Killing Season

by Faye Kellerman

  “Right.” The kid threw his head back. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “So . . . what do you think about the murder being done by a satanic cult?”

  “If it was a cult, it wasn’t your typical teenage satanic ritual. My sister’s grave was way too neat and organized for a bunch of tweaking adolescents. But that doesn’t change what I told you. I think the murderer liked those dates—earth days as you call them.”

  Shanks nodded. “I’ll post a bulletin and send it out to other police departments. See if anything comes in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Shanks eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have anything else to tell me?”

  “No,” Ben said. Too quickly. “If I come up with anything else that looks good, I’ll let you know.”

  “What do you mean if you come up with anything else?”

  The kid stood up. “I don’t want to waste your time. I tell you things I think are important. Thanks for taking me seriously.”

  “Ben, I always take you seriously.”

  “I aggravate you.”

  “And that’s proof that I take you seriously. It would be much easier if I could blow you off.” Shanks eyed him. “Where are you going next year?”

  “Going?”

  “For college?”

  “Oh. Probably UNM. Maybe St. John’s.”

  “The college where you read the classics?”

  “I do know how to read.”

  “Don’t you have, like, a perfect grade point average? Why aren’t you thinking about other schools like the big ones?”

  “Not interested.”

  “Ben, it’s a big world. Experience it. If you don’t like what you see, you can always come back.”

  He stood up. “I’d better get going.”

  Shanks stood as well. “Eat something.”

  “Going home for dinner right now.”

  When the teen held out his hand, Shanks drew him into a bear hug. The kid resisted, and then melted. “Keep that great brain working in fine order, okay?”

  “Sometimes I wish I could turn it off,” Ben told him.

  “It can be done, kiddo. That’s why God invented streaming.”

  At dinner that night, Ben witnessed a cheerless meal for the thousandth time. He could set his watch to it: twenty minutes for gulping down the food that no one really tasted. Though Mom always offered, no one ever wanted dessert. Afterward everyone retreated to their own private spaces. After he polished off his homework, Ben began his real work in earnest—checking the current police cases, specifically homicide cases, that were available online. He’d enter in facts and figures, trying to make sense out of meaningless deaths. Sometimes he was able to hack into actual files, sorting through postmortem photographs, witnessing gray faces and expressionless eyes. That he missed those earth dates, as Shanks had called them, for so long ate at him like battery acid. It gave him a little insight into the frustrations of a detective.

  At around eleven, Ben closed his laptop. He had no desire to go to a high school football game, but there were other people in his life. He went to Haley’s room and knocked on the door.

  “It’s open.”

  Haley was on the computer. She looked so young and vulnerable, wearing Santa Claus pajamas and with fuzzy slippers on her feet. She had pulled her curls into a ponytail. Ben said, “What are you looking at?”

  “Milquetoast is coming to Sandia in February. Tickets go on sale Friday at midnight.”

  “Do tell.” Silence. Ben said, “If you bag them, would you like a ride?”

  “Yes.” Haley jumped up and kissed his cheek. “Can you take—”

  “Yes, I can take Lilly too.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Nonsense. I am nothing but an Uber, but that’s what big brothers do.” He paused. “Speaking about big brothers, would you like me to take you and Lilly to the kickoff game on Friday?”

  “O! M! G! That would be amazing! I wanted to go but was afraid to ask you because I know how you feel about football.”

  “Not all football, just high school football, specifically my high school.”

  “You’re weird, but wonderful. Lilly was working up the courage to ask her mom if she could go. You know how protective her mom is. But if you go, she’ll be cool with that. Just don’t hang around once we get there.”

  “Okay, now I’m getting a little insulted.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I’m going to call Lilly now. You can leave. Thanks, Vicks.”

  “It’s Ben.”

  “I know your name. No one calls you Ben. Why is that?”

