I know Linc Jackson well enough. He says he's interested in the good of the community, but some kind of craving possesses the man. Linc calls me Chief. Things have gone downhill since then, but maybe it's fitting. A good chief protects and leads his people. That's all I’ve tried to do.
18
“Sweet Jesus,” was once again all Lutie could say. Questions raced through my head, like ants running in all directions when the nest has been disturbed. Even after Linc's departure, I could still feel the fine hairs on my neck raised.
Tru and I helped Tiny hobble inside. Lutie followed her husband to where we made him lie on the old sofa, and she sat with his foot propped on her lap. I tended to his wound with the disinfectant and some sterile pads, and Lutie fussed and fretted as if he were the prodigal son. Tru got out the literature we’d brought home from the hospital and read me the parts about treating diabetic foot injuries.
“This is quite a puncture,” I said, knowing full well he’d need a tetanus shot. You know Dr. Perkins will want to see you, don’t you?”
“We don’t need to bother Perkins,” Tiny said with a grimace. “Just smarted, that's all. Surprised the daylights out of me.” He smiled, but I thought he looked pale.
“You old goat,” Lutie said, smiling through deep worry lines. “Now you’ll just have another excuse to lie around and watch that darn TV.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Everything had happened so fast that I only now wondered why she hadn’t gotten into the fray with me. At the Fourth of July barbecue, she’d hauled off and socked Linc without hesitation. But today she had gone inside with Tru, perhaps thinking more of his protection than I had.
“‘Green Acres,’ here we come,” Tiny said to Jim, who lay on the floor next to his master.
Tru gave me an anxious look. “He going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Tiny said.
“How do you know?”
“You worry too much,” Tiny answered.
I stroked Tru's head and noticed that my hands trembled. “Let Uncle Tiny alone, will you? We’ll make sure the doctor sees him soon.”
My son ducked away from my attempt to console him. “That Jackson guy stinks,” he said, walking back toward the door. “This whole thing stinks!” He stormed outside and I could hear sounds, as if he was knocking the stuffing out of something. I thought I should go after him to address appropriate displays of anger, but then I laughed at myself. I was the she-bear who had been ready to take on Linc Jackson after he insulted my cub.
The delayed rush of adrenaline rattled me inside and out. I shook so uncontrollably that my teeth chattered, and when it subsided, fatigue took over. I felt limp and wished I could crawl off someplace and just blend in with the walls.
“We will go to the clinic as soon as we get in touch with the doctor,” I promised, when I was less jittery. After Tiny's last episode we couldn’t take any chances.
“It's just a scratch—really,” Tiny said. “I’ll have that sun porch done in no time, my Pearl.”
Lutie glared at him and wagged her finger. “Oh, now hush up and take a rest.” She picked up his foot and examined it. “And if I see one red streak—” She leaned her head against the serape on the back of the couch and closed her eyes.
“Hand me the remote,” he said.
Rubin's truck is a bumpy ride, I thought all the way over to the highway. I’d decided to go to Portland and hunt down Nova, and now Rubin was driving us there. If Tiny's pickup hadn’t quit running and my van hadn’t burned, I would have gone by myself. Yet, I had other motives—the arrowhead and heart-shaped rock were safe in my bag, along with Dad's photos and notes.
I knew almost nothing about Native American artifacts and desperately needed a professional opinion. Rubin's friend had mentioned his work during the Fourth of July bash. Darrin? Davey? I couldn’t remember the guy's name, but he was an archaeologist for Portland State. What were the odds? Rubin had called ahead and after stopping in at Chaz's, we would be meeting with the professor and his wife.
The barren terrain surrounded us mile after mile until we drove over the mountains. We were almost to the interstate before Rubin coaxed his truck up to fifty-five. I sat quiet most of the way, as a Nova-shaped pain ate its way through my heart, but as we drove into the metro area, I tried to act sociable. The old GMC pickup's vibrations tickled my throat when I spoke.
“Thanks for convincing your friend to meet with me. What was his name again?” I leaned against the passenger side door.
