Killing Raven (A Wind River Reservation Myste)

by Margaret Coel

The front legs of the chair dropped onto the floor with a thud, and Gianelli jumped to his feet. “Look, John,” he said, leaning over the desk. “Mo Pearson’s right about one thing. Those Indians talk to you. If you learn anything, I expect . . .”

  “Don’t worry.” Father John got to his feet and started for the door. “You’ll be the first to know,” he said as he let himself out the door.

  14

  THEY ATE DINNER at the Timberline Lodge, the kind of restaurant with white tablecloths and heavy napkins curled into the wineglasses. Conversations from nearby tables buzzed around them, like the flow of an electric current. The waiter hovered at their shoulders, sweeping the plates away, a magician making rabbits disappear. Adam kept up a stream of small talk during most of the meal, the polite dance of her people, and Vicky felt a warm flush of gratitude toward the man for observing the traditions. She tried to hold up her end, nodding, smiling, aware of the attractive blond woman with the diamond ring flashing on her finger who kept looking over and smiling at Adam. They’d caused quite a stir when they’d come in, Vicky had noticed. Adam, with the bearing of a chief, in a white dress shirt, a tan leather vest, and pressed blue jeans. The heads of other women had swiveled around as they’d walked past.

  She took a sip of coffee, aware that his eyes were on her, following each small movement. She felt a little thrill of excitement. He’d called about five to remind her about dinner. She’d just finished several contracts. Standard boilerplate, nothing out of the ordinary. She’d gone through them quickly, making a few changes here and there to the benefit of Great Plains Casino, changes she expected the vendors’ lawyers to line out, as she would in their place. All afternoon, she’d been stalked by the feeling that Matt Kingdom had sold out the people. But there was no proof. No records, no physical evidence, nothing that she could take to the Business Council and say, look, the chairman who’s supposed to oversee the casino is handing out management jobs. So what if the man’s sister and onetime classmate had management positions? Lexson would probably argue that they were the best-qualified applicants.

  She’d agreed to meet Adam at the restaurant in the foothills outside town. Lights from the dining room blinked through the trees as she’d pulled into the parking lot. He was waiting for her at the entrance.

  Now he leaned toward her. “I took the video to the BIA police at Fort Washakie this afternoon,” he said. “Tommy Willard and the other three men will be arrested and charged with assault. A couple of hours in jail, and they’ll start spilling their guts to make a deal. Jack Monroe will be charged with conspiracy to commit assault. That should be the end of it, Vicky.”

  The waiter appeared and began clearing their plates, then he refilled the coffee cups and slipped a leather case on the table. “Have a good night, now,” he said, a strained note of cheeriness in his tone.

  “What about Dennis Light Stone?” Vicky asked after the waiter had turned away.

  Adam shook his head. “Good worker. Best blackjack pit boss in the house, but he’s stopped coming to work. Probably got tired of running a gauntlet of Monroe’s goons every day. We could lose other good employees—like you, for instance. We could lose you if the police don’t get Monroe out of the way.”

  Vicky was quiet a moment. “I don’t think people just walk away, Adam.”

  “What’s bothering you?” Adam’s eyes were almost black, half-closed, as if he were trying to bring her into sharper focus.

  Vicky set the coffee cup in the saucer, wondering whether to confide in the man across from her: A Lakota. The Lakotas were not exactly the enemy in the Old Time. They were too numerous, too powerful. Arapahos couldn’t afford to have them as an enemy. No, there had been an uneasy alliance between her people and the Lakotas, but you could never trust them, grandfather said. The ancestors had never trusted the Lakotas.

  “Stan Lexson and Lodestar Enterprise,” Adam said, as if he’d lifted part of her thoughts out of her head. “For some reason you don’t trust them. Listen, Vicky . . .” He pushed his cup and saucer away and sat back, not taking his eyes from her. “If I thought Lexson wasn’t on the level, I wouldn’t have gone to work for the casino. I certainly wouldn’t have dragged you into the job. You’re making good money reviewing contracts. Standard contracts that you’d find at any hotel or restaurant or casino. What is it that worries you?”

