Ghost Medicine

by Aimée

  “No. Del Hudson, our stock boy, is in class right now—Kirtland Central High School. He won’t arrive till school is out this afternoon.”

  “All right, then. Let’s get started,” Wells said.

  * * *

  As Esther Allison entered what had been Tom Stuart’s office, Detective Wells introduced herself. As a detective, she’d learned to always talk about something ordinary and nonintrusive at first. It helped put people at ease.

  “This is terrible business, just terrible,” Esther said immediately, getting straight to the point. “I heard someone say it was suicide. Is that right?”

  “That was our first impression,” Katie said, “but there’s also evidence that suggests it could have been a homicide.”

  “Tom Stuart, murdered?” she whispered, her eyes wide with shock.

  “How long have you been working here, Esther?”

  “A little over two years now. This job’s been a huge blessing to me and my husband. It’s hard for someone my age to find work where you actually get a decent paycheck. I’m not full-time, but almost.”

  “Would you say that you knew Tom Stuart well?”

  “Not personally, no. He was a good man and an excellent boss. But we didn’t socialize. I was just one of the staff. I work in the housewares and fabric section and fill in elsewhere, if needed. Whenever he and I spoke, it was usually about business.”

  “Did Mr. Stuart seem worried or upset lately?” Katie watched her eyes, and even listened to her breathing.

  “He seemed a bit more impatient, but I assumed it was because his son was coming home and he had a lot on his mind. If you ask me, Tséłgaii was just plain excited.”

  “Tom Stuart’s nickname,” Katie said, nodding.

  “I’m Christian,” Esther said, “so I believe in souls, not the chindi, but it still feels wrong to call him by name, at least here at the trading post. It makes our Navajo brothers and sisters uneasy.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Katie said with a nod. Esther was as sharp as a tack and diplomatic. She was easy to interview, too, because she was straightforward. “I’d like your professional opinion on the way business was going here at The Outpost. How much has the recession affected sales and the trading post’s bottom line?”

  “I’m not the bookkeeper, but it’s no secret that most retail businesses have seen less traffic these past two years,” Esther said. “We’ve all had our hours cut from thirty-eight to thirty-five, and two of the former employees had to find full-time jobs elsewhere since the recession kicked in. But I’m sure sales will pick up before long. Things go up and down all the time. It’s all part of life—cycles, you know.”

  “Were any of the current employees afraid of losing their jobs because of the economy?” Katie asked.

  “If they were, killing their boss would have only guaranteed their unemployment,” Esther said. “In fact, with him gone, we all may end up looking for new jobs.”

  Katie watched her for a moment. At first glance, Esther appeared to be a frail senior, but Katie sensed the core of steel just beneath the surface. Instinct told her the woman had gone through some tough times in her life. “Can you think of any reason why anyone might have wanted your former boss dead—maybe another employee, a business contact, or even a customer? Take your time.”

  “Don’t need to, the answer is no. That’s even more so when it comes to my fellow workers. Most of us here at The Outpost really need the money. Our salaries pay for food, schooling, and other necessities.”

  “You’re speaking for yourself as well?”

  “Yes, absolutely. My work also gives me a reason to get up every morning and keeps me active and useful. One of my jobs is to make display garments using our fabric and patterns. When people see how pretty the finished product is, that gives them more of a reason to buy. Once a month, I change all the displays and the garments I made go to my church, where they’re given to families in need. It all works together for a common good and gives me a wonderful sense of purpose,” Esther said. After a beat, she continued. “That’s what makes The Outpost so special. We each bring something unique to it.”

  “Someone wanted your boss dead. Can you think of any reason for that?” Katie pushed once again.

  Esther considered it for several moments before replying. “People are always more complicated than they appear to be. I knew only one side of my boss, but maybe the others will have more to say.”

  Katie nodded. “A white van, maybe a delivery vehicle, was seen exiting the grounds earlier this morning. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Mr. Stuart and Jo kept track of shipping and deliveries. You might want to ask her,” Esther said. “Anything else?”

  “No, we’re done for now, but I may want to talk to you again later,” she said. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes, I do,” Esther said. “If it turns out that our boss was murdered, does that mean the rest of us are in danger now? Is it safe here at The Outpost?”

  “I don’t know of any connection between Mr. Stuart’s death and The Outpost, Mrs. Allison, but until we have all the answers, it might be wise to remain extra careful for a while.”

  Esther nodded. “All right. And if you think there is a threat to the employees—”

  “I’ll let everyone know right away,” Katie said.

  As Esther left, Katie made some quick notes, then stared vacantly across the room, lost in thought. Esther appeared to be a religious woman who lived by certain principles. She, too, was that way once, but over the years, her religious beliefs had fallen by the wayside, and her principles had become more … adaptable to the situation.

