by Aimée Thurlo
As she turned the corner, Jo saw an old dark green pickup backed up against the small loading dock. Two men in baseball caps were at the back door, and as she came into view, they turned and looked at her.
Seeing the taller man carrying a crowbar, she realized instantly what they were—burglars. Jo leaned on the horn and took a hard right, spinning around and away from them. She had to call for help. Jo came to a stop about a hundred feet from the men and fumbled for her cell phone. If they came at her, she’d be gone in a second.
Suddenly a white sedan came to a sliding stop next to her, raising a cloud of dust and throwing gravel everywhere. Ben, still in full uniform, jumped out the driver’s side, then yelled across the top of the car at her. “Stay in the truck!”
“Wait for the police!” she called back, but it was too late. Ben was on the move and looking for a fight.
The third man, the driver, was still inside the green truck. Movement caught her eye, and Jo saw him extend his arm and point a pistol at Ben.
“Gun!” Jo yelled out.
Ben must have seen it first. He turned away and dived across the hood of his car, hitting the ground, rolling, and coming up in a crouch.
As he looked up at her, she threw open her truck’s door. “Get in!”
As the burglars piled into their own vehicle, Ben ran over. “Slide over, I’m driving.”
She moved without thinking, and as she took her foot off the brake and clutch, the old pickup lurched, then the engine died.
Ben slid behind the wheel, restarted the engine, and pushed the stick shift into reverse. “Fasten your seat belt. We’re going after them.”
They chased the fleeing pickup around the side of the trading post, sliding as they cut the corner and barely clearing the concrete barrier. Despite that, the green truck had gained ground and was almost at the highway, too far away for them to read the license plate.
“Call the sheriff,” Ben said, not taking his eyes off the road.
Jo nodded, fumbling for the phone again. Ben’s dress uniform, covered with campaign ribbons and medals, was dusty now, but he was all self-confidence. All she felt was sheer, unadulterated panic, but Ben was totally focused on catching the men ahead of them. Fear wasn’t part of his equation.
The pickup turned out onto the highway, running the stop sign. She heard tires squealing; then a car ahead swerved sharply, fishtailing as the tires left a cloud of blue smoke.
“Damn fool,” Ben muttered, slowing as they reached the main road.
Jo glanced left, hoping Ben wasn’t going to take a chance like that. They were lucky. There was a gap in traffic and they were able to turn right onto the highway with a move that strained her seat belt as she was suddenly thrown to the left.
Ben floored her pickup as they raced past the car that had just escaped a collision. The elderly woman looked terrified, her hands clutching the steering wheel like they’d been welded in position. She didn’t even look over as Ben raced past her at high speed.
They’d gained ground on the green pickup, which was now blocked behind two slower vehicles driving side by side. “Now we can catch up,” Ben said. “You make that call?” he added, glancing over for a second.
“No, I was just trying to hang on,” Jo said, looking down now to dial 911.
As they closed the gap, Jo saw the license plate clearly and she read it to the dispatcher.
Trying to escape, the driver of the green pickup leaned on his horn, but the yellow pickup on the outside lane was keeping pace with the sports car on the inside. Teenagers in both vehicles were carrying on a back-and-forth conversation, and the pickup driver flipped him off without a backward glance.
The burglar on the passenger’s side reached out, gun in hand, and fired a shot into the side of the yellow pickup’s bed. That got the teen driver’s attention. Panicked, he pulled to the right too quickly and nearly lost control.
The gunman then turned and aimed the gun right at Jo.
She ducked below the dashboard, clutching her medicine pouch and uttering her secret name, a source of power in emergencies.
“Hang on!” Ben yelled, swerving back and forth as he tapped the brake.
Jo grabbed the door handle to steady herself as her old pickup rocked and swayed. Hearing a rumble to her right, she looked up. The yellow pickup had gone off the road into the shallow drainage area and was bouncing along, barely maintaining control.
