The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set

by Shannon Baker

  He sounded normal and raised his hand in a wave. “I got the ball rolling looking into Lee. It’s late so I’m going to head home.”

  Abigail buried her face in her hands.

  Nora strode to the front door to say thanks and goodbye. She returned to a sobbing Abigail.

  “He heard me, I know he did.”

  Nora patted her back and reassured Abigail, even if she had her own doubts. “He was on the phone in the yard. He didn’t hear anything.”

  28

  Coarse yellow sand crunched under Nora’s hiking boots and echoed in the deserted dawn atop the mesa. Abbey padded next to her, probably enjoying his freedom after the five-hour drive from Moab to the mesa. As soon as Abigail had calmed down, she’d returned to bed and Nora had taken off for the rez. The sun danced suddenly from the edge of the world beyond the valley floor accompanied by the low, soft rhythm of Benny’s singing.

  She lifted her head and abandoned herself to the feeling of floating. At the edge of a mesa that rose from the valley, she felt like she stood on the deck of a mythical god’s clipper ship as they circumnavigated the globe.

  She tried to shed the heaviness she’d carried from Moab at the thought of what Abigail had endured so many years ago—rape, her husband dead, having a baby on her own. Growing up, Nora had always thought of her mother as a vapid social climber. It now made sense that Abigail clung to a wealthy husband and security. The new insight also revealed how far Abigail had come when she’d let go of the financial stability to marry Charlie.

  Nora rubbed at the fatigue behind her eyes. After Abigail’s confession, the only thing Nora could think to do was run to the reservation. Even this seemed like a bad idea. It didn’t matter how much her mother protested and claimed Nora resembled Dan in gestures and “that look in your eyes,” Nora could be Warren Evans’s daughter. If the Evans family had red hair in their lineage, it would explain a lot.

  Instead of joining Benny with her own morning tribute of cornmeal, Nora stayed back and listened. If she had no Hopi ties, it didn’t seem right to barge into his ceremony. Still, she didn’t deny the warmth of the new sun felt welcoming and hopeful.

  Lisa could no longer laugh in that deep, freeing way. Cole probably greeted the new day with a kiss for his bride. Two runaway girls huddled together in uncertainty, and Nora’s future seemed iffy. But the sun still climbed its cheery path across the sky—keep it all in perspective, her Hopi training would tell her.

  The Hopi way of life still had value, even if the tribal blood didn’t pump through her veins.

  Right?

  Benny finished his song. When he backed from the edge of the mesa and turned to Nora, he already grinned, as if he knew she’d been standing there. He probably did. Not much surprised him, even someone showing up unannounced on the isolated mesa at dawn.

  “It is good to see you.”

  Though not much of a hugger herself, she didn’t let Benny off with that formal of a greeting. She threw her arms around him and welcomed his returning embrace. “I need to talk to you.” Her throat crept dangerously close to shutting, but she managed those few words before tears filled her eyes.

  He plodded away from the precipice down a worn path in the yellow dust. Nora fell into step beside him and they walked the fifty yards to the squalid village in silence. The sound of their feet crunching on the sand echoed through the collection of several dozen dwellings that sprawled along the mesa. They spoked from a plaza formed by four two-story structures. Their construction showed desert rock, cinder blocks, and various cheap building supplies.

  Benny lived in a section of one of the buildings that made up the plaza. In a modern city, it might be an apartment or condo. Here, it was his part of the pueblo. He led her toward the far side of the plaza. “I’ll make coffee and you can tell me.”

  Benny never told her his age but she guessed he was somewhere between forty and sixty. He spoke as if each word formed from the sands of time and baked in the sun. It would take Nora several days to acclimate to his pace before she lost the urge to dangle him by his feet and shake the words out quicker.

  This morning he wore his usual dark blue jeans that hung loose on his narrow hips, plaid cotton shirt, and dusty cowboy boots. His black hair lay thick and short on his head. He stood a few inches shorter than Nora but carried an air of confidence and strength she rarely saw in others.

