“How can I help?” she asked.
The woman cocked her head, listening to Squire’s translation. She murmured to him and knocked on the table with her rings before she stretched her arm across the top.
“Please take Grandmother’s hand,” Squire said.
His voice shook and Nicky’s pulse fluttered in her temple. She tamped back her disquiet and took Juanita’s hand. The old woman’s fist opened at the last second and locked across Nicky’s fingers. Her hand was cold and damp from the water bottle’s condensation, and something flat and rough-edged pressed uncomfortably into Nicky’s palm. She stiffened and her gaze darted to Juanita’s face. The woman narrowed her eyes before her expression blanked. Nicky almost yanked her hand away, but Juanita tightened her grip, making the object between their palms bite into her skin.
“Dza. Nah.” She pressed her other hand over the top of their entwined ones and gave Nicky a smile. “Is o-kay.”
She turned her head to Squire and spoke in Keres, dentures flashing between thin, colorless lips, voice rusty and with little inflection. He translated as she spoke.
“Grandmother says you know why she is here,” Squire said. Officer Aguilar cocked his head and leaned in a little.
“Sandra was witched. She did not kill herself. Grandmother says you and the police think Sandra was high on drugs, but she wouldn’t do that.” His expression was fierce. “You searched her car and her room. There was nothing. No drugs. Did you talk to her friends?”
“They said she didn’t even drink. That she attended AA meetings in Albuquerque. But Squire”—Nicky gentled her voice—“that doesn’t mean she didn’t—”
“No! Somebody did this to her. That’s why we’re here. We have proof.”
Nicky exchanged a look with Officer Aguilar. “Go on.”
“We’re here to tell you what is happening now and why you must continue the search, no matter what your chiefs command. Sandra’s not at peace. Her spirit wanders and comes to our home. Something was…”—forehead puckered, he licked his lips—“empty when you found her body. Empty.” He gave his grandmother a glance.
Juanita nodded and squeezed Nicky’s hand.
“I don’t understand,” Nicky said. “We retrieved Sandra—all of her—from the field. The autopsy report showed she was complete. She was buried complete. What do you mean, empty?” Nicky addressed Juanita, her confusion very real.
The object between their palms felt hot now, burning her skin.
Squire spoke, his voice hushed. “Our house is surrounded by an old metal fence. To come into the yard, visitors must pass through the gate. It’s always latched.” He looked at his grandmother. “The latch is rusted, and must be pushed up hard for the gate to open. It isn’t easy,” he insisted.
A breath rushed out of Aguilar, and Nicky shot him a glance. He was rigid in his chair, his face gray.
“What?” she whispered, her scalp prickling. The burning against her palm intensified. She cleared her throat and tried to regain her authority. “What does it mean?”
“It means either you lied to us or someone has lied to you, Sergeant Matthews. You told us Sandra was complete, but she wasn’t.” Squire’s voice broke.
Nicky frowned at the accusation. “I did not lie to you,” she rapped out. There had been no reason to question OMI because everything had been perfect on the autopsy report.
Too perfect.
No. Her eyes widened. Juanita caught her gaze and nodded slowly.
“How do you know I was lied to about Sandra’s body?” Nicky said, her throat tight.
The answer came from Cyrus Aguilar. “Because the gate to the house won’t stay closed.” His voice was hushed.
Squire’s lip trembled and he wiped away a single tear, wetness smeared across his cheek.
Aguilar continued. “The body in the ground is not whole, so she cannot rest. She is wandering, afraid. Confused. She’s trying to come home. To a safe place. To her family. She doesn’t know she’s dead.” His voice choked on the final word.
He repeated what he said in Keres, and Juanita Benami’s face crumpled in grief. She sucked in a small, heart-wrenching sob, and turned their linked hands over, releasing the object between them into Nicky’s palm.
It was a silver pendant with radiating arms—like a sun. Most of the arms were filled with slim sticks of red coral. One held a bright piece of turquoise tucked into the thin silver slot and another was empty. Nicky caught her breath.
