Yellow Lies

by Susan Slater

  Sal had tried to rise but only fell to one side to rest on his shoulder, head lolling backward. He wanted to cry out. What had he done to deserve a visit from this kachina? Would the ogre hurt him? Was it time for his death?

  Sal struggled again but instead of rising, rolled backward to lie flat on the floor staring upward at this monster—the personage whom parents called upon to scare children into behaving. But Sal wasn’t a child. Was there some mistake? What could Atoshle possibly want from him?

  “Salvador, we need your recipe for amber.” It was Hannah speaking but the sound came from a tunnel, hollow with an echo. A voice over a voice, only one was just a split second slower. He must have started to shake his head because she went on. “It’s no good trying to say you don’t know what we want. Remember, I know you have a notebook filled with your experiments. A notebook that will tell us how to make the amber.”

  She was kneeling beside him now. Atoshle looked miles away, floating above him as high as the ceiling. And Atoshle just hovered, swaying side to side.

  “Salvador, where is the notebook?”

  He thought he shook his head.

  “Do you want Atoshle to beat you?”

  Sal thought he saw a club in the great kachina’s hand. Could he shake his head “no” again? He tried.

  “It’s no use. You gave him too much. We’re not going to scare him into telling us anything. He’s a zombie,” Atoshle boomed out, but let the club drop to the floor.

  “It’s here. I know it is. We’ve looked in the trailer and the shed. Where else could it be? Look in his tool box.” Hannah addressed Atoshle. At this order Atoshle moved to the workbench and then out of Sal’s sight. He could hear the crashing and banging that meant things were being turned over, thrown to one side when the notebook wasn’t found.

  “Go through his pockets,” Atoshle called out from somewhere across the room.

  The bass voice was familiar. Yet, that didn’t seem like something Atoshle would say. Hannah roughly checked his shirt pocket—nothing—then pulled his keys, and a three inch comb from a front pocket in his jeans. Reaching underneath him, she slipped his billfold out of a hip pocket.

  “Nothing.” Hannah sat back on her heels. “This would go so much easier for you if you’d cooperate.” She was peering at Sal, unhappy with him, he thought. Her lips were pulled tight against her teeth making her mouth a long pink line that stretched out straight then zigzagged in slow motion across her face when she spoke. He concentrated on her mouth.

  “Let me see the billfold.” As if from out of nowhere, Atoshle swooped down, bent over Hannah and took the billfold.

  A thought tried to surface, push and thrust and swim to the forefront of a brain turned to mush. Sal strained, some warning. He almost had it. Yes. There was something in his billfold. Something that would tell .... get someone in trouble. A secret. His secret with Julie.

  “Well look at this.” The bass voice again, muffled behind the mask. “A claim check, receipt for a locker at the Greyhound terminal in Gallup. But guess whose name it’s in? Your boyfriend has been screwing around with the little redhead.”

  “Give me that.” Hannah jumped up, but Atoshle held it out of her reach.

  “So old Salvador was just devoted to you. Wouldn’t change his shorts without you. But went right out when you weren’t looking and got a little help. And what do you think could be in that locker? Do I have to give you more than one guess?” Atoshle was laughing. But not in fun, more in meanness, Sal thought. And Hannah was frenzied, leaping at the paper, then beating her fists against the kachina’s chest which made him laugh louder.

  “Better save some of that energy. We don’t have the notebook yet.” He caught Hannah’s arms and held her stationary.

  Hannah jerked backward. “Let me go. This is serious. Stop fooling around.”

  “I don’t think I’m the only fool in this room.” Atoshle let her go, then handed over the receipt.

  “What should we do?” Hannah held the receipt out in front of her to read before wadding it into a ball.

  “Make Sal open the locker. Take him to Gallup—” Atoshle said.

  “Don’t be stupid. We can’t risk letting him out of here.”

  “Then, look for a key.” Sal thought Atoshle sounded impatient.

  “Won’t someone have to sign for whatever’s inside?”

  “Probably. So, you’ve got one possibility left.”

