by J. A. Jance
Tucson, Arizona
Saturday, December 5, 2009, 3:00 p.m.
68º Fahrenheit
Lani Walker and Dan Pardee got married the first Saturday in December in a small ceremony in her parents’ house. The wedding was supposed to happen outside in the early afternoon. Naturally it rained—like crazy. The chill winter rainstorm would be good for flowers the following spring, but not so good for wedding guests.
Attending the wedding was Brian’s first outing. They gave him a furlough from the rehab center, but only for a few hours.
There weren’t that many people there. Still, Brian had a tough time sorting through them.
Most of the guests were family members and people Brian already knew, such as a family named Torres—including the young mother and son Brian had saved. There were several strangers as well, including Micah Duarte, the groom’s grandfather. He was Indian—Apache—and uncomfortable in all the uproar. Brian’s heart went out to the man. The only time he seemed at ease was when he was chatting with little Gabe Ortiz.
The other total stranger was an Anglo man who also seemed to have some connection to the groom.
During the reception, the man sat down on the couch near where Brian’s wheelchair was parked. “I understand you’re a real hero,” he said by way of introduction, holding out his hand. “I’m David Blaine. Retired LAPD.”
“You’re related to the groom?” Brian asked.
Blaine shook his head and smiled. “Not really,” he said. “At least I wasn’t originally, but I guess I am now. When Lani and Dan used the Internet to track me down in Palm Desert and invited me to come to the wedding, you could have knocked me over with a feather.”
Brian was struggling to connect the dots when Blaine explained. “I was the investigating officer years ago when Dan’s mother was murdered. I didn’t do that much, but I’m the one who carried him out of that terrible place. He couldn’t have been more than four years old. I’m surprised he remembered.”
Brian glanced wonderingly in Dan Pardee’s direction. His mother had been murdered? Why was it Brian knew nothing about any of that, nothing at all?
“Who knows?” Blaine continued. “Maybe the same thing will happen to you someday. You’ll get a call to come to the wedding of that little kid over there.” He nodded in Pepe Torres’s direction. “He may forget, but I can promise you his mother and his grandmother never will.”
Tucson, Arizona
Saturday, December 5, 2009, 10:00 p.m.
61º Fahrenheit
Brandon shivered as he held the door open for Damsel to come back in one last time. The guests were gone. The caterer was gone. He and Diana and Damsel finally had the place to themselves.
He, for one, was glad the wedding was over. Brandon had been happy to see all those people, but he had been even happier to see them all go home. As far as he was concerned, the high point of the day had come about when Angie, the flower girl, had escaped Diana’s clutches and raced to the bride and groom. She had grabbed on to Dan’s tuxedo-clad leg and resisted all efforts to pry her away. Finally Dan had relented. He had picked her up and held her on his hip for the duration of the ceremony.
Before letting the dog out, Brandon had stripped off his father-of-the-bride jacket, dress shoes, and tie. Thank God I don’t have to wear those anymore, he thought.
Damsel came in and shook, showering him with cold spatters of water. Outside it was still raining.
Going back through the house, Brandon was surprised to find Diana sitting on the couch in the living room. The only light in the room was from a single lamp on an end table next to where she sat holding a basket. At first Brandon thought it was one of Rita Antone’s, but when he came closer, he realized it was a burden basket he had never seen before.
“Hello,” he said. “I thought you’d already gone to bed. And what’s that? I thought you weren’t going to collect any more baskets.”
“I wasn’t,” she said. “It was a gift from Micah Duarte.”
“I couldn’t help liking that guy,” Brandon said. “He reminded me of Fat Crack, only not nearly as wide.”
Nodding, Diana passed the basket to her husband.
“Micah told me this originally belonged to his wife’s grandmother,” Diana explained. “He said he had heard about my basket collection from Lani and Dan. He thought it might be a good idea for me to look after it, either to pass along to Dan when he’s finally able to appreciate it or else to give it to Angie.”
Brandon examined the basket. It was old and frayed. In one spot some of the stitching had come undone.
“This doesn’t look like it’s made of bear grass,” he said.
Diana nodded. “It isn’t. The Apaches usually used willow and yucca. If you look closely you’ll see there’s even some yucca root.”
“So it’s valuable, then?” he asked.
