“What tribe?”
“Mescalero.”
“The Shis-Inday,” he said, knowingly. “People of the Mountain Forests.” Then the man squinted, looking closely at Charli. He pointed to chairs. “Please sit. I am the current Tribal Chief so feel free to tell me how I can help.”
They sat and Raymond settled back behind his desk and Charli felt his eyes on her. “Is there something wrong? You are staring at me as if you see something that unsettled you.”
“I apologize. You look vaguely familiar. More than vaguely.”
“I don’t hear that a lot in Tennessee,” she said.
“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but would you mind telling who your father and mother are?”
“My mother is Tanya Gordon. My father is dead. His name was Kee. Kee Bonito.”
The man beamed a smile and slapped the table. “I knew it.” Then he wagged a finger. “But you told me you are Mescalero.”
“That’s right.”
“The Kee Bonito I knew was a proud Chiricahua,” Raymond said. “What we Navaho call Chíshí.”
Charli was shocked. “That’s right. He was. How did you know?”
Abruptly the man looked sad. “I knew him well. We were friends back in the day.” He patted his leg absentmindedly.
“Tell me about him,” Charli said.
Raymond paused and looked at her. “Kee was a wonderful man and my good friend. We traveled the rodeo circuit together in an old Chevy pickup that we barely kept running.” Then his eyebrows raised. “We’ve met too, you and I.”
“We have?”
“You wouldn’t remember. Your father fell in love with an Indian maiden and married her. The next couple of years, whenever the rodeo was near Mescalero he brought you and your mother to the arena. She was a lovely, but somewhat distant young woman, while you were the life of the party. Your daddy showed you off to everyone, proud father that he was. But he never called you Charli.”
“No?”
“No, he always called you Bonita Bonito and made everyone else do it too, even though it angered your mother. Kee thought it was a lovely joke.”
“As a joke? Why is that funny?” Elle asked.
Raymond chuckled, remembering. “Bonito means ‘pretty’ and a girl named that would be ‘Bonita,’ so Kee thought it was a clever way of saying his daughter was double pretty.”
Charli found her breath. A snap in her head startled her, even though she knew it was simply another piece of the dream aligning with what she knew about the real world. The Shaman had called her Bonita. “So you knew him well?”
“Very. I rode bulls and he rode broncs. Your dad and I were the top-billed riders and we traveled together on the circuit until my accident.”
“What happened?” Elle asked. He shook his head. “A mean old bull decided being ridden was not on his agenda that day. We disagreed, and the spirits sided with him. To make his point absolutely clear, after he dumped me, he decided to trample me to make sure I didn’t try again.” He pointed at Charli. “Your father knew I didn’t have any money, and sure wasn’t getting any prize money that day. While I was in the hospital, he brought you and your mom up here to help my family. Then he went behind my back and paid my hospital bills with his prize money.” He looked sad. “Yeah, I knew your father too damn well.”
“I know so little about him. Mostly just that he was killed by a drunk driver.”
“That was a couple of years later. Course, I was off the circuit, having decided I should take an interest in tribal matters. So we didn’t hear about it right away. There wasn’t social media then and news about some Indian rodeo star wasn’t important to the papers or television, but as soon as the word got to us, my brother Charlie and I hopped in a car and went to see your mother. We wanted to offer our help, but she’d gone.”
“Gone?”
“When we got to the res, your grandparents told us that she had taken Kee’s body to his people on the Chíshí reservation, in San Carlos, Arizona. She decided to let them give him a proper ceremonial burial with his tribe. That was good of her. Me and Charlie headed there. We figured she might be staying with his folks, but she was gone. Kee’s folks said that right after the insurance company paid her a settlement. She gave them some money, then she packed you up and went straight to the airport. They had no idea where she was going.”
“And she never contacted you? My mother, I mean?” Charli asked.
“Not a peep. Far as I know she didn’t contact anyone.”
“And I have no idea about any of this,” Charli said. “My mother never mentions anything before us moving back east. I had to do my own research to learn about my father and then all I ever found was some clippings about his success riding broncs. And that was just recent.”
Raymond smiled. “But now that is being remedied. The spirits have brought you back to us, his friends, and your own people. For that we are thankful. I imagine that your grandparents...”
Charli’s stomach knotted up. “I’ve never been back there. I just came on business.”
Raymond nodded as if he understood. “Then I hope that you do make the trip to Mescalero. You should see your people and close the circle.”
“I might,” Charli said. “But first...”
“Ah, yes.” He rocked back in his chair. “The white man’s business comes first. And you are seeking a rattle, I understand.”
“A ceremonial artifact of your people,” Elle put in. “It disappeared from the museum.”
Raymond cocked his head. “And what makes you think it’s here?”
Charli cleared her throat. “We don’t necessarily think that. The insurance company asked me to come find out if anyone here knows anything about it or its disappearance. No one is accusing anyone of anything. But a Shaman from this tribe often went to see it, and...”
“I understand,” the elder said. “They lack suspects or an understanding of what happened, so the last Indian known to see it must be the culprit.”
“It isn’t like that,” Elle protested.
