Ghost Sickness

by Amber Foxx

  Mae took the crystals into the kitchen to rinse them in salt water before putting them away. The ritual was important for removing traces of negative energy from her journeys. It readied the crystals for the next use, and often it gave Mae a sense of closure.

  Tonight it didn’t. Zak and Letitia were winding down whatever they’d been doing, but money would still be coming in. Did this leave Zak at risk for getting caught?

  Mae put her crystals away and headed to the bedroom. Jamie hovered in the doorway, while Melody lay in bed propped up on pillows. She held out her phone. “Want to see that video?”

  “Not really.” Mae slipped past Jamie and sat in the chair beside the bed. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen Jamie with his shirt off. I need to tell you what I learned about Zak. He might be back in half an hour or so.”

  Jamie came over and took the phone. “Got to watch it again. See if I look better than I thought. Now that I know, y’know?”

  Shoot. He is not over this. “Now that you know what you weigh?”

  “Yeah. I lost two pounds.” He started to wipe the screen with his shirttail.

  Mae touched his wrist. “Don’t do that, you’ll change something.”

  “But there are fingerprints.” He held the phone gingerly by its sides. “Hate fucking touch screens.”

  “Your little keyboard has fingerprints, too. You just can’t see ’em.”

  “I’m neurotic, all right? I don’t have to make sense.”

  You sure don’t.

  While Jamie watched the video again, pacing back and forth, Mae told Melody about her vision of Zak and Letitia. “I’m pretty sure he’s not having an affair with her.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  Mae wished she could say she was a hundred percent sure, but she wasn’t. Letitia had acted interested in Zak, and though he’d been preoccupied, her offer of a kiss hadn’t appeared to trouble him. “He only stayed long enough to deliver whatever they’re selling.”

  “So he didn’t screw her tonight—that’s all you actually know.” Melody shifted against her pile of pillows, muttering that she couldn’t get comfortable. “I wish you’d got a look at whatever he brought her.”

  “So do I. He sounded like he was ready to be done with it, but she said the money part wasn’t over yet.” Mae realized how useless her vision had been. The things that mattered most to Melody were still uncertain. “I’m sorry. That was all I got. I can try again—”

  Jamie broke in. “You need to see this, love.”

  He perched on the chair arm, which creaked under his weight, and handed Mae the phone. She tapped the arrow to restart the video. It had been posted in the morning about an hour before the rodeo, and Will’s comment on it read, Jangarrai parteez w cowboyz n Indnz. She disliked Will instantly, and not only for his pseudo-cool bad spelling. Jamie used Jangarrai, his Aboriginal skin name, as his stage name, and the cowboy had been capable of spelling that correctly, probably so he could get more hits on his page, more people to click “like” on Jamie looking bad.

  Wild-haired, barefoot, shirtless, and carrying a beer can, he entered the living room from the hallway a few steps behind Zak. Zak headed into the kitchen, while Jamie remained in the living room, looking around in a dazed manner. Mae normally saw him as looking fit and strong, with his perfect posture and broad shoulders, but Will’s unsteady video, which occasionally dipped to a view of his own knees, caught Jamie in profile at waist level. The cowboy’s goal might have been to make Jamie look like a fellow drunk, focusing on the beer can in his hand, but it was no wonder he’d gotten the urge to weigh himself. The camera angle was as unflattering as it could get.

  “Stop it here.” Jamie leaned in shoulder to shoulder with Mae, making the chair arm creak again. “I was working on feeling better about it, seeing who in the room looks worse—Jeezus, that’s fucked up, isn’t it?—anyway, I’d picked the bloke in the kitchen doorway and then—look at him.”

  Mae studied the stilled video. A large hemisphere of belly poked into the doorframe, its owner out of sight. The image reminded her of a cartoon character trying to hide behind a tree. “That’s ... um ...” Mae had no idea what to say. Any comment on the man’s girth—the clothing suggested male, with a blue cotton shirt tucked into belted jeans—could sound insulting to Melody, who was bigger even than this fellow. “That’s a funny picture. Just his belly sticking out.”

