Vicky was quiet a moment. “They called him Tommy.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. So that’s Tommy Willard. First lieutenant in the army of Captain Jack Monroe.” Barrenger clicked the remote until the man’s face ballooned across the screen, smashed and distorted looking, dark eyes lit with an anger that funneled into the room.
“So far,” the man went on, “our videos show Willard and the others stopping people in the parking lots, as if they only want to talk. But we have them now. No more restraining orders, no more arrests for trespassing and disorderly conduct. They’re going to do jail time for assault.”
“Assault!”
The images began flashing. Tommy pushing her, knocking her sideways. She, scrambling for her balance and darting for the Cherokee. The video stopped, then went through a fast rewind before coming again into focus. The image froze on Tommy throwing his weight against her. She saw the flash of surprise and fear on her face.
“You agree that’s assault, don’t you?” There was a note of satisfaction in the man’s voice. “We’re going to play hardball with these guys.”
“There might be another way.”
“We’ve tried being reasonable, Vicky. We’ve had them arrested for trespassing. They keep coming back. Even if the tribal court gives us a restraining order, I doubt it will stop them.”
“What other way?” Stan Lexson’s voice emerged from the dimness behind her. Vicky glanced around. She could barely pick the man out of the shadows. She wondered how long he’d been there.
“Could we have the light,” she said, getting to her feet.
Light burst over the room. Lexson was coming toward her, arm extended. He took her hand and held it in both of his, his pale eyes narrowed in concern. “Let me say how sorry I am that this happened to you, Vicky. I hope you’re all right.”
“I’m okay.” Vicky slipped her hand free.
“We’ve learned from this unfortunate incident. We’ve increased the number of security vans in the parking lots. Response time will be much faster. Unfortunately, you were already inside your vehicle before the van approached. The BIA police were twenty minutes away, so we decided to let the men leave the casino premises. We have the evidence we need to pursue an assault charge.”
“Tommy Willard made a disturbing allegation,” Vicky said.
“Oh? And what was that?”
“He said that anyone who wanted a good job at the casino had to see Matt Kingdom. Is that true?”
Lexson drew in a breath between clenched teeth. “As I’ve explained to you, Vicky, we’re trying to operate a successful business. We hire the best people we can find. What Willard and the rest of Monroe’s gang think is of no concern to us. I believe that after the BIA police study this video, they’ll agree assault charges are in order.”
Vicky looked back at the screen and the images of herself and Tommy Willard reduced to black-and-white tracings under the fluorescent ceiling lights. If what Tommy Willard said was true, then the commission chairman was working hand-in-glove with the casino he was supposed to oversee. A serious allegation, but where was the proof? The fact that Kingdom’s son had been hired as supervisor of maintenance? Suppose he was the best-qualified applicant, as Lexson said? In any case, if Monroe had any proof, he would have gone to the tribal council, the newspaper, the FBI. He would shout it from the rooftops.
Instead, he sent out the rangers to harangue the casino employees and patrons about the evils of gambling. Why? What did he hope to gain? Did he really expect to close down the casino? Or was Captain Monroe playing a waiting game, keeping up the campaign, keeping the casino in the newspapers until . . .
Until he found the proof that the commission chairman was really working for Lodestar Enterprises?
Vicky turned back to the manager. “If there’s any truth to Willard’s allegation, Lodestar Enterprises could face disciplinary action from the Indian Gaming Regulatory Commission, as well as civil lawsuits from people locked out of jobs.”
“Yes, yes.” Lexson put up both hands. “Trust me, Vicky. We understand our business,” he said, a new sharpness in his tone. “We need you to take care of the vendor contracts and not worry about the business end of things. I’d like to see them by the end of the week.”
“As a lawyer, I have the duty to advise you . . .”
“This is a business decision, Vicky, not a legal matter. We’ll handle Monroe and the rangers in our own way.” Lexson nodded at the operations chief, who stepped over, opened the door, and nodded her out.