Rubin had rolled down his window, so he had to shout above the wind. “Denny. Dr. Dennis Moses. He said he’d love to help out. He's part of the Warm Springs tribe, remember?”
“Okay, it's all coming back now.” Since July, I’d learned a lot about Northwest tribes. “How incredible is it that you know a real archaeologist! I looked on the Internet, and amateurs and kooks are everywhere.”
“Denny's the real deal. He likes to joke that he's the only Indian he knows with tenure. He's been in the news lately, too, for his work in finding pre-Clovis coprolites.”
I sat up straighter. “You’re kidding?” My mouth hung open at the mention of pre-Clovis, and a chunk of the guilt that sat on my shoulders suddenly lifted. Stopping the burial mound investigation to look for Nova had felt like a no-win situation, but perhaps luck—I hoped Lutie would forgive me for calling it that—was on my side.
Rubin smiled. “You do know what a coprolite is, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I’m a librarian, aren’t I? A coprolite is petrified poop.” It sounded silly, but finding coprolites proved where people settled, what their diet had been, and offered other information vital to the study of ancient peoples. Pre-Clovis? I hadn’t mentioned that part of my father's notes to Rubin. For a moment I felt as if something better than luck had fallen my way. “I brought along the rock I found out by the creek,” I told him, patting my handbag, “in case it's more than just a rock.”
“Of course,” Rubin said. “If not, I’m always glad to visit Denny and his wife and kid. I’m the baby's godfather, but it's always so hard to get away. Good thing I found someone to take care of my place while we’re gone.”
He’d hired this know-nothing kid named Art Fuchs with a preppy haircut and an overbite. Art was thrilled about the emus. Rubin warned him that they could be a handful. I thought it was weird to be thrilled over five-foot birds.
As we crossed into the Portland city limits, I listened to the traffic's white noise. It was good to see real green again; the lushness of the landscape felt like a cool drink: a watered garden.
“Ah, Portland,” Rubin said. “Some days I’m so tempted to move back up here. Except for the rain, I mean. That reminds me. You find out anything new about the business with Linc?”
I wasn’t quite ready to tell Rubin everything. Not yet. I shook my head. “The minute we find Nova,” I said, “I’m all over it.”
Today was sunny—brilliant, really—and we concentrated on the dark blue-greens of the trees, lighter-hued ferns and mosses, and splashes of yellow scotch broom. Had this been a vacation trip, the ripples in the Willamette River might not have reminded me of tears.
By lunch hour, the city buzzed with neon and traffic. I hadn’t heard sirens for months now, I realized, and their distant wails upset me the way a crying baby does. I was glad I wasn’t driving. I’d lived away from Portland for only a few months, but negotiating freeways now seemed frightening.
Rubin eased the truck into the flow on another freeway, and I turned my face toward the air rushing through the window, listening. “Show me,” I whispered, “please tell me where to look for Nova.” There was only a deep wide hole in the sky where I’d rubbed it raw with my thoughts, and I closed my eyes. Finally, I numbed myself against its silence. No one answered.
“Up in the hills, right?” Rubin said, negotiating the tricky twists and turns of Oregon's largest city. Finally, he asked me for the house number again and turned up the street. We climbed a steep road leading to
a gated driveway.
“Wow,” he said. “Your ex must not be doing too bad.”
“It's got more to do with Victoria, his sugar mama—I mean, girlfriend. It's her house. Maybe we should call first?”
“Getting cold feet?”
“I’m scared to death.”
“I could turn around.”
“No, I have to do this. I loathe that woman.” I yanked on the truck's rearview mirror, surveyed myself, and groaned. Just like Muriel in The Accidental Tourist, I felt like saying, “I look like the wrath of God.” I didn’t, though. I was nothing like that character. Geena Davis had been much too attractive for that movie role.
“You look marvelous,” he said, maybe picking up my thought waves or maybe just my grimace. “Mah-velous.”
“Right.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Take a deep breath.”
“Let's get this over with.”
The house was dank, as Nova would say. That meant it was fancy, not moldy. Victoria had cleaned up in real estate a few years back and could afford to dabble in hobbies such as art and my ex-husband. I wasn’t sure if I disliked her more for the two face-lifts she bragged about—the last one made her eyes appear catlike—or because she treated Chaz as if he had no brain.
