by P. H. Turner
“We need to find friends or relatives of Gage and his wife. I know Bidziil’s gone. Is Klah around?”
“Don’t know. I’ll call him,” Louis said. We waited to cross the road while a car slowed and cruised past the crime scene.
“What’s that around your neck?” I plucked a chain from Louis’s shirt.
“Gal, I’m Catholic. That’s the crucifix my mom gave me the day I made my first communion.”
“I’ve never seen it before.”
“I didn’t start wearing it till the bodies started piling up and you were seeing a shapeshifter.”
I laughed too long and too loud, releasing the pressure from the violent death. “And you made fun of me for wearing a medicine pouch.”
He fingered his crucifix and nodded sagely at me. “Not the same thing. Let me remind you, gal, you’re wearing corn pollen around your neck.”
“I’ll drive, you call Klah.”
We were at the station cutting video when Klah returned Louis’s call. I listened impatiently to Louis’s side of the conversation, bursting with questions.
“What did he say?”
“The wife’s people are named Nizhoni. He gave me a phone number for her mom and sister who live together over in the housing on the Nation.”
“Does Klah think he should clear out for a while?”
“He says no. He isn’t married, so he doesn’t have anyone else to worry about.”
“Hope he’s right,” I said bleakly. “Let’s give her mom a call.”
The sister must have heard the news about the killing and suspected it was Gage and her nephew. She was reluctant to let us speak with her mother. I didn’t push it. The old woman had just lost her son-in-law and her grandson. I apologized for not knowing Gage’s wife’s first name.
“She’s Anne, Anne Nizhoni Notah.” The sister’s voice broke. “You’ll get all the Notahs killed if I tell you where they’re hiding.” She cried softly.
I gave her a moment to compose herself. “Captain Yazzie offered protection for Gage and his family. He can protect Anne and Bidziil and his wife.” I gave her the Navajo Nation Police’s number. She repeated it back to me.
“Have you heard from Anne?”
“Once.”
“Today? Are Bidziil and his wife with her?”
“I’m not going to talk about them anymore. Don’t try to find them.” She hung up.
“Well that was bust unless Anne calls Trace and talks to him,” I said to Louis. “She said ‘get them all killed’ so it’s a safe bet they were all together at some time. They could be hiding at any sheep camp ever used by either family.”
“We need an old-timer,” Louis said.
“Frank!” we yelled at the same time.
Frank answered on the first ring. I could hear the delight in his voice at the chance to pass the time with someone. I tried not to rush him as he told me about the recent rain flooding the arroyo by the trading post and his problems getting fresh produce stocked. When he finally slowed to a dribble of words, I leaped into the conversation. “Do you know where the Notah’s sheep camp is?”
“Which one?” he asked curiously.
“All the ones you know about.” I laughed.
“Well you see,” he drawled, “the one they used to use, maybe twenty years ago, is over around Red Mesa. You know where that is?”
“Yes. But there are others?” I asked.
Louis was making the hurry-up sign with his finger in front of my face.
“Yeah . . . yeah, there is. You know it got real dry over east of here, got to where there was hardly enough graze for their sheep and their windmill wasn’t pulling worth a darn.”
“Where did they move to Frank?”
“They picked up and moved about ten miles. Um-huh. I’m sure it was ten miles out west of Red Mesa. There’s a draw out there right at the base of what they call the Towering Cliffs. They moved out there years ago. Draw always has a little water in it. Windmill pulls real good out there.”
“Thank you. Do you know where the Nizhonis’ place is?”
“Nah, they never traded with me. Don’t know much at all about the Nizhonis. What’s this all about anyway?”
“I need to talk to one of the Notahs.” I was surprised he didn’t ask me why until I heard someone call “Hello,” and the post door squeak open. “Thanks, Frank.” I hung up. “Louis—”
Louis screamed, “Shit, gal, oh my God!”
“What?” I got closer to him. “What are you doing on Facebook?”
His face paled. “It’s the Zetas’ home page.”