Vicky walked past: Lexson on the left, Barrenger on the right. The instant she stepped into the outer office, the door slammed behind her. She kept going—across the plush carpet, past the blond-haired receptionist, with the phone pressed against her ear, through the door, down the corridor.
What had she signed on with? A company more concerned about third-rate troublemakers than with the possible corruption of the tribal gaming chairman? Who were Lexson and Barrenger? For that matter, who was Lodestar Enterprises? And what kind of pact had they made with Matt Kingdom?
It was none of her concern, she told herself. She’d been hired to handle the contracts with vendors and equipment suppliers, not to ensure the legality of casino operations.
Or had she? Had Lexson wanted an Arapaho lawyer so that the business council and everybody else on the rez would discount Monroe’s accusations, lulled into the belief that everything at the casino was as it should be, since one of their own was on the legal team?
She was at the door to the legal offices when she turned around and headed back toward the elevator. She could walk away, she was thinking. Ride the elevator to the first floor, walk across the hotel lobby and out the door. And not look back.
Except for Will Standing Bear’s voice pounding in her head like the incessant beat of the drums. You are Arapaho, granddaughter. Arapaho. Arapaho.
She pressed the up button. The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside, pushed the button for the third floor, and made herself take several slow breaths—in and out, in and out—until her heart stopped racing. If Matt Kingdom controlled the best jobs at the casino, she was going to find the evidence.
She felt herself being lifted upward in a silent vacuum toward—she didn’t know what—knowing only that she could not turn back.
12
ANNETTE ADDLEY. DIRECTOR. Human Resources.
Vicky studied the name on the plaque next to the door. She’d noticed the name yesterday when Adam had brought her to the office to fill out the employment forms, but it hadn’t meant anything. An Addley family lived in Fort Washakie, but she didn’t remember anyone in the family named Annette.
She opened the door and stepped into the narrow waiting room, with padded chairs arranged around the walls and a desk across from the door. Behind the desk was the same secretary—white, fiftyish, with dark roots visible in her light-colored hair—who had pushed a clipboard and some papers toward her. After Vicky filled in the forms and handed them back, the woman had slipped them inside a folder and smiled across the counter: “Welcome to Great Plains Casino,” she’d said.
Now the woman gave her a startled look, as if she hadn’t expected her to return. “Yes, Ms. Holden? Your papers were processed yesterday. Any questions?”
“No. No.” Vicky waved away the offer. “I’m here about another matter. Could you pull up some records for me? I’d like to become familiar with the department heads I’ll be working with.”
The woman brought her penciled eyebrows together and glanced down at the computer as if she expected the monitor to flash the answer. Then she backed to a door, reaching behind her for the knob.
“One moment.” She opened the door and slid inside.
Vicky waited. Two or three minutes passed before the secretary reappeared, another woman behind her. Tall, striking-looking with black shoulder-length hair, smartly cut, and prominent cheekbones that emphasized the hollowed space in her cheeks. Annette Kingdom—whatever her last
name was now—didn’t look much different from the way she had looked in high school. Still the flawless complexion, like polished bronze, and the wide dark eyes that always seemed to know more than they saw.
“Vicky! Ho’heisi!”
Matt Kingdom’s younger sister threw both arms around her and hugged her tight. Then she stepped back and, grabbing Vicky’s hand, pulled her forward into a spacious office, with two sofas on either side of a glass table and an L-shaped desk against the far wall below a painting of the Wind River range.
Annette dropped onto one of the sofas, guiding Vicky down next to her. “Ho’heisi!” she said again, giggling now. “You remember, don’t you? We were the mad women. I was so excited to see that the casino had hired you,” she hurried on. “I can’t believe we’re going to be working together. I mean, once I heard you went to law school, I thought, man, she’ll be so high-and-mighty. Never speak to me again. But here we are. We’ll have to go to lunch. It’ll be like old times.”