Empty.
Tears trickled down Juanita’s face as she smoothed her fingers over the pendant. Nicky clutched the woman’s hand, wanting desperately to take away some of her pain, but she shook her head and pulled away.
Aguilar touched Nicky’s arm.
“Someone deliberately … took a part of her body, so Sandra Deering’s soul is broken and alone. Esta perdida. She is lost.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“It’s very old,” Ryan murmured, holding Juanita Benami’s pendant on the tips of his fingers.
“How can you tell?” Nicky asked.
“The tooling. Patina. No maker’s mark. And the design. I would guess it was made a generation or so after the Spanish friars arrived and converted the tribe to Catholicism.” He smiled faintly. “This fellow was probably a rebel, resisting conversion in his own way.”
“I don’t understand,” Nicky said.
“There are twelve spokes or points in this pendant. It’s not a sacred number in Fire-Sky culture, but very significant to Christianity. Normally, the spokes on this type of jewelry represent a series of Earth or Sky or Fire gods. Because of the design and color of the stone—red, or coral—the maker was from a Fire Clan. There are more than twelve gods in the Fire Clan host. Fourteen, I think. Sixteen for—”
“Sky and eleven for Earth,” Savannah finished. “Water Clan doesn’t have pendants like this.”
“So twelve spokes are unusual?”
“Not anymore. Most Indian silversmiths do as many points as their design calls for. The bigger the piece—the more points—the more money. But the real difference in this piece is the middle section, here.” He pointed to the center of the pendant. “This silver oval is divided into four chambers with a cross. More Christian symbolism, so it served its purpose—fooling the priests. But it’s actually a depiction of a heart. See? Two smaller chambers above the horizontal bar, two larger, below—atria and ventricles. The heart is considered the residence of the soul.”
Savannah touched one of the tiny drops of silver at the end of a spike. “This pendant is a Fire Clan symbol. It’s called a Spirit’s Heart. At the time of conquest, it and other Native religious objects were banned. If a member of the tribe was found making anything like this, they could lose a hand, or worse. Thus, the Christian elements.”
“There’s an empty slot, a piece missing,” Nicky pointed out. “More symbolism?”
“Yes, just like the turquoise stone that replaced a coral one. The original story of the Spirit’s Heart involves a Fire deity and his fourteen children, so fourteen stones in fourteen spokes. As the years passed, some of the children left to join other clans in marriage, or were killed in hunts or wars, or disappeared, never to be found. What happened to them determined whether their stone would be replaced and with what.
“Marriage would mean a replacement that symbolized the joining clan. Turquoise for Sky.” Ryan laid the pendant on the black velvet he’d brought to Savannah’s. “Onyx for Earth, mother-of-pearl for Water. But if the child was lost or died tragically, its spirit would wander, restless and empty.” He hesitated. “So, nothing.”
“Juanita Benami probably gave this to you because of the lost stone. She believes it represents Sandra, and now it’s your problem, not hers,” Savannah said dryly.
“Juanita and Squire believe Sandra’s soul is lost. That explains why you continue to be visited by the spirit of the ancient one, Nicky. Maybe there is still a wrong that needs to be made right,” Ryan said. “And you’ve been chosen.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered. The timer buzzed. “Enchiladas are done, so no more talk about visions and wandering spirits. Do you want to eat at the counter?” She pulled a dish of mouthwatering green chile enchiladas from the oven and set it on a trivet.
As Nicky shifted to a barstool, she eyed Savannah, who caught her gaze and stilled.
“What did you do, Nicky?”
Nicky scrunched up her face and confessed, “After Juanita and Squire left, I called and left a message for Julie Knuteson at OMI, about a follow-up on Sandra Deering’s autopsy.”
“Really?” Savannah threw up hands still encased in oven mitts. “There was nothing suspicious about her suicide, your words. And Captain Richards ordered you to close the case. You did turn in your report, didn’t you?”
