilor Walker another reason to try to shut down our program. Worrying about that woman keeps me awake at night.”
“Speaking of that, I heard Franklin crying last night. And I thought I heard your voice, too.”
For the first time since Bernie had met her, Merilee seemed uneasy. Embarrassed. “Oh . . . sorry. I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about Dom. I heard Michael weeping, and I thought maybe some of the tools I use as a counselor might help. Maybe they did. Maybe he helped me more than I helped him. We grieved together.”
“When I first talked to you about people to be notified about Dom, you didn’t even mention Franklin. Why?”
“You asked about relatives, remember? Franklin’s not related to us.” Merilee twisted a ring on the middle finger of her right hand. “Since Franklin and Dom live together, I figured he already knew Dom was gone. Franklin worried that all the arguing they’d done recently about Dom becoming the program director had distracted my brother and caused him to have an accident.”
Bernie nodded. “Tell me what you know about Dom’s financial situation. Franklin intimated that he didn’t have a lot of money but was making contributions to the program. The books show large anonymous donations.”
“You mean the twenty-five thousand? My brother lives from hand to mouth, just like I’m doing now without Roger. That was one reason I wanted to sell his photographs, or try to, in my online art store.”
“A person showed me one of Dom’s petroglyph photos as the background for a site on the Internet that’s selling Indian artifacts. The merchandise looks suspicious, and—”
“I told him to take those down. I begged him. I can’t believe—”
Bernie jumped in. “Told who?”
Merilee clenched her hands together, fingers overlapping. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I only wanted to save Wings and Roots and help Dom sell his photos. And Larry? I don’t understand how he could be dead.”
“Told who?” Bernie’s voice had mo
re force this time. “Manzanares?”
“He thought I’d poisoned Roger because of some herbal supplements I gave him, but Roger liked to get high. He lost control of the boat because of booze, not because of anything herbal. I’d never use plants to hurt someone. Manzanares kept threatening me with reopening the investigation, but he said he’d forget about it if I would let him use the petroglyph photos on his website and tell him where certain ones were taken. He said he wanted to work with us to keep the graves safe. What a liar.” She spat out the words.
At the creak of the door to the greenhouse opening, they both swung around. Franklin walked toward them. He wore the shirt Bernie had brought in from the car, and there was a bulge in his pants pocket. “Hey, ladies,” he said. “What’s up? You look too serious for such a bright morning.”
“I was asking Merilee about some photos Dom took. His work seems to be linked to a website that’s selling Indian pottery.”
Franklin took a step closer. “Why are you worried about that? Dom would never involve himself in anything that was questionable. There are mountains of pottery out there, new and old, legitimate stuff.”
“And then there are the old, old pieces, some of them stolen from public land. From the looted caves I saw in the Malpais. Those pots go for a lot of money, enough to keep Wings and Roots in business.”
“But you don’t think Dom . . . He would never even consider doing anything like that. How dare you imply . . . .” Franklin’s voice rose with anger.
Bernie turned to Merilee. “You need to tell me what’s up with the photographs you’ve been selling and the pottery, and what Manzanares’s role here is.” She looked up at Franklin. “And I’m curious about if and how you, Mr. Franklin, tie into all this.”
Bernie saw the look on Franklin’s face even before his hand quickly moved to his pocket. She pushed Merilee off the bench to the ground, fell on top of her to shield her body, and hoped the man was a bad shot.
Cave of Bones Page 24