Diana glanced around the room at all the other baskets—at Nana Dahd’s baskets. “They’re all valuable,” she said. “And that has nothing to do with money.”
“She’d have a fit, you know.” Brandon chuckled as he gave the burden basket back.
“Who would have a fit?”
“Rita Antone,” he said. “The idea of having an ohb basket in here with all of hers.”
“No,” Diana said. After a moment’s pause, she smiled. “I don’t think Rita would mind one bit. Come on, old man. Let’s go to bed.”
Tucson, Arizona
January to June 2010
Lani and Dan had agreed from the outset that they’d live part of the time in her hospital-compound housing unit and part time at Dan’s place in Tucson. Lani assured Dan that this was historically correct, since the Tohono O’odham had always been known as the people with two houses—one in the mountains to use in the hot summer months, and one in the low desert for the winter.
What staying in Tucson overnight on Lani’s days off really meant was that she could spend more time with her folks without having to drive sixty miles one way. It also meant that Angie was able to spend more time with her new grandmother. Angie had taken to calling Lani’s mother Nana. That was close enough to Nana Dahd, and it made Lani smile every time she heard it. Diana spent hours patiently teaching Angie about clay and how to form it. When Diana and Angie weren’t closeted in Diana’s studio, they were out on the patio carrying on long conversations they both seemed to find mutually delightful.
“Why does Nana call me Lani sometimes?” Angie asked her mother one day.
“I’m sure it’s because you remind her of me when I was your age,” Lani answered with a laugh. “You don’t need to worry as long as she doesn’t start calling you Damsel.”
Lani had taken to calling her foster daughter—her soon-to-be-adopted daughter—Kskehegaj, Pretty One, because she was pretty. She was also spoiled rotten. Diana and Dan seemed to be in a contest to see who could spoil her more.
It was clear to Lani that when it came to getting her own way, Angelina Enos had Dan’s number—in spades.
Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona
Saturday, June 26, 2010, 5:00 p.m.
101º Fahrenheit
On the last Saturday in June, Dan and Lani packed a picnic supper and then, with both Bozo and Angie in the back of Lani’s Passat, they set off to run a series of late-afternoon errands. First they stopped by the deserted village called Rattlesnake Skull, where they lit a candle for Rita Antone’s granddaughter, Gina Antone. Over the months, Dan had heard all these stories and had finally learned how the Walkers’ lives intersected with the Desert People. He had learned about Fat Crack and Nana Dahd and about how Lani had been abandoned by her family after almost dying of ant bites.
“Who’s she?” Angie wanted to know when Lani mentioned Gina’s name. She, too, had heard the stories time and again, but she loved having them repeated.
“A Tohono O’odham girl who died a long time ago,” Lani explained. “We’re lighting a candle for her today so she’s not forgotten.”
Months earlier
, Lani had told Dan the story of Betraying Woman and her ohb lover. After she had told it to him for the first time, he noticed an odd expression on Lani’s face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied with a frown. “Up until now I always believed what people said about Betraying Woman—that she had betrayed her people to the Apaches. But maybe that’s not true. Maybe she really loved her young ohb warrior and maybe the Desert People were wrong to cast her out, shutting her away in a cave on Ioligam and leaving her to die.”
“Stranger things than that have happened,” Dan Pardee told her with a grin. “Look at the two of us.”
After leaving the ruins of Rattlesnake Skull village in the hot late-afternoon sun, they went on to Ban Thak, Coyote Sitting. There, in the village’s tumbledown cemetery, they lit another candle, this one for Rita Antone.
“Your godmother,” Angie said.
“Yes,” Lani agreed. “Nana Dahd. And now we’ll light one for Fat Crack.”
After that they drove to Komelik—to the place outside Komelik—the place where Angie’s mother had died a year earlier. Dan and Lani had talked it over for days in advance. Lani had worried that bringing Angie there might be too traumatic for the little girl, but she didn’t seem upset by it—more curious than upset.
“And now we’re going to light the other candles for my mommy?” Angie asked.
Lani and Dan were always careful to maintain that Delphina Enos was Angie’s biological mother, her real mother. The velvet-covered box containing the engagement ring Donald Rios had bought for Delphina had been in among the crime-scene wreckage along the freeway. That, along with the baptismal photo of Angie and her mother, were two treasures Dan and Lani Pardee were saving for their daughter.