I bent closer to the screen. “The Zetas are on Facebook?”
He spread his big hands over the screen. “Don’t look. I clicked on it and it started to play. My God, how could they? He was a little kid.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
I reached over him and clicked play.
“Don’t look. Don’t look.” He tried to block the screen with his big hands. “It’s just like the cop said. They shoot the boy and then Gage sprawls over the kid’s body. Don’t look at it. I wish to God I hadn’t.”
I would never be able to erase the image of Gage’s boy on his knees, hands trussed behind him with a long plastic tie. He looked up at Gage expectantly. I clicked stop and the frame of the little boy gazing up into his father’s anguished face froze on the monitor.
Revulsion stunned me. Terror and regret must have roiled through Gage before the blackness swept him away. Anger surged through me, cleansing the horror. “Damn Facebook! How could they allow that post! Social media, my ass. It’s an open sewer.” I wanted revenge. “I want the damn video removed!”
I pressed speed dial for Trace. “Trace? The bodies are the Notahs. The murder video was posted to the Zetas’ Facebook account.”
“Oh Christ, no.”
“Yes,” I said briskly. “Make Facebook remove the video. Anne and Bidziil and his wife are still out there. I called Frank Aguirre and he says the Notah’s sheep camp is over by Towering Cliffs.” I gave him Frank’s directions.
“Are you going to try to find them?” he asked.
“No. I don’t want to lead the Zetas to them.”
“Dave Nez and I know that area well. We have a better chance of not being seen. I’ll catch you later.”
Louis was waiting for me to finish. “The FBI just tentatively identified the bodies by Gage’s driver’s license in his wallet along with a picture of Anne and the boy.”
“They could have just watched the video on Facebook,” I said bitterly.
Chapter 34
The search for Anne and the Notahs continued the next day with Navajo policemen who had grown up on the Nation scouring the back country. Close to five in the afternoon, Trace called. “How about some dinner around seven?”
“Sounds great, but I don’t want to go out. I’ll go by the deli and pick up sandwiches and something sinful for dessert, and we’ll eat at home. I just don’t want to interact with anyone.”
“Perfect. I don’t want to talk to anyone but you. I’ll be at your place by seven.”
My car was fragrant with roast-beef sandwiches with au jus on the side and those razor thin potatoes that cut the line between chips and French fries. Mac was overjoyed at my return. Nothing like a dog for loyalty, or more likely he was interested in the smells from the deli bag. He sniffed the air and hovered around me expectantly.
“You’re getting a treat, too, boy.”
He immediately went over to his bowl. I poured in his kibble and drizzled au jus over the dry bits. Small things gave Mac unbounded joy.
I went into the bedroom and changed into a soft tee, black yoga pants, and ballet flats. Trace unlocked the front door as I was setting two places at the table. He threw his arms around me in a bear hug. “I’m so damn happy to be alone here with you.” He buried his head in my neck and caressed my back. I let go of the tension I had been holding so tightly and clung to his warm embrace.
I ruffled the
back of his hair. “It’s been awful. I want it to end.”
“It’ll end. I don’t know how satisfying the end will feel, but we’re going to get there.”
I squeezed him hard. “What if we veg out and don’t talk about the case tonight? A reprieve from the grisly stuff that’s happening,” I whispered.
A big grin split his face. “Sounds good to me.”
His eagerness made me smile. “Open the wine and pour. Maybe we can find a movie we agree on after dinner.”
The sandwich filled a caving hole in me, but my eyes had been bigger than my stomach.
“You through with your sandwich?” Trace asked.
I handed it to him. “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t remember. I’ve had gallons of stale coffee, and at some point, Nez made a doughnut run.”
“Forget cop-shop doughnuts.” I lifted the cake out of the bakery box. “The deli clerk called this their triple decadent chocolate cake. I bought vanilla-bean ice cream on the way home. Want coffee?”
“No, I’ll have your Scottish tea.”
I put the kettle on and Trace lit a fire.