  “I’ll get Julie to open it for us. That should be simple enough,” Hannah said.

  “I doubt if she’ll just volunteer. Maybe I—” Atoshle began.

  “I don’t want you near her.” Sal could feel the vehemence in Hannah’s voice without understanding what she was saying. “I’ve watched the two of you—you’ll give yourself away. Tell me you didn’t enjoy burying your head in her crotch this afternoon in the pantry. I frankly thought that was a little much.”

  Atoshle gave a short laugh. “I’d call that one of my better performances, impromptu, but perfect.”

  “You didn’t think your little act was just a tiny bit too realistic?” Hannah’s mouth pulled back into the pink straight line.

  “Hey, how were we to know she’d walk in on us trying to feed Sal?”

  “Well, I don’t want you ‘performing’ with Miss Good Morning America again.”

  “Fine by me. After Thursday, we’re out of here. I’ve been limping and slobbering for two months. Enough is enough. I could care less about your little notebook.”

  “It means a lot to me.” Suddenly her voice was a purr.

  “Probably a lot of money. But I think we’ll have enough without it.”

  “And if something goes wrong? If we don’t get the inheritance?”

  “Hey, that’s almost a done deal. Did I fool that doc, or what?”

  “There’s one more hurdle. Are you forgetting that?”

  “Damn, this thing is hot.”

  Sal watched as Atoshle’s head flew upward, off his shoulders and out into space, spinning end over end before crashing to the floor. Multi-colored feathers fanned out from the top then broke upon impact. His wooden beak splintered and bounced toward Sal.

  “Why did you do that? Do you know how much this is worth? It’s ruined.” Hannah dropped to her knees, swept the pieces toward her, then cradled the mask before setting it on the workbench. “Didn’t we agree that no one would see you without a cover-up?” She nodded toward Sal.

  “He’s as good as dead. Don’t you have what you want?” Sal saw a finger pointing to the receipt still wadded in Hannah’s hand. But the only word he heard was “dead, dead, dead.” It seemed to be circling in his head, a banner pulled around and around just behind his eyes.

  “Maybe the notebook is in the locker, maybe it isn’t. We’ll have to see.” Hannah smoothed the receipt and put it in her pocket.

  If Sal could have laughed he would have and not just made the sputtering noises that left saliva trailing down his chin. As his eyes focused, he could see the supernaturals were playing tricks. Instead of the mask of Atoshle, the head of .22 sat on the shoulders that were encased in white flowing robes. .22? Yes, it was .22. The ancient ones enjoyed a joke, and this was a good one. They had even given .22 a booming voice, and made him stand up straight.

  “What’s wrong with him? Looks like he’s foaming at the mouth.” The toe of a sneaker pushed out from the hem of Atoshle’s robe and nudged him.

  “He’ll be all right,” Hannah said.

  “You have a weird sense of ‘all right.’ Left to die in an underground room isn’t my idea of ‘all right’.”

  “Losing your nerve?”

  “Maybe. I just want this to be over.” .22 bent over Sal, and Sal looked up into watery, deep blue eyes, familiar eyes, eyes he knew as well as his own, only they belonged to .22—the gods hadn’t overlooked detail.

  “I liked this man,” .22 said.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Maybe I don’t want anything t
o do with his murder.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late to show concern? Want me to remind you who killed Ahmed? Then dragged him all over kingdom come—and almost got caught. If that tourist hadn’t been crazy, you would have. You took a chance selling him that rabbit. That wasn’t too bright.”

  “Shut up. It was a pretty good idea to kill Ahmed by the river, scare the shit out of Sal—and who thought up the scalping?”

  “Well, not until after you came back to the house with the body and asked my opinion.”

  Quickly Hannah stood on tip toe and kissed .22’s cheek. “Let’s not fight. We’re in this together. I couldn’t have done it without you. I owe all of our success to you. There, is that better? And, we’ll be rich—just one tiny hurdle left. But after Thursday, we’ve won.”