  “I really don’t know. Lots of guys are called by their last name. I guess ‘Vicksburg’ is too long. ‘Benjamin Vicksburg’ is way too long. Every time I fill in my name for a standardized test, I run out of little boxes. Mom must have been on crack. I heard you made friends with the new kid.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “From the new girl, Ro. She’s a friendly person like you are. What’s the kid’s name?”

  “Griffen . . . he’s actually okay.”

  “Cute?” When Haley didn’t answer, Ben said, “His sister’s cute.”

  “No, she’s gorgeous. You two are friends, then?”

  “Haley, I do not have friends. You know that.”

  “I know.” A pause. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  “Sure, but lonely isn’t the same as solitude.” He looked at her cat clock with its swinging tail. “You should go to bed.”

  “I’m old enough to determine my bedtime.”

  “Yes, you are. But you’re still too young to drive. In a few years, that’ll all be gone and I’ll no longer serve any purpose for you. I’ll just be that weird math guy who lives in his head.”

  Ben was in somewhat of a good mood, which, in and of itself, was unsettling. He walked up to Ro, who was at her locker, and tried out a smile. It was a strange sensation. “You talked me into it. I am bringing the girls to the kickoff game.”

  “Great.” Her own smile was forced.

  He said, “Or is that not a good idea?”

  “No, it’s great that you’re coming.”

  She was clearly bothered. He said, “Are you pissed or something?”

  “You’re gonna think it’s silly.” Ben waited. She said, “They just posted the spots on cheerleading for this year. I made it. Varsity.”

  “Wow. I know that’s fiercely competitive. Congratulations.”

  She said, “I didn’t make captain.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “See, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” She stomped off.

  “What’d I . . . ?” He had to jog a few steps to catch up with her. “I said sorry.”

  “You think I’m acting like a spoiled brat.” She stopped walking and clamped her fingers on to his arm. “Don’t deny it. If you deny it, I’ll know you’re a first-class phony like I am and I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “You’re not a phony.”

  “Of course I’m a phony. I am the premier phony. I went up to Shannon and congratulated her like I was all excited and happy and all I could think was, How did this happen? I did, like, way better than she did.” Her eyes welled up with tears.

  Ben was stunned. Even living with Haley, he had absolutely no understanding of girls. “Jeez, Ro.”

  “See! That’s the ‘you’re a spoiled brat’ look. Don’t deny it.”

  Again, she stomped off. Ben followed her. “It’s just that you come in here like gangbusters, snagging the alpha dog. You make the varsity squad, which is unheard of for a newcomer. What I’m really thinking is, how about a little deference for the homegirls, you know?”

  “I can’t help the way I feel. Oh God, that’s Shannon. Don’t say anything.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said.

  But again Ro grabbed his arm with a firm grip. “Hey, Shannon. Congrats.”

  “Thanks. Can I talk to you for a minute
?”

  “You can talk in front of Vicks. It’s just Vicks.”

  “Plain old Vicks,” he said.

  Ro nudged him. “What is it?”

  “I just don’t want you to be upset.”

  “Me?” Ro pointed to herself. “Why would I be upset?”

  “Because you were obviously better than I was and the only reason I made captain is because, like, I live here. I mean, you live here too, but you just came to the school. I got the spot because I . . . you know.”

  “You did great. You deserve it.”

  “No, I don’t. I wasn’t half as good as you. I do have eyes.”

  “Look, we’re a team—”

  “There’s no ‘I’ in team,” Ben said.

  Ro elbowed him again. “C’mon. Stop talking nonsense. You deserve it, Shannon. Honestly.”

  “No, I don’t. But thanks for saying that.” She was still reticent. “So you don’t think JD is mad?”

  “No. Why should he be mad?”

  “Because you’re his girlfriend and all . . .”

  Said wistfully, Ben noted. Shannon used to be JD’s girlfriend. When Ro came, she was relegated to Ron Weekly—a first-class jerk—and the number two spot. But if she harbored any ill will toward Ro, she was masking it well.

  Ro said, “I’m sure JD doesn’t care at all.”