“Yes it is,” Raymond said. Before Elle could say anything, he put up his hand. “We are glad to cooperate. You, Bonita, have our permission to search for it. To save some time, I recommend that you go directly to the Shaman. I assume he is the Indian in question. It would be of interest to him. But it would be best if you were to go alone. I think he’d be happy to talk to you. His name is Reyes Iron Eyes.”
Charli glanced at Elle. “That’s why you are here,” she said matter-of-factly. “As Mr. Talks-with-Wolves said, you are the oil we pour on these troubled waters.” She looked at Raymond. “One other matter.”
“Yes?” He raised his eyebrows.
“There is also a matter of a woman who was shot.”
“Sabrina,” he said. “A tragic thing. The Tribal Police are looking into it. They have jurisdiction in the matter.”
“But we understand that she was seriously wounded and then disappeared.”
“So I am told. You seem to know as much as I do.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Charli said. “A healing rattle disappears at the same time a woman who has been shot, presumably fatally according to news reports, goes missing. Someone who needs serious healing, I’d imagine.”
Raymond smiled. “It does seem so, doesn’t it? Bonita, as you embrace your heritage, I think you will come to appreciate that coincidences are simply part of the natural order—an indication that more things are connected and that things are more intricately connected than many people tend to appreciate.”
“The natural order?”
He winked. “On the reservations, there is a high component of the supernatural in the every day, at least compared to the rest of the country.” He held out his hands, palms up. “It isn’t our doing, it just is. I can’t say if it’s more prevalent around us, or if we are just more aware of it.”
“Can I see the police report?” Elle said. “We have no interest in meddling in the investigation, but
she is insured by our company. It would save time later...”
“If she turns up dead?” Raymond shook his head. “White people work in curious ways and seem to value properly filled out paperwork over understanding. But of course, while Charli... Bonita talks to Iron Eyes, I’ll take you to the tribal police and convince them of your need to have copies of whatever papers they remembered to fill out. You can even talk to the investigating officer.”
“Don’t we have to go to the Navajo Nation headquarters for that?”
“No. We Ramah Navajo are quite an independent lot. We’ve got our own police, our own school board and are just now making it onto the Navajo Nation flag. So you have to deal with us rather than the entire Navajo Nation.”
Elle grinned and turned on the chair. “Raymond Talks-with-Wolves, I have to say that so far, dealing with you has been pleasant, interesting, and educational,” she said. “As long as we don’t have to ride a bull to get there, I’m fine.”
“Naw. We’ll skip that part. I gave that up a long time ago. Bull riding is for crazy people. When my son wanted to take it up, I suggested he go for something safer like entering the demolition derby or becoming a cliff diver like those people in Mexico.”
“Did he take your advice?”
Raymond grinned again. “The crazy young turk became a stockbroker. Go figure.”
“So instead of talking to wolves, he’s swimming with sharks?” Charli suggested.
Raymond laughed. “Good line. I intend to steal it and use it on him when he comes home at Christmas. Billy Swims-with-Sharks. Maybe Iron Eyes will change his name.” Then he took a piece of paper out of his desk and sketched out a crude map. He pushed it across the desk at Charli. “You’ll need this to visit Iron Eyes, investigator Bonita. There are few roads on the 55,000 acres of our Ramah Navajo reservation, but the ones we have aren’t all marked. You’ll need to go these distances, make the turns I’ve shown, and trust that you will get to Iron Eyes’ home.” He pointed to a package in the corner of the room. “And, if you wouldn’t mind, please take that to him.”
“Of course.” She got up and went over to pick it up. Whatever was in it was soft. “Should I call ahead? I’d hate to barge in on him and catch him unprepared.”
Raymond chuckled. “He doesn’t have a phone, but I’m sure Iron Eyes knows you are coming already; I imagine that he’s known for some time now.” He touched his chin, “Although it’s possible that he hasn’t known it would be a Bonito.” He sat back. “I’d love to see the look on his face when he sees you.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“No, but he’ll know who you are instantly.”
Charli looked at him and saw he was serious. “How will he know those things, that I’m coming and who I am?”
Raymond looked off as if he was staring into the distance. “Bonita, do you know what the title Shaman means?”
“Isn’t a Shaman something like a witch doctor?”
“That’s Africa, I’m afraid. Wrong continent. Shaman is a word derived from the word saman, which comes from the language of the Tungus people of Siberia. It means ‘he who knows’ and in the case of Iron Eyes, well, does know.”
“But his knowledge is spotty. He knows I’m coming but not who I am?”
“That’s me guessing. You can tell us if I’m right when you get back.”
“Okay,” Charli said. “Somehow you make me feel like I’m setting off on some grand adventure.”
Raymond turned his face away. “I think you might be doing exactly that.” He looked back at them. “Ever see that old television show OUTER LIMITS or the one called ONE STEP BEYOND?”
Charli remembered seeing a couple of the shows on the streaming service. “Sort of.”
“I’d say you’d better expect something that would fit on those programs.” He stood up. “Something a little out there. Reyes Iron Eyes hangs out with Coyote, and if you don’t know what that means, then, as Raold Dahl wrote, just expect the unexpected and you won’t be surprised.”