  Vicky held the Lakota’s gaze a moment, debating whether to confide in him, finding herself wishing it were John O’Malley across from her. She pushed the thought away, as she’d trained herself to do. Whenever it came, always at unexpected moments—when she was sitting across the table from a man that every other woman in the restaurant had been watching—she could push the thought away. What she hadn’t yet mastered was the ability to keep it from returning.

  She realized that Adam hadn’t taken his eyes from her. She drew in a long breath and said, “I found a couple of people in management jobs with ties to Matt Kingdom.”

  “A couple?” A look of relief came into the man’s eyes. “Kingdom probably knows everybody on the rez. A couple out of several dozen or more on different shifts?”

  Vicky folded the napkin on the table, conscious of the tension locking onto her shoulders. For a half-instant, she wondered if Stan Lexson had sent Adam to have dinner with her. Have a little talk with her. Calm her fears. Put blinders on her so she wouldn’t look around at whatever may be happening.

  “How do you know Lodestar Enterprises is a legitimate company?” she asked.

  “You kidding? The Business Council researched the company. Lexson has been with Lodestar Enterprises for years. He’s spent ten years running Indian casinos and making a lot of money for other tribes. He knows what he’s doing. Kingdom flew to Mississippi and Michigan and interviewed the tribal councils that Lexson had worked for. They gave the man glowing recommendations.”

  “Matt Kingdom handled the investigation?” The idea was so ludicrous, Vicky had to stifle a laugh.

  “Kingdom helped put the deal together between the Business Council and Lodestar Enterprises. The company agreed to put up the eighteen million for the casino, when no bank was willing to loan that kind of money. Not enough people in the area to support a casino, the banks said. Well, Lodestar knew that busloads of people would come from Nebraska and Montana and Utah. They took a long, hard look at the odds and were willing to take the chance. The irony is, they’re not gamblers. They only place their money on sure bets.” He gave her a wink and, shifting sideways, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

  Vicky started fumbling in her bag for her own wallet, her thoughts still on Matt Kingdom. The man had made a deal with Lodestar Enterprises, she was sure of it now. He’d researched the company and found something that let him cut a deal.

  Adam waved away the credit card she tried to hand him and slipped his own card into the leather case. Almost instantaneously, the waiter materialized and whisked the case away.

  “Relax, Vicky,” Adam said. “A lot of lawyers drew up the contracts between the tribe and Lodestar. The Business Council’s firm in Cheyenne, Lodestar’s lawyers in Chicago. Everything’s legitimate. All we have to do is handle the routine legal matters. You can finish reviewing the vendor contracts, collect your fee, and take a vacation. Ever been to Hawaii?”

  Vicky watched the Lakota sign the charge slip, fold the small piece of paper, and tuck it inside his wallet. A careful, meticulous man, she was thinking. The kind of man who would be the first to spot something wrong in the casino operations unless . . .

  She looked away, trying to outdistance the half-formed idea gaining on her. Unless Adam Lone Eagle was more than a part-time legal adviser. Unless he was being paid not to see any problems.

  ADAM’S HAND WAS warm against her arm as he guided her through the restaurant and down the graveled walk toward the parking lot. “Listen,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “The river.”

  They stood very still, and through the sound of the wind in the pines, Vicky could hear the Popo
Agie River gurgling and sighing.

  “Come on,” Adam gripped her hand and pulled her into the trees. The faintest trace of light, soft and creamy, shone through the branches. She followed him down the slope, his hand still holding hers as they ducked around the branches.

  And then she saw the river running like molten silver, rushing over the rocks, lapping at the banks. She could feel the sprays of moisture on her face and arms. A large black bird, a raven, she thought, was flapping overhead. Suddenly, the bird dove toward the bank, then swooped upward, the small creature clutched in its beak emitting a tiny, shrill scream that remained in the air even after the raven had streaked into the darkness.

  “Did you see that?”