I juggled the tea and dessert to the table by the sofa. When I sat down by him, I was struck by how big and solid he was. Here was a man I could curl up with and feel safe. I doubted there was much he couldn’t handle.
He tapped my head. “You’re worrying over something in there.”
“Wrong.” I put one finger on his lip. “I was thinking about how you make me feel.”
He put his tea on the lamp table and stretched out one arm, beckoning me. I slipped under his arm and laid my head on his chest, hearing his heart beat steady and strong. I basked in the warmth of being cared for. “I think you best tell me about these feelings,” he murmured.
The fire popped, the yellow light making his skin glow bronze. He slowly kissed me, then deepened the kiss, teasing my lips apart. Reaching under my T-shirt, he loosened my bra and my breasts swung loose into his waiting hands.
When he rasped his thumbs over my nipples, I sighed. “I ache for you.”
A warm, throaty chuckle rumbled in my ear. “I can take care of those feelings.”
He straddled me, one long, lean leg on the floor. He trailed kisses down my neck, nuzzled each breast, and suckled. I lifted my hips and he pulled off my yoga pants and panties. Lowering his head to my belly, he kissed the skin at my waist before licking his way across my mound.
He tantalized me, tonguing down my thigh, not touching my essence until the anticipation grew unbearable. When he finally flicked his tongue across my sex, exquisite pleasure surged through me. I screamed his name, rocketing over the brink with his mouth on me. While I was still panting, he pulled me to my feet, and led me to the arm of the sofa. He gently bent me over, and I arched to receive him. When he thrust into me, he pulled my hips up high and held me close. He drove into me so deep, he touched the sensitive ridges, and with each plunge, my pleasure built. I cried out as I came, Trace groaning with his own release.
We lay in bed, nestled together, softly talking as dawn broke. “You’re a wonderful lover.” He kissed me.
I caressed the smooth hardness of his pecs. “You, too. I ogle your body every chance I get.”
“Next time will be even better.” He kissed me on the cheek.
Sunlight streamed through the windows. He rose on one elbow and stared at the clock. He flopped back down on the bed. “We better get a break today.”
“I declared the moratorium yesterday, and now I’m ending it. Do you have any idea where Anne is or even if she is alive?”
“No and no. I know a lot of places she isn’t. As long as you kicked the door open, have you seen any coyotes?”
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t felt the icy cold or impending doom since we smudged.” I pointed at my bag. “The rest of the grasses and hyssop are in that bag and it stays by me.”
“Keep it there. Maybe the strength of our prayers turned the evil back on him. If we’re lucky, he was burned by the evil he conjured and he’s weakened.”
“How is Yanaha?”
“She still has the cough. After a week of cajoling, demanding, and finally threatening, I got her to let me take her back to the clinic. She asks about you every time I speak with her.”
“I’ll visit her today and take her the other half of that cake. There’s cell service now so I can stay in touch if anything breaks, but I don’t want another day like yesterday where Louis and I sat around worrying and making phone calls and turned up nothing.”
“That’s a cop’s life. Wait and wait and then all hell breaks loose and you chase the investigation to the finish.” He rolled out of bed and stretched his back, his muscles rippling. He sidled to the bathroom and called over his shoulder as he stepped into the shower, “Tell Yanaha I love her.”
Chapter 35
Yanaha was delighted I was coming to visit. I had half the decadent chocolate cake wrapped up on the front seat for her. She was the grandmother I no longer had. My beloved Mc Whorter grandmother, Elspeth, had outlived her son and had shared her wisdom with me until she passed.
My drive through Kaih Canyon was uneventful. I was tense, but the sky remained a clear blue and the wind didn’t blow a sandstorm. I rounded the sandstone wall that gave way to the wide space where her hogan was. The creek was running fast from the spring rains and the willows had sprouted pale green leaves since I had last visited.
She peeped out her door and slowly shuffled out to meet me. “I am so happy to see you, Granddaughter.” Her bony hands held tightly to my arm. “I’ve made coffee and I have a lamb stew and fry bread.”