Although she was happy for the warning, Charli thought that was easier said than done.
At the door, she stopped and turned around. She decided to tell him. “I should tell you that this Shaman, Iron Eyes does know me,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “We were never properly introduced, but we met in my dream... and he called me Bonita.”
Then she left, knowing that both Elle and Raymond were staring at her; she wasn't in a mood to explain.
Chapter Nine
Reyes Iron Eyes
Reyes Iron Eyes, Shaman of the Ramah Navajo, was one of those rare people with a name that fit him like a perfectly tailored suit. When she saw him through the dust-coated windshield of Elle’s rental car, Charli’s first impression was of a confident man in his fifties. He stood on the porch that had been built onto the front of his trailer, leaning against the doorsill and looking exactly as she had pictured—worn blue jeans, denim shirt, and cowboy boots. His long, black hair, flecked with silver, was pulled back in a braid that hung nearly to his waist.
As he stepped toward her, the man flashed her an engaging, disarming smile, but those eyes... She’d never seen such a steely gaze. It wasn’t so much hard as penetrating.
As she got out of the car and walked toward the porch, he nodded. “Welcome to my home, Bonita” he said, sounding sincere.
“Thank you.” Despite expecting that Raymond would be right, that he would know who she was and that he’d be expecting her, it was still unsettling.
As she got out of the air-conditioned car and into the dry, warm and dusty wind, a movement caught her eye. She turned. And animal stopped at the edge of the porch and stared at her. It was the animal from her dream—now she was sure it was a coyote. Taking a long breath, she stepped toward the house and the animal darted away around the trailer.
He cocked his head. “Tell me, Bonita, didn’t you bring me something?” he asked. “I expected a package. It’s rather important.”
She turned back to the car. “Yes. I just forgot.” She opened the back door and got out the one Raymond had given her and held it out to him. “Raymond said...”
He took the package, then opened the door. “Please come in. It isn’t much cooler inside, but there is a little shade.”
The welcome tone of his voice made her relax a bit. The situation was awkward at best and Charli felt like an intruder. She wasn’t actually an investigator, even though she was on the insurance company payroll for this job, and when it came to being an Indian, she felt like a fraud. She might be one by blood, but these people were the real deal—they grew up as Indians. “I appreciate you seeing me.”
He held the door and motioned for her to enter the house, and when she did, he followed her in. “Since the insurance company was respectful enough to send a Native American to investigate, even though you are an Apache and not Navajo, then I felt it was appropriate to cooperate. And now that I see it is Bonita, I’m delighted to talk to you.”
He was being kind, gracious even and it was a much better start than she’d expected. Despite still wondering about how this man knew who she was and that she’d be bringing a package, she sank gratefully into the offered chair. She pulled out her phone and glanced at it. No service. She looked around the room.
“No, there is no telephone here,” Iron Eyes said. “They are too confusing for someone like me.”
“So how did you know I was bringing the package?”
He laughed. “How could I not know? It’s my job to know. I’d lose my union card if I let something that big slip by me.” Then Reyes Iron Eyes stared at her, his eyes confident, but not challenging. It was the look of an honest man. “But you came here looking for something.”
She nodded. “I’m looking for a ceremonial rattle.”
He waved a hand, showing his impatience. “Yes, yes, of course. But you are looking for something else too—something much more important.”
She shook herself. “I am?”
“You a
re looking for yourself.” Then he laughed. “Well, we all are, actually, but you are looking for a part of you that you feel you lost.”
“Am I that transparent?” she asked, stunned. Even if someone had called ahead and warned the man she was coming about the rattle, she’d barely talked to anyone about herself. Of course, Raymond knew that she didn’t know much about her family, but that was a big leap to what this man was clearly talking about.
He chuckled. “Hey, that’s what I do. It’s why I get the big bucks.” He waved his hands indicating the shabby house and old but solid furnishings. “You think it’s cheap to live in such luxury? A guy has to perform. People come to me and expect to hear the latest gossip from the spirit world.”
“Is that what you are giving me? Gossip from the spirit world?” Stranger things had happened in her life.
“Naw. I’m just looking at you, the uncertain way you move, which tells me you are uncomfortable. I see it all the time with kids that are taken off the reservation when they are young. They come back at some point and find it all strange, yet familiar. It isn’t an easy thing to reconcile those worlds. They become uneasy, thinking they should feel at home here because, after all, they are Indians. But they don’t.”
She nodded. “Are you a shrink as well as a Shaman?”
He smiled and spread his hands. “Circumstances force a Shaman to be a general practitioner. There’s little opportunity to specialize, especially when the spirits are just as likely to whisper that a client is a hypochondriac who needs a little smoke and mirrors to get better as they are to recommend the right bit of tree bark to cure gout.”
“You give patients tree bark?”
He laughed. “Forgive a poorly chosen figure of speech. Have you seen many trees around here?”
“Just of the scrub variety.”
“It would be a real feat of magic to have fresh tree bark available to me when I need it. I do use yucca and lots of other stuff that grows locally.” He sat back. “But that’s for later. You want to get the nasty business part of this chat over with before we talk about you.”
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