Skin Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 2)

by Melissa Bowersock

  The other women were seated further away, so it was more difficult to figure shoe size. Andrea’s feet looked smaller than Lacey’s, but both Sylvia’s and Carmen’s looked comparable.

  She watched the byplay between the cousins. Andrea was soft-spoken and reticent, perhaps just intimidated by Felicity’s running chatter or Sylvia’s commanding presence. Carmen was quiet, as well, but there was a strength, a confidence, beneath the silence, not the timidity of Andrea. Both Carmen and Sylvia seemed self-possessed. Sylvia certainly wore the pants in her family.

  Lacey watched carefully for any telltale signs of animosity from any of them, but saw none. Whoever was the witch, she obviously knew Lacey and Sam were a threat to her identity, otherwise she wouldn’t have appeared to them in animal form. Yet Lacey saw no hatred, no anger, no warning glances. Had they been wrong that the witch was one of these women? Or was the witch just very good at putting on an agreeable face? Lacey felt a wave of dismay at the thought of starting back at square one again, of widening their investigation to include more possibilities.

  She glanced behind her. Many of the men had disappeared, no doubt gone back to their horseshoe tournament. Both Sam and Ben were gone. She noticed down the hall that Carson’s room light was on, so there was probably a gather of kids in there. Once sated, everyone went back to their entertainment.

  “I think I need to walk,” Lacey said, excusing herself. She stood up and patted her stomach. “If I sit there too long, I’ll go to sleep.” She smiled at the others and took her empty plate to the garbage can. Passing the table, she noticed Roxanne doing some cleanup.

  “Need help?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” Roxanne said, waving her on. “I’m just puttering. Go on, relax. Have fun.”

  Lacey wandered outside. The horseshoe tournament was in full swing, and the queue had been lengthened by the addition of some of the older boys. Lacey now understood when Sam said he couldn’t keep track of all his second cousins. The only kids she could positively identify were Carson and Griff. The rest were just a blur.

  She walked beyond the cones of light shed by the flood lights. Out past the fire pit, she could look up and see the stars. They were amazing. The sky was an inky black and the stars were strewn across it like so many tiny shards of glass. The Milky Way was not just a faint mirage as seen from L.A., but a path of stars, like the walkway of fairies. She breathed in the cold air, stuck her hands in her pockets and just stared at the sky.

  A hand on her shoulder startled her. She jumped, looking quickly over her shoulder. Ben grinned at her.

  “Oh, you,” she said, smiling. She took his arm and tucked it inside hers. They stared up at the stars together.

  Abruptly Ben began speaking. The Navajo language, so totally foreign to her, floated to her ears on the cold, still air. She understood none of it, but enjoyed the sounds, the pauses. Ben pointed to the constellation Orion overhead, to the bright corner stars, Betelgeuse and Rigel. Then he pointed to the Milky Way, waving his hand along the length of it. Lacey imagined him telling her stories of heroes and warriors, of triumphs and tragedies, of the magical history of the Navajo people. She sighed with quiet contentment, and when he finally fell silent, they stood together in the dim starlight.

  The clang of horseshoes rattled the still night air. Laughter drifted to them. Lacey felt a shiver vibrate through Ben’s arm and realized he had no coat on, just a flannel shirt. She tugged on his arm.

  “Come over to the fire,” she said. She pulled him back to the fire pit so they could both benefit from the warmth.

  Before long, Roxanne, Sylvia and Andrea came out with a swarm of children. Roxanne distributed marshmallows and Sylvia and Andrea passed out metal roasting sticks. Lacey couldn’t begin to identify all the children, but she noticed a girl staying close by Sylvia’s side and guessed this was the girl who had just turned twelve. Like Sylvia, she had good bone structure and was very pretty.

  When Mike showed up, Lacey heard him offer to help with the younger kids. Sylvia dismissed him. “No, no, I’ve got it,” she said, her voice barely civil. “Go back to your male bonding at the horseshoe pit.”

