A Time of Change

by Aimée Thurlo

  “There were scratch marks on the door,” Katie admitted, “but those could have been caused by a misdirected key in the dark.” As her cell phone rang, she stepped away from them and walked outside.

  Ben went into his father’s bedroom, then walked directly to the nightstand. That was where his father always placed his watch when he came home in the evenings. It was the same handcrafted silver and turquoise watch Ben and his mom had given him one Christmas, and he always kept it close. Ben opened the drawer and looked inside, but it wasn’t there either.

  Ben checked by the sink in the bathroom next, then walked to the kitchen and found Mike looking through his dad’s old mail. “My father’s silver watch, was it on him when he died?”

  “Not that I know of. You want me to ask the detective? If it was, you probably won’t be able to get it back for a while.”

  “That’s fine. I just want to know where it is,” Ben said. “It has special meaning to me.”

  “All right. Give me a moment.”

  While Mike went outside to talk to the detective, Ben looked around. This kitchen had seen some happy times, though most of those memories were part of his distant past. He’d just reached his teens when his mom died, and after that, everything changed.

  “I asked,” Mike said, coming back in. “No silver watch. He was wearing one of those multifunction Casios with a plastic band.”

  “The cleaners, could they have taken it?” Ben asked.

  “No way. I sent my assistant to keep an eye on things. I was protecting my client’s assets,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “Dad never left it in the trading post, and he certainly never would have sold that keepsake. So where did it go?” Ben asked, mostly thinking out loud.

  “After the detective leaves, go take a look in his office desk anyway,” Mike suggested. “Check the safe as well. Maybe it was broken and he hadn’t had time to take it to a jeweler.”

  Just as he finished speaking, Detective Wells came back in. She sat on one of the kitchen chairs across from Mike and glanced up at Ben, who was standing at ease in the doorway at the opposite end of the room.

  “Let’s say that you’re right and your father was murdered. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him and why?”

  “I’ve been out of touch too long to answer that accurately, but I’m not going to be sitting on my ass. I’m going to find out everything I can about my father, who his friends and his enemies are. I suggest you do likewise.”

  “I will, because that’s my job. What you need to do is step back and let us handle the investigation, Sergeant. We know what we’re doing.”

  “Then you better get with the program. I have a limited amount of time here, and I intend to find the answers before I rejoin my unit.”

  Katie Wells met his challenging gaze with one of her own and stood. “Don’t get in my way, Sergeant. If I find out you’ve compromised or mishandled evidence, I’m going to come down on you like a ton of bricks. Back off and let me do my job.”

  “So do it, Detective—I’m not stopping you. How about tracking down that mysterious white van, the delivery vehicle that apparently didn’t make a delivery? Where are you on that?”

  “Every courier and company that does business with The Outpost has been contacted. Only a few of them operate white vans, and none of them made any deliveries or stops by this location on that day,” she replied. “My guess is that it was a lost tourist or business vehicle, and it’s not connected to your father’s death.”

  “Assuming that’s true, what’s next?” Ben said.

  “I’d like to check the trading post’s security system and take another look around inside the store,” she said.

  “We don’t have cameras here, so the security system is nonexistent except for the good locks, the steel doors and frames, and the outside lighting. If you can tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help,” Ben said.

  Wells shrugged. “I’m trying to find connections—any link between your father’s death and the break-in attempt the other day, which, of course, may also be unrelated. I’ll just take a look around and try to stay out of the way of the staff. Do you or your attorney have a problem with that?”

  “Not at all,” Ben said.

  She looked over at Mike Broome, who shook his head.

  “Let’s go,” Ben said, and followed Detective Wells out the door.

  * * *

  Jo sat in the break room just down the narrow hall from Tom’s office. The trading post was hers now, but she couldn’t quite force herself to use Tom’s desk and chair. The chindi were often attached to personal possessions like those. She’d be giving away Tom’s things to an Anglo charity soon; that is, unless Ben wanted them for some reason. Once that was done, she’d make the larger office her own.

  Jo walked to the window and, lost in thought, stared west at the long sandstone ridge of the Hogback. She’d always dreamed of owning her own business, one that would give her the freedom to offer her services as a medicine woman at a cost even her poorest patient could afford. Yet now that the trading post was hers, she felt no joy, just a deepening sense of responsibility and fear. Someone had killed Tom, and yesterday they’d tried to break in. That suggested they had unfinished business, and as the new owner, she could easily be their next target.

  Hearing footsteps, she turned her head and saw Ben at the door. “Now that the detective is gone, I need to go into Dad’s office and look inside his safe for something. I won’t be long.”

  “Sure, no problem, but—” Before she could finish the sentence, he was gone.

  Jo stepped out into the hall just as Mike and Ben entered Tom’s office. She joined them a few seconds later and watched Ben check his dad’s desk, then go to the safe.

  “I can help—,” Jo said, but seeing Ben hold up one hand, fell silent.

  He punched in a series of numbers onto the combination lock, but when he tried to turn the handle on the door, nothing happened. Frustrated, he looked up. “Something’s wrong. The combination has always been my dad and mom’s wedding anniversary.”

