Vig? She had no idea what he was talking about.
“I’m calling the Sheriff.”
“No cops! Please. Make it worse.”
“Two thugs just beat the crap out of you and you don’t want to call the cops? What’s going on here?” This had to be related to Will’s gambling debts. Had those guys been from the Crow casino? No, their heads were shaved and the tattoos looked like stuff she saw on cop shows involving gangs.
He waved his right hand. “Help. Up.”
“I can’t lift you; you’re going to have to pull yourself up on the desk. If you can get into the chair, I can roll you into the kitchen, get some ice on your wounds.”
He nodded and, with great effort and grunting, slowly rolled over. Using only his right hand to pull himself to his knees, he fell into the chair and wheezed.
Avoiding piles of books, papers, and jutting floorboards, Tallulah leaned on the chairback to give her ankle a rest and rolled him into the kitchen. Her pug trotted behind her, dragging the leash. She tore open the freezer, pulled out bags of frozen food, and began applying them to every wound she could see. He cradled his left hand with his right one and moaned.
“Show me your hand,” she ordered.
A long straight gash across the back of his hand bled, and all five fingers went in odd angles.
“What did they do to you?”
“Smashed. In. Drawerrrr.”
Her stomach roiled, and she was grateful it was empty.
“More ice and you need to go to the hospital. Your hand and fingers look broken.”
“No. No hospital. No questions.”
“Are you out of your mind? You could get an infection? Your fingers could be in the wrong place the rest of your life!” She poured crushed ice into a plastic bag and put a towel on his lap. “Put your hand on this.” She tried to curl his fingers back into place.
He screamed, and she stopped.
“This is nuts, Will.” Fists on her hips, she stood in front of the injured man and shook her head. “What are you going to do? Sit here in pain for the rest of the week?”
“Pills. Desk.”
“Oh great, you want me to touch that mess? I’ll look, but don’t be surprised if I can’t find them.”
The office looked as if it had vomited paper, books, and wood everywhere. Grumbling as she threw papers to the floor to get to the surface of the antique desk and the small drawers, she jumped and gasped when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“Tallulah,” Lucius said, “I have to show you something.”
“Stop sneaking up on me,” she hissed. “I thought you were one of the thugs.” She turned to face him. “Did you see what happened to Will?”
He shook his head.
“Pop into the kitchen, why don’t you? He’s a trainwreck.” She continued to search for the pills. Just as she spotted a brown plastic container, Lucius popped back into the room. She shoved the bottle into her back pocket.
“Someone sure settled his hash.” He shook his head. “Guess he owed money to a big toad.”
“He said he couldn’t pay the vig, whatever that is.”
“Look,” Lucius pointed at the side of the desk. “See that diamond pattern?”
Still angry at him for his holier-than-thou behavior the night before, she could barely look at him, much less admire the craftsmanship of the wooden inlays. “What about it?”
“Press on the top and bottom point of the third diamond down from the top.”
“Why?”
“C’mon, just do this, please?”
Pushing on the spots he indicated, she felt the wood give way. She pulled at the edges and the diamond came completely out of the side of the desk, exposing a space.
“Reach in and poke around with your finger.”
“So a spider can bite me?”
“No.”
She slid her finger into the void and felt a piece of paper. Sliding it up with care, she unfolded the document and began to read out loud.
“The Cattleman’s Bank and its representatives, having been paid in full for the mortgage and interest due, hereby release Lucius Stewart from all debt in relationship to the loan of the Hotel LaBelle and grants this deed of ownership of said property to Lucius Stewart, his heirs and assigns from this day forward…” She stopped reading. “It’s the deed to the hotel.”
“Keep it with you, please?” His face was so sad, even his moustache drooped. “I’m afraid that fool is going to chop the desk up looking for gold he won’t ever find.”
“Not saying I’ll keep it forever.” Lacking a suitable bag or pocket, Tallulah slid the deed under her blouse. “I’ll hang on to it until I figure out what to do with it. What with you being dead and all—”
“It’s complicated.” Lucius put his hands up in surrender. “I get the picture.”