  Lacey and Ben stepped back to give access to the fire to as many kids as possible and the little ones crowded around. The air was filled with the smell of burnt marshmallow and the raucous laughter of children chasing each other with gooey fingers.

  Lacey broke away and went to watch the horseshoe game. Modesto was pitching like a pro, putting ringer after ringer on the post. Johnny—or was it Neal? She wasn’t sure—groaned with every point. She stood well apart from the line of waiting contestants and just watched. It was all such a festive atmosphere, friendly and genial. She had to wonder how many even knew why she and Sam were here. If they all knew their cousin had been murdered, would they be so cheerfully immersed in the game? If they knew there was a witch among them, could they shutter their anxiety so well? She shook her head minutely. She had no idea.

  Suddenly Sam appeared beside her. He nudged her shoulder with his own.

  “You doing okay?” he asked in a low voice. “You look lost in thought.” His dark eyes pinned her.

  “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Fine. I’m just…” She hesitated, glancing around behind him to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. “Not getting any clear clues, you know?” She returned her gaze to his face. “You?”

  He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “No,” he admitted. “I really thought…”

  “Yeah, me, too,” she said. “Either she’s not here, or she’s got a very good poker face.”

  Just then a big hand slapped Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, man, we’re gonna take off,” Modesto said. “I’ve already beaten everyone’s ass; no competition left. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  Modesto pumped Sam’s hand with the same exuberance as he did everything else.

  “I’ll be around,” Sam promised. “You take care.”

  “You bet. Lacey?” Modesto opened his arms. She stepped into the hug willingly. “You, too, lady. Come back and visit.”

  “I will,” she said. As she pulled back, Irene and the kids crowded around to say goodbye. She gave Irene a quick hug and tousled the kids’ hair. Nice family, she thought.

  That first departure seemed to send a signal; others began to make their excuses, but rounding up children slowed the process. Lacey drifted toward the house with Roxanne and Felicity, then went inside to help separate out the empty dishes and find their owners. Between goodbyes, quick hugs or handshakes, she made small inroads into the chaos that was the dining room, tossing empty paper plates and napkins, gathering up serving spoons and putting them in the sink. She was searching for plastic wrap to cover a few leftovers when Ben tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and smiled expectantly.

