Black Thunder (13 page)

“I have a feeling it’s more than that.”

“If I were you I wouldn’t push her into talking. Just look for an opening and take advantage of it if it comes.”

“Yeah, that might work.” She’d have a talk with Clifford, too, he might know something. Although she hated to admit
it, in a lot of ways Rose was closer to Clifford than to her.

After about thirty miles, Justine pulled off the highway and, along with Ella, checked for names along a row of rural mailboxes.

“This is the right road,” Ella said, pointing west toward the Chuska Mountains. She looked up at the anvil-shaped cumulonimbus cloud forming above the foothills. “We might get lucky and run into some rain.”

Justine turned onto the dirt road. “Yeah, well, if it does rain, I hope we don’t get stuck. This road looks like it could get iffy in a downpour.”

The clouds continued to build and darken as they drove west, but the temperature was still rising when they arrived at the Eltsosies’ old faded white stucco house. Here the grass and shrubs were about a foot taller than back by the highway, and there
were a couple of hardy apple trees. The branches were tipped with green, grape-sized future apples. Even here, so much closer to the mountains and usually too cold for dependable peaches to set, it was still an upland desert.

Out back they could see a big, hexagonal pine-log hogan among a stand of low junipers.

“A medicine hogan,” Ella commented. “Assume they’re Traditionalists and keep your
medicine pouch where it’s easily seen.”

They parked within view of the front windows, then waited. Before long the winds started to pick up, a sure sign of an imminent thunderstorm. The car rocked with each gust, and dust flew around them in thick sheets.

“I hate these predownpour sandblastings. Watch the car door when you get out,” Justine said.

“Once it starts to rain the wind should drop
off. Rain will settle the dust, too.” Ella gazed at the dark, angry clouds overhead and heard the distant rumble of thunder. “Black Thunder’s voice. My brother would say that it’s a good omen. Black Thunder is the chief of all thunders and can counteract evil.”

Before Justine could reply, Ella saw an elderly woman wearing a long skirt and long-sleeved blouse come to the front of the house. She
waved quickly, motioning for them to come in, then ducked back inside.

Ella and Justine hurried to the porch, struggling to see with the gusts whipping their hair across their faces. They had to hold tight to the door to keep it from flying right off the hinges.

“Wind gives us all life and warns us of danger, but sometimes it’s hard to see it as a friend,” Mrs. Eltsosie said, waving them to
the sofa. “I’ve made
naniscaadas
. Would you like some? Whenever I find myself missing my family, I cook something special. My husband and daughter used to put cream cheese on them. That, and a little herbal tea, always helps me to remember the good times.”

Ella loved those homemade tortillas, but more than that she knew it was a way to break the ice. She accepted, then waited, watching Mrs. Eltsosie
get everything ready and studying the house. It made sense for this woman, who was obviously living alone, to do things that would remind her of a time when her nest hadn’t been quite so empty.

Out of respect, Ella avoided looking directly at Mrs. Eltsosie as she brought the food to them. They ate in comfortable silence for a little while, then at long last, Ella spoke.

“We understand that your
husband disappeared about three years ago. We were hoping you could tell us a bit more about what happened. We know your daughter filed the report.”

“I don’t speak of that time,” she said flatly.

Ella made a show of adjusting her medicine pouch, then leaned back in the old couch. “Back then we weren’t able to help you find answers, but certain things have come to light recently. We may be able
to tell you more now.”

The woman wiped a tear that fell down her cheek. “I already know all I need,” she said. “My daughter has turned into a
bilisaana
. That’s why she doesn’t understand.”

Ella knew the term. It meant apple—red on the outside, white on the inside.

“What her father did, he did for us—me and her.” Mrs. Eltsosie took an unsteady breath. “He knew he didn’t have long, so he walked
off into the desert one cold January morning. He went in the way of our people,” she said, then stared down at her hands. “When my daughter found out, she blamed me and called the police. She’s forgotten our ways.”