“Hey!” Will shouted from the kitchen. “My pills?”
“My master calls.” Tallulah pulled the container out of her pocket and turned it over. “These aren’t even his. They’re for some guy named Thomas Wilson, from a pharmacy in Las Vegas.”
“Must have stolen them.”
“Wait.” She closed her eyes and visualized the SUV. “The thugs had a Nevada license plate.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “Emma told me he showed up here with three hundred thousand in cash, claims he sold a property.” She spun on her heel and teetered. “Damn ankle.” Tallulah hobbled and cursed her way back to the kitchen. She flicked Will’s broken hand with her index finger.
He yowled. “What the hell are you doing?”
“This medicine was prescribed for a Thomas Wilson. That’s not your name. Or is it?”
Will struggled to an upright position and bags of frozen vegetables slid off his face. His bloodshot eyes glared at her with rage. “Hand ’em over.”
“Swelling’s better, I see.” She stepped out of range of his grasp. “So your name is really Thomas Wilson? And you’re from Vegas?”
He looked away. “Yeah.”
“Where’d you get the money for this place? A loan shark?”
Will, aka Wilson, shook his head. “Sold a motel to a mobster. Was gonna build a casino.”
“And the mobster is so happy with his purchase, he sends his guys out a year later to rearrange your face?” She threw the pill bottle at him. “You’re a lying sack of manure. I’m out of here.”
She pivoted and smacked into Lucius. He must have been standing behind her the whole time. Tallulah shook her head and walked around him into the lobby. “Franny? Where are you? We’re leaving.”
The pug sat up, yawned, and got to her feet in slow motion. When she spotted Lucius, she danced in circles and yapped at his feet. He leaned over, rubbed her little ears, and said, “Hope to see you again sometime soon, funny-looking little dog.”
Tallulah picked up the leash, stared him in the eye, and said, “Trust me, you’ll never see this dog or this brazen hussy again.”
The stricken look on his face told her the arrow hit its mark. But instead of feeling a thrill of victory, her heart thumped out a mournful rhythm of defeat.
“Tallulah—”
Blurry eyed, she fled the Hotel LaBelle and its two disturbing owners.
Chapter Seven
With eight hours to kill before dinner, Tallulah decided to take a pet-friendly day-long tour promoted on a travel website. Distracted by the tour guide’s amusing banter, she was able to set aside her unsettling thoughts about Will Wellington, Hotel LaBelle—and Lucius. As Tallulah headed to Emma’s for dinner, she cranked her music up as loud as she and Franny could bear it to drown out the thoughts racing through her mind like a hamster on speed. Show tunes mixed with rhythm and blues provided a sound track to her sixty-mile drive back in the direction of the battlefield. One of her favorite songs came on, and she belted out the lyrics.
Franny yapped and howled along with her. Hardly harmonious but amusing and distracting. She passed trailers hauling horses and pickup trucks filled wit
h dogs, boxes, long wooden poles, and colorful canvases. Dark-haired children with large brown eyes pointed, smiled, and waved at the pug in the passenger window. Franny was a hit everywhere she traveled—even with ghosts. Dammit. She had to stop thinking about Lucius. It was over and done. Or would be if there’d ever been anything to be over in the first place. Romancing a living man was hard enough, what made her think it would be any different with a dead one?
The woman’s voice in the GPS directed her to follow the road for half a mile and turn right. As she crested the hill, the sight of hundreds of teepees sprawling over the dry brown plains took her breath away. Trying to drive and sightsee at the same time, Tallulah watched as still more canvas-wrapped poles rose from the ground, as if divine fingers lifted them from the earth. RVs, horse trailers, and pickup trucks encircled the camping area, like settlers’ wagons of old. Children and dogs ran between the teepees, laughing and shrieking. Women of all sizes and ages stood in knots—laughing and talking with wide gesturing hands, signing to each other and their children. Between watching the people, listening to the GPS, and looking at the multicolored flags flapping in the breeze, she caught a few signs—“pow-wow,” “rodeo,” and “Indian relay races.”