My ex looked a little smarter today, even though he was obviously surprised that I showed up at the house. I drew in my breath when he opened the door. He was dressed in a sleeveless undershirt and Nike jogging shorts. His hair was rumpled, even at five in the evening. Chaz Devereaux was still good-looking in an artsy sort of way.
“Muri.” His voice came out froggy, and he coughed. I’d never liked that sound. Even now his constant throat clearing irritated me. He couldn’t really help it, I knew, but it annoyed me all the same.
“I’ve come about Nova.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and blinked. “I figured,” he said, now realizing I wasn’t alone. “Who's this?”
Rubin stepped forward and introduced himself as my neighbor. I began to hear a slight edge in my voice, one that longed to slice to bits any fool who came too close. I needed Chaz's help, so I stayed calm. “Has she contacted you?” My eye twitch was acting up.
“Haven’t heard a word,” Chaz said, stroking his graying goatee.
“It's for real this time,” I continued. “I’m worried sick. I’ve already reported her as a runaway and phoned all her friends.”
Inside I was less diplomatic. Let's hear it, idiot. What's your big plan?
“Chaz?” Victoria appeared wearing a royal purple pants outfit. Not a bleached hair was out of place. She was taller than Chaz. “Oh, it's you,” she said to me.
Later Rubin would comment on the “big ice” dangling from Victoria's finger. I noticed it, too, but as we sat on creamy Italian leather sofas, I kept quiet. I wanted to keep this meeting short and to the point.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking about the strangeness of the whole thing: I’d been willing to sell our home, just to be rid of Chaz, and now I’d ended up in a trailer out in the desert. He was living the high life, a kept man. I made a mental pledge to make sure he paid all the capital gains tax on our house, which would be coming due soon. And I vowed never to give Chaz a cent toward the loan with my stepfather, Benjamin.
“I thought she would show up here for sure,” I began, after politely accepting Victoria's offer of cappuccino. “She hasn’t at least called?”
“You don’t think I’d know if my daughter called?” Chaz said. He acted as if being an artist gave you license to offend people. He had put on a pair of ratty jeans but no shirt.
“This is the longest she's ever been gone,” I said, after he tried to change the subject. “Get serious, will you? I’ll call all her friends, alert the Portland PD. You—”
“Remember, we’re flying to New York tomorrow,” Victoria said, returning with a tray bearing steaming coffee cups. She turned to me, waggling her fingers, that ridiculous ring bobbing up and down. “Everyone will be there. It’ll launch our gallery into the upper atmosphere.”
We. Our. I sat there, split in two. One side of me had seen Chaz for who he was and knew beyond a doubt that we didn’t love each other. I’d moved on with my life, which in no small way included Rubin Jonto. The other part of me clung to the ghost of a family unit that no longer existed.
Rubin spoke for me. “What Muri's saying is we need to work together. You want to see your daughter end up working the street or worse?”
“Don’t go there, buddy.” Chaz was paying attention now.
“Get the point then,” I said. “How about you help out by providing the missing kids networks a recent picture? And call the cops. The last contact was made from a pay phone in Portland.”
“She called?” Chaz stared at me, surprised.
I tried to explain. “Her friend, the grandson of another neighbor of ours, is missing as well. He called a couple of days ago.” I could play the game too.
“He? She's with a guy? I’ll kill him.” He added an expletive.
“All I care about is getting her back safely.” My throat constricted. “And stop swearing at me.”
Victoria broke in. “We’ll do what we can.” You could practically hear her wondering how soon they’d be rid of us.
Chaz was even more disgusting. “I know some people.”
I gave him my best stern librarian look. “Yeah? Well, I know some ‘people’ too; by the end of the day they’ll have flyers made and a phone chain going. You think you can manage to tack up a few of them before you fly to New York?”
“You know I will.”
“Really?”