  “You take me home?”

  ~~~

  TEN

  She was startled first by his question, the fact that he was speaking English, and then by the tired look in his eyes. Gone were the crinkles beside his eyes, the smiling light she had grown to recognize. He had clearly reached his limit for socializing.

  “Uh, sure,” she said. She glanced over at Roxanne. “Okay if I borrow your truck? Grampa wants to go home.”

  Roxanne turned and regarded them both for a few seconds. “Sure. Keys are there on the counter.”

  Lacey scooped them up, then raised a finger to Ben. “Let me grab my jacket,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She dashed down the hall to her room. Before picking up her parka, she quickly unlocked her suitcase and slipped on her shoulder harness. With her gun settled under her arm, she pulled on her parka and zipped it up. Then she returned to the front room.

  Ben was gone. She glanced at Roxanne. “Outside,” she said, tilting her head toward the door. Lacey nodded and followed.

  He was waiting for her in the truck. She climbed in the driver’s side and fired it up. Jockeying around the extra vehicles that still remained, she pulled onto the dirt tr
ack and hoped she remembered how to get to Ben’s.

  “You speak English,” she said with a sideways look.

  He turned to her and gave a small smile. “Some,” he said.

  “You’ll have to tell me where to turn,” she said. In the dark, it would be difficult to see where the track led down into the big wash. The road was faint, especially in the glare of the headlights. She drove slowly, trying to reduce the amount of rattling and shimmying the truck had to endure.

  “Here,” Ben said finally. She slowed, inching up the slight rise, making sure she was indeed on the road as the truck levered downward. The headlights swept the far side of the wash as they angled down.

  She walked the truck down the incline, avoiding the largest rocks and deepest holes. She felt bad about Ben knocking his shoulder against the passenger door, but he hardly seemed to notice.

  At the bottom of the wash, she lined up the truck with the sloped road on the opposite side, gunned it a little through the sandy bottom, and guided the truck carefully up and out. Concentrating as she was on keeping the tires firmly on the dirt track, she found she didn’t notice the tilt quite as much as when she rode shotgun. She still gave it plenty of respect, and all of her attention.

  Up on the flat again, she drove more comfortably to Ben’s hut. She couldn’t deny a feeling of relief when she saw the round hogan in the headlights, nor a touch of pride that she’d gotten them there without a problem. She pulled up next to the hogan and shut off the truck.

  Climbing out of the cab, she noticed how slowly Ben moved. Poor man. She felt sure he enjoyed seeing all the family, but it certainly took its toll. She held the door for him as he clambered carefully out of the truck, then walked beside him to the hogan.

  “Can I help you with anything before I go?” she asked. Now she didn’t feel so foolish talking to him, knowing he understood at least some of what she said.

  He shook his head. “No. You go.” He waved a hand back toward the way they had come.

  “All right.” She moved in and gave him a careful hug, feeling the fragility of his thin body.

  And over his shoulder, out in the darkness, saw orange eyes blazing at her.

  “Watch out!” She thrust him aside as she called the warning, reaching inside her jacket and pulling her gun. The eyes were streaking toward them, closing the distance alarmingly fast. She set her feet and raised the gun, aiming for those orange orbs. The thing began to take shape as it moved into the diffuse glow of the headlights, and Lacey could hear a low, feral growl. She held her arms steady and squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice.

  There was no sound of a bullet hitting its mark, but she heard a startled yip of pain and saw the thing dodge sideways. It veered off, away from the light, but its eyes flashed as it glanced back. Just for good measure, Lacey fired two more times, but neither saw nor heard any evidence of solid hits. The thing melted into the darkness and disappeared.

  Lowering her gun, she dragged in a breath. Now that the danger was past, she could feel herself shaking, her heart pounding. She carefully holstered her gun and turned to Ben.

  And found him sitting on the ground where he’d fallen.

  “Oh, no!” she said, rushing to him. She knelt beside him in panic. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” She put an arm around his back to support him, but didn’t try to move him. Gingerly she touched his thigh, hoping desperately he hadn’t broken anything when she’d thrust him aside.

  He patted her arm. “Okay,” he said. “Help me up?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. She took both his hands in hers and pulled him carefully to his feet. She made sure he was steady before she released him and moved a hand to his back. Allowing for his halting steps, she guided him slowly to the door of the hogan.

  Inside, he shuffled to the table where he lit a kerosene lantern. The room glowed with the light, shadows wavering on the walls. Ben pulled a chair out and sat heavily.

  Lacey dragged another chair up close and sat opposite him, her knees touching his. She took both his hands in hers and leaned toward him.

  “Can I get you anything? Do anything?”

  Ben let out a long breath but shook his head. “Okay,” said, obviously meaning himself. “You go. Okay.”

  “Are you sure?” Lacey wasn’t. “I could stay a while.”

  He shook his head again. “No. You go.”