  “That’s not the same safe. It’s the same brand, but a newer model. It’s got a different combination,” Jo said.

  Ben drew back, studied it, then nodded. “Where do you think he kept the combination, Mike? Under the desk pad?”

  Broome shrugged. “I hope not.”

  “No need to search.” Jo made her way around Mike, knelt beside Ben, then turned the dial while he watched.

  “The day, month, and year I enlisted,” he whispered, shaking his head.

  “Exactly,” she answered, reaching for the handle and turning it clockwise. The heavy metal door opened a crack.

  Jo stepped aside, giving Ben access.

  Inside, Ben found several DVDs and flash drives marked ACCOUNTING, photos of the trading post’s high-end merchandise, tax records, and a long, carved wooden box. When he opened the lid, he discovered some of his mother’s jewelry. “I didn’t realize he was so … sentimental.”

  “He loved your mother very much,” Jo said softly. “He told me once, that as the years went by, pieces of her disappeared from his mind. To him, that was a bit like losing her all over again, so he kept the things he associated with her most—her wedding ring, her favorite earrings, her necklace. He said that when he looked at those, he felt closer to her.”

  Ben stared at the box, fingering the items there.

  Jo stepped back, feeling uncomfortable around personal possessions so closely connected to the dead.

  “I can almost see Mom when I look at these, too,” he said, his voice low. Then he cleared his throat and looked directly at her. “I’m searching for my father’s silver and turquoise watch. Any idea where it could be?”

  “No, but he wore it all the time. Maybe you should ask the police,” she said, taken aback by the abrupt change in his tone.

  “It wasn’t with him when he—” He stopped speaking and stared at an indeterminate point across
the room for a second or two before glancing back at her. “I also looked at home, in the place he normally kept it, but it wasn’t there.”

  She forced herself to concentrate. Tom had always worn that watch to work. He’d loved the beautiful silver and turquoise band, so appropriate for a man doing business beside the Navajo Nation. “I don’t know what to tell you. It wasn’t one of those electronic watches, so sometimes he took it in for cleaning. Check around the house, or here in his office for a receipt from a jeweler. I’ll ask the others to keep an eye out for it too. You’re also welcome to search the rest of the place if you want. Maybe he took it off for some reason and it’s still where he left it.”

  “Good idea. I’ll start here. Going through Dad’s things will help me reconnect with him,” he said, glancing around.

  Mike placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to my office, but if you need anything at all, let me know. I can have your rental car brought here for you right away. It’s still in my parking lot.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Your father kept a duplicate set of keys to his pickup here in his desk,” Jo said. “The Chevy belongs to him now, right?” she asked, turning to Mike, who nodded. “And your dad’s insurance covers you as a driver,” Jo added.

  “Thanks,” Ben said, opening the middle drawer and taking out the keys. “Same place as always. See you later, Mike.”

  Leaving Ben alone in his father’s office, Jo accompanied Mike to the front entrance. Only two customers, tourists judging from the way they were dressed, were in the trading post now. They were looking in the jewelry case while Leigh Ann waited to bring out their selections.

  “I’ve never seen the place so empty,” Mike commented in a whisper.

  “These aren’t ordinary times,” she said. “Certain things will have to be handled before traffic here resumes.”

  “You mean like holding a Sing to ease Navajo concerns?”

  “Among other things,” she said with a nod.

  “If you need me, Jo, just call,” he said, handing her one of his cards.

  Broome went to his Mercedes, parked at one of the concrete barriers just beyond the full-length wooden porch. As Jo watched him drive away, Leigh Ann came up behind her.

  “I don’t think Ben trusts us,” Leigh Ann said. “He’s locked himself in his father’s office.”

  “No, it’s not that. He’s mourning his father … and trying to come to terms with the loss of all those what-might-have-beens if things between him and his dad had gone the way he’d hoped.”

  Jo returned to her office and, as always, took care of what had to be done. A proper ceremony like the Evil Way would have taken days and been prohibitively expensive, but maybe a short purification rite could be done. The need was urgent, judging solely by the absence of customers inside the store.

  Yet a Sing would only be the beginning. They’d have to reassure their Anglo customers, too, that it was safe to return. Unfavorable publicity connected to a business, especially the kind involving murder or a threat of danger, tended to repel everyone but the morbidly curious.

  Jo logged on to the store network, then accessed the trading post’s business account. The numbers told her that even a short purification rite would strain The Outpost’s limited budget.

  She paced around the office for several seconds, trying to figure out what to do. Her options were limited. The only thing she could do was speak to her hataalii teacher and see if he’d allow her to pay him in installments.

  She was on the phone, making arrangements, when Ben knocked on the open door. She waved him in and he took a chair.

  “Did I hear you mention a ceremony?” he asked after she placed the phone down. “Are you going to have a Navajo Sing here?”