“Pending Sandra’s UNM email and dorm information. I still haven’t heard from them,” Nicky said defensively.
“Fine. But if they’d found something, don’t you think they’d have contacted you by now? If the captain finds out you’re still working on this, he’s gonna be ecstatic you disobeyed direct orders. He’s looking for an excuse—”
Nicky cut her off. “There was nothing suspicious about your brother’s suicide, either.” Savannah’s shoulders stiffened. Nicky hated bringing up Santiago’s death, but it made her point. “I’ve been thinking about this and have come up with a possible link. You both know the guy who did Sandra’s autopsy—David Saunders—has taken body parts before.” Nicky looked back and forth between Ryan and Savannah. “What if he’s done it again? What if he’s been doing this all along and lying about it on the final reports?”
“And how will you explain your reasoning to Julie? To anyone?” Savannah asked. “Sandra’s grandmother told me her gate doesn’t close so that means Sandra’s spirit is walking the earth, and OMI must have lied? Or how about, the final report OMI sent me was so well done, so complete and flawless, it made me suspicious?”
Ryan grinned and Nicky smiled a little sheepishly. “I’ll probably say I had a hunch or something. It’s a cop’s go-to for lots of things.”
Savannah humphed and pulled off her mitts. She passed Nicky and Ryan plates. “Eat. And no more surprises. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Ryan said and held out his plate.
Nicky pressed her lips together and scooped enchiladas. Savannah handed Ryan a cold Pellegrino, then reached back inside the refrigerator for an open bottle of white wine.
“Nicky?”
She took a bite of enchiladas, shook her head, and avoided Savannah’s gaze. Her next bit of information would make her friend go ballistic.
Savannah stopped and stared. Her eyes narrowed.
“Jeez, Nicky, there’s more? Spill, before I hit you with something.”
“I’m heading up to Santa Fe to meet someone after dinner. So, no. No wine. I’ll have a water, too. A bottle of Pellegrino would be great.” She was babbling.
Savannah and Ryan’s words tumbled over each other. “Santa Fe? Dammit, Nicky. Who?” “So that’s why you have your mom’s car.”
“It’s not a date,” Nicky said defensively, stalling. “I got a text yesterday.”
Both Ryan and Savannah said nothing, but Savannah’s anger was almost palpable.
“From Dax,” Nicky finally admitted.
Ryan’s eyebrows flew into his hairline and Savannah actually growled before she snapped, “I knew it! And you’re actually going?”
“He says he has important information about something going on at the pueblo, and he couldn’t tell me over the phone or by text. Too many eyes and ears.”
“Yeah, like his wife’s!”
Nicky winced. She wiped at imaginary crumbs by her plate.
Savannah was silent for a beat. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. But after all that happened? After all he put you through?”
Nicky gave her a steady look and Savannah’s speech faltered.
“It’s just that he hurt you so much.…”
“It’s been years. I was over him—all of it—a long time ago. I’m happy with the way things turned out.” She gave Savannah’s arm a squeeze and smiled brightly at her and Ryan. “And just because I’m going to meet him doesn’t mean I trust him. But he’s so well connected, he might really know something. And he’s provided good information in the past.”
“You don’t know what this is about?” Ryan forked a bite of enchilada into his mouth.
Nicky shook her head.
He swallowed. “Then go. But be sure to take some antivenin. That guy is a snake.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Esta perdida. She is lost.
Nicky scanned the darkened streets of downtown Santa Fe looking for a parking spot on a crowded Friday night. The area was filled with trendy restaurants and bars. And, if the license plates were any indication, lots of out-of-state tourists.
Cyrus Aguilar’s words kept running through her head. They were all she’d thought about on the drive up. And because the consequences of her actions were probably not going to go unnoticed by her captain and lieutenant, they’d caused her to lose quite a bit of sleep the night before.
Savannah was right. Her superiors expressly ordered her to close the case. No matter what she found, Captain would use it against her. She could be looking at reprimand, suspension, or worse.
