Celilo's Shadow

by Wilcox, Valerie

  Tony rubbed his aching shoulder. “I’m in big trouble.”

  “I can see that. What happened?”

  “Some damn Injun picked a fight with me,” he admitted. No sense telling her any more. He didn’t think she’d understand about Ellie. Not that he had a clear understanding himself. He shook his head at how stupid he’d been. “The beating isn’t the problem.” He paused and looked down at his coffee mug. “You were right about Clarice all along. She’s a two-timing bitch.”

  “What’d she do?” asked Mildred.

  “She stole Baker Bluff from me, that’s what! I guess she got tired of waiting for me to scrape together the rest of the dough we needed. She sweet-talked Warren into springing for the purchase.”

  Mildred was quiet a moment. “I knew she wasn’t trustworthy, boss. But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

  “It is. Old Injun George died at the hospital yesterday. The Feds were already on the case because of Sam Matthews’ interference. You heard that he’s a G-man, right? He claimed jurisdiction over Sheriff Pritchard and had George put under guard at the hospital.”

  “What for? He wasn’t a flight risk in his condition.”

  “Who knows or cares? The problem is that it’s only a matter of time before the Feds come after me. Asking a bunch of questions I don’t want to answer.”

  “I’m confused. Why would they do that?”

  Tony hesitated and then asked, “Can I trust you, Millie?”

  She leaned forward and patted Tony’s hand. “Boss, you should know by now that I will never let you down. Never.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear because what I’m going to tell you now can’t leave this room.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, settling back in her chair. “I’m listening.”

  “Clarice killed Nick.”

  If Mildred was surprised by this revelation she didn’t show it. “I thought something was a little off about the story,” she said, “especially the part about you asking Nick to take the Indian back to Celilo.”

  “That was all Clarice’s doing. She said if Nick’s body was found at Baker Bluff, the property would be off-limits for a burial ground.”

  “Smart. The Indians wouldn’t want their ancestors laid to rest on a site where a murder had taken place. Spilled blood and all that.”

  “Exactly,” Tony said. “The government would be forced to locate the graves somewhere else and the property would be ours for the taking.”

  “She was right about that. According to this morning’s newspaper, a new site has been chosen out by Highway 14. There’s even a photo of the helicopter that they’re going to use to move the bones.”

  “Here’s the thing. The original plan didn’t even involve Nick. Clarice’s plan was to drive Injun George up to Baker Bluff and fill him with enough booze so that he would drive the truck right off the bluff himself. It was supposed to look like a drunken accident, not murder.”

  “What changed?”

  “Old George passed out before he could even get the truck in gear.”

  Mildred got up to replenish her mug. “Want a refill?” she asked.

  The whiskey bottle she’d left on the table was calling. “As long as you jack it up a notch.”

  “Okay,” she said, pouring him another shot. “You deserve it.”

  “And I haven’t even told you everything. Pritchard is convinced that we’ll all be going to jail when the Feds get through with us.”

  “How is Pritchard involved?”

  “Clarice had him over a barrel.” He explained how Clarice threatened to make his job go away by spreading the dirt about his wife and the Indian from Celilo if he didn’t help to frame Nick’s murder on George Featherstone.

  Mildred chuckled. “That explains why he’s always been such a hard-ass about anything to do with Indians or Celilo. If he had his druthers, the falls wouldn’t be the only thing destroyed by the dam. Maybe he thought an Indian responsible for killing an innocent kid like Nick would lead to the destruction of the entire village. The town folk have sure been riled up about the murder.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “Tony, there is something I should tell you.”

  “Hold it right there,” he said, raising his mug in the air. “If it’s something I’m not going to like, then I’ll need another refill.” He meant more booze, but Mildred brought the coffee pot and poured him a warm-up.

  Mildred said, “You know how I’ve never trusted Clarice. I thought she was dangerous.”

  Tony groaned. “You needn’t remind me.”

  “I was worried about you, that’s all. Anyway, I’ve done some digging into her background. You’d be amazed at what you can find in the library these days. The librarian keeps all the back issues of various newspapers, including The Oregonian.

  “So?”

  “We know Clarice was living in Portland before coming to The Dalles. It never made sense to me that she would willingly leave the excitement of the big city to live here. I had a hunch that she was running away from her past. And I was right.” Mildred stood up. “Wait here, I have something to show you.”

  Tony watched her waddle out of the kitchen and then grabbed the nearly empty whiskey bottle. “Might as well top off the coffee with the last of the good stuff,” he muttered.

  When Mildred returned, she handed him a newspaper. “I swiped this from the library. Clarice was front page news in Portland several years ago.” She pointed to a faded photo. “This here is our Clarice. Only she was calling herself Colleen back then.”

  Tony rubbed his eyes. “My peepers aren’t focusing too well right now. What’s the article say about her?”