The red sports car carrying the three teenaged girls had veered left almost to the median, clearing a gap in the center of the highway.
The green pickup shot through, accelerating away at high speed. Ben followed through the gap but was unable to gain any ground. Her old pickup was outclassed.
She looked over at Ben, her heart thumping against her chest. “Ben, even if we catch up, we don’t have a gun—they do. This isn’t a tank. We can’t fight them.”
He cursed softly. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve put you at risk and I’m sorry. We’ll let the cops handle this.” Slamming his hand against the steering wheel in frustration, he veered away.
Jo heard a woman’s voice, looked down at her cell phone, and remembered the 911 operator was still on the line. As she continued to explain the situation, Ben slowed, then eased off into the shoulder.
Jo asked to speak to Detective Wells. As she waited, hoping they could transfer the call, she glanced over at Ben. He wasn’t even breathing hard, but she was shaking like a leaf.
“Please let her know what’s happened as soon as possible,” Jo said when the operator came back on the line to tell her Detective Wells wasn’t available. “This must be connected to Tom Stuart’s murder.”
By the time Jo put the phone away, Ben was turning onto the driveway leading to The Outpost. “You pulled in just ahead of me over here, so I guess I didn’t miss much,” he said. “Do you have any idea who those guys were? I know you told the police you thought this was connected to Dad’s death. I got a pretty good look at the guy who did the shooting, but I didn’t recognize him. Of course, I’ve been out of town.”
“I have no idea who they were, but I’m sure there’s a connection to what happened to your dad. First there was that white van nobody could track down, and now this.”
“Back up, there. What white van?”
Jo quickly told him what she’d seen just before arriving at his father’s house that morning. “No one’s been able to figure out what it was doing here so early.”
He listened closely, nodding, then finally spoke. “So you think there’s more to my father’s death than I’ve been told.”
“Yes, look at the facts: Three guys commit a burglary in the middle of the day. We’re used to shoplifters, but not armed gangs. These guys looked older, too, like professional criminals, and they never panicked,” Jo said. “Somehow I don’t think they were here just to steal jewelry and cameras.”
“You could be right, and that detective needs to locate the van you saw, if only to rule it out. But only one thing seems obvious about today’s attempted break in. The guys we chased were professional thieves, probably hoping to cash in on Dad’s death. I’ve heard that the pros often scan the obituaries, looking for information that indicates people will be at memorial or funeral services and not at the home or business they plan to burglarize,” Ben said.
“Well, whatever the case, I’m glad you showed up at just the right time, Ben. Who knows what they would have done if they’d found me here alone? But I wish you hadn’t been so ready to take them on. You scared me half to death,” she said with a hesitant smile.
“I’m sorry about that, but I would have protected you,” he said. “And just so you know, if you hadn’t been with me, I wouldn’t have backed down.”
“There’s a difference between backing down and knowing when to pull back.”
“You sound like my lieutenant,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “I would never have let them hurt you, Jo. Know that.”
She nodded. Giving up the chase hadn’t com
e easily to him. Though he was an adult, the Ben she’d known was still there—never afraid of anyone and willing to stand up for his friends. That was what had drawn her to him back in high school, and even now she could feel the familiar tug on her senses. The one big difference was that as a teen, he’d been trying to prove his own worth, but now as a soldier, his strength and courage had matured and were a measure of the man he’d become.
“What made you drop by when you did?” she asked, wondering if he’d heard about the staff’s planned meeting.
“I just wanted to drive over and take a look around, to see how things had changed. It wasn’t planned, I thought I’d have the place to myself. Were you going to reopen today?”
“No, that would be disrespectful. The staff was just coming over to talk about our jobs, our future here,” Jo said. “Why don’t you join us? After all, we’re going to be in your hands.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be getting the details about the estate tomorrow, but until I talk to Mike Broome, Dad’s lawyer, I’d hate to unintentionally make any promises I might not be able to keep,” Ben said.
“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do with The Outpost?” she asked.