  Katie stared at the badge clipped to her belt. Esther was right about one thing: No one was ever what they appeared to be.

  Katie felt her cell phone vibrate and lifted it from her belt. The display showed the caller’s name was blocked. Already knowing who it was, Katie brought the phone to her ear.

  “Make this a private call,” a familiar male voice ordered.

  Roberto Hidalgo, the biggest drug dealer in the Four Corners, was used to giving orders and having them followed, but that wasn’t why she hated him so much. Katie felt her stomach tighten.

  “I’ll be a few minutes,” she told the store employees waiting their turn, then closed the door.

  “Now what?” she snapped. “I’m at a crime scene.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m calling. Listen up. The store owner died by his own hand. That’s what you’ll say in your report. Understand?”

  Katie’s stomach lurched, and not just because it was clear someone had followed her here this morning. “That’s going to be a tough sale. Not all the facts fit.”

  “Then change the facts or do what’s necessary to make this blow over quickly. If my name comes up, so will yours—and your son’s. ¿Me comprendes, mujer?”

  She was trapped—again—and her stomach hurt. “The Office of the Medical Investigator determines the cause of death, but I’ll do what I can,” she said, deciding not to ask if his men had been in the white van. Anything she might be able to eventually use against him was best kept secret.

  “Make it happen. Don’t disappoint me,” Roberto said, ending the call.

  Katie put the phone away, took a deep breath and another antacid, then opened the door and signaled the next person to enter. It was going to be a very long morning.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Leigh Ann Vance stood in a corner of the store talking to Regina Yazzie. “What did she ask you?” Leigh Ann whispered.

  “She knew that Tom had been upset lately and wanted me to tell her why. She also wanted to know how well I knew him, and like that.” Regina glanced around the room. “Apparently a van was here just before Jo arrived, and the driver might have seen something. Or maybe he was the one who killed our boss. Nobody knows, and that’s part of the problem. I’m so scared right now, Leigh Ann, and it’s not that I’m afraid of getting shot.
This job is what’s buying our groceries. Pete hasn’t had a good construction job in months. He’s been hired for day jobs here and there, but my paycheck’s the only regular money we’ve got coming in. I don’t know what’ll happen to us if this place shuts down.”

  “I hear you,” Leigh Ann said. “I’ve been working hard, too, hoping Tom would hire me full-time. Now this happens.”

  “At least you don’t have kids,” Regina said.

  “I also don’t have a husband or family I can count on. When Kurt died, all he left me was bills. I’ve already sold everything I can except the house. If I lose this job, I’ll be out on the street,” she said, her drawl somewhat softening the fear in her voice.

  Regina gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

  “Kurt never took out a life insurance policy, and that’s made things hard.” Leigh Ann ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blond hair, pushing it away from her face. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do if this place closes down. I have no real job training except with that cash register.”

  “You’re tall, beautiful, and still young enough to attract any man. That’ll get you in the door almost anywhere.”

  Leigh Ann smiled bitterly. “Thank you, hon, but my looks will never get me the kind of job I need—or could live with.”

  “You know the boss’s son is going to inherit the trading post. If he doesn’t sell it, maybe he’ll hire someone to run it for him and we can keep our jobs,” Regina said.

  As Detective Wells came out of the office, Jo alongside her, Leigh Ann and Regina turned away and pretended to be busy.

  Leigh Ann glanced back furtively at Detective Wells and saw the deep lines of weariness etched on her face. That all but assured her that even tougher times lay ahead.

  * * *

  Jo watched the detective work with the crime scene people inside the yellow tape line surrounding Tom’s home. Knowing that there was nothing more she could do out here, Jo went back inside the trading post. The second she stepped through the door, all eyes turned to her.

  As it often happened in her life, everyone seemed to expect her to take charge. Even as far back as high school, people had looked to her for answers. Maybe they’d sensed her almost instinctive need to make things better for everyone. That was what she’d always done at home, trying to defuse her alcoholic father’s unpredictability by covering all the bases and leaving little to chance. That need to make things better was one of the primary reasons she’d wanted to become a medicine woman. She’d wanted to offer those who turned to her for help something more than words of comfort or leadership without foundation.

  “Let’s keep the trading post closed today. We all need time to say good-bye in our own ways,” Jo said.

  “His son will have to be notified,” Esther said.

  “The police will be handling that,” Jo said. “I found his address and telephone number and gave them to Detective Wells. There’s nothing else we can do for now, so let’s lock up.”

  “What about that white van you saw? Was there a delivery scheduled for this morning, Jo?” Leigh Ann asked.

  “Nothing was in the log, and when I called our vendors and couriers, I got zip.”

  “Maybe it was just somebody who got lost and went to the wrong address,” Esther said.