“You’re still as big a nag as ever.” Chaz stood and paced the off-white carpet in his bare feet. “If you get this ridiculous loan with Benjamin figured out, I might be able to keep my head above water. Sell that crummy property, and we’ll both be happy.”
The whole room turned glacial, and time stood still. Nobody moved or breathed for about three seconds long. Finally, somebody sighed.
I stood up. “Come on, Rubin. We have work to do.” I narrowed my eyes and steeled my jaw and didn’t say so much as good-bye to Victoria.
19
“I’m so sorry, Rubin,” I said. “This mess is getting worse every minute.” I felt selfish after my scene with Chaz and hadn’t meant for Rubin to get caught in the cross fire.
I rubbed my temples where they ached. Here I was, tangled in a bunch of trouble I hadn’t counted on, dragging people I hardly knew into the web too. Would Murkee hold me responsible for bringing calamity upon their little community? And what about Rubin?
In spite of Nova's disappearance, the artifacts inside my bag stole my attention. I could almost hear my father whispering, urging me to uncover the truth before it was too late. “Let's get over to your friend's place,” I said. We piled back into Rubin's truck.
Until today Nova's disappearance hadn’t seemed real. Lutie always reminded me that it was fine to feel awful if you had a reason. “Just don’t let it rule your life,” she’d say. “And giving up your problems to the Lord never hurts, neither.” In the truck I bowed my head and pictured myself launching a ton of troubles heavenward as we made our way through the maze of Portland neighborhoods that were no longer home to me.
Twenty minutes later we pulled up to a yellow two-story house trimmed in various hues of lilac, hunter green, and red. “This could be Eugene,” I said, referring to the Oregon college town still stuck in the sixties. “I didn’t know they were hippies.”
“Professors,” Rubin corrected. He banged on the door, solid oak with an oval of etched glass in its center. An enormous cat wound its way in and out of our legs.
Dr. Denny opened the door, his black hair in two neat braids reaching almost to his waist. “Ya-hey,” he said to Rubin.
“Denny!” Rubin said, and they clapped each other's backs. Rubin turned to me. “Remember Muri?” Denny nodded, and we went inside. Delicate blown-glass sculptures crowd
ed the surface of a vintage treadle sewing machine in the entryway. One glass piece, a milky peach color, reminded me of an angel. After a few moments, Denny's wife, Gwen, descended the staircase on one side of the foyer.
She hugged Rubin. “You promised you’d come sooner,” she said, laughing and tugging on his ponytail. “The baby's nearly a year old now, and her godfather has only seen her a few times.”
Rubin grinned. “You got me, Mama. Leila won’t even recognize me.”
Gwen hugged me too. “Rubin told us about what's been going on with your neighbor.” She shook her head. “Guy sounds like a mean old cuss.”
“Mean's an understatement.” I took my bag from my shoulder and unzipped the main compartment. “If Denny can help us, we might get the best of Linc.” I dug around the purse's bottom.
“Of course Denny will help you,” Gwen said. “But I’ve got supper on the stove, and it's just about ready.”
I inhaled. “Smells wonderful.”
Before Gwen could say more, a child's cry floated down from upstairs. “Just let me get her,” Gwen said and trotted upstairs. Soon a giggling Leila appeared in her arms. I felt at home.
Gwen balanced the baby on one hip and gently touched my arm. “This must be awful for you,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine. We’ve been praying.”
I thanked her and sat down at the table. She supplied me with hope, while stew simmering on the stove hissed a cloud of steam against the darkened windows.
After supper, Gwen put the baby to bed and we sat around the living room coffee table. The walls were decorated with Native American art. Something in me recognized the Indian flute and ceremonial drum that sat in one corner. I thought of the burial mound where my father had spent so much time.
Denny was eager to examine the items I’d brought. He was taller and wider than Rubin, but his voice was gentle and his eyes deep and black. His braids fell forward as he leaned over the low table. He examined the arrowhead and turned the rock over in his hands and then studied the photos. He scanned my father's notes, and I told him about the mound. For what felt like hours, he didn’t say three words. I was so full of questions that I thought I’d burst. Rubin smiled at me and patted my hand.
The Fence My Father Built Page 18