by Susan Slater
Ben told her what evidence Tommy Spottedhorse had.
“He gave a bag of amber to Ahmed’s widow?” Anger now replaced incredulity. Hannah had whirled to walk back out across the porch and, tucking her skirt beneath her, she sat on the top step. “I can’t believe it.” She didn’t try to cover the anger. “Two or three thousand dollars of amber?”
“That’s what Tommy says.” Ben sat down beside her. “He thinks it represents most of Sal’s worldly possessions.”
“You know, maybe the little shit deserves to rot in jail.” Hannah absently worked a strand of hair, twisting it around her index finger.
“Why do you say that?”
“If he’s going to act guilty, he might as well be treated as guilty.”
“I think he was being thoughtful. He felt responsible somehow because the body was found by his trailer.”
“And who’s responsible for what happens to his job here? Where do I go to find someone to help out?”
Ben noticed the strident tone but decided to get it over with. “Did Sal know you were selling?”
There—he had said it and caught Hannah off guard from the look on her face. He felt Sal wasn’t being treated fairly by this woman. He’d bet a paycheck Sal was in the dark and from the twitch of muscle in Hannah’s jaw, he’d already won the bet.
“I’ve never felt it necessary to get the approval of the hired help before I make a decision.” So much for thinking the two might be lovers. This woman had no feelings. But then, in fairness, maybe feeling wasn’t the only criteria for sex, Ben thought. Still, there was a coldness.
He was put off by it.
“You know how tough it is to be smart and capable and be treated like an idiot because of your plumbing?”
“Plumbing?” Ben wasn’t following.
“That.” Hannah leaned toward him and pointed at his crotch, her index finger an inch above his fly. “One of those. The preferred plumbing of the masses.”
She turned back to stare in front of her. “You think I’m some kind of hard ass, don’t you? But look around you. You know what the price was for maintaining all this? Slavery. I’ve been chained to one spot, no life without the trading post, boarding house, or deli coming first. And then there’s Harold.” She sat quietly a moment, and sighed. “I didn’t deserve that.”
“Sometimes we can’t choose—”
“Do you think I’m pretty?” She’d turned abruptly to look him in the face.
Now it was Ben’s turn to be taken off guard. Where had that come from? Better yet, where was it leading? Hannah had cocked her head toward him and peeled the errant strand of white-blond hair off of her cheek and pushed it behind her ear. He hadn’t noticed before but her nails were bitten to the quick.
“And don’t give me any of that ‘for your age’ crap. Either I am or I’m not.” Her gaze was intense, eyes boring into his. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. But he’d have to say something.
“I don’t think you can just dismiss age. Do you want to be pretty, which has frivolous connotations, or would you rather be seen as savvy, or chic, a perceived elegance that’s usually reserved for the older woman? And unattainable to the younger?” Ben mentally crossed his fingers. He needed to get along in this community and starting with his landlady made good sense.
“You’re a bullshitter—an absolute, topnotch, first rate one, but a bullshitter.” She was laughing and seemed to relax.
“So, what are we going to do about Sal?” It was probably time to bring the conversation back to the problem that needed solving, Ben thought.
“Let him stew for awhile. I can get him out by the end of the week, maybe sooner. I’ll look into tribal representation, something he doesn’t have to pay for now that he’s given away his worldly goods.” The laugh was derisive.
Ben stood and offered a hand to help Hannah up. Without dropping his hand, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“That’s for being nice and having all the right answers. Oh, I forgot to mention your boss is coming to supper.” With that she disappeared into the house.
+ + +
Julie sat at the table waiting for Hannah to finish passing the usual bowls and platters of food. Everyone was taking seconds. It was more of a private dinner tonight—Ben, his boss, .22 and Hannah. At any other time, she would have liked the intimacy, a chance to interact with Ben more. But she couldn’t forget what she’d seen that afternoon. The kiss had probably meant nothing. It was more like a peck, an afterthought even. Julie knew that Ben and Hannah hadn’t seen her coming around the house. And hadn’t Hannah said something like the kiss was for “being nice”? Ben could have done some chore for her.
