Yellow Lies

by Susan Slater

  “I’ve called Tommy. He should be here any minute. This has never happened before. It’s always so safe out here. But first the murder, now this—who’s going to want to buy the place now?” Hannah looked on the verge of tears when Ben opened the door.

  “I’ll see what’s missing.” He walked past her and hurried out the front door. He was being insensitive, but he’d have time later to reassure her—if he could. He couldn’t deny that current events put the place in a bad light.

  Ben could see the shattered window from the porch. Someone hadn’t wanted to be neat about it; maybe he hadn’t needed to be. The sound must have been muffled by the storm. Ben hadn’t heard a thing but from the number of puddles, there had been a good sized gully-washer.

  The first thing he saw as he looked in the passenger-side window was the open glove compartment. The little interior light was still on, shining brightly on nothing. The truck’s manuals usually neatly stacked in the cubby hole were now on the floor boards. But the tissue paper package wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He went around to the driver’s side, opened the door and leaned in. His CD player was gone. They had left his CDs, about twenty-five of them—a halfway decent eclectic collection, if he did say so himself. A box of tools that he kept under the front seat was gone. Was there a chance that the thieves really did want the CD player and tools and found the money as a bonus? Maybe. Or it was a cover-up? But who knew about the money besides .22? Could someone have watched him put something in the glove compartment and broke in on the odd chance it was of value?

  “What’d you lose?” Tommy asked, peering in the passenger side window.

  “The usual. Tools. CD player.”

  “We’ll dust for prints but don’t get your hopes up. We’re starting to see more of this kind of thing out here. Hardly ever come up with a suspect. It’s probably kids.” Tommy stepped back. “We won’t find a footprint or a decent set of tire tracks in this goo. Rain didn’t do you any favors. I’m taking for granted it was locked.” Tommy pointed to the window, “Looks like you made ’em work for it.”

  Ben nodded.

  “You’re too close to the highway—makes it easy for someone to break in, grab what he wants and keep on moving.”

  Ben thought about the money. Should he say something? But what could he say? He wasn’t about to tell Tommy about another bit of evidence he had seen but wasn’t to be found now. He’d done that once before. He needed time to think.

  “I got a surprise for you.” Tommy pointed with his chin.

  Ben looked toward the trading post. There was Sal with a broom in his hand, sweeping down the driveway like nothing had happened.

  “Somebody make bail?” Ben asked.

  “No bail. He was evicted.” Tommy laughed uproariously, then gasped for breath. “They closed the jail, turned him out.”

  “How can a jail be closed?” Ben still thought Tommy was kidding.

  “This time the plumbing did it. It didn’t meet code. Department of Public Safety stepped in. Last time the fire escapes did us in. We didn’t have any. Gets to be a real legal issue, prisoners’ rights and all that. The lawyers get a hold of this kind of stuff and ask for the moon—last time they wanted individual towels, soap, a shower, nutritious meals ... I draw the line at putting mints on their pillows.” More laughter.

  “How can you let someone suspected of murder just walk away?” Ben was perplexed. He didn’t believe Sal was guilty, but what if there had been an ax-murderer in the jail? Would he be out walking around, too?

  Tommy got serious, “What you said about the mask, how Atoshle appears to Sal, made me think he’s done something he shouldn’t have, and someone’s putting a spell on him. That mask you found in the woods could have been part of a costume.” They both watched Sal finish the sweeping and go back into the trading post.

  “He may be in danger,” Ben said.

  Tommy nodded soberly.

  Ben felt another urge to share his knowledge of the twelve thousand dollars. But he didn’t, and wasn’t really sure why he didn’t. Maybe this was a good opening, but he let it pass.

  “Guess you’ll need this for your insurance company.” Tommy tore off the top sheet of the pad on his clipboard after he’d signed the bottom. “Robbery, locked cab, broken passenger-side window—that ought to do it.”

  “Where’s your office going to be while they’re working on the jail?”