Ella felt her heart go out to the elderly woman. Her husband had acted according to his highest sense of right. Their daughter, influenced by a culture that differed from her parents,
had also done what she had felt was right. Two opposites could seldom coexist without friction and, even more importantly, disappointment. It was the way of the reservation these days. After growing up in a conflicted home herself, she’d seen it all.

“He was gone even before the snows came. I knew it in here,” the woman said, pointing to her heart.

The sadness for what would never return, what
Navajos called the
ch’ééná,
filled her voice and her expression. Yet, as it often was with their people, Mrs. Eltsosie endured and continued walking in beauty.

“I respect your beliefs and won’t speak of this again. Thank you for the wonderful food, and for your time,” Ella said, standing up.

“Come back next time you’re in the area. I’ll make more
naniscaadas
. My daughter’s living back east now
and the house is too quiet.”

“Do you have members of your clan living close by?” Ella asked.

She shook her head. “But I see my friends at the Laundromat in town. We talk—well, gossip.”

Ella nodded. Water was a precious commodity, particularly way out here, so Laundromats had become great meeting places.

“The
chaa-man
charges extra to come this far to pump out the septic tank, and too much
soap, well, it clogs the pipes. So I take my truck and go to the Laundromat once a week. My friends and I meet there, talk, and go for walks while we wait for the machines to wash our clothes.”

Ella smiled. Navajos always found each other, despite the distances. The connections that allowed them to walk in beauty were always there.

As they drove back to the main highway, Ella’s gaze drifted
over the violet lupines in the fields and the pink and white flowers of bindweed that hugged the road. “Even a little rain and runoff goes a long way out here. Look at those colors.”

“Your mother’s love of plants is rubbing off on you, cuz,” Justine said with a smile as they turned onto the main highway in the direction of Shiprock.

“Maybe so,” Ella said, then looked in the side mirror.

“Are
we being tailed?” Justine asked, immediately checking the rearview mirror.

“No, but I’m going to start keeping an eye out,” she said, and told her about the latest text message.

“If the calls are coming from a throwaway phone or an electronic dead drop, the messages will be nearly untraceable.”

“I know, so let’s play it by ear a little longer and see if there’s another way to track down the
sender. Maybe it’s just a crank.”

Ella typed the name of the man they were going to interview next into the MDT, verifying the address. “I hope we’ll have better luck at our next stop. I don’t think Mrs. Eltsosie’s husband is one of our victims, but Emmaline Yazzie might be the female vic. The time frame matches. We’ll be talking to Jake Yazzie, her husband. He didn’t report Emmaline missing,
but his brother, Billie, did.”

“Interesting,” Justine said. “What do we have on them?”

“He and his brother own a gas station off Highway 64 just on the other side of Fruitland, but both live on the Rez. They stay out of trouble and work hard, according to our sources.”

The drive took them into Shiprock, then west toward Beclabito and the Arizona state line. For several miles there was not much
to look at except for a few hills to the south and the river valley along the north side of the road.

“Do you think you and I should get out there more?” Justine said, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“Out where?” Ella glanced around. It would be difficult to be any more out there than they were now.

Justine chuckled. “No, I was talking about our social life—or lack of one.
Let’s face it, most of our days are spent working a case, or cases. Personally, I’d like to settle down someday, but I’ve yet to meet anyone that’s right for me.”

“Yeah, and the more time slips by, the choosier we get.”

After a beat, Justine asked, “I’ve never been engaged or even lived with a guy. Do you think I’m letting life pass me by?”

“All of a sudden you’re in a rush? What’s happened?”

“Marilu Draper. She passed away last week without any warning. And, Ella, she was only thirty-six, my age.”

“Accident?”

“Yeah,” Justine said. “She went for her usual Sunday trail ride, but the horse apparently spooked and threw her. No helmet, of course, and she hit her head on some rocks. By the time her sister found her, it was too late. Skull fracture.”

“Were you two friends?”

Justine nodded.
“We went to high school together and she lived less than a mile from my parents’ house. A few weeks ago we went for a drink and had a great time catching up. She was working for the tribal fire department and loved her job. She and I talked about settling down, but we both agreed there was no rush.”