  “Okay. Good.” Shannon smiled. “Practice every day after school. We’ve got four days before Friday’s game.”

  “I’ll be there.” Ro saluted. “I’ve got a few things to work out with Vicks. See ya.”

  “See ya.” Shannon cartwheeled down the hallway then jogged away.

  Ro zeroed in on Ben. “Don’t say anything, okay. Just listen. I know what I am. I’m competitive, but I also want to be popular. Why is that important to me? I have no idea, but it is. I’m a mass of insecurities.”

  Ben started to say something, but instead just laughed. “You’re nothing if not honest.”

  She shrugged. “I like talking to you.”

  “That won’t get you far in the popularity department.”

  “You know, I’ve got everyone’s ear here. You’re not as low down on the food chain as you’d like to play yourself.”

  “I’m not a freak, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Well, kind of a freak. You’re not on Facebook or Instagram or Reddit.”

  “You looked me up?”

  “I wanted to friend you.”

  “Yeah . . . I don’t do social media.”

  “You’re so busy that you don’t have a minute to catch up with friends?”

  He smiled, but said nothing, thinking to himself: What friends?

  She smiled back. “Want to watch me at practice after school?”

  “I can’t. I have to take Haley and Lilly to Santa Clara Pueblo today. It’s Lilly’s grandfather’s birthday and there’s a big communal celebration.”

  “Lilly’s Native American? She looks Chinese.”

  “She is half Chinese, half Santa Clara. Both of her parents are senior scientists and work at Los Alamos. The Tafoyas live in River Remez, but Dr. Tafoya has an ancestral home there. I mean, the homes aren’t ancestral but the land is. You can come if you want . . . to the celebration. It should still be going on way after practice.”

  “Where is the Santa Clara pueblo?”

  “Thirty-eight miles from here. I could come and pick you up. I think I’m taking your little brother too. Haley said something about a new boy wanting to see it when Lilly told him about her family and the pueblo. Griffith?”

  “Griffen. Yes, that’s my brother. I don’t think I’m going to be done with practice until like eight or nine.”

  “Up to you. Give me a call if you change your mind.”

  “I don’t have your phone number.”

  “That can be remedied.” Ben gave her the number. “I might actually rack up minutes on my calling plan if you decide to use it.”

  Ro smiled at him. “Did you ever read Winnie-the-Pooh?”

  “Eeyore, right?”

  “Absolutely. Like you, there’s something adorable about his gloominess. I think underneath that morose façade is—”

  “Someone very depressed?”

  She laughed. Then she smiled and waved good-bye. For a brief moment he really wished he could come to her practice. He would have loved to look up her dress. But once he got up there, he wouldn’t have a clue about what to do.

  Chapter 5

  There was no direct way to get to the Santa Clara pueblo from River Remez. Ben decided that rather than take the roads—most of them rutted pathways of dirt and gravel and mud after the recent rains—he’d take the highway, which meant backtracking into town. That was okay. Lilly and Haley and their new friend, Griffen, wanted to shop for groceries for the party.

  Ben liked the kid. If Ro was superficial, Griffen was plainspoken. He liked hiking and skateboarding and was always moving. He reminded Ben of himself, a glimpse into what he might have been had Ellen not been murdered.

  After the three of them returned with a cart full of groceries, Ben slipped onto the 285/84, where the ride to Santa Clara was a straight shot until Española. Within a minute, the land spread out into miles of wilderness, the blacktop cutting through rock and mesas, formed of ancient earth and ritual. They were heading west into a strong sun with a very strong glare.

  Exits from the highway were miles apart: the Santa Fe Opera, the Tesuque pueblo, Camel Rock—where Griffen noted that the rock formation really did look like a Bactrian animal—until the highway slowed at Buffalo Thunder, a monolith of hotel and casino and water-drinking golf courses. The drive through Española was backed up with traffic. The city was a mixture of ethnicities and sat between two counties: its own county and Santa Fe. Whereas the city of Santa Fe had a stable population of sixty thousand—it could swell to over a hundred thousand during the tourist season—Española was three times as large. It had the regular businesses: fast food, movie theaters, family-style restaurants, a bowling alley, garages, drugstores, tattoo parlors, and the ever-present Dairy Queens.