  “More or less next to yours. They’ve given me a corner of the seniors center.”

  “Lucky you. You’ll have to sharpen up your checker-playing skills to stay there.”

  Tommy laughed. “Could be,” then abruptly added, “How’s the redhead?”

  Ben winced. “Okay, I guess.”

  “You got that property staked out?”

  “Not exactly. We were friends years ago but couldn’t seem to make a go of things then, don’t know that we’ll try again.”

  “Hmmmmm.”

  Ben waited, but Tommy didn’t say any more.

  + + +

  Tommy had dropped Sal off at the door of the trading post. Not open for business and here it was six-thirty. Sal didn’t even go back to the trailer first, just took the keys from under a mat behind the deli, opened the back door, and picked up a broom on his way out front. He’d seen the For Sale signs, one up by the house and another in the window of the deli-mart. He wasn’t sure he knew what that meant.

  Would Hannah leave after all these years? Now that .22 was out of school and could travel? But where would she go? This was all she knew. But, she was Anglo. That made the difference. This wasn’t her home. She didn’t come from an ancient people who had lived in this area for hundreds of years, whose roots tugged at her heels like an anchor, bound her to the traditions, to her clan. No, in that way, she was free. And he’d told her he would stop making amber. Was he chasing her away? He stopped to unlock the cash register.

  “I want you to go with me.” Sal didn’t turn around at the sound of Hannah’s voice. She must have followed him in the back door but what was this nonsense she was saying? “I have to get away.” She was standing beside him now. “What is there here for you? You’ve been threatened. Someone may have thought they killed you. Tommy may try to arrest you again.” She had walked around the counter and put her arms around his neck; his chin rested on the top of her head as she nestled against his shoulder. “We should be together. We could go anywhere you want.”

  He didn’t want to go anywhere. He couldn’t go anywhere. Indians who left the reservation were never happy. His cousin Alfred had died a month after he left—run over by a school bus. He shifted slightly, but Hannah moved too, holding him tighter, her body now molded to his. Why was she coming on to him like this at this hour? He hoped she didn’t want to do it in the walk-in freezer. They had tried that once, but it was just too cold—standing up, leaning against a couple dozen cartons of frozen Thanksgiving turkeys which had come in that morning. The cold had accentuated the blue veins just beneath Hannah’s translucent skin giving her a sick, bluish-green cast and her nipples had turned maroon. But, so had his peter. He shuddered.

  “What’s wrong?” She pulled back to ask.

  “I need to think.”

  “What is there to think about? The business has made enough money to support the two of us. You know, you could continue ...”

  Sal knew she meant the amber when she talked about “the business.”

  “Unless you want to share your little secret with me.” She paused, “Once the house sells, I could pay you whatever you ask.” She walked to the other side of the counter and began to straighten the cigarette displays.

  This was better—breathing room. Sal sighed. “The recipe is not for sale.”

  “Not even for one hundred thousand dollars?” She whispered the number, but it seemed to bounce off of the shelves like an echo swirling around him. “When the house and all this sells, I’ll have it. Is that enough?”

  “I won’t sell.”

  “Then come w
ith me.”

  She took a step forward; he braced himself and tried not to think of the freezer.

  “One hundred thousand is a lot of money.”

  “I don’t need money.”

  “You wouldn’t have to live in some stupid, crummy trailer behind some stupid, crummy store out in the sticks.” Her voice rose.

  He ignored her anger. Since that wasn’t his view of things, he didn’t say anything. He had thought that if he went anywhere, he might take the trailer with him. It was his home.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You’re impossible.” Now her voice was a shriek.

  Sal stepped back; he knew what was coming. The first can of soup hit the freezer door, the second knocked a calendar off the back wall. Hannah didn’t take aim, just wildly threw the closest thing to her—in anger, frustration? Both, he guessed. She hated having to live with the word “no.” Unlucky for him, she stood next to a three-tier display of Campbell’s. But then the pyramid tumbled to the floor. One can rolled to the front door, the others slumped together in a pile. It seemed to defuse things.