But rationalizing didn’t make Julie feel any better. Something was going on. Ben had hardly spoken to her. He was preoccupied with his new job; that was understandable. But he was avoiding her. She was sure of it. The whole idea of coming out here to rekindle a relationship after four years had been stupid. Oops. She’d have to watch it. She almost dropped the bowl of green beans she’d handed him across the table. He was seated next to his boss, Dr. Lee, an odd smallish man with protruding front teeth. Hadn’t someone mentioned he was from the Philippines? Strange to think of how different his country must be from where he was now.
She glanced at Ben, who looked up long enough to smile and comb the shock of dark brown hair away from his face with his fingers. She loved that smile, and probably a few other things if she was into admitting. He was leaning toward Dr. Lee, giving his boss his undivided attention. She knew that profile by heart—the high cheekbones, aquiline nose, a perfect, not too prominent chin. His chambray shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up; he was muscular and tanned ... if they could just have some time alone.
“Dr. Lee has a collection of masks—copies, but all first rate.” Hannah spoke loudly from the end of the table where she sat next to .22, who was bent over his plate pushing two pieces of chicken around in a pool of gravy, a fork in each hand. At least tonight, he wore a bib.
“An anthropologist couldn’t have done better,” she added.
“As long as I’m out here, doesn’t hurt to take advantage of the native arts.” Dr. Lee reached for the peach preserves. “There’s a gold mine in artifacts. I’ve supported more than one trip back East by taking along a few things to sell.”
“Are masks your specialty?” Ben asked.
“You might say that. Of course, as Hannah said they’re only copies.” He dropped two rounded spoonfuls of preserves on his plate. “My collection of fetishes isn’t bad, either. Hannah helped me with it.” He gestured toward Hannah with his fork. “Now, there’s the expert. You should have gotten that degree, done more scholarly work out here. There’s a need for it.” He speared a chicken leg from the platter in the middle of the table and began to cut the meat from the bone.
He must be single, Julie thought. That was his third helping of chicken and a quarter of his plate swam in peach preserves. There was probably an entire generation of men in that age group who could be reached through their stomachs. He looked like a prime candidate, maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to judge Hannah. She seemed to have something in common with this doctor—more than artifacts. Julie thought she’d caught an exchanged glance or two, a quick lowering of the eyes. Not that she thought of Hannah as a femme fatale, but living out here anything could start looking good. Even small doctors with protruding teeth.
“Julie has a prince,” .22 boomed out.
Was that her fork that hit the table? What was he talking about—that absurd interchange yesterday on the back steps?
“How do you know Julie has a prince?” Hannah asked.
“She tell me,” .22 said smugly.
“How nice. Are you engaged?” Hannah turned to Julie.
“No. I—”
“Her prince lives in a castle.” If possible, Julie thought, his voice seemed louder. Again, all eyes turned Julie’s way. She could feel her cheeks flaming. “Sh
e’s sad. He lives far away. She wants him visit. He no can. His work important.” .22 finished in a falsetto.
Thanks for the interpretation, Julie thought, but what was she going to do, admit lying to the retarded? She forced herself to look at Ben.
“I think I’m being misinterpreted.” She tried to say it low, under her breath, just for Ben’s ears but .22 seemed to guess she was contradicting him.
“No. You tell me.” .22 shrieked and then started to bang his tin cup against the side of his plate. Milk sloshed onto the table.
“I’m certain that Julie didn’t think you were lying. I’m sure that’s what you thought she said.” Hannah wadded her napkin and rose to mop up the milk, but not until she had given Julie a withering look. “He takes everything literally. It’s not funny to play games with him. I’ll thank you to leave him alone.”
Julie opened her mouth to say something in her defense, but Dr. Lee beat her to it.
“Hannah, don’t be so quick to judge. No one has hurt your son. I’m sure all this can be explained.” He fastened exceptionally small dark glittering eyes on Julie. “Now then, what was all this about?”