Holy buffalo! How had she forgotten the posters and flyers in Billings advertising the Crow Fair and Rodeo? Emma said she had family coming in from out of town, but neglected to mention it was the largest gathering of the Abssaalooke Tribe in the country. Tallulah hoped Emma didn’t expect her to meet every single member. Maybe just Emma’s clansmen?
Careful to avoid pedestrians and dogs, she found a parking spot on a narrow side street near the address Emma gave her—she hoped. To be safe, she called her new friend.
“Hey, I’m here, just parking around the corner.” Tallulah climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger door. Franny required an assist down to the street. Princess pug took care of business in record time, then trotted ahead of Tallulah as if she knew the way.
“You’re just in time. I’ve got a big pot of bison chili, and the wheel bread is on the stove. For dessert we have Indian berry pudding, baalappia.”
Tallulah’s stomach growled. “I never got breakfast because—well, I’ll tell you in a minute.” She rounded the corner and spotted Emma standing at her door, waving. She waved back, clicked off, and then put her phone in her pocket. The sound of drums filled the air, resonated in her chest, and followed her down the street. Practice for the big show, she guessed.
Franny jumped on Emma and wiggled her tail. “Happy to see you too, little one.” She stood up from petting the pug. “I hope she likes other dogs. We have a bunch.” Their hostess waved them indoors, and three large, mixed breed dogs greeted them with wagging tails. The little one leaped and attempted to run in circles, only to tangle the leash in the forest of dog legs and paws.
“Okay if I let her loose? She’s dying to play.”
“No problem.” Emma laughed. “Looks like she’ll be bossing the big dogs around. I have a fenced in backyard. I’ll put all the ‘kids’ out there to play while we eat.”
A man with bronze skin, high cheekbones, and jet-black hair rolled over to her in a wheelchair and extended his hand. A large black-and-white feather stuck out of the pocket of his blue chambray shirt.
“Itchik diiawakaam.”
“I’m sorry,” Tallulah said as she shook his hand. “I don’t speak Crow. I barely understand Choctaw.”
“He said, ‘Good to see you.’ ” Emma’s face glowed with pride. “This is my hero brother, Bert Blackfeather. He’s in town for the pow-wow. He lives in Washington, DC and works for Homeland Security. He fought in the Gulf War, got injured, won a Purple Heart and a Silver Star.”
Bert flapped a hand at his sister. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a regular Joseph Medicine Crow.”
Emma poked him in the shoulder.
“Nice to see you too, Bert. You must have an interesting job,” Tallulah said.
He quirked a black eyebrow at her. “You like desk work?”
She laughed. “Only if it’s a registration desk in a hotel.”
Emma pointed at a kitchen chair. “You sit and talk. I’ll get the food on the table.”
“So—” Bert wheeled his chair into place and sipped a glass of water. “—I hear you see spirits.”
That was fast, Tallulah thought. “Right to the point, aren’t you?”
“He’s not big on small talk,” Emma called from the stove. “Either you love it or hate it.”
Tallulah nodded. “Yes, I do. Not always fun, as your sister will tell you. My ‘gift,’ if you will, is unpredictable, like an uncontrolled seizure disorder.”
Earthenware bowls of steaming chili and an iron skillet landed on a tile of the rainbow-colored tablecloth. The scent of fresh bread made Tallulah’s mouth water.
Emma sat down and bowed her head. “We thank the great Creator for the bounty of His earth and for our family and friends, particularly at this time of year.”
“Amen and let’s eat.” Bert pounced on the bread, cursing when he burned his fingers.
His sister laughed. “Serves you right.”
“Just wait till you find your name on a Homeland watch list as the ‘Hot Wheel Bread Terrorist.’ ”
She threw a piece at his head, and he snatched it out of the air with ease.
Movement by the kitchen caught Tallulah’s eye. “Emma, shouldn’t we have another place at the table?”
Emma’s brow creased into a frown. “It’s just us for lunch.”
Tallulah pointed. “There’s an elderly woman standing right there, by the stove. She’s smiling and nodding at us.”
Her hosts turned around, stared at the kitchen, then at each other.