  “Why don’t you forget about the amber? After Thursday, you’re right, we’ll be rich. Why press our luck? Why do this?” .22 motioned toward Sal.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. It was a business deal. He owes me. All this was my idea. He would never have thought of it on his own. I bankrolled him; I was the quality control; I kept on top of the market. I found Ahmed, got him to sell back East, made sure we didn’t saturate any one area ... All that’s worth something.” Hannah walked along the workbench. “If anything should go wrong Thursday—if, for whatever reason, the board doesn’t believe you—I have to know I have enough money ...”

  “You worry too much. Hasn’t it gone all right so far? Running the act by Ben was brilliant. We could practice and practice and still not have had an honest-to-God real-life test.”

  “Yes, we have Leland to thank for that. But amber’s my ace in the hole. There’s a good solid market out there, worldwide, that won’t change anytime soon—worth about a hundred and twenty thousand a year.”

  Sal heard .22’s low whistle.

  “That much?” .22 asked.

  “Impressed?” Hannah had begun to straighten things on the workbench. “And to think Salvador was having second thoughts. He didn’t want to make anything fake anymore. I honestly thought he might turn himself in, and me.” She walked back within Sal’s line of sight. “If anyone could understand the need for a little extra money, I’d think it would be you. How many of those frogs do you have now?”

  “Toads. Colorado River Toads. A hundred seventy-five. More than I want to milk in one afternoon again soon.”

  “Did Delbert pay you for the venom last night?”

  “Yeah, he made me a good deal on the toads, too.”

  “Just don’t lose the money,” Hannah said. “You were lucky to get it back last time.”

  Toads. Frogs. .22 liked frogs. Took care of them in his room in glass houses. Sal had helped him feed the amphibians all the leftover flies and beetles. So what was this about venom and money? But Sal suddenly couldn’t keep his eyes open and the voices above him drifted farther and farther away until there was just a faint rustling of people moving around him, putting him on the cot, then nothing before he fell into a deep sleep.

  + + +

  Julie’s bedroom was hot when she got back to the boarding house. Barely two in the afternoon and there was no air circulation, just an unbearable stuffiness. Another mid-summer day without rain. Everyone was reluctant to use the word “drought,” but she had overheard locals at the trading post refer to the rain as “behind schedule, a late monsoon season, a crop blaster.” Temperatures were usually in the eighties. But according to the radio, this was the eleventh consecutive day in the mid nineties. So far, this was the hottest summer on record. The porch was the only place inviting. She could spread out her notes on the table in the corner, and if there was any breeze at all, she’d feel it.

  “Come on out. I’m just finishing up here.” Hannah was seated at the table shelling peas. “Our growing season is usually about a month behind those at a lower altitude. Most years, peas would be doing great about now. But there’s been too much heat.”

  “I can work inside. I don’t want to make you move,” Julie offered.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve been wanting to talk with you.”

  Against her better judgement, Julie found herself curious.

  “Can I trust you?” Hannah lowered her voice.

  The question took Julie off guard. What did she mean by that? Could she know they suspected something? That they had tried to prove her son wasn’t who she said he was?

  “How do you mean that?”

  “Let’s sit on the steps.” Hannah moved across the porch and pushed the screen open for Julie to follow. “Years ago, Ed and I used to sit out here and watch the garden grow.” Hannah had tucked the long skirt of her gingham sundress under her knees and, seated on the top step, leaned against the railing. “It all seems so long ago.” Abruptly, she turned to Julie. “Do you garden?”

  “About as well as I carry a tune. Horribly.”

  “It’s soothing. It’s the one thing I’ll miss.”

  “Surely gardening will be easier someplace else. Isn’t it a challenge in the desert? Poor soil, scanty rain …?” Julie didn’t know where this was leading, but she doubted that Hannah wanted to talk about raising vegetables.

  “Maybe, when I get paid for the house and all, I won’t have to grow my food just to make ends meet. I don’t ever want to be in that position again.”

  Julie didn’t comment. She always found herself on guard around Hannah. Julie repressed a shiver and watched Hannah leave the porch to rearrange a watering wand, drag it to a patch of melons along a fence sporting a jumble of vines, some covered with four inch long cukes. No one could say Hannah didn’t have a green thumb.