  “Don’t let it bother you, Vicky.” Adam pulled her over to a concrete bench on a little plateau above the river, then sat down beside her. “Nature can be cruel.”

  “So can humans.”

  “We’re part of nature. You have to look away.”

  “But then you become part of the cruelty.”

  “Look at this now.” He waved toward the river and the pines on the other side, swaying in the breeze, black against the graying sky. “What a beautiful evening. Nothing can ruin it.” He took her hand again.

  Vicky was quiet a moment, feeling herself relax into the wind and the cool, damp air washing over her. Finally, she said, “Tell me about yourself, Adam.”

  He squeezed her hand and laughed. “Now that could ruin the evening.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  Several seconds passed, until she thought he’d already given her the only answer he intended. Then he said, “Once. Her name was Julie. She put up with me for about ten years, then, one day, she put my shoes outside the door, and I knew that was the end. I never blamed her.”

  “What happened?” Vicky felt the muscles in her chest begin to tighten. Another recovering alcoholic, she was thinking. She was sitting on a concrete bench watching the river and the man beside her was another recovering alcoholic. Just like her ex-husband. Just like John O’Malley. But she’d trusted John O’Malley to be strong, and she’d never trusted Ben. She wondered which kind of man Adam Lone Eagle might be.

  He was quiet for so long that Vicky was sure she’d overstepped an invisible boundary and the conversation was over. “I’m sorry,” she said, starting to get to her feet. “It’s none of my business.”

  She felt his hand tighten around hers, pulling her back, closer to him. “Let’s just say,” he began, “that I lived like a chief in the Old Time. I thought I needed more than one woman.”

  Vicky turned to him. “You cheated on your wife.”

  “I’m not proud of it, Vicky. The day our divorce was final was the blackest day of my life. If I’d been a drinker, I’m not sure I would have ever gotten sober.” He shook his head. “I’d tried to convince Julie that I could change, but she didn’t believe me. She couldn’t forgive me, and I don’t blame her. I threw myself into work. Worked nights, daytime. Whatever job I could get. UCLA law school took a chance on me, so did Howard and Fergus in Denver. Your old firm, I believe. Too bad we weren’t there at the same time.”

  “Any kids?” Vicky said after a moment.

  “A boy, Mark. About to finish law school at the University of Denver. I pray all the time that he doesn’t follow in the footsteps of his old man.”

  “What was Julie like?” Vicky stared at the river. She could feel his eyes searching her face.

  “Nothing like you. She was traditional.”

  “I’m traditional.”

  “That’s what you tell yourself,” he said. “But the fact is, you’re caught up in a world where men are supposed to live. It’s a tough place, Vicky, and dangerous. Yet, there you are. Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to you. I’m trying to understand you.”

  Vicky felt an odd pang of disappointment. John O’Malley had understood her, reading her mind and heart, and he’d done so without trying. She tried to push the thought away. Freeing her hand, she got to her feet. “We’d better go,” she said, starting up the slope toward the lights from the restaurant blinking through the trees.

  When they’d reached the Cherokee, Vicky found the key in her bag and jabbed at the lock.

  “Allow me.” Adam took the key and opened the door. Then, slipping the key into her palm, he took her hand in both of his. “How about I follow you home?”

  “It isn’t necessary, Adam. Thank you for dinner and a lovely evening.” She started to slip past him.

  “I’d really like to, Vicky.” Now his hands were on her shoulders, and he was leaning toward her. In an instant his mouth was on hers, his lips warm and sweet tasting, and she gripped the edge of the door to keep herself from moving closer.

  Finally she backed away, conscious that the hardest part had been the decision. “This isn’t a good idea, Adam. We have to work together.”

  “We’re two attorneys. Independent contractors. That means we can call our own shots.”

  Vicky shook her head and started to get inside, but he held her in place.

  “I thought you liked me,” he said. “I thought you and I were hitting it off, that there might be something starting between us. What is it? Somebody else? Your ex-husband wasn’t right, was he?” He gave a forced laugh. “It’s not that priest?”

  “Oh, Adam, please.” She slipped out of his grasp, got in behind the steering wheel, and started the engine.