  “Not the point,” Jamie said. “See the braid?” An unusually long black braid had dropped across the man’s shoulder onto his paunch. “It’s David Mirabal.”

  Mae recognized the body shape and the hair now. “Is that strange? Him being there?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t think Zak knew him.”

  “I don’t,” Melody said. “Who is he?”

  Mae answered, “His wife makes the feather earrings.” She handed Melody’s phone back to her. “They’re potters. Friends of Jamie’s from Santa Fe.”

  Melody placed the phone on the bedside table. “I know everyone I kicked out—and everyone else I saw in the video. He must have crashed the party and left.”

  “One Acoma bloke crashed a party with a bunch of Apaches?” Jamie sounded doubtful. “Nah. Had to be invited or he wouldn’t have heard about it. Zak threw that party on short notice.”

  Something else was odd about David being out in the middle of the night. Mae hardly knew him, but the way he’d taken Star when she’d started fussing had made her think he was a good husband and father, not the kind of man to take off after midnight to go crash a party. He would have needed a serious reason to be out that late. The image of David’s hand cupping the pottery cat flashed into Mae’s mind. And David claiming Shelli had sold out of feather earrings. “What if David and Shelli are in on whatever Zak is doing?”

  “Ya think?” Jamie frowned. “Like—Zak had parrots in the toolshed?”

  “Where did that come from?” Melody asked. “That was random even for you, Pudge.”

  “Shelli got fired from the parrot store where she worked. She lost two birds. She says they escaped. Mae thinks she stole them.” He gave her a dark look.

  Melody started to laugh. “Does that mean Zak did have parrots in the toolshed? Shelli can’t steal more because she got fired, and there weren’t going to be any more of whatever he brought his girlfriend or whoever—”

  Jamie cut in. “Stealing parrots is not funny. They’re valuable—and they’re sensitive—”

  “I’ve been thinking he was mixed up in some awful crime or having an affair or both. Compared to that, it is funny. I hope he did have parrots in the shed. I’ll give you the combination. You can go look for bird poop.”

  Mae paused to check on the twins before going outside, concerned that all the noise and conversation might have disturbed them. They were curled up in their beds, breathing softly. The soundness of small children’s sleep—how could she have forgotten? Deanna clung loosely to a tousle-haired doll, and Dean had turned backwards, his feet on the pillow, stuffed toys scattered around him. Mae longed for her stepdaughters with a sudden stretching pain. One more month. She closed the door and caught Jamie looking at her looking at the twins. Don’t go there, sugar.

  She put a finger to her lips, as if talking would wake the children, and he nodded.

  They went out the door from the kitchen, emerging under a big tree on the opposite side of the house from the road. The rain had tapered to a light drizzle. The toolshed was in shadow a few yards away, the house standing between it and the streetlight at the edge of the yard. It was a good place to hide something, especially if you didn’t lock your front door. Passersby would be unlikely to notice the shed from the access road or Route 70, and though the structure was visible from the uphill road to the ceremonial grounds, any activity in it after dark would be hard to see.

  Jamie held his phone up for Mae to use as a flashlight while she dialed the numbers on the padlock. She didn’t expect to find feathers or bird droppings, though she was curious what she would find. The
idea that Zak had stored stolen parrots in the shed was absurd and next to impossible. Melody seldom went in the toolshed, but she did use it and knew the combination for the lock. Parrots were noisy, and people went in and out of the house all the time. The small outbuilding would get too hot for a living creature during the day and too cold at night. But something had been in here that might have left a trace.

  The lock didn’t open. It was the kind with individual numbers that slid around, not the kind that required spinning a dial and feeling a click, so Mae could see that she’d lined up the right numbers. “Wasn’t it two, six, one, six?”

  “Yeah. Z-A-F. Zak Aaron Fatty.”

  Zak’s combination was supposed to be the places of his initials in the alphabet.