  Hannah had jumped out of the way and stood with her back to him. There were a couple minutes of silence. Without turning around she said, “Clean this mess up and hose down the driveway. Gloria’s bringing prospective buyers around eight.” Her voice was calm, but hard.

  She smoothed back her hair and straightened the jumper she was wearing over an old white shirt, taking the time to methodically roll up the sleeves. Then stepping gingerly over scattered cans of soup, she left, never glancing back.

  Sal watched her go. They’d had three-for-a-dollar sales on dented cans before. There wouldn’t be an apology. But she’d be okay later. This thing about him going with her or selling his recipe was a new twist. He didn’t want to do either one, and continuing to refuse would probably bring on another fit of temper. She seemed adamant. He’d wait. But what would he do? Ask Hannah about the trailer, he guessed, later, when things were calmer. He could put the trailer next to his sister’s house. She didn’t live in the village exactly, more like on one edge. But she had two bathrooms. That was a plus. Sal had helped dig the second septic tank.

  What if he had one hundred thousand dollars? His wife would hound him to death, that was a sure thing, if she found out about that kind of money. And if he didn’t give it to her, what would he do with it? His sister’s oldest son had wanted to go to college, but then became a firefighter instead.

  Sal had already given a few thousand to his sister around Christmas for new carpet and furniture. Then, he bought her that new van in February. He didn’t think she needed anything else soon. No, the money would be a misery. He was a master carver, and drew a disability check from the military. That was enough for him. He never kept much more than pocket change around and seldom needed much more. When he got a little ahead, he gave it to Father Leget to continue with the restoration of the Old Mission. If God meant him to make a larger contribution, he’d give him a sign.

  + + +

  Julie stood on the front porch and watched Hannah and the realtor give Ben’s pickup a wide berth. She wondered what excuse Hannah would come up with for the broken glass that littered the parking area. Must have been good because no one missed a beat, just continued to walk up the steps toward the porch. The middle-aged couple looked like they’d just sold the farm in Waukegan. Julie got a distinct sense of sitting ducks.

  “Julie Conlin is with Good Morning America.” Hannah was using her exceptionally cheery voice, Julie thought.

  “One of those perks of living in what has to be called a natural wonder, a center of antiquity,” the realtor chirped. “Jackie Kennedy-Onassis visited us once—you get all kinds of important people out this way.”

  It was nice to be an important person this morning. Maybe there’d be a cut in rent for posing on the porch for prospective buyers, Julie mused.

  “Will you be joining us for breakfast?” Hannah paused before following the others into the house.

  “I’m giving Ben a ride to the office. I’ll get something in the village.”

  “Suit yourself. We’re having peach blintzes.” Hannah said over her shoulder.

  Even the fare had been bumped up a notch. No assortment of dry cereals for this group. Hannah must really want to sell this place. And why not? It must be a nightmare to maintain.

  “Sure you don’t want to break bread with Mr. and Mrs. Sucker?” Ben had lowered his voice as he pushed open the screen door. He must have passed Hannah’s entourage in the hall.

  “It’s not even tempting. I don’t think I could handle an hour of chit-chat about the ‘center of antiquity’.”

  “That bad?”

  “Trust me,” Julie said. “But why ‘sucker’? That seems pretty harsh.”

  “Hannah’s admitted to this place being an albatross.”

  “It would be for someone by herself. It’s always easier if you have someone to share things with.” Shit. She had rehearsed how she would keep their conversation away from talking about just this sort of thing and here, the second or third thing out of her mouth, was something sappy about couples and sharing. And Ben was grinning.

  “It sounds like you’re beginning to see the light.”

  “Don’t count on it, buster. It takes more than a couple days in the country to turn around the devoted city-dweller—no matter how interesting the lure is.”

  “As long as she doesn’t mind my trying.”

  “I’m fair game.”

  “It’s going to sound trite, but I’m glad you’re here.” Ben got in on the passenger’s side before continuing. “Am I forgiven for ignoring you the last couple days?”