  “Just that your sweetie pie has murdered before. Seems her hubby in Portland was rich like Warren. Somehow, he wound up dead, stabbed to death in his own home. Clarice was the main suspect, but eluded arrest by claiming self-defense. Supposedly, he was outraged because she was leaving him and attacked her first.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Then I kept reading the back issues. Turns out, Clarice was the sole beneficiary of a healthy life insurance policy. An investigation was launched, but she was never charged. There was talk that she bribed the police with the insurance money she got. In any event, she left town quickly.”

  “Talk about a black widow,” Tony cracked. “I should let Warren know that his days may be numbered.”

  “Oh, I think you should do more than that. Wouldn’t you like to keep your Baker Bluff dream alive?”

  “What do you think?”

  Mildred smiled. “Then I have an idea that just may solve all your problems.”

  Tony snapped to attention. His instincts had been correct—Mildred was the right person to go to for help. For the first time in two days, he had a glimmer of hope. “Spill it, woman,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Danny opened one of the boxes containing the dynamite and took out a stick. Walter had transferred the boxes from the warehouse so that they could assemble and test the dynamite. Since none of them had any experience with explosives, Feldman wanted them to have a trial run before what he referred to as “Operation Red” was carried out. With 41 acres of village land to choose from, it wasn’t hard to find a remote spot where prying eyes wouldn’t find them. Danny set the stick on the duct tape he’d laid out in front of him and rolled it up part way. Then he added a second stick and kept rolling, adding more sticks as he went along. The process was much like the way he’d seen Fitz add cinnamon and sugar as he rolled out dough for cinnamon rolls at The Pit Stop. When Danny had assembled seven o
r eight sticks, he secured the entire bundle together with more duct tape.

  “It don’t need to be so perfect,” Walter complained. “You’re taking way too long.” Walter and Ernie had finished wrapping their bundles while Danny had only two bundles to show for his efforts.

  Ernie pretended to throw one of the sticks at Danny. “Hurry up,” he said, or we’ll use you for target practice.”

  Believing dynamite wasn’t something to fool around with, Danny took his time. Henry should’ve been here. Danny could always count on him to take things seriously. “Why didn’t Henry come along?” he asked.

  “He had stuff to do for Chief Thompson,” Walter said. “Besides, the real fun will take place at the dam.”

  True to his word, Feldman had introduced them to his inside guy who said he’d provide everything they needed for the operation. He also advised them on how to get onto the spillway from the Washington side of the river without being noticed. But, in case they were, he’d promised to give them hard hats, work boots, and false name badges so that they’d look legitimate. The plan was to destroy the sluice gates which were located on top of the spillway. They’d use the rope they’d been given to lower the dynamite to the gates. Walter wanted each of them to lower a bundle. “Four big holes in those gates would set the project way back,” he said.

  “With seven or eight sticks to a bundle, you’re talking about a huge explosion,” countered Danny. “It’s a major risk.” He was okay with blowing up the sluice gates, but he didn’t like the idea of an explosion so intense that it would take out any workers who happened to get in the way. When Danny thought about it—as he had a lot lately—the government employees were just doing a job to feed their families. Even as despicable as Sam Matthew’s betrayal was, he’d only been trying to provide for Ellie in the best way he knew how. The only person Danny wouldn’t regret seeing dead today was Tony Rossi. By dynamite or other means, it didn’t matter.

  Walter downplayed the risk. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

  Danny shook his head at how aggressive Walter had become since they’d joined forces with Feldman’s group. He seemed to actively court danger whenever he could.

  Danny sighed and shook his head. He’d heard Oscar tell about an incident with dynamite that had scared the bejeesus out of him. His grandfather said he was picking cherries for the Seufert company when, unbeknownst to him, another crew at the orchard had been tasked with blowing up some stumps. Oscar was 150 feet away from the target stumps, but he almost got killed when the blast went off. Boulder-sized rocks, a sea of dirt and splintered wood flew past his head like it had all been shot out of a cannon. Oscar said the guy had overestimated the strength needed. He’d used three sticks when just one would’ve done the job.

  The remote site they’d chosen for testing was the site of several abandoned shacks. No one could remember what their purpose had been originally, but they would be put to good use now. With three outbuildings, they’d each get the opportunity to blow one up. When Walter started things off by selecting an entire bundle of eight sticks to throw, Danny intervened. “Hey, man, why the overkill? That timber palace is practically falling down as it is. One stick or two at the most should do the trick.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah,” chimed Ernie. “Let the good times roll.”

  “You’re gonna get us killed before we even get started,” Danny said. He pulled a stick from one of his bundles. “I’ll show you exactly what one stick will do, but you two better take cover first.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared,” Walter mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Danny’s going to make boom-boom. We gotta run and hide, Ernie.”

  Ernie laughed and imitated Walter’s skittish dash to their truck.

  When he knew they were a safe distance away, Danny lit the fuse and threw the single stick at the sturdiest of the shacks. And ran like hell.

  The blast was nothing like the firecrackers they sometimes set off. The shack blew apart with a fierce ear-splitting thunder. The energy from the blast shook the other buildings so hard that they, too, collapsed. The debris field reached all the way to Danny’s truck where the boys had taken shelter. A jagged hole in the ground had replaced the dilapidated structure.