“She served her tribe, loved her work, and from what you said, was happy. What more is there?”

“I know, but I keep thinking of how much she missed out on.”

“Are you really thinking that
she
did, or are you worried that
you
might?”

Justine considered it before answering. “I love police work, but it takes its toll. It’s not just the long hours either. It jades you. You start looking for the worst in people, not to mention overanalyzing everything.”

Ella nodded. “As my brother would say,
everything has two sides.”

“What I like about Benny is that he understands all that,” Justine said. “He knows our professions will always be part of who we are, and he’s cool with that.”

“So follow your heart.”

“That’s the problem. I’m not sure if it’s really Benny I’m attracted to, or the idea of settling down. I want to have a baby someday, Ella, and the clock’s ticking.”

“I hear you. Most
of us were meant to be moms. Dawn’s made my life … more complete. After that first day when I held her in my arms and saw her little face staring back at me, nothing’s been the same.”

“I want that too—maybe too much.”

“Have you spoken to Benny about that?”

She smiled. “Yeah, and he didn’t run away screaming.”

Ella laughed. “That’s a good sign.”

TEN

Soon, they drove down a dirt track leading to a small stucco house with a pitched roof. Ella studied the old orange pickup parked beneath a scrawny elm, then ran the plate on the MDT. “That belongs to Jake Yazzie. The guy’s clean.”

“This place strikes me as the home of Modernists. Satellite TV dish antenna facing the southern sky, but no hogan,” Justine said.

“I agree. Let’s go see who’s
home,” Ella said.

A moment later they stood on both sides of the front door and Ella knocked hard. The TV was blasting away with sound of revved up car engines, like an auto race, but there was no response. Ella tried again, and this time pounded on the door hard enough to bruise her knuckles.

“Hold your horses. I’m coming,” a man’s voice called out as the TV was turned down.

A moment later
a small, round-faced Navajo man answered, half-full beer bottle in hand. He was wearing jeans and an oil-scented chambray, pinstriped work shirt that had
Jake
embroidered above the right breast pocket.

“If you’re from a church, I’m not interested in joining, and I don’t want any pamphlets. Go save somebody else.”

Ella flashed her badge and identified herself. “Is your last name Yazzie?”

The
man nodded. “What can I do for you?” he asked, his expression suddenly guarded, his tone subdued.

“We need to ask you a few questions,” Ella said.

He stepped back and waved them inside. “Come on in, ladies. Sit,” he added, pointing his lips toward the worn fabric couch. He sat down on a recliner angled toward the flat-screen TV. Two empty Coors beer bottles rested on a cracked glass coffee table
beside an open bag of potato chips and the TV remote. “What’s this all about?” he asked, placing the bottle on the floor beside his chair.

“Two years ago your wife was reported missing,” Ella began.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” he said, his expression neutral as he stared at the stock cars flashing silently across the television screen.

“We’d like to know what happened,” Ella said.

A lengthy
silence followed, and Ella waited, watching a granddaddy longlegs spider crawl up the wall. Patience was an asset. Sometimes a witness just needed to know that she wouldn’t be brushed off until she had answers.

Several minutes and two commercials later, he finally glanced back over at her. “My wife took off one day—no big loss if you knew her. When I mentioned it to my brother, Billy, he called
you guys. Billy thought she might have been involved in an accident or something, and we needed to tell the police.”

“But you thought it was a waste of time,” Ella said, reading between the lines. “Why?”

“She and I hadn’t been getting along. I figured she was playing a game, trying to make me jealous enough to go looking for her. When she didn’t return after a few days, I started asking around.
Verne Enoah told me that he’d seen her with some Navajo guy over at the Spurs Lounge in Gallup. I drove over to see for myself and ended up getting into a fight with the guy. Waste of time—Emmaline decided to stay with her new boyfriend.”

“You’re divorced now?” Ella asked, getting bad vibes.

“And pay some lawyer? She’s not here, that’s enough for me.”

Ella watched him. There was a curious lack
of emotion in his voice. “Where’s she now?”