  “I may be leaving sooner than I expected.” Hannah resumed her perch on the top step. “I’d like you to water the garden for me. I couldn’t bear to think of it withering away just because I wasn’t here. Would you mind?” Hannah turned to face her and Julie could feel the scrutinizing gaze of the deep, steel-blue eyes. But what did watering the garden have to do with trust?

  “I’d be glad to. If you’d feel better, you could leave instructions. I’m not exactly a natural at this.”

  Hannah smiled. She was being genuinely nice, Julie decided, but had the distinct feeling Hannah wasn’t being chummy over a garden. There must be something else.

  “I need to take you into my confidence and, well, frankly, I’m not sure I should. I’m not sure whose side you’re on.” Hannah was twisting the hem of her dress, absently, a nervous habit, as she looked at Julie straight on, unblinking, the color rising in blotches on her neck.

  “Try me.” What else was there to say?

  “I got a letter from Salvador.” Again, that unblinking lock-on eye contact. She’s trying to second-guess my reaction, Julie decided as Hannah paused before going on.

  “I know what you’re thinking. I should hand over the letter to Tommy,” Hannah said. “I shouldn’t even have kept it.”

  That hadn’t entered Julie’s mind, but it was probably the right thing to do.

  “Could you understand if I told you I couldn’t do that? Not ever. I don’t believe Salvador could kill anyone. I don’t care what evidence they think they have. I know the man.” Hannah turned to stare at the garden. “I won’t turn him in. He deserves a fair chance. That’s why he’s left— not just to get away, but to let things die down. Tommy’s a hothead, and he’ll go after him, drag him back, accuse him ...” She took a deep breath then added, “He’ll make him stand trial for the murder even if the evidence is only circumstantial.”

  Julie watched as tears welled then spilled to roll down Hannah’s cheeks.

  “Sal needs our help. Your help. You’ve proved that you’re a friend. You’ve helped him before. He trusts you. We’re the only friends he has.” Hannah pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.

  Where was this leading? How could she help Sal?

  “He feels terrible that all this has happened, and he can’t be on your show. His word is his life, and now he’s backing out,�
�� Hannah said.

  “Are you sure? Did he say he wouldn’t be coming back?”

  “Julie, he can’t come back. Maybe it isn’t the way you or I might handle the problem—to run away—but to Sal he’s just stepping aside until things get all figured out. He trusts that as long as he’s innocent, he won’t be prosecuted. He just needs to stay out of the way of justice. Let things take their course.”

  Julie’s first reaction was anger. She had counted on him to be her focus. As a master carver, he was the pivotal person in presenting fetishes of the Southwest. Now, in under a month, she had to change the script—all of it—not to mention, she had spent twelve hundred dollars for a necklace that might not be appropriate to display if she used another carver ... But could she understand Sal’s reaction? Yes. Tommy seemed convinced he was a murderer. He’d blanketed a three state area with posters. She knew Tommy had the murder weapon, but still there was room for doubt. She just didn’t think Sal could have killed someone. In that, she agreed with Hannah.

  “He sent me this.” Hannah reached into her pocket. Julie recognized the slip immediately even before Hannah had smoothed it against her dress and handed it to her. It was the receipt she had given Sal after storing his package. “He needs you to get his belongings for him and cancel the locker rental.”

  “Did he say where I was to take the package?” Julie asked.

  “I’m to call his sister. She’s going to pick it up here.”

  “That’s good.” Julie could understand that Sal would want the fetish jar to remain in the family. It would be important to him. Maybe there was some ceremonial importance, something coming up. But why hadn’t he just given it to his sister in the first place? Who knew? She was sure Sal had had his reasons. “I’ll go to Gallup in the morning,” she said.

  “One more thing. I think Salvador’s sister knows where he is. Please don’t say anything to Tommy or Ben. I suspect Daisy was the one who mailed the letter to me. But I don’t want Tommy to know. I don’t want her badgered by him. Can you understand that? Can this be our secret?”