  The yellow powder of the path trod by countless generations puffed around her boots and the silence felt like gauze around her. Not many people lived in Benny’s ancient village, and if they’d been out greeting the sun in the traditional way, they’d picked their own private place on the mesa.

  The first time Nora had been on the Hopi rez, about an hour’s drive north of Winslow, she’d gone to a dance on another of the three mesas that made up Hopiland. She’d been disappointed by the poverty and dirt and general third-world feel. As in Benny’s village, the houses were an odd collection of ancient stone and every cheap kind of repair imaginable meant to shore up dwellings that were originally built a thousand years ago. Four pueblo-like structures outlined a central plaza used for dances and ceremonies. These buildings rose two stories and lacked all but the tiniest of windows. The plaza stretched about half the length of a soccer field and had a stone floor.

  After spending time up here with Benny a few months ago, Nora accepted what she’d once thought sad and desperate was a free choice to live the traditional life they cherished.

  Nora enjoyed her dishwasher and microwave too much to embrace this Spartan lifestyle, but she now understood Benny’s priorities didn’t mirror hers.

  No breeze disturbed the peace, just a gentle sun and soft air. They made their way across the plaza to Benny’s house and he held the screen open for her and Abbey to enter.

  The same dilapidated couch with a yellow sheet serving as a slip cover, the folding table with a couple of woven-seated camp chairs, the bare bulb dangled from the ceiling—she’d have been shocked if it had changed.

  Benny stood in the kitchen and filled a coffee pot with water from a four-gallon jug. He set it on a propane stove, struck a match to the burner, and turned to Nora. “Let’s sit outside.”

  They sat on a low wooden bench perched along the side of his house. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

  “He won’t come to see me anymore.” She blurted it out without premeditation. This wasn’t what she was here to talk about.

  Since Benny didn’t answer—though he might be formulating words that would take another lifetime to crawl from his mouth—she rattled on. “I know it’s not like he’s a genie I can call on demand and I know that I haven’t been all that welcoming when he’s shown up in the past. But I really feel like I need him to put in a cameo appearance. Even a walk-on in a dream or something.”

  Benny displayed his usual poker face. “Nakwaiyamtewa?”

  Slow down, inhale. Remember to think in Hopi time. “Yes. I’ve been in Moab and there’s all this rock art that has something to do with Hopi and I can’t figure it out. If I can understand what these symbols mean, I know I can figure out who killed my friend Lisa and why.”

  Benny’s gaze drifted to the plaza as if in thought. “You are making no more sense than your mother did.”

  “My mother?”

  He still focused into the plaza. “Yes. She sent me a long text that said you were upset about your friend’s death and that you questioned your place in Hopi.”

  “Wait a minute. Abigail texted you that I’d be coming to see you?” He nodded.

  “So you’ll text with Abigail, but you won’t talk to me on the phone?

  I’ve been trying to call you all night.”

  “I didn’t say I texted Abigail back. Besides, why talk to you on the phone when I knew you’d be here?” A twinkle sparked in his eyes.

  “Did Abigail tell you I might not be Hopi after all?” “Why do you say this?”

  “Have you heard of Warren Evans?”

  His mouth turned up
and he actually chuckled. “Every three moons I ride my pony into the white man’s town, scalp a few settlers, and steal their cattle. I then take the opportunity to catch up on my investments and read the Wall Street Journal.”

  “Okay, fine. Sorry. But I have no idea what you keep up on and what you don’t. You don’t answer your phone and you hardly ever turn on your generator. What do I know?” Benny could use his cell phone when it suited him. Nora’s phone never had a signal on the mesas, but Benny didn’t seem to have any trouble. Nora chose not to question that fact.

  He patted her hand. “Yes, Nora, I know who Warren Evans is.” “He’s probably my father.”

  One of his eyebrows arched, a sign she’d shocked him.

  “He raped my mother. Nice Mormon family guy. All those years my mother lied about my father abandoning us and finally she told me about Dan Sepakuku. Now I find out the father she wasn’t telling me about was really Warren Evans.”