  Walter and Ernie were duly impressed. “Holy smokes,” cried Ernie. “That was really something.”

  “Just one stick,” Danny reminded them when they inspected the site. “This is nothing compared to what a bundle of seven or eight sticks will do. The concrete at the dam is gonna come flying apart like giant buckshot.” Whether that would satisfy Walter’s growing need for violence remained to be seen. It struck Danny that Walter had more rage burning inside him than all the Wy-ams and other tribes combined.

  With the shacks destroyed by Danny’s single test, they loaded the rest of the dynamite into his truck. “I can’t wait until we do this for real,” Walter said.

  “Yeah,” Ernie agreed. “It’ll be a blast!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mildred’s first time riding in the Cadillac didn’t prove to be a pleasant experience. She fidgeted with her bra strap, tugged at her sagging stockings, and squirmed each time Tony goosed the gas pedal. She had a death grip on the door handle as if she were responsible for keeping it attached to the car. The frozen look on her face suggested that rigor mortis had already set in. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, boss.”

  Her discomfort made him laugh. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he teased. “Wait till we hit the highway. This baby’s gonna flat-out fly.”

  Mildred let go of the door handle long enough to don a headscarf. Her frizzy bob was plastered down with so much hair spray that it’d take a hurricane to mess it up. A bit of fresh air running through those gray roots might do her some good. “Aw, Millie,” he said, “Don’t be such a fuss-budget. I’m a damn good driver. Ditch the scarf and just relax already.”

  She turned on him. “Riding in this flashy babe-mobile isn’t what’s bothering me. Go ahead, put pedal to the metal all you want. I’m ready, willing and able to do whatever makes you happy. I think I’ve proven that repeatedly. Give me a little credit, for God’s sake. I’ve always had your back.”

  Mildred’s sudden outburst was not like her. If she weren’t so old, he’d swear that she was on the rag. The switch in her attitude was annoying. “What’s your problem then?” he snapped.

  “Clarice.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She’s too clever by far. I’m afraid she won’t buy the plan.”

  “Hell, yes, she’s clever. That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Don’t hmm me,” Tony said. “Just stick to the script we worked out. You got hold of Pritchard, right?”

  “Yes, he’ll be there.”

  “With backup?”

  “It’s all arranged.”

  “Then relax.” He repeated what Clarice had once said to him: “Just follow my lead and do exactly what we planned and everything will be fine.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  The rest of the ride to Baker Bluff was fast and silent. Mildred still fidgeted and squirmed in her seat but Tony ignored her. He concentrated instead on Clarice. She’d made a big mistake by double-crossing him and he couldn’t wait to give her a little pay-back. He had nothing to lose at this point and everything to gain. And, by God, he would succeed. He hadn’t slaved for Uncle Sol all these years to have his dream stolen by a so-called clever broad. No, Antonio Rossi would have the last laugh despite her conniving ways.

  When he pulled up at the bluff, Clarice and Warren were already there. They huddled with the two surveyors that Tony had met earlier.
The group was so busy discussing the location of the newly planted survey stakes on the property that they failed to notice the arrival of the Caddy. Tony and Mildred got out of the car and watched them for a moment. “Look at ‘em,” Tony sneered. “Warren and Clarice are holding hands like a pair of lovebirds. What a crock.”

  Mildred shrugged. “They sure look happy.”

  “Ha! Not for long.” Tony gave up waiting for the group to notice them. “Come on,” he said, nudging Mildred. “Grab that folder of yours and let’s go give the happy couple something to think about.”

  Tony was a man on a mission, striding across the meadow with confidence oozing from every pore. Mildred trailed behind him reluctantly. “Are you sure about this?” she asked when Clarice spotted them. “She looks ready to shoot us both.”

  “This was your idea, for cryin’ out loud. How many times do I have to tell you that it’s brilliant?” He flicked his wrist at her. “Get a move on, will ya? It’s party time.”

  The remnants of his run-in with the Indian kid—cuts, bruises, and a wicked black eye—were still visible. As Mildred had noted, Clarice was not pleased to see him, battered or not. If looks could kill, he was a dead man walking. Her hostile manner delighted Tony. He greeted her intense glare with a peppy, “Hey, doll. Sorry we’re a little late.” He nodded to the survey crew and Warren. If the men remembered him, they didn’t let on and Tony didn’t give them a chance to think about it. He quickly said, “Don’t stop the meeting on our account. Clarice can fill us in on what we’ve missed.”

  Warren’s Adam’s apple protruded like a deformed goiter. Whenever he was confused (which was often, according to Clarice), he’d swallow so hard that the goiter bobbed up and down like it was trying to escape. After a couple of rapid swallows, he stammered, “I . . . I uh . . . I don’t understand. What are you . . .”

  Clarice came to his rescue. Patting his shoulder, she said, “Honey, it’s nothing. I can handle this. Why don’t you and the guys go check out the soil test. It’s the next thing on our agenda anyway.”