  “We’ve got to,” she said. “You’ve noticed the lack of customers, I’m sure. It’s only been a few days since your father passed on and over half of our regulars are members of the tribe. Most of them will continue to keep their distance until we do what’s necessary. For the Navajo customers, a Sing is absolutely essential. The Anglos will need a different kind of reassurance.”

  “Like what?”

  She considered it, then smiled. “Good publicity, like a Grand Reopening. I’ll call the radio stations, television studios, the local press, and invite them. We’ll have the Sing first, then officially reopen The Outpost for business. We’ll have a ribbon cutting and everything.”

  His eyes captured hers, and for one brief moment, she remembered the boy who’d awakened her body to the pleasures of his touch. Echoes of their stormy teen love, of feelings too powerful to fight, whispered from the back of her mind. Then, as he spoke, the illusion vanished in a flash.

  “Sound business decision,” he said, his voice cold and hard. “Know your customers, come up with a plan, conduct the operation, then follow through. Very professional.”

  She blinked. “There’s a lot more involved in this than just Retail Sales 101. Ceremonies are the way the Diné, my people, establish order and replace chaos with harmony. They’re part of who I am,” she said, hoping to make him understand. “I also know our Anglo customers and understand what their fears can do to both The Outpost and all who rely on it to make a living.” She stopped and took a calming breath. “I have to protect this trading post just as your father would have done.” She paused, then added in a quiet voice, “You may not believe this, but I love this place almost as much as he did.”

  “I’m sure you worked hard to convince him of that,” he said, anger boiling to the surface. “He and I were ready to bury our past and start over, a clean slate. We both wanted that father–son relationship we’d lost somewhere along the way. Things had never been better between us. Yet now I find out that he’s left the one place he considered his legacy to you. What’s wrong with that picture?”

  “It’s not that simple, Ben. That trust was signed over two years ago. Had things worked out between you two, he probably would have changed the terms. As it was, he wasn’t sure what would happen once you two got together—no more than you were.”

  “So what will you do with the place? Are you going to run things the way he did?”

  “I have some plans of my own, but I’ll do my best to make sure everyone who’s working here now can hold on to their jobs.”

  “For how long? Are you going to wait until the economy turns around, then find a buyer?”

  “That sounds more like what you’d do if the choice was yours,” she snapped, then regretted it. Anger served little or no purpose. She wouldn’t give in to it. “My plans are for the long term, and they entail helping this trading post continue to grow.”

  “Count on me looking over your shoulder. I’d like to see how you’re going to pull that off.”

  There’d been no touch of humanity in his voice, and that coldness chilled her spirit and filled her with sadness. She’d hoped they could be friends. “You’ve already passed judgment on me, Ben. Nothing I say is going to convince you differently, so stop wasting my time. I’ve got work to do.”

  Jo picked up the phone and started making calls to the people she needed to contact. Turning away from Ben, she ignored him completely. After a moment she heard him leave.

  Alone again, she finished her conversation and breathed a sigh of relief. She was beyond tired. What she felt was that bone-deep weariness that came from being under constant pressure. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Leigh Ann was there.

  “Ben’s getting hard to handle, isn’t he?” she said.

  “He doesn’t get it. The trading post was entrusted to me for a reason. It was a gift, but it also came with important, unstated strings attached.”

  “After all those years estranged from his father, you’d think Ben would understand why Tom didn’t just leave everything to him. Do you think greed’s popping up its ugly head?”

  “No, it’s that he resents my relationship with his dad. He always did.”

  “He’s
a complete bonehead,” Leigh Ann said, then with a slow mischievous grin, added, “but he’s also droolworthy man-candy. Enjoy that part and ignore the rest.”

  “Be careful around Ben—he’s got some very hard edges,” Jo said.

  “Yeah, the kind that beg to be gentled by a creative woman’s touch,” she said, giving her a wink.

  Jo laughed for the first time in days, and was surprised by how good it felt.

  A few minutes later, with no customers in the main room of the trading post, Jo assembled everyone together for an impromptu meeting. “The trading post’s in trouble, so we’ve got to come together and turn things around.” She told them about the reopening. “A lot of work will need to be done in a very short time, but we can do it. I’ve made a list and we’ll split the work up among us. We’ll be having the ceremony here first thing tomorrow. A hataalii, a Navajo Singer, who in this case happens to be my teacher, was able to make himself available to us on very short notice. He understands the urgency, so he’s agreed to come and do a blessing for us. I’ve also invited our newspaper, and our local cable TV and radio stations to attend our official grand reopening. They’re used to moving fast, so they’ll give us coverage.”

  “A Sing will help us with the Diné,” Regina said, “but the Anglos … I’ve heard the talk. They’re saying that too much has happened and it’s dangerous to shop here now. I’m not sure a reopening is going to change their minds.”

  “It’s true. At first we’ll attract the curious who saw this place on the local news and want to know more,” Esther said, “but what will eventually save us is that people’s memories are short. Shopping at a country store is more convenient for the locals, so, before you know it, things will return to normal.”

  Jo saw all of them looking at her expectantly and knew they were counting on her to lead them, and The Outpost, out of trouble. No matter what it took, she wouldn’t let them—or herself—down.