Vicky forced a smile. The last thing she wanted was to relive the old times when they were seventeen, giggling together in the lunchroom, calling themselves by a secret name: Ho’heisi. She’d met Ben, her ex-husband, by then, five years older and fresh out of the army, and so handsome her heart had constricted every time she saw him. She’d been pulled into Ben Holden’s orbit, like a planet with no gravity of its own. All of which she’d poured out to Annette Kingdom over bologna sandwiches and Coke. It made her cringe to realize the woman had known her when she was the most helpless, when she was mad—mad for Ben.
She said, “I didn’t realize you’d gone—” She stopped herself from saying, to college. “—into human resources.”
Annette blinked. “You never did think I was very smart, Vicky. Well, I’m smart enough.” She flicked red-tipped fingers at the office. A diamond ring glistened on one finger.
“I didn’t mean . . .” Vicky heard herself stumbling.
“I have lots of experience. Six years, head cashier over at the Thrifty. Believe me,” Annette drew in a long breath, “I know how to deal with people.”
“What about human resources?”
“Listen, Vicky,” the other woman leaned closer, her expression suddenly familiar—the expression she’d always used when she had a secret to confide. “The great thing about Lodestar Enterprises is, they believe in people. There aren’t a lot of people on the rez with business experience. They’re willing to give Arapahos a chance. I can pick up the phone, call the human resources department in Chicago, and they walk me through the job. Besides, I got a secretary knows what to do.”
Vicky was quiet a moment. Maybe that’s how the management jobs were handled: pick up a phone, call the main office, and they walk you through the steps. People could learn the job and get experience at the same time. Still, how many people in management owed their jobs to Kingdom?
“What I came by for, Annette,” she said finally, “is to see the list of managers. Can you pull it up for me?”
The woman’s expression froze. “Oh, I’d certainly do that for you, Vicky. I mean, it’s no problem. I could have my secretary—” She leaned over and thumped Vicky’s hand. “What a hoot! Me with a secretary. I’d have her pull the list in a minute, but . . .”
Vicky sat very still, waiting for the blow.
“The boss’s orders,” Annette hurried on. “Lexson called about five minutes ago and said nobody in the company can see the personnel records until further notice. I don’t know what’s going on.” She shrugged. “Soon’s he changes his mind . . .”
“I’ll be back.” Vicky finished the woman’s thought and got to her feet.
A DIFFERENT CLERK in a tailored blue suit was behind the hotel desk peering at the computer monitor. Behind her, on the cream-stuccoed wall, the six Arapaho business councilmen seemed to be looking out across the lobby to the casino from their bronze-framed portraits. Farther down the wall, past the door that, Vicky guessed, led to the hotel offices, were portraits of the gaming commissioners: Jules Ledger, Robert Oldman, and, in the center, Matt Kingdom, in a white shirt and dark, western-style jacket, cowboy hat tipped forward, smiling into the camera.
“Excuse me,” Vicky said.
The woman looked up. “Oh, sorry. What can I do for you?”
She was Arapaho: Sharp cheekbones and narrow black eyes, black hair shiny under the fluorescent lights, an open, friendly face. The white tag pinned to the woman’s lapel read, Nancy Walking Horse. One of the Walking Horse girls who’d been in elementary school fifteen years ago when Vicky had left the reservation for college, law school, a new life in Denver. Nancy had metamorphosed from a gawky ten-year-old into a beautiful young woman.
Vicky introduced herself, and the woman smiled. “Oh, yes. I’m sure you don’t remember me.”
“I do remember.”
The woman blushed, then drew in a long breath, as if to summon courage. “I’ve followed your career, Vicky. Law school and all, and now you’ve come back to Lander to help our people. I always wanted to be like you.” She blushed again and looked down, fingers rolling the edge of a sheet of paper.
Vicky was quiet. A failed marriage, two kids left on the reservation with her mother. It wasn’t as if she had set out to become a lawyer with a burning desire to help her people. It had happened, that was all, after everything else had collapsed, with Ben’s drinking and Ben’s fists and her own life had gone out of control. Don’t be like me.
A second passed before she said, “I’m doing some legal work for the casino. I’d like to meet the hotel manager.”