  “Could be,” Jo said, unconvinced. She saw her uncertainty and fear mirrored on their faces, her heart going out to all of them. She turned away, determined not to let them see the apprehension she shared.

  * * *

  Something was up. Sergeant Ben Stuart had seen it in the eyes of the corporal who’d come to get him. To make things worse, the secretary who sat outside his battalion commander’s office refused to look him in the eye.

  Instructed to sit rather than stand across from his commanding officer’s desk, he waited, trying to remain cool and calm.

  “Sergeant—son—I have bad news. Your father was found dead in his home earlier this morning,” he said.

  Ben stared at Major Johnson and shook his head, the words refusing to sink in. “That can’t be. I just spoke to him yesterday on the phone, sir.”

  “It happened last night, apparently. One of his employees found the body at his home early this morning. I spoke to the investigating officer, a sheriff’s department detective. She said he died from a bullet to the temple.”

  Ben leaned forward, certain he’d misunderstood. “Sir, are you saying that my father committed suicide?”

  “The medical examiner has yet to make that determination, but that’s what it appears to be,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant.”

  Ben felt as if he’d been sucker punched in the gut, yet oddly enough, he felt no pain, just a numbness that seemed to go right to his brain. “It’s got to be another Tom Stuart—not my father. It’s a mistake,” he said, then quickly added, “sir.”

  “No mistake, son. Employees at his business—The Outpost—made a positive ID, and the fingerprints match those in your father’s service record. You’ll be granted twenty-one days’ emergency leave as soon as the orders are cut. Check with my clerk before you leave so the paperwork can be processed. Again, my condolences to you and your family. You’re dismissed.”

  Ben nodded, dazed, then rose to his feet and saluted before turning to the door. There’d be forms and a million steps to follow. There always were. He reached for the door handle, functioning on automatic now.

  A half hour later, seated on his bunk, Ben was still shaking his head. This had to be a mistake. It just didn’t make any sense. Former-marine Lance Corporal Tom Stuart offing himself? Impossible. His father would never have taken that way out.

  Memories came flooding back to him. Eighteen months ago, Ben had been driving drunk, trying to run from memories of combat. He’d wrecked his car, nearly killing himself. His father, a man of few words, had come to the hospital to see him. There’d been no pity in Tom Stuart’s eyes as he looked Ben straight in the eye. “Only a gutless coward would kill himself, son. If you want to die, die like a man. Don’t hide behind a bottle,” he’d said.

  Simple and to the point. No sympathy, no coddling. Tom Stuart had been capable of neither.

  Yet that meeting became a major turning point in Ben’s life.

  Now they were telling him that the old marine had shot himself? No way, it had to have been murder. He’d go home and find out what really happened. He’d have three weeks, including travel time, to figure things out. Somehow that would have to be enough.

  Also by Aimée & David Thurlo

  Ella Clah Novels

  Blackening Song

  Death Walker

  Bad Medicine

  Enemy Way

  Shooting Chant

  Red Mesa

  Changing Woman

  Tracking Bear

  Wind Spirit

  White Thunder

  Mourning Dove

  Turquoise Girl

  Coyote’s Wife

  Earthway

  Never-ending-snake

  Black Thunder

  Plant Them Deep

  Lee Nez Novels

  Second Sunrise

  Blood Retribution

  Pale Death

  Surrogate Evil

  Sister Agatha Novels

  Bad Faith

  Thief in Retreat

  Prey for a Miracle

  False Witness

  Prodigal Nun

  The Bad Samaritan

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Aimée and David Thurlo are the authors of the critically acclaimed Ella Clah mystery series, which includes Black Thunder and Never-ending-snake. They have also written the Sister Agatha mysteries; several novels about Lee Nez, a Navajo vampire; The Spirit Line, a young adult novel; and numerous romantic suspense novels for Harlequin Intrigue.

  The Thurlos live in Corrales, New Mexico, with a number of animals who reflect their passion for animal adoption. David grew up on the Navajo Reservation and
later returned there to teach. Aimée is a native of Cuba who has lived in the American Southwest for more than thirty years.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

  GHOST MEDICINE

  Copyright © 2013 by Aimée Thurlo and David Thurlo

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Bill Villareal

  A Forge Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Thurlo, Aimée.

  Ghost medicine / Aimée Thurlo, David Thurlo.—First Edition.

  p. cm.

  “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

  ISBN 978-0-7653-3403-9 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-4668-0785-3 (e-book)

  1. Navajo Indians—Fiction. 2. Spirits—Fiction. 3. Paranormal fiction. 4. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Thurlo, David. II. Title.

  PS3570.H82G46 2013

  813'.54—dc23

  2013022085

  e-ISBN 9781466807853

  First Edition: November 2013