  Mae said, “We have a lock like this in the fitness center on the drawer for the keys to the closets. My boss changes the combination when there’s a turnover in the staff. Zak probably changed his to something Mel wouldn’t guess. And that you wouldn’t. Since he—”

  “Doesn’t trust us. And he shouldn’t. Look at us. Trying to break into his toolshed.”

  “Melody asked us to unlock it. That’s not breaking in.”

  “Still. Feels shitty that we’re doing it.” Jamie shoved his phone into his pocket and leaned back against the shed. “Whole bloody night feels like crap. I feel like crap. This is my mate, y’know? And we’re spying on him. Playing bloody fucking detective. It’s not right. He should talk to me. Talk to Mel.”

  “Sugar, you’re going back to square one.” This was the same gloomy mood he’d been in when Mae and Melody and the children had arrived. “We’ve already been over this.”

  “Jeezus. It’s not a fucking math problem. It’s a feeling, all right? We went inside and I felt like I was just hanging out with Mel, like I was just in their house like normal, y’know? And now I’m back out here and it’s not. Their lives aren’t normal, our friendship isn’t normal, the whole weekend isn’t what it was supposed to be. You hate camping. Placido flew off. David’s in this with Zak. What in bloody hell else could go wrong? I’m upset. I’m disappointed. It ... it hurts.” He hugged himself, massaging his forearms. “I wanted to share this great place and these great people with you and it’s all falling apart. It hurts.”

  Mae leaned against the shed with him, close by his side. It was the only thing she could think to do. He’d put himself into an un-huggable posture, and he didn’t want her to reassure him or solve a problem or talk him out of this mood. He was in it and that was that. She didn’t know whether to credit his book or his therapist for how thoroughly he’d shared it.

  She wondered if one of those sources had given him that phrase about a feeling not being a math problem. It didn’t sound like Jamie, who had once claimed to be afraid of numbers, but she could imagine some advice book author telling male readers: listen to your partner and her feelings, don’t try to solve them. Emotions are not math problems.

  The situation was a problem, though, and no one was going to feel better until it was solved.

  It might even be a math problem. There were at least three people, maybe four or five, involved in selling something they were keeping secret. The profit from selling two parrots at less than two thousand apiece wouldn’t go very far five ways. Shelli could sell one of her big pots for what her share would have come to, without the hassle of hiding and lying. The money had to be big to be split several ways and still be worth her while. Worth Zak’s risk to his reputation and his marriage, worth Reno’s fights with Misty if he was part of it, worth Shelli’s job, and worth David and Shelli dodging little sales to Mae. And worth whatever risks Letitia took. What did they have in common that would bring them all together? Zak and Reno had Misty and Melody, but there was no obvious connection for the others.

  Jamie’s phone rang and he answered. “Nah. He changed the combination ... Sorry.” He listened awhile. “Hope you feel better. Yeah. We’re going.”

  They started across the back of the yard to the road to the ceremonial grounds. Mae took Jamie’s hand. She wanted to share her work on the puzzle, but she was concerned that it would oppress him to think about it. He was too close to it. The only way Jamie could solve such a problem would be to make Zak submit to a hug.

  Where had that image come from?

  Jamie hugging Ezra, then talking with him as they’d walked along the tree line. Ezra, who hadn’t been able to open up to Mae and Bernadette, had thawed after that hug. Mae had no idea what he and Jamie had talked about, but she’d seen a difference in the boy’s energy. He’d still been shy, but he’d walked closer to Jamie, looked up a little more often, and he’d talked more. She liked the idea of Jamie giving Zak that same long hard embrace until the truth poured out of him.

  “What are you thinking?” Jamie asked. “You’re smiling.”

  “I had this idea that if you could hug Zak—grab him in a big ol’ bear hug—he’d talk to you, like Ezra did.”

  Jamie’s words came out with care and reverence, his pace as delicate as the last few raindrops on her skin. “Ezra said I healed him.” He walked more slowly. “Didn't mean to, but he said he felt it.”

  “Sugar, that’s beautiful. And important. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Dunno.” Jamie’s shoulders rolled in his evasive wriggle of a shrug. “Can’t see that happening with Zak.” He paused and looked down the hill toward his friends’ house. Mae followed his gaze and saw Zak’s Eagle pulling into the driveway. The lights and the engine cut off. “Wish it could, though.”