  “Couple years ago . . .” Adam paused.

  Vicky flipped on the headlights, then looked up at the man holding the door open, leaning toward her.

  “I sued the archdiocese on behalf of a client,” he went on. “She’d gone to a priest for counseling and he took advantage of her. Inappropriate sexual contact, is how we put it in the lawsuit. Fact is, she was in love with the man. He made her a lot of promises, and she believed him. Made plans, gave up her own career, but her own life on hold. When she realized he had no intention of leaving the priesthood, she was devastated. Priests don’t leave, Vicky. Sure, some of them do, the ones you hear about. But you don’t hear about all those who stay. They’re the ones who believe they have a calling from God, and no woman has the power to make them give that up.”

  “There’s no point to this, Adam.” Vicky grabbed hold of the handle and started pulling the door closed.

  “I’m glad to know your ex-husband was wrong. Maybe that means I have a chance.”

  “See you at the office tomorrow,” Vicky said before she slammed the door.

  15

  THE TWO-LANE road carved out of the foothills and dropped into the valley where the lights of Lander blurred in a yellow phosphorescent glow. Vicky tightened her grip on the steering wheel and stared at the column of asphalt in the headlights ahead, swallowing back tears that kept coming despite her wishes, as if they had an existence of their own. Damn! She did not need more complications in her life. She did not need a Lakota, another man she couldn’t trust. She could still see the women’s eyes trailing the man through the restaurant. She did not need Adam Lone Eagle.

  She guided the Cherokee through a curve and out onto a straightaway. The northern reaches of Lander lay ahead, the lights from the streetlamps and gas stations and houses as sharp now as Christmas lights on a tree. Everything seemed clearer. She would tell Adam that she was not ready for a relationship, or whatever he might have in mind. She didn’t have to explain; what would she explain? That her ex-husband had been dead three months now, yet she still looked up and saw him coming down the street, rounding the corner, walking into the office? Always someone who looked like Ben, the same slope to the shoulders, the same black hair flecked with gray at the temples, the same dark, confident eyes. She had stopped loving Ben years ago, and yet . . .

  She’d never loved anyone else until . . . five years ago she’d walked into the administration building at St. Francis Mission and locked eyes with the red-headed man behind the desk. “You must be Vicky Holden,” he’d said. She could still hear his voice.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  She wiped at the moisture on her cheeks with the palm of one hand. She’d always known that John O’Malley was who he was. He could no more give up the priesthood than he could change the color of his skin or the tenor of his voice or the way his eyes went from blue to gray when he laughed.

  What does that have to do with us? Adam’s voice in her head now, as strong as if he were seated beside her. Vicky turned into the traffic on Main Street and tried to compose an answer. Nothing, she supposed. She’d already resolved to move on, find closure and create her own space. She laughed out loud at the psychobabble clichés, all of which seemed to apply to her. She wondered at the note of hysteria that lingered in the air after the sound of her own laughter had faded.

  She passed the turn to her apartment and, two blocks farther, took a right at the intersection. The dashboard clock glowed red: 10:15. He sei ci nihi, Woman Alone. The grandmothers had given her the name not to define her, but to make her strong. Strong enough to be as she was. Still, she was not ready yet to face her apartment alone.

  She parked in the shadows in front of the bungalow. The black letters on the sign in front, Vicky Holden, Attorney at Law, looked smeared in the darkness. She still had a couple of contracts to finish.

  The instant she turned off the headlights, the night seemed to close in, as still and warm as if a blanket had dropped over her. She walked up the sidewalk to the porch and, fumbling with her key in the darkness, managed to unlock the door. She stepped inside, conscious of the desk on the right, the chairs on the left. A faucet was dripping in the kitchen at the back of the house.

  She switched on the ceiling light and walked through her office to the kitchen, dropping her bag on the desk as she went. She opened the cabinet over the stove and rummaged behind the stack of books, diskettes, and packages of printer paper until she found a glass. Then she opened the refrigerator and started to reach for the pitcher of iced tea.