Ben started to speak, then glanced in the rearview mirror. “Better hold on to those questions for a while. Here comes the law.”
* * *
Since Detective Wells hadn’t been available, the department sent over a young deputy. He listened to their description of the men and their vehicle and took down the license plate. He then walked around with them and took a few photographs of the back door. All the burglars had managed to do was scrape the paint and bend the metal just a little. No break-in had actually occurred, and no repairs were necessary.
Thinking ahead, Jo suggested that the deputy check Tom’s house and shed. Ben agreed, and the three walked over together. Neither building showed any signs of a break-in attempt—the doors were locked; the crime scene tape was still intact. The deputy saw no reason for them to check inside, so they returned to the parking lot.
The Outpost employees arrived while they were still talking to the deputy and signing their statements. As soon as she was finished, Jo went over to join them. She wrote down the keypad code and gave Leigh Ann the key so the others could go inside.
When she returned to where Ben and the officer were, Ben had just agreed to go to the station to look at mug shots. Saying a quick good-bye to her, Ben followed the deputy down the road.
* * *
A few minutes after Ben drove off, Jo joined the trading post staff. She quickly explained what had happened, sharing Ben’s theory that it was a well-timed robbery.
“If you ask me, that’s pretty low,” Regina said as they sat on high stools around the large display table near the front of the store.
“Which is why they came when they did,” Leigh Ann said, setting out sandwiches. “They steal stuff they can sell fast, then use the cash to buy drugs. There was an article about it in the paper.” She shook her head. “Times sure change. Drug-related crimes were no part of daily life in these parts a few years back—well, except for a few pot busts and a meth lab or two.”
“Today’s incident will be on the television news tonight and all over the local papers. Customers will stay away in droves,” Regina said. “I’m not sure how long The Outpost can weather that kind of slowdown.”
“You’re assuming this place will stay open,” Del said. “We may not have jobs by the end of tomorrow,” he said, voicing what was on all their minds.
“You’re the only one here who actually knows Ben,” Esther said, looking at Jo. “What’s your take on this? Do you think he’ll want to hang on to his dad’s store?”
“I knew him a long time ago when we were teenagers. There’s no way I can second-guess him now,” Jo said. “I did ask him about his plans and even invited him to join us for lunch, but he wanted to wait until he spoke to the lawyer. He’s been out of touch with his dad for years, so we know more about the business than he does.”
“He’s obviously career military, but maybe he’ll want to keep The Outpost as an investment,” Regina said.
“I’m hoping you’re right,” Jo said, “but we all have to face the possibility that this place is part of a past he’s left behind and he’ll want to put it up for sale.”
“So let’s show him that it’s to his advantage to hang on to The Outpost,” Esther said. “When he comes home for good, he’ll have a business that’s established and filled with people who know how to keep it running. All he’d have to do is allow it to stay on track and collect the profits.”
Jo glanced at Tom’s now-empty office. She missed her friend. He’d always been there for her when she needed him, but had also been willing to stand back when she had to work things out on her own. Ben never realized how lucky he’d been to have a dad like Tom.
“I miss him, too,” Regina said, following her line of sight.
“It feels as if someone broke the lead rope that kept us all together,” Del said.
“That’s exactly what happened,” Leigh Ann said.
“We’ll all miss him, but we should honor and celebrate his life, not just mourn his passing,” Esther said. “He’s in heaven now. It’s all part of God’s plan.”
“Traditional Navajo beliefs see someone’s passing in a different light. According to Navajo teachings, death is a friend we don’t always recognize,” Jo said, then saw Leigh Ann and Del looking at her, curiosity alive on their faces. Not wanting to offend, Jo looked at Esther and Regina, both Christians, but seeing them nod, began, her tone soft and entrancing. “At the time of the beginning, the Hero Twins, the sons of Sun and Turquoise Woman, were sent to defeat all the monsters that preyed on mankind. One by one, their enemies fell before them until only four remained—Cold, Hunger, Poverty, and Death. The Twins wanted to kill Cold, but she warned them that if they did, there would be no snow or water in summer. That’s why they had to let her live.