  At I-30, Ben went west, passing San Ildefonso and on into Santa Clara. Abutting one another, the two pueblos had much in common, from a tradition of pottery making to language. Over the years and through his grandmother, Ben had learned a few words of Tewa. At some point—long, long ago—he had meant to learn more, but other things got in the way.

  Santa Clara was a large pueblo. Lots of its land was dry and dusty, but the acreage also included miles of piñon forest. The place was not Ben’s home but he felt at home there. He parked in an unpaved area and everyone got out of the car, carrying grocery bags into the small adobe house. A mutt the size of a German shepherd came out to greet them, its tail wagging like a windshield wiper.

  “Hey, Baker,” Haley said.

  The dog ran back and forth with each trip to and from the car. Once everyone was inside, Griffen and Haley helped Lilly’s grandmother, Grace, put away the groceries and set up for the meal. Lilly had disappeared into one of the three back bedrooms. Although the Tafoyas were a well-known pottery-making family, Lilly had always directed her artistic bent toward jewelry.

  Grace was in her sixties, elegantly dressed in black slacks and a silk tunic. She had a round face with skin stretched over pronounced cheekbones. Her eyes were black, her hair was coiffed and gray, and she smiled with ivory-colored teeth. “Thanks for bringing the girls . . .” She looked at their male companion. “The kids.”

  The teen stuck out his hand. “Griffen Majors.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Griffen.”

  “I like your house. Lilly said you made all the pots.”

  “Me and members of my family.”

  “Cool.”

  Ben said, “Something smells good and I’m hungry. What time is the shindig?”

  “Seven thirty.”

  “I’m gonna say hello to Henry but I’ll be back.” He heard Lilly call his name from the back bedroom. “I’m comi
ng.” He looked at Grace. “You need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine. Not that Papa Joe will appreciate any of this. And tell Henry he’s welcome as long as he behaves himself.”

  The teen laughed and went to see what Lilly wanted. She was hunched over a table, her fingers already blackened by silver polish. She showed him a bolo tie clip. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous.” He turned it over in his hands. “Finished on both sides. I love your stonework, Lilly. You keep getting better and better.”

  Lilly smiled. “Papa Joe wears bolo ties and loves stones.”

  “It’s perfect. I know Joe’s a grumpy guy, but if he doesn’t love it, there is no hope for him.”

  She smiled. “You’re gonna stick around for the party, right?”

  “Are you planning on thumbing a ride home?” When she blushed, Ben said, “Of course I’m sticking around. I’m just going to say hello to Henry.”

  “Make sure he doesn’t get you drunk.”

  “Heaven forbid. I’m driving.”

  He was leaving when Lilly said, “Ben?”

  “Yeah, hon?”

  “I hate to bother you but I need help with math.”

  “You need help? There’s a first. What is it?”

  She showed him her book and pointed to the troubling problem. “We’re supposed to calculate the area of all of these figures. It’s eighteen that I’m stuck on.”

  Eighteen was a figure that looked like a cloud with a point. He said, “Let me see what you’ve done so far.” She showed him a blank piece of paper with her name, the date, and the class assignment on it. “You haven’t done any work. There’s nothing on the paper.”

  “I’ve done them in my head. Except eighteen. I can’t visualize it. I keep visualizing shapes but there’s always leftover area that I can’t break down into simple polygons.”

  “You’re looking at geometric shapes. Think of other shapes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ice cream cones?”

  She stared at the picture, then she hit her head. “Each cone sharing an edge with the bottom and the common point.”

  “That’ll work.” Ben smiled. “Is that how you always solve problems—in your head?”

  “Yep. Is that weird?”