  “If you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.” Julie slipped behind the wheel, then turned to face him. “Or explain how you’ve gotten to be on smooching terms with the landlady in such a short time. I’m sorry. I really have no right to pry. Forget I said that.” She hadn’t meant to admonish him. It really wasn’t any of her business.

  “Smooching terms?” Ben was grinning. “Like this?” He leaned across the bucket seats, drew her to him and gently tilted her head back, then with his lips an inch from hers said, “I’d rather be on smooching terms with you.”

  Her arms went around his neck in one automatic fluid motion, and she leaned into him. “I’ve—” His mouth blocked any more conversation. Hunger. That was the only way to describe it—on his part and hers. Did she appear too needy as she pressed against him, her mouth following his lead, open slightly, lips caressing, parting as his tongue pushed between?

  He pulled back to nuzzle her ear, kiss her neck, trace the curve of her cheek with his finger.

  “I’ve missed this. You,” he corrected, and it was his turn to look embarrassed.

  “I didn’t know it was possible to fog up the car windows in June.”

  He laughed but left his hand on her shoulder as she turned to start the car. She didn’t say any more—was she afraid of saying something too personal, or just saying too much? She was trying to breathe evenly, but it was difficult. What was that old saying about having your breath taken away? How could she have ever left this man—even in the name of youth and ideals?

  “Can we start again? Try the relationship thing, see where it leads?” he asked. He was watching her as she backed out and turned onto the highway. “Not that I could have stopped you, but I shouldn’t have let you go four years ago—career or no career.”

  “No, you couldn’t have stopped me, but I sort of hoped you would try.”

  “I’ve got a feeling that we need to work on our communication skills.” He was laughing. And Julie relaxed. It felt right to be with Ben. Talking was easy. They discussed careers. Each fell back into the pattern of asking the other’s opinion—and listened to it like close friends would. He continued to touch her, just the hand on the shoulder but she liked his closeness. It was reassuring and exciting all in one.

  “I’d like your help,” he said. “You want to know what has
kept me preoccupied the last couple days?”

  They were in the parking lot outside Ben’s office and he had turned toward her, making no move to leave. He was so serious, she found herself nodding.

  “I think Sal may be in danger.” He told her what Sal had said about the visits from the kachina, Atoshle, on the night the body was found, and how .22 had shown him where a mask was hidden. And he told her about the money, the twelve one-thousand dollar bills he’d put in the glove compartment.

  “Having that much money doesn’t make him guilty of anything. Are you sure it was his?”

  “I don’t think it belonged to .22 if that’s what you’re thinking. All he talked about was getting ice cream. The question is, what do I do now? I’ve managed to lose twelve thousand dollars of another man’s money.”

  “Okay,” Julie said. “Let’s say that’s what has happened. You took money belonging to Sal and lost it to whomever. If the money was payment for some kind of contraband, no one is going to say anything—like if someone hid the money in Sal’s trailer knowing he was gone—”

  “What are you suggesting I do?”

  “Maybe nothing. Why not wait until someone says something—gives himself away. Or you could question Sal in a roundabout way and watch his reaction.” Julie paused. “Maybe I could ask him, approach the topic of money in general—in relation to his work. I’ve scheduled another interview with him. Let me do it.”

  “That might be better,” Ben said.

  “Has anyone found the murder weapon yet? The trader was stabbed, wasn’t he? Someone said the wound looked like it was caused by some kind of knife.”

  “Tommy should be getting a copy of the autopsy from the Office of the Medical Investigator any day now. I’ll ask to see it. My best guess is it was a narrow, single blade knife, stiletto type, like a switchblade. And I’d guess he’d been dead a good twenty-four hours before his body was found. Tommy’s pretty certain he was killed somewhere else and dumped behind the trailer later.”

  “It’s possible,” Julie said thoughtfully, “that the trader was involved in something he shouldn’t have been. Maybe with Sal.”