Her mouth went dry, and her heart trip-hammered. “Don’t you see her?” Silence answered her question. “Oh, crap. Not another one.”
“Take a deep breath,” Bert said softly. “It’s okay. Describe her to us.”
“She’s awfully old and beautiful. Long black hair woven in two braids. So many creases on her face, it makes me wonder what she’s seen with those sad brown eyes.” Tears welled up in Tallulah’s eyes. “Her dress—I think it’s buckskin—the design in elk teeth. Two black-and-white feathers are sticking out of her hair.”
Emma grabbed her hand and squeezed. “You’re doing great.”
“She’s showing me her arms. Marks all over them.” Deep gashes made those scars. “She’s holding her arms, making a swinging motion like she’s rocking a baby.”
“Keep going.”
“Hand talking. Signing. Something about a mistake? Wrong. Right a wrong?”
Bert probed, “Anything else?”
“She’s pointing at a cabinet—the one next to the sofa—and telling me to look. She’s picking at the air—picking something up?” Tallulah glanced at her hosts. “Does this mean anything to you?”
Bert nodded. “For someone who said this was like a seizure, you are completely in control.”
“Not really. If you guys weren’t here, keeping me grounded, talking me through this, I’d be a puddle of poo.”
The elderly woman folded her hands, placed them on the side of her face, and tilted her head.
“She’s signing sleep—going to sleep? Not sure if she’s going to sleep or she’s been asleep? Can’t really tell.”
The vision shimmered, and the woman’s moccasin covered feet began to disappear.
“I think she’s leaving.” Tallulah yearned to run over to the woman and touch her, but her trembling legs gave her no hope of that happening.
Emma cleared her throat. “Thank her and tell her we will do as she asks.”
Tallulah said thank you and nodded. Bit by bit, the elder faded and disappeared.
Heart still drumming an erratic beat, she took a deep shaky breath. “Who was that?”
Emma and Bert exchanged a quick glance.
Emma pointed at the bowl. “Eat first, ask questions after.”
A flash
of recognition hit her like an arrow. “Omigod. She’s Beautiful Blackfeather, the Medicine Woman, isn’t she?”
Bert nodded. “Our great-great-great-grandmother.”
****
Lucius watched that swindler, Will, Wilson, whatever his name was, roll across the kitchen floor and wrench open the freezer with his good hand. He grabbed two bags of vegetables and replaced the melted ice with peas and carrots. Then he opened the refrigerator and popped open a beer. After struggling to get the childproof cap open on the pill bottle, Will put the top between his teeth and bit down. Spitting out the white plastic top, he swallowed an indeterminate number of pills and washed them down with the entire can of beer. One beer followed another, until he passed out snoring.
“Hope you have a clean pair of pants handy, my friend.” He tapped Will’s head. “You are going to have a tough time getting to the outhouse when that beer hits.”
Disgusted, Lucius popped onto the porch, his favorite thinking place. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Sunset was a bit grayer than the previous evening and thick, dark clouds covered the normally big blue sky.
“Storm rolling in,” he called to the mule deer in the river. “You might want to take cover.”
One cocked a long ear at him and shook his head, as if to say, “Crazy White Man.”
Yes, he was crazy. Crazy for making Tallulah run away. He pushed at a rocking chair, hard, and it barely moved. The night before, he’d been able to yank an area rug out from under a drunk. Today, his fingers, wispy and translucent, could scarcely do a thing. Here he was, a man sentenced to an eternity in limbo. When he met a woman who made him feel whole again, what did he do? Cut and run. What kind of fool does that? A frightened one. A man who’d rather be a shadow of himself than take a risk on an unknown future.
Lightning streaked across the sky, and a thunder clap followed shortly afterward—still a distance away. He sat down on the rocker and watched the clouds roiling above, mirroring his dark, churning feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. He wished Beautiful Blackfeather had killed him. She could have cut his head off and mounted it on a piece of wood, like the animal trophies in the wine cellar. Eyes staring forward forever, he wouldn’t have to see or feel a thing. Instead, in this in-between state, he felt everything, including regrets.
The Haunting of Hotel LaBelle Page 7