“Len Herfly. You know him, don’t you?”
Oh, yes. Vicky could still see the skinny, awkward kid with the slumped shoulders, black ponytail and ragged blue jeans. He’d been a couple of years ahead in school. In the same class with Matt Kingdom.
“He should be in pretty soon.” The woman threw a glance toward the glass entrance. You can talk to the assistant manager, Marcia Kammer. She’s in a meeting with some vendors right now. Just between us,” the young woman looked around, then leaned forward, “Marcia’s the one that runs the hotel. She’s real sharp. Worked for an Indian casino in Mississippi before she came here. You want to wait?”
“No, thanks,” Vicky heard herself saying. “You’ve been very helpful.” She gave the young woman a smile, then started across the lobby, feeling as if she were trying to walk across the bottom of a lake. The human resources director, Kingdom’s sister; the hotel manager, Kingdom’s former classmate. But an assistant manager ran the hotel and the secretary ran the human resources office—and no doubt both had worked for other Indian casinos run by Lodestar Enterprises. How many other people connected to Kingdom had a manager’s title while someone else handled the work?
A wall of noise rose in front of her as she entered the casino. She stepped aside for an attractive woman in black shorts and a thin white blouse that showed her bra, who was pushing a change cart. Dodging through the knots of people, Vicky made her way past the entrance to the buffet toward the neon-red sign high on the back wall: Raven’s Nest.
The restaurant hostess—another young Arapaho woman—was at the desk inside the door. Behind the desk was a spacious dining room, with rows of tables covered in white cloths that draped over the floor and, on top, white napkins folded in peaks. A wall of murals lit from behind curved around the room, giving the illusion of rivers and mountains and lush valleys outside.
“Early dinner?” the hostess suggested.
“Another time, perhaps.” Vicky introduced herself and said she’d like to see the manager.
The hostess allowed her dark eyes to trail downward, then upward, and Vicky had the uncomfortable sense that she was on display: Vicky Holden, Arapaho lawyer, mid-forties, blue linen dress, silver chain at her neck, black hair, cut to her shoulders. Lipstick probably faded. She looked half-dead without lipstick.
She said, “Is the manager in?”
“This way.” The woman led the way through the tables. An elderly w
hite couple, tourists by the look of them—dressed in khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirts—sat munching on club sandwiches in the corner.
The woman headed down a hallway and rapped on a door. It swung inward, and in the opening, was a stocky, square-shouldered woman who appeared to be about forty years old. A breed, Vicky thought, with the sharp cheekbones and narrow black eyes of an Indian and the pinkish complexion and the light brown hair of a white.
“What is it?” There was a jolt of impatience in the woman’s tone.
“This here’s Vicky Holden from the legal department. Wants to see you.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Vicky said.
“Good. That’s all the time I have.” The manager motioned her inside.
Vicky stepped into the small office, which had a desk against the side wall and two upholstered chairs. “I’m on retainer with the casino,” she said.
“I heard. What’s Stan want to know? I told him he’d have the quotes tomorrow. Jesus, the man’s impatient.”
“You’ve managed restaurants before?”
“What is this? A little background check?” She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s good. That’s really good. I’ve been managing restaurants for Stan for five years now, and he still doesn’t trust me. Doesn’t trust anybody.”
She shouldered past Vicky, flung open the door and gestured toward the hallway. “Go back upstairs and tell Stan everything’s working just fine in the Raven’s Nest. Tell him to send his watchdogs someplace else.”
Vicky started into the hallway, then turned back. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Betty Monarch.” The woman paused. “Comanche, case you want to know.” The door was shutting, and Vicky had to step out of the way.
She stood in the hallway a half minute. The muffled rattle of pots and pans and dishes sounded through the wall behind her. Comanche. A former employee of Stan Lexson’s. Vicky felt her theory starting to evaporate like a cloud of smoke. Here was one management position Matt Kingdom didn’t control.
Killing Raven (A Wind River Reservation Myste) Page 9