“We have four candles left,” Lani told Angie now. “We’ll light one for your mother, one for Donald Rios, and one each for Mr. and Mrs. Tennant, the two Milghan people who died here.”
“Can I light them?” Angie asked.
Lani nodded. “But only if you’re very careful.”
As Dan watched Lani and Angie set out candles and place rock barriers around them, he couldn’t help thinking about how many lives had been impacted by what had happened here a year ago. Was it only a year?
When Dan had stumbled onto that nighttime crime scene, he’d had no way of knowing that Angie and Lani were about to walk into his life.
That was the good part of the equation. The bad part of tracking down the killer had to do with Brian Fellows. He had almost died as a result of a brain injury suffered in the course of the chase. He had spent months in a coma, and once he’d come out of that, he’d had to learn to walk again. Now he was learning to read again, too, right along with his daughters. He’d also been medically retired from the sheriff’s department, letting him be a stay-at-home dad while Kath continued to work for the Border Patrol.
As for the killer? Jonathan Southard had been injured in that car chase, too, but not nearly as seriously as Brian Fellows. On the advice of his attorney, he had accepted a plea agreement—life in prison with no chance of parole. He had taken that rather than risk going back to California to face a trial in the deaths of his wife and children, where, had he been convicted, he might well have risked receiving the death penalty.
When Bozo walked off into the desert, Dan followed him. He found the dog lying in the shady sand beneath an ironwood tree—the same tree that had a tangle of deer-horn cactus snaking up its trunk and onto the branches. Dan was surprised to see that the cactus was still covered with fat buds that had not yet opened.
Calling Bozo to follow, Dan returned to his wife and daughter. “I thought the night-blooming cereus would have blossomed by now.”
Lani shook her head. “The people at Tohono Chul told me last week that they’re running exceptionally late this year. The Queen of the Night may not bloom until early July. The woman in charge of the party said that she’ll let me know as soon as possible so I can go there that night to tell the story.”
“I love stories,” Angie said, clapping her hands with childish enthusiasm. “Can Dan and I come, too?”
That’s what she called him, Dan, not Daddy, but that was fine.
“Probably,” Lani answered. “You and Dan are Brought-Back Children, just like Old White-Haired Woman’s grandson.”
“Don’t go laying that idea on my grandfather,” Dan cautioned Lani with a smile. “He may have white hair now, but if you try telling that old black belt that he’s really Queen of the Night, Micah Duarte’s liable to take offense.”
Lani smiled back. “He could do a lot worse,” she said. “Now let’s go find a place for our picnic.”
About the Author
J. A. JANCE is the New York Times bestselling author of the J. P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, the Ali Reynolds series, and three previous Walker family thrillers. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, she lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington, and Tucson, Arizona.
www.jajance.com
Also by J. A. Jance
Walker Family Mysteries
Hour of the Hunter
Kiss of the Bees
Day of the Dead
Joanna Brady Mysteries
Desert Heat
Tombstone Courage
Shoot/Don’t Shoot
Dead to Rights
Skeleton Canyon
Rattlesnake Crossing
Outlaw Mountain
Devil’s Claw
Paradise Lost
Partner in Crime
Exit Wounds
Dead Wrong
Damage Control
Fire and Ice
J. P. Beaumont Mysteries
Until Proven Guilty
Injustice for All
Trial by Fury
Taking the Fifth
Improbable Cause
A More Perfect Union
Dismissed with Prejudice
Minor in Possession
Payment in Kind
Without Due Process
Failure to Appear
Lying in Wait
Name Withheld
Breach of Duty
Birds of Prey
Partner in Crime
Long Time Gone
Justice Denied
Fire and Ice
and
Ali Reynolds Mysteries
Edge of Evil
Web of Evil
Hand of Evil
Cruel Intent
Trial by Fire
Credits
Jacket design by Richard Aquan
Jacket photographs: Flower by John P. Schaefer; sunset by Digital Vision/Jupiter Images
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
QUEEN OF THE NIGHT. Copyright © 2010 by J. A. Jance. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition August 2010 ISBN: 9780062006912
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jance, Judith A.
Queen of the night / J. A. Jance. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-06-123924-3
1. Cold cases (Criminal investigation)—Fiction. 2. Arizona—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3560.A44Q44 2010
813'.54—dc22
2009038976
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Also by J. A. Jance
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher