Rock with Wings

by Anne Hillerman

  She heard him tearing the paper into pieces. “Old people get confused all the time and leave the stove on. What a tragic accident.”

  “You’re risking a lot to make money.”

  “Money? It’s not just about money. The survival of humanity has always depended on the sun. Everything, from those little cacti to giant redwoods, from the whales that eat the plankton that live on sun-fed algae to those of us at the top of the pyramid.”

  Oster’s shoes made the wooden floor squeak as he strode toward the kitchen, and then there was a hiss as the propane rushed into the small room. She heard another sound from the back of the house, a loud, shrill rusty creak, like a sudden weight against old bedsprings. She felt the thud of something heavy landing somewhere behind her.

  Oster yelled out. “What the—”

  Bernie could see the black shape running toward him. She scooted to a seated position, squirming to free her legs while straining against the twine that bound her wrists.

  Oster stayed upright when they collided, but she heard the sound of the impact. He kicked at the creature and dashed toward the front of the house. The creature followed, bumping against the table. She heard the glass of the lantern’s chimney break as it crashed to the floor, along with the flurry of shredded paper. The flicker of the flame grew across the puddle of kerosene. She could not yet detect the odor of propane, but she knew it was inevitable.

  The dark shape snarled and leaped at Oster again, and she heard his body ram against the wall. Oster grunted, struggled, and pushed the animal away. He managed to shove the door open, and Bernie heard it click closed behind him. She listened to his frantic footsteps, fleeing across the porch.

  Then she noticed the whine, the panting, and her own body’s rush of adrenaline. She forced herself to sit as still as death, hoping Mr. Tso would do the same, listening to the quick rhythm of claws on the floor as the creature ran to the bedroom, the groan of compressed springs as it leaped onto the bed, and the moan of release as it jumped through the open window.

  The torn bits of the contract burned brightly now.

  She called to Mr. Tso. “Can you stand up? We have to get out of here.”

  In the light of the fire, she watched him attempt to push himself off of the sofa, then sink down. And then try again.

  She heard the roar of the Porsche’s engine.

  Bernie put energy into her hands, finally wiggling them free. She used numb fingers and muscle power to release her legs.

  The flames had consumed the kerosene-soaked contract paper and searched for more fuel, lapping toward the larger pool of kerosene and the flammable clutter of ancient newspapers.

  She pushed herself to standing, waited until she was steady, and helped Mr. Tso. “I’ll try not to hurt you.” She put her arms around his torso. Half carrying him, she reached the front door, pulled it open, and dragged him onto the porch, smelling the rotten-egg stench of the escaping propane. He moaned as she shifted to support his lean frame with her back, his feet banging against her legs as she negotiated the steps. She ran from the house, carrying Mr. Tso, as far and as fast as she could, until her lungs burned and her muscles refused to respond. She tripped on a rock and collapsed, his body falling on top of hers.

  She felt her heart pounding as she wrapped her arms around her head. She closed her eyes, and said a prayer of gratitude for her life, for her husband, for her mother and sister, for Mr. Tso. For the privilege of living in such a beautiful world.

  21

  The explosion shook Bernie’s body as fire lit up the dark sky.

  She stayed where she lay even after her breathing had slowed to something like normal. She felt the shallow movement of Mr. Tso’s chest on top of her and gently pushed herself along the ground, out from beneath him. She couldn’t hear the roar of the flames through the ringing in her ears.

  She carefully rolled onto her back and glanced at Mr. Tso. From what she could see, he wasn’t bleeding anywhere obvious. He looked frightened and tired, but he was alive.

  She assessed her own physical damage, aware mostly of the pain from her injured shoulder. She sat up, watching for the creature that had attacked Oster. She thought about her backpack—with her gun as well as her car keys and phone—incinerated on what had been the porch of the house.

  She remembered the sheep in their wooden pen and looked toward the spot, but couldn’t see it through the brilliant flames that were consuming the house. She wondered if the corral would catch fire. Poor creatures. She hoped they’d be safe. Then she smiled at herself. She must be a real Navajo to let the dibé into her thoughts before she considered what she would do next.

  She saw another light, not from the fire but flickering in the distance. Vehicle headlights, she concluded, the motion caused by the bumpy dirt road. Had Oster grown disoriented in his search for the paved highway, driven out the wrong way, and come back? In the glow of the burning house, new terror showed on Mr. Tso’s face. She kept her voice calm and spoke in Navajo. “We will lie down again and be still.” He complied.

  She supported her head with her palms, and watched until the vehicle grew closer. It was white, not black. Bernie stood as quickly as she could and limped to the road, waving her arms and shouting for help.

  Miller stopped the van and yelled through the open window. “What happened? Why are you—”

  “Mr. Tso is hurt. Help me lift him into the car. Hurry.”

  When Miller opened the door, the overhead light came on, and she saw Buddy sitting on the brown leather front seat. She stepped away, but Buddy didn’t growl.

  After they made Mr. Tso as comfortable as possible, she climbed into the backseat next to him. Miller drove away from the fire, toward the paved road and the hospital. He reached over to hand her a bottle of water.

  “Why did you come back?” She unscrewed the lid and offered Mr. Tso a sip. “I thought you were on your way to Phoenix. Did you get lost out there?”

  “No. I was nearly to the highway when I heard the explosion. I didn’t know what happened, but it sounded bad. I thought maybe I could help. Remember, I said I told you I was turning over a new leaf. What about you? Weren’t you going to your mother’s place?”

  “I left, but then I saw Oster’s car and kind of put things together and came back.”

  She reassessed her own injuries. Besides her shoulder, her head ached, and her neck hurt. Her hip felt tender where Oster had kicked her, but amazingly, nothing seemed to be broken.

  “Oster was there at the house?” Miller asked. “What happened to him?”

  “The skinwalker got him,” said Mr. Tso.

  Bernie said, “I heard his car start and drive off.”

  The smoke from the fire drifted away from them. Miller rolled down the front windows, and Buddy stuck his head out. “What will you do about me and the plants?”

  “The Navajo Nation will give you a fine. I’m not sure what the penalties are, under federal and state law. That is, if they can find you and figure out who you really are.”

  They drove in silence awhile. Finally Bernie asked, “After you take us to the hospital, are you really going to Phoenix?”

  “I am. I need to check back in with the US Marshals, my keepers, who’ve been looking for me. I guess you figured out I’m in the program, and I don’t mean AA. They need me to testify against a creep I knew from Las Vegas, a scammer who thinks he’s a hotshot movie producer. Clever little twerp, and mean too. A guy named Delahart. I was trying to get out of it, work that card scam I told you about, but I’m tired of that.”

  He reached over and rubbed Buddy behind the ear. The dog ignored him. “In that program at NAU where I learned about skinwalkers, the guy talked about living in harmony with the rest of the world, walking in beauty. That sounds like my new plan.”

  “Much luck to you,” Bernie said.

  Mr. Tso coughed, and she felt his body shake. She put her hand on his forehead. It was too warm, she thought, and they had a long drive to the hospital.

>   “You know,” Miller said, “I think it pays to be a good guy. I found Buddy on the road back there after I turned around. He’d been running, but he seems OK. I was worried. I thought Mr. Tso must have killed him.”

  Mr. Tso mumbled something.

  “What was that? I couldn’t catch it.”

  “He says, ‘Ahéhee.’ Thank you.”

  “How’s he doing back there?”

  “He’s a tough one. He’s a fighter, but we need to get help for him as soon as we can.”

  Shortly after they reached the main highway, she saw the flashing lights of a Navajo Police vehicle and a black Porsche Cayenne pulled over on the shoulder.

  “Slow down.”

  She spotted Officer Bigman standing over someone sitting on the ground. The person was wrapped in a blanket, even though the night was warm.

  “Pull over and stop. Wait here. Don’t disappear on me, Miller.”

  She walked past Bigman, noting the surprise on his face, and nudged Blanket Person with her foot. “Hey, there.” Oster looked up when she spoke. “You’ll have a lot of time to think about saving the planet while you’re in prison.” His expression matched the definition of a word she rarely used: dumbfounded.

  Bigman said, “What happened to you? Where did you get that fancy van with the big dog? I thought you didn’t like dogs.”

  “It’s a long story. This guy you’ve got here tried to kill me and Mr. Tso. Mr. Tso is hurt and in the van. We’re on our way to the hospital.”

  “Stay here. I called an ambulance for this one, and it should be coming shortly. Quicker than you can get to the hospital.”

  “So how did you know to arrest Oster?”

  Bigman smiled. “I’m psychic? No, he crossed the yellow line and practically ran me off the road. I thought he was drunk, but when he pulled over I noticed the blood seeping through his shirt. It looks like he’s got a broken arm and quite a few bite wounds. He’s been raving about some animal attacking him and catching a house on fire.”

  “Actually, there is a house on fire.” She pointed out the dim glow in the sky behind them.

  “Guess I was too busy to notice,” Bigman said.

  Down the road now she saw the flash of colored lights: an ambulance heading toward them. “I’m amazed that you were out here.”

  Bigman chuckled. “I told you I was psychic. Actually, we have your little sister to thank. She called the station, worried. Sandra told her to chill, but she phoned back. Practically ordered her to get someone to come and find you. She mentioned the old man who lived near the burned car. I was driving out to look for you when that guy nearly hit me head-on. Glad you’re OK.”

  “It’s been exciting.”

  “I’ll have to go to the hospital with Oster, since he’s in custody, but Largo’s sending somebody as backup. He can take you home.”

  “Probably the rookie,” Bernie said.

  The ambulance arrived. The attendants helped Mr. Tso out of the van, onto a gurney, and gave him immediate attention. Miller and Buddy drove away.

  One of the EMTs came up to Bernie. “Can I do anything for you?”

  She considered how she must look: dirty, disheveled, reeking of smoke, her mouth swollen from Oster’s slap and her face-first fall. “I’m fine, except for my shoulder. Better, now that Mr. Tso is in good hands.”

  “Let me take a look.” He did a quick examination. “It’s not dislocated. Probably a sprain and some bruising. Ice will make it feel better. Still, you ought to have it x-rayed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bigman said, “I asked dispatch to call Mr. Tso’s daughter. She’ll meet us at the hospital. Can you wait with my unit just until the backup guy comes?”

  She wanted to say no, to go to Mama’s, take a shower, eat something, and stretch out on the couch with an ice pack. But she was part of a team. And she realized she didn’t have a car there. And she was missing her phone, her wallet, her keys, her gun, and all the other important things in her now-incinerated backpack.

  “Sure. Can I use your phone before you go?”

  Bigman looked at the ambulance. “Be quick.”

  Darleen answered on the first ring. “Sister? Are you OK? Oh my god, I thought you might be dead or—” And she stopped talking and started to cry.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be at Mama’s later tonight.”

  The ambulance driver yelled, “Bigman, we’re ready. They’re waiting in ER for these two.”

  Bernie said, “I have to give Bigman the phone, but thanks for calling the station about me. I’m proud of you.”

  “I love you, that’s all.” And Darleen hung up.

  Bernie watched the ambulance speed off, lights flashing, the piercing wail of the siren penetrating the summer night. She stood by the road, noticing that the glow from Mr. Tso’s explosion was nearly gone. No one had arrived from the fire department, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The old house was long lost.

  Despite the ringing in her ears, she heard a coyote singing to the moon. She looked at the stars and the Rock with Wings, rising from the landscape. She thought about Miller and Buddy, wondering why Buddy got to ride in the front seat. Wondering about the animal that had attacked Oster. Wondering why she and Mr. Tso hadn’t died in the explosion.

  She’d talk to Mama again about teaching Mrs. Bigman how to weave, she decided. Not just ask, but try to convince her. They could use the loom Chee had built. No point in it sitting idle.

  She climbed into Bigman’s unit, watching the occasional vehicle drive past and flashing the light bar at speeders. After about half an hour, a Navajo Police car pulled to the side of the road behind her.