Julie couldn’t look at Ben. She couldn’t believe that his boss was stepping in to help her save face. And she had nothing to say. She wasn’t going to lie again. She pushed back from the table and, arms akimbo, faced .22.
“I think somebody needs to be fed a cup of dried flies and sent to bed.” She waggled her index finger his direction. Her tone was exaggerated but got exactly the response she wanted. Giggles. .22 put down his cup and said, “With peanut butter. Yum. Yum.” Now his laughter was almost maniacal.
“What are you talking about?” Hannah was irritated, and tried to hush her son.
“Our little secret. Right?” Julie watched .22 nod vigorously.
“Me sorry.” .22 looked contrite as tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
“That’s okay,” Julie said. “Want me to help you clear the table?” She was relieved when .22 pushed his chair back.
“You help.” The grin was huge. All was forgiven. And that’s the last time I kid with someone who can’t kid back, Julie promised herself. But had the damage already been done? Did Ben think she had this man somewhere waiting on her? This whole thing was becoming a less than auspicious beginning to the reunion she’d looked forward to. Should she make the first move and ignore what she saw with the landlady?
Dessert was chocolate cake, three one-inch layers with icing in between. Dr. Lee just about had an orgasm, Julie thought, and helped himself to the biggest slice, beaming at Hannah and smacking his lips with every bite. There was something gross about the man. Julie wasn’t sure his table manners were much better than .22’s.
She could feel Ben’s eyes on her. What was he thinking after that fiasco with .22? She took a deep breath, looked up and smiled—and got the result she wanted—a smile. She’d try to talk with him after dinner.
“I’ll take two of whatever it is that smells like heaven.”
Tommy Spottedhorse didn’t wait to be invited to sit down; he just covered the room in three strides and pulled a chair up next to Julie.
“Hey, you outdid yourself this time.” Tommy had slipped a slice of cake off the serving platter and held his plate up in a toast to Hannah.
“Eating while on duty should be a misdemeanor,” Hannah said with a laugh.
“You survived my growing-up years, and it didn’t break you. My mother used to clean for Hannah and drag me along sometimes. She’s the best cook this side of the continental divide, as God is my witness.”
“Never took you for being religious, Tommy. And I don’t think chocolate cake dragged you all the way out here.” Hannah was expressing a curiosity they all shared, Julie thought.
“Sal talked me into coming out this way for his tools. Says he can finish some projects while he’s there.” Tommy paused to swallow. “Frankly, I think it’s a good thing. I’d like to see him keep busy.”
“I’d like to see him out of there.” Ben sounded curt.
Julie had overheard Hannah talking with Dr. Lee about Sal being in jail, but she hadn’t realized that Ben would feel so strongly about it.
“I agree,” Hannah added.
“Okay, guys. Back off. I’m not saying he committed a crime or didn’t at this point. We’ll know more by the end of the week. But for now, he stays put.” Tommy seemed adamant.
“Can his therapist visit him?”
“Sure.” Tommy put his fork down and looked at Ben. “I was hoping his therapist would consider doing that tonight and give me his professional opinion on whether he thought Sal might be suicidal.”
“Do you suspect he might be?” Ben sounded concerned.
“Maybe. I got somebody with him now. I’m not taking any chances. In the old days, that would be laughable. It was absolutely unknown in the tribe. But now ...” Tommy looked at Ben and shrugged.
“I’ll go.”
Well, there goes the evening. Julie suppressed a ‘damn’ and tried to keep her disappointment from showing. She’d dig out that book she’d been trying to find time to start. Maybe she’d help Hannah with the dishes.
+ + +
Sal sat on the edge of the metal bunk. There were no mattresses. Tommy promised to locate one before nightfall, but he hadn’t come back with one yet. The plumbing was another matter. It didn’t work. So the deputy, a kid Sal had known since birth, let him out to use the one marked “employees only” at the end of the hall. He wasn’t going to go anywhere. The kid knew that.