  Zak strode to his house and up the steps. As he began to open the screen door, he let it fall shut again and picked up something from the glider.

  “Fuck.” Jamie smacked a fist into his thigh. “My book. I left my book.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mae woke up early, looking forward to the race, but exhausted as usual after a night with Jamie. He’d wanted to stay at the ceremonies until midnight, and after the evening they’d had, the music and dancing had been healing. She didn’t regret staying, but then Jamie had his usual sleep issues, magnified by the close quarters of the tent. He had wanted her to rouse him so he could watch her run, but he looked so peaceful she couldn’t bring herself to disturb him yet, so she set an alarm on his phone, giving him a little more time to dream.

  As she took an easy jog along the access road, she was surprised to see Zak’s car pass her. What was he doing driving so short a distance? Then she noticed the station wagon was packed full of teenagers. Probably Boys and Girls Club kids. He must have collected them from further out on the reservation, which meant he’d gotten up even earlier than she had. If Melody had confronted him when he got in the night before, he might have slept poorly, too.

  When she reached the wellness center, Mae found Zak in the parking lot with his group of teens, taking them through a military-style workout as a warm-up. The four boys and three girls didn’t look like trained athletes. Several struggled, while others plowed through energetically with poor form. Zak was so focused on doing the routine himself that he didn’t notice. Showing off? Or trying to motivate them? Mae gave him the benefit of the doubt. If she hadn’t taken a course on how to teach exercise, she might have made the same mistake. She stayed out of their way, doing some range of motion active stretches—butt kicks, high knees, leg swings, and other dynamic moves.

  One of the younger boys asked suddenly, “What’s that lady doing?” and the whole group broke their pace and looked at Mae. Zak turned around, stared hard at her for moment, and then faced the kids again. “Something easier than what we’re doing. Come on. Let’s finish up and then stretch.”

  Smooth cover-up. Zak probably had no idea how to answer.

  Runners of all ages began to arrive. A woman in a sundress unlocked the building, announcing that registration would be starting in a few minutes. The competitors milled around in the parking lot, joking and talking.

  When Zak finished leading his group’s overzealous warmup, he said, “Before
you go in to sign up, listen.” They held still, all eyes on him. “You’re not all going to win today, but you’re all going to do your best. You’re not just any runners. You’re Apache runners. You’re not just running a race. You’re running for your people. You're spiritual runners. Role models. Inspire others. Make me proud.”

  One by one, each kid fist-bumped or high-fived with Zak on their way to join the stream of people headed into the building. To follow the kids, Mae had to pass him, and her words came out without her thinking. “That was a good talk, coach.”

  He propped one heel up on the bench outside the door and stretched his leg. “And a good workout.”

  Her positive feelings toward him fizzled like a light bulb burning out. Was he daring her to criticize his warm-up? He was going to get what he asked for. “A good workout for you. Not right before a race, though. And definitely not for those kids.”

  “Bullshit. I learned it in the army. They know how to get people in shape. Not everybody has to go to college to learn how to work out.”

  A thick silence fell between them. He stretched his other leg, turning away from her. The army. Did he wish he hadn’t mentioned that? Through the open door, Mae saw a long line of people waiting to sign up at a single table. Zak completed his stretch and stepped in ahead of her. “You sure you want to run this race?”

  The line was hardly a deterrent. A race with a lot of runners was more exciting. Perhaps he meant the altitude. She felt that she’d adapted quickly, though, maybe because of the time she’d recently spent in Santa Fe. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

  “Until you don’t have anywhere to take a shower.”

  Zak got in line. Mae sank onto the bench. Shoot. Of course she would run. She was here, she was ready, and she wanted to beat Zak. It was going to be unpleasant afterward, though, with either a long, unwashed drive to T or C or a sticky, sweaty wait while Jamie negotiated a new place for bathing and cooking. His outpouring of things that hurt came back to her. Nothing was going the way he’d planned.