  Benny let that settle. “You didn’t know you were Hopi until a few months ago. Now you find out it’s possible you are not Hopi and you feel betrayed?”

  “Why would I have this red hair? Hopi don’t have red hair.” “Warren Evans does not have red hair.”

  “When I found out about Dan Sepakuku, for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged.”

  “To Hopi?”

  She felt a burn in her cheeks. “Well, maybe not really, yet. I was excited to learn everything Hopi. I felt kind of special that Nakwaiyamtewa visited me. He chose me to save the sacred mountain.”

  Pause. “As I remember, you were not that excited at the time. ‘I’m not Enviro Girl’ is what you said to me.”

  “Okay. Yes. At the time, it seemed scary and dangerous and weird that this chief from the 1880s was visiting me with mystic messages. But why isn’t he coming to see me now?”

  “It could be that he’s busy. We are in the summer season and the kachinas are performing their ancient duties.”

  The fatigue of the five-hour drive pounded in her temples. “You’re right. I didn’t really come here to whine.”

  Again, the shocked, raised eyebrow.

  The smell of coffee perking wafted from Benny’s house. “I came here to ask you about all these weird petroglyphs in southern Utah. I think they mean something.”

  “Of course they mean something.”

  “If I show you, can you tell me what it is?”

  He shrugged. “How would I know? The people who made those images lived over a thousand years ago. I’m a modern guy, growing my corn, trying to ignore my cell phone when it rings.”

  “Maybe, but you have a daily coffee klatch with a guy who’s been dead for over a hundred years.”

  “Not every day. And he doesn’t know everything, either. Maybe he likes my coffee.”

  They filed back into Benny’s house. He found a used envelope to write on and scrounged around for a pencil. While he poured the coffee, she sketched the sunburst symbol from the rock and the barn.

  He handed her a chipped mug and took the envelope. They stood in the kitchen while he sipped his coffee and studied the drawing. The Jeopardy! theme song dinged away in the back of Nora’s brain while she waited for his comment.

  He set the envelope on the table and took another swig of his coffee. “These lines are a special message from the Sky People.”

  “What Sky People?”

  “The people who come from beyond.” Beyond. Great.

  He placed his cup on the table. “You might call them aliens. They visit Hopi. Always have. They bring messages. These lines, they indicate places where the Sky People are welcome.”

  “You believe in aliens? As in, people from other planets who visit here. Flying saucers?”

  “I’ve never met them. They come to certain people—elders, mostly.”

  Nora picked up Benny’s cup and poured them both more coffee. He opened a cracked wood cupboard and pulled out two granola bars, his version of breakfast. It looked like a feast to Nora.

  The nighttime chill evaporated as the little house absorbed the heat from the rising sun.

  “You saw this on a panel? What other signs were there?”

  She drew the animals and the person in a boat. “These lines are also on a barn on Tokpela Ranch.”

  “Tokpela?”

  She nodded. “It’s close to Canyonlands Park.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “A white man’s barn?”

  “Warren Evans’s nephew’s barn. What do you make of that?” “Tokpela is a Hopi word.”

  Of course he wouldn’t simply say. “What does it mean?” He tilted his head in consideration. “Sky.”

  “Is that significant? Sky Ranch. With the space alien symbols?” “Hmm.” She wouldn’t get much more out of him on that.

  “Do you know what the rest of this stuff means?”

  “Not much. I can tell you this,” he pointed to the drawing of the person in a boat, “is a Hopi maiden in a Sky Person’s ship. You see the circles on the sides of her head? That is the traditional squash blossom hair worn by Hopi maidens. The rest?” He shrugged.

  She lowered herself to one of the chairs. “So here’s what I know. Lisa was murdered, maybe after she filmed the panel with this on it. Abigail freaked out when she saw the line symbols on the wall. She said Warren Evans was all into the Hopi stuff and that’s why he hooked up with her and my father, or rather, Dan Sepakuku.”

  Benny munched on his granola bar and didn’t seem to have heard anything she’d said.

  “Oh, and here’s the other thing my mother thinks. She thinks Warren killed Dan. Because he died in a car crash when his brakes went out and the brakes in my Jeep went out the other day.”

  Benny leaned back. “Do you think Warren Evans tried to kill you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I think his nephew did.”

  He considered that. “And you wonder if the Sky People have something to do with Warren Evans and his nephew and your friend?”

  Sure, when he put it like that it seemed far-fetched. “Yes.”

  Benny threw his granola bar wrapper in the trash. He took a half dozen steps to cross the room and open the one door leading off the living room. “First you must sleep. Then we will investigate this mystery.”

  “I’m not tired. Let’s figure it out now.”

  Benny held the door to the bedroom open for her and she knew arguing would do no good. She trudged into the dark room, sparsely furnished with a chipped dresser and sagging double bed. The blanket was tidy and clean. Benny picked up a blanket that had been folded at the foot of a neatly made bed. The faint smells of damp dirt, soap, and coffee lingered in the dark bedroom.

  Nora took it and sat on the edge of the bed to remove her boots. Abbey plopped on the floor next to the bed, apparently agreeing with Benny. A short nap wouldn’t do her any harm.

  Benny stood in the doorway. “You worry that because Nakwaiyamtewa has not been to see you that you are not Hopi. Think of who you are in your heart. How many signs do you need to make you believe?”

  Nora curled up on the bed, certain Benny’s words would swirl in her head and prevent any sleep. But not Benny’s coffee, worry, or thoughts about her identity kept her from falling into a deep sleep.

  29

  Warren couldn’t ever remember feeling this much hope. Not even when his first IPO exceeded everyone’s expectations. This time, God had given him his heart’s desire.

  The soft purr of the Caddy carried him down the highway to his long-awaited dream. He’d given up on this so many years ago. Like Job, he hadn’t cursed God, but the pain of loss burned in his bones throughout his life. Again, like Job, God rewarded him at the end.

  The early evening light on Castle Rock glowed with promise. He rolled down the window just to let the soft air blow across his face, its touch feeling like a kiss from heaven. He hadn’t felt this strong in months. The desert floor bloomed with orange, purple, yellow, and green. Air perfumed with sweet clover and fresh cut hay from lush
bottom land filled his lungs. He’d lived long enough to see the summer in its fullness, to smell the new life, and to know that his legacy would survive.

  It had taken one phone call and less than an hour before his sources confirmed what he’d hoped. Nora Abbott, the only daughter of Abigail Podanski, was born thirty-two years ago. As soon as he was certain, he’d rushed to Castle Valley.

  The driveway leading to Rachel’s house needed new gravel, but his Caddy navigated it handily. He hummed in anticipation as he eased to a stop. The bright warble of a meadowlark greeted him as he opened the door and planted his foot on the sand. He marched toward the rustic cabin, alive with the sensation of a circle closing, the perfection of God’s plan flowering as surely as the wild sweet pea blooming by the porch.

  The screen door squeaked opened and Rachel stepped out on the porch, her arms folded across her breast. The warm breeze lifted her thin hair and sent single strands dancing around the eyes she squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I haven’t come to see you.” A few days ago he could barely stagger across his Manhattan office. Now he knew he’d charge through Rachel if she didn’t get out of his way.

  She crossed the porch to stand guard at the top of the stairs. “You’re not welcome here.”

  He didn’t need to lean on the rail as he climbed. “You were always one of my favorites, Rachel. You were smart and courageous. You had a spark your sisters lacked. I’m truly sickened by what you’ve become.”

  “My own person, you mean? Not ruled by the church or men?” He reached the top stair without slowing. He could tell she didn’t know what to do. At the last minute, she stepped back instead of shoving him from the stairs.

  “God intended for men and women to be together. What you’re doing is unnatural.”

  Her thin lips turned into a hard sneer. “You’re the expert on natural? How natural is it for one man to have two wives, or three, or even more?”

  “There is an order to the world. Tell me you can’t feel God’s disapproval.”