She was racked with a coughing fit before we reached her door. She caught the worried look on my face and patted my arm, reassuring me. “I still have the cough, but I’m better.”
The hogan smelled of warm bread and the rich scent of simmering meat and herbs. She had added nearly a foot of weaving to the rug since I had last visited.
Her hand shook as she carried the full coffeepot to the table.
“Let me help you.” I took the coffeepot from her.
She returned to the table with a pot of Betsy’s cream and a sugar bowl. “You’re wearing your pouch.” She smiled approvingly.
“I wear it all the time. Thank you.” I fingered it protectively. “Trace gathered grasses and hyssop and smudged my house.”
“I know, my dear. He says you haven’t had any more trouble.” She sipped her coffee.
“Have you had any problems?” I asked.
“I saw three shapeshifters together on the ridge above the willows.”
“Did they see you?”
“Yes, I suspect their performance was for me.” She sipped her coffee.
I waited for her to tell her story.
“A sliver of new moon lit the night. They had built a large fire on the ridge above the willows. In the firelight, I could see them walking upright with the legs of a coyote and arms of a man. They danced around the fire, throwing back their heads and letting their long fur play about their shoulders. Their chanting and high-pitched laughter filled the night, and the booming of their drums bounced off the canyon walls and thrummed in my chest. The night held only a touch of crisp, cool wind, but I was cold, so bitterly cold. Sand and small rocks skittered down the cliff as they danced. At last, one of them threw back his head and howled and the others joined him in an unholy shrieking. The fire flashed up and died. The moon slid behind a veil of heavy clouds, and suddenly the ridgeline plunged into darkness and silence. I waited, shivering in my coat. The dry leaves under my willows by the creek rustled and I heard snuffling sounds. Shadows moved through the willows, and I fled into my hogan. The hyssop and my prayers protected me.”
“What happened?”
“I heard footsteps around the hogan, unspeakable wails and screeching. I didn’t go outside until the sun was high the next morning. Scattered bones of small animals had been hurled along the creek.”
“When did this
happen?”
“More than a week ago. I’ve seen nothing since I cleaned my hogan with the smoke of sage and cedar.” She walked the few steps to her stove and carefully ladled up bowls of the fragrant stew.
“Are you afraid? Would you like me to take you in to town?”
“Thank you my dear. My home is here.”
“But the danger . . .”
“We deal with what comes our way, child, if it does come.”
She set a bowl in front of me with lamp chunks swimming in a rich brown gravy with carrots and potatoes. “My mother made this for us children when the spring lambs were fat and tender.”
I didn’t want to think of fuzzy little lambs while I ate. I took a spoonful, and the flavors of bay and roasted meat exploded in my mouth. “The stew is delicious.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You almost seem surprised,” she said amused. “The cake will be such a treat for me.”
I refilled her coffee cup and mine. She shifted in her wobbly chair. “Three boys are dead and Gage,” she said softly. “I knew his father and uncle. The Notahs will want to bury Gage and his son together. Anne needs to be there for the funeral,” she said wistfully. “So many dead since Niyol was killed.”
“I’m sorry. Do you know how Atsa Begay is doing?”
“She has stayed with her people. She held her head high when Trace told her that Sani’s car had been tampered with.”
Yanaha’s wide eyes brimmed with fear, and she grasped the edge of the table. The Formica table rocked on the dirt floor, and the cake plate jittered across the surface. Rolling waves of pressure built until a shockwave thundered through the narrow canyon, releasing the stress. The cake splattered on the dirt floor in a dark ooze.
Outside the small window, sand rained down, pitting the glass. I took Yanaha’s arm, hurrying her to the door. “Get outside away from the house!” I grabbed a blanket and pulled Yanaha out in the open space on the canyon floor. Bits of paper and grit flew through the air. I helped her to sit on the ground and threw the blanket over her. “Stay here. I don’t know if it’s safe to be inside.”