Grease from a helping of KFC extra crispy had saturated the paper towel it was wrapped in and now was stuck to the top of the metal tray on the floor. He hadn’t been hungry. He’d tried to think, but it was difficult to organize his thoughts. Tribal police had brought in two drunks from Gallup. Navajos trying to get home to Ramah. They’d let them sober up here and send them on their way in the morning. But it meant he wouldn’t get much sleep. The two were banging on the bars with the dinner tray now. Maybe they’d pass out, but Sal guessed they were loud drunks with just enough booze in them to start a fight—probably what got them picked up at some bar in the first place. There’d be more noise before they gave it up for the night.
Sal hoped Tommy had found Ben. He liked the young psychologist. Sal didn’t blame him for his being here. It was important Ben knew that. Tommy was just doing what he had to do. Sal had known the minute Tommy found out about the bag of amber he gave to the widow, he’d come looking for him. The scalp just nailed it. And maybe he was guilty. That was the bad part. There were a couple things he hadn’t told Tommy—about how he’d first seen the trader’s body and about that night after supper before he went back to his trailer to rest. He wanted to talk about it with Ben.
“You want anything before I leave? Tommy just turned in the driveway.” The kid didn’t even have a uniform, just frayed denim jacket and stained T-shirt. Must be more of an errand runner, brings in supper, then leaves, Sal decided.
“I could use a Coke, if you had one.” Sal knew there was a machine in the front office. Maybe another of those ‘employees only’ things, but he thought the kid would come up with a couple quarters and treat him to a cold drink. He wasn’t wrong, but it was Ben Pecos who handed the can through the bars.
“I’ve talked Tommy into letting us meet in his office for awhile.” Ben had to yell. The noise coming from the other cell drowned out normal conversation. Tommy was saying something to the two, and they quieted before he let Sal out to follow Ben to the front of the building.
The office looked official and well used. There was a map of the reservation on one wall, a map of New Mexico on the other. Two flags commingled in an oak stand to the right of the desk, a yellow silk rectangle with a red Zia symbol and a Stars and Stripes. Sal was pleased that there were no wanted posters. He had recognized someone’s picture in the Post Office once and had done nothing about it. He hadn’t even told anyone the guy’s real name. It wasn’t like he knew w
here the guy was, but just knowing who he was and not saying anything made him feel guilty. He’d wondered if he could have been jailed for that.
“This going to be all right?” Ben dragged two chairs to more or less face each other in front of an oversized oak desk.
Sal nodded and set his Coke on the edge closest to him.
“Put a paper under that. I don’t want another wet ring that doesn’t come off.” Tommy said from the doorway. “I’m leaving you two now. I’ll be in the back. Yell if you need anything.” This last was mostly said to Ben, Sal thought, as he put a magazine under the pop can.
“You ever work with that truth stuff?” Sal asked.
“Truth serum? Why do you ask that?” Ben looked genuinely surprised.
“Oh, I thought it might be helpful.”
“In what way?”
Sal almost grinned. He really had Ben’s attention now.
“Because I don’t know if I saw what I think I saw. But maybe my brain remembers more than I think it does but can’t tell me for sure without help.” That was a lot for Sal to get out, but it was the truth, and he’d been giving it a lot of thought. Ben was the one who could help him—help his brain remember.
Ben frowned. “Let’s talk first, then decide if we need to try something else. I’d like you to start at the beginning.”
“You mean the night Ahmed’s body was found?”
“Yes.”
But here Sal stopped. How much did this young man know about supernaturals? Would he believe him about the visits from Atoshle?
Sal started again slowly. “Atoshle, the ancient one, comes to visit me. He as much as told me about the death. To expect it.” Sal glanced at Ben but couldn’t read his expression.
“When does he visit?”
“At night. In dreams. Sometimes in person.”
“Where exactly is he when you see him?”
“Looking in the windows of the trailer.” Sal added softly, “Sometimes standing beside my bed.”
“Don’t you keep your doors locked?”
Sal shook his head. What difference would it make with supernaturals? A locked door wouldn’t stop them. “Mostly Atoshle, the ogre kachina, tries to scare me. I saw him that night.”