“Hunger then introduced himself. He told the Heroes that if they killed him, no one would ever take pleasure in eating again and that’s why he was allowed to continue.
“Poverty was an old man dressed in dirty rags. He begged them to kill him and put him out of his misery, but he also warned that if he died, old clothes would never wear out, and people wouldn’t make new ones. Everyone would be as dirty and ragged as he was. That’s why he was allowed to live.
“Finally they turned to Death. She was old, and frightening to look at. The Twins wanted to kill her immediately, but Death warned them to reconsider. If she ceased to be, old men wouldn’t die and give up their places to the young. They needed her so young men could marry and have children, and life could continue its endless cycle of renewal. She assured them that she was their friend, though they didn’t realize it.”
Jo paused and looked at the others gathered around her. “Our boss’s time came to an end. Now his son will take his place. It’s all part of life.”
They finished eating in somber silence, and afterwards, Jo helped them clear up. “Ben said he’d let me know as soon as he decides what to do. I’ve been asked to attend the reading of the will tomorrow, so maybe I’ll have at least part of the answer by then.”
“We’ll open up as usual and wait to hear from you. Hope you’ll bring us good news,” Leigh Ann said, then glanced at the others, who nodded.
“All right, then,” Jo said. “And in the meantime, everyone keep an eye out for a green pickup.”
“And the white van?” Del asked.
She nodded. “Stay safe, all of you.” Jo handed Leigh Ann the door keys, and left.
* * *
The next morning, Ben drove his rental car east down Farmington’s Main Street toward Mike Broome’s law office. It was north of Main and within sight of the old clock tower that had chimed the hour since Ben’s childhood.
Five minutes later, Ben stepped into a quiet, pleasant office, noting the faint scent of something flowery, roses maybe. He insta
ntly surveyed the room, an ingrained habit that stemmed from threat-assessment training. From left to right, there was a leather sofa, the nearly mandatory Southwest landscape painting on the gray white wall, and a closed wooden door. To his right, against the window, was a low coffee table with, appropriately, a coffeemaker and several ceramic cups with Broome’s name written on them in gold.
An attractive black woman in her early twenties sat behind a large oak desk. She rose as he entered. “Sergeant Stuart? I’m Liz Walker, Mr. Broome’s legal assistant. Can I get you something? Coffee or a soft drink?” She gestured to a small refrigerator against the wall just to her left.
All he needed right now was to spill coffee or Coke on his only civilian suit jacket. He’d nearly trashed his dress uniform yesterday rolling around in the parking lot, and dry cleaning ate up his pay in a hurry. “No thanks, ma’am. Am I early?”
“Not at all, just on time, as a matter of fact,” Ms. Walker said with an easy smile. “Let me show you into Mr. Broome’s office.”
Ben followed the long ebony legs into the office on his right. As he went in, he saw Jo seated on a chair next to the window. Her beauty was the kind that sneaked up on you, with those big, expressive, almond-colored eyes and silky black hair that fell down nearly to her waist.
Michael Broome, his dad’s attorney, was standing beside her, coffee mug in hand. He’d taken off his suit jacket, revealing a gray vest.
Ms. Walker passed by him, leaving a rose-scented breeze in her wake, then closed the office door behind her.
“Have a seat, Sergeant,” Broome said, gesturing to the chair beside Jo’s.
“Just call me Ben,” he said, taking the seat.
Ben gave Jo a polite nod. “We meet again,” he said, keeping his tone neutral, then turned to the attorney, who’d stepped behind his desk and was now easing into his chair.
“Okay, Mike. We’re here as you requested,” Jo said. “Are we it, or are more people scheduled to be here?”
“It’ll just be the three of us,” Mike replied. “By the way, I heard about yesterday’s incident on the news. You two okay?”