Nicky touched the Spirit’s Heart pendant, running her fingertip over the small oval center. It sat flat on her skin above the deep V of her tunic top. Ryan had run a long silver chain through it and hung it around her neck, murmuring, “Keep this close to your heart, okay?”
She straightened her shoulders. She’d have to risk her captain’s ire. There were too many questions about Sandra’s death that still needed answering. It was a puzzle she was compelled to solve.
Taillights flashed red as a car pulled away from the curb. She tucked her mother’s sporty two-door Mazda into the parking spot.
On the crowded sidewalks her boots clipped with each step, but she was glad for the walk. The meeting place with Dax was only a couple of streets away. If anyone saw them together and reported back to his wife, it could get real ugly real fast, and she had enough on her plate. But he’d been adamant his information was important. She huffed out a breath. And this was the only way he would tell her.
Dax Stone. Chief of the New Mexico State Police. Only child of a politically well-connected family. He had cousins from Texas and Colorado in Congress, the ear of the governor, and made it clear he was angling for political office at the national level. Dax was movie-star handsome and charismatic, and she’d been dazzled when he’d focused his attention on her the summer before her final year of law school. She’d been awarded a prestigious internship at the DA’s office in Albuquerque where she’d caught his eye. They’d indulged in a torrid secret affair that ultimately blew up in her face and left her career in ruins.
Nicky turned into a narrow street. He’d indulged. She’d fallen in love, and he’d whispered he felt the same way, but his life was too complicated, his family had expectations. If she could only wait for him to sort out his obligations before they went public …
She’d believed every word, every lie, and fervently agreed to do whatever he wanted.
Had anyone else in the history of the world been so stupid and naive?
Nicky read the unobtrusive gold lettering above the door of the restaurant. This was it. She wavered, sick anticipation sliding through her, before she clutched the Spirit’s Heart pendant in her palm. The silver prongs bit into her skin. She hoped it would give her the strength she needed to walk in and act like she was doing him a favor.
And that the scars of their affair were completely healed and had faded into nothingness.
She released the pendant and stepped inside, catching the eye of the black-clad maître d’. Before she could open her mouth, he beckoned her to follow him, a knowing smile on his lips.
He led her through a darkened maze of black
-draped tables and booths lit by flickering candles. Smoky jazz was playing loud enough that the murmured conversations of couples were private, yet soft enough that it didn’t interfere with their exchanges. The whole place was intimate and oozed with an illicit atmosphere.
A place where men and women brought their lovers, not their spouses.
Her lips twitched. Dax should feel right at home.
They stopped before a curtained alcove and her guide rapped against the wall. The ridiculousness of the situation almost made her laugh out loud.
Suddenly her nervousness melted away. This was the Dax she’d known in the past. All drama, no substance. He hadn’t changed.
But she had.
“Come.” His voice was deep and strong. It once sent shivers over her skin.
The maître d’ opened the black velvet drapes with a subdued flourish.
“Chief Stone. Your guest has arrived.”
Dax stood slowly, his dark blue eyes never leaving her face. Age had only made him more outwardly attractive. His build was athletic, his shoulders and chest wide and slabbed with lean muscle. He was tall, dwarfing her by more than half a foot. Wavy black hair with a sprinkling of silver threads swept back from a smooth, wide brow. Stark cheekbones squared into a strong jaw and chin, and masculine lips quirked into a charming smile below a straight, bold nose. One eyebrow struggled to lift upward.
Oh, dear God, he’d gotten Botox. She couldn’t stop her grin.
He took hold of her upper arms, obviously mistaking her reaction as welcoming, and leaned in to kiss her, his eyelids drooping seductively.
Nicky turned her head at the last second and his lips landed on her cheek. She slipped out of his grasp, sat down, and clutched her hands together so she wouldn’t rub off the feel of his mouth on her skin.
Dax murmured something to the waiting maître d’, and slid onto the buttery black leather of the seat. As the man left, he drew the curtain back in place.
Hearts of the Missing Page 9