  Chee opened the door almost before the vehicle came to a stop.

  Despite her sore shoulder, his embrace had never felt so good.

  22

  Chee hadn’t seen the Lieutenant since before his Monument Valley assignment. He was glad to have Bernie with him for the visit. She always managed to know what to say to ease the conversation forward, and when to stop talking.

  Louisa greeted them at the door. She wrapped him in a quick hug. “Welcome, stranger!” Then she turned to Bernie. “What happened to you, sweetie? That bruise looks bad.”

  Bernie touched the tender place on her chin. “It’s nothing. I did a face plant in the line of duty. How’s the Lieutenant?”

  “Joe is waiting in his office. I figured you all could talk there while I finish dinner.”

  “Can I make a salad, set the table, or something?”

  Louisa nudged her away. “I’ll call when it’s ready. Go and chat.”

  The Lieutenant sat on an overstuffed chair with a view of the activity at the hummingbird feeders. He motioned them to the couch across from him. The Lieutenant had a computer on his lap. He looked better than he had at their last visit.

  “It’s good to see you.” Bernie spoke in Navajo. “And before you ask what happened to my face—well, you should have seen the other guy.”

  Leaphorn turned to Chee.

  Chee said, “She’s OK. Nothing broken. No permanent damage. She’s as feisty as ever.”

  The Lieutenant looked at Bernie again.

  “I wanted to let you know your ideas helped solve that case in Monument Valley,” Chee said. “What you wrote about the pendant and the poker chip? That led me to remember a tourist couple who had camped where they shouldn’t have. It turned out they had carried the cremated remains of her parents out to the valley. That’s where the bone fragments I saw came from.”

  Leaphorn typed something and handed the computer to Chee: Etcitty too young.

  “What does that mean?” Bernie asked.

  Chee said, “I was wrong about that. When the Lieutenant told me Robert Etcitty created the necklace, the only Etcitty I’d heard of is about my age. That’s why I thought, well, that the Lieutenant might have been mistaken.”

  “Oh, right. Your friend who made my bracelet. So this man was his relative?”

  “A great-uncle.”

>   “Remember that old photo of the cowboys and Indians at Goulding’s?” Bernie asked. “You mentioned that the man looked like Robert.”

  “I told the tourist lady about that photograph. One of those cowboys might have been her grandfather.”

  They watched Leaphorn hunting for the letters on his keyboard: Chip?

  “You were right about that, too. I didn’t realize it was important when I found it. It was from Stagecoach, like you told me, in the poker scene. The tourist woman’s grandfather saved it as a souvenir, and she left it when she deposited the ashes. Without it, without you putting it together, I wouldn’t have made the connection.”

  Leaphorn tapped three times.

  “Three means maybe you would have,” Bernie said.

  The Lieutenant typed: Work w. Tsinnie OK?

  “Tsinnie? Who’s that?” Bernie asked.

  “Oh, a detective in Monument Valley. She knows the Lieutenant.”

  Leaphorn typed: Trained her.

  Chee hesitated. “We only spent part of a day together.”

  Leaphorn and Bernie waited. Finally she asked, “And?”

  “And, she’s sharp. Asked tough questions. She reminded me of you, sir, in some ways. She made me think.”

  Leaphorn nodded and tapped once, his signal for yes, for agreement.

  Bernie said, “Should I be jealous?”

  Leaphorn looked at Chee, then tapped twice.

  “OK, then. No jealousy.”

  He typed again: Need to talk to Chee alone.

  Bernie said, “Sure. Maybe Louisa can use some help now.” But Chee noticed her frown. The Lieutenant had hurt her feelings.

  At dinner, Chee tried to keep them entertained with stories of the gourmet coffee and characters he’d encountered during his movie duty. But the Lieutenant seemed distracted, glancing at Chee, then at Bernie, then turning away.

  After the meal, Louisa said, “I made a special dessert tonight in honor of seeing you both again. And Joe has some good news too. So go out to the back porch while I get it ready, and we can sit and talk there.”