  Lacey let go of his hands. “But that was… the witch, wasn’t it?” she asked. “That was… her?”

  Ben looked at her directly, not avoiding her question in the slightest. “Yes.” He nodded.

  “I’m worried about you,” she said. “What if she comes back?”

  He opened his mouth in a silent laugh and stuck a thumb toward his chest. “Tough.”

  “You’re tough?” She smiled back with less confidence than she felt. “I know, but…” She glanced around, trying to think of any reason to stay longer. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?” She had no idea how he kept food here. Without electricity, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “Water,” he said. He pointed to a ceramic pitcher on a small table across the room. She went to it, noticing it had a thin woven cloth over it, like cheesecloth. She pulled off the cloth and could see a reflection inside—water. The pitcher was a bright orange and had a flowing black design painted around all sides. It was glazed to a shining finish—not one of Ben’s, then. There were two matching mugs beside it. She poured water into one mug and brought it to Ben. He sipped it slowly.

  While she wondered what else she could do to make sure he was safe, she heard the crunch of tires on rocky ground and the low growl of a truck engine. She went to the door and peered out. The headlights blinded her for a moment as they slewed around, but she was pretty sure it was Gabe’s truck. As soon as the truck came to a halt, Sam jumped out.

  “Lacey? Are you two okay? I heard shots.” Worry quickened his words.

  She moved aside to let him in the hogan. “Yes, we’re fine,” she said. “I, uh, pushed Ben out of the way and he fell, but he seems to be okay.”

  Sam went to his grandfather and hunkered down next to him, plying him with questions in their native tongue. Ben answered easily, pointing to Lacey and waving a hand toward the outside. Sam’s concern was evident in the thin, hard line of his mouth, but Ben was unruffled. Lacey had to hand it to the old man—he was a cool customer.

  Sam stood up and eyed Lacey. She fidgeted under his stare. Was he blaming her? Or just upset about the whole incident? She wasn’t sure.

  “You think you hit it?” he asked finally.

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure, but I think I might have. Not a solid hit. It still ran away. But I heard it whine with pain.”

  “Show me,” he said, motioning her toward the door.

  She ducked out the door and led him to the place where she and Ben had been standing. “We were here,” she said. She looked out where the eyes had been. “I first saw it out there—just the eyes. That orange glow. Then it began to charge us. That’s when I pushed Ben aside and got my gun. I fired off two shots; I think the second one hit. It dodged sideways and took off that way.” She pointed south. “I saw the eyes flash once as it looked back, and I fired twice more, just to scare it. I’m sure neither of those shots struck it.”

  Without a word, Sam went to Gabe’s truck and got a flashlight out of the glove box. He clicked it on. “Show me about where you think it was when you fired the first time.”

  Lacey walked slowly out beyond the reach of the headlights. When she judged she’d gone far enough, she stopped. “Maybe here,” she said. “It’s hard to tell for sure. It all happened so fast.”

  Sam shone the flashlight around on the ground before them. Lacey looked, too, as he lit up the dusty ground. She checked back over her shoulder, trying to judge distance, but it was—

  “Here,” Sam said. He crouched down and swept the ground with the light. Lacey could see nothing that looked like paw prints.
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br />   Sam stayed down, creeping forward a little. He put light fingers into a shallow depression, brushed loose sand from the top of a flat rock. Then he stood up and turned back to where Lacey waited. From there, he headed outward again, shining the light ahead of him as he walked.

  Just a few steps and he crouched down again. He trailed the light over the ground, then stopped.

  “Lacey, look,” he said.

  She walked up behind him and peered around his shoulder. Again, she saw nothing that she would classify as paw prints.

  “I don’t see—”

  “Here,” Sam said brusquely. He pointed to a small rock, the size of a fist. “Watch.” He moved the flashlight around, illuminating the rock from one side, then another. Lacey saw a flash of reflected light.

  “Wait. There,” she said when the angle was right. “Is that… wet?”

  Sam put a finger to the dark spot, then brought it to Lacey’s view. “Blood,” he said. “You hit it, all right. Just probably not a solid shot.” He cast around more widely but after several minutes of looking, only found one more spot of blood on the sand. He straightened up and motioned her back toward the hogan.

  “It’s a good thing you were wearing your gun,” he said as they walked. “What made you think to bring it?”

  She shrugged. “Just a hunch, I guess. Bringing Ben out there where it’s so isolated, and after dark and all; it just seemed like a good idea.”

  “It was,” he said. “An excellent idea. And”—he looked over at her—“you saved both yourself and Grampa, if not from death, at least from a savage mauling.”

  She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “When I realized I’d pushed him too hard and he’d fallen, I felt terrible. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

  Sam laughed once. “He’s a tough old bird. Takes more than that to get to him.”

  “That’s what he told me,” she said. “That he’s tough.” She sent him a sideways glance. “You never told me he could speak English.”

  “You never asked.”