Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries (21 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,W. Michael Gear

BOOK: Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries
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“Yes, War Chief.”
Straighthorn wiped his hands on his war shirt, collected his weapons, and trotted past Catkin, taking but a moment to glance at the girl. After several steps, he stopped and turned. He studied the girl hard, then shook his head and hurried on into the night.
The girl had seen seven or eight sun cycles and dirt and soot coated her face and tattered clothing. When she looked up at Browser, her large dark eyes might have been mirrors of midnight. Her gaze seemed to drink in his soul.
“Where did you find her?” Browser asked.
“Climbing around in the darkness.” Catkin studied the little girl. “She hasn’t spoken a word, and it looks like she hasn’t eaten in a while. I couldn’t just leave her out there, though catching her proved more difficult than I’d thought. She’s fast for one so small.”
Browser bent down and looked at the child’s haunted expression. “Do you have a name? What is your clan?”
She pressed her body against Catkin’s leg and pulled at the torn hem of her war shirt.
Browser drew his knife from his belt and cut a long strip of meat from the antelope haunch by the fire. He held it out to the girl. “I’ll trade you this for your name.”
The little girl sniffed, the action feral, like that of a
starved cat. With astonishing speed, she grabbed the meat and put the whole thing in her mouth. Juices leaked down her face as she rushed to chew it up and swallow it.
“You still owe me your name,” he reminded gently.
She pointed at the antelope carcass with a grimy finger. “Hungwy.”
Browser cut another strip of meat from the carcass and handed it to the little girl. When she looked at him, her eyes resembled holes through the world.
 
 
MAGGIE STEPPED OUT of the Robertson and Stewart office door and walked out into the cool night. Albuquerque, located as it was in the Rio Grande valley, stayed warmer than Chaco Canyon did; nevertheless, the chill felt good after the heat, noise, and crowd in the archaeology office. Behind her, Dale’s wake sounded like a dull roar. Professors were telling stories, people were mingling and drinking, and of course it was getting loud.
What was it about people and drinking? She sighed as the wind chilled the perspiration on her arms and face. Around her the automobiles, SUVs, and trucks that filled the parking lot waited patiently for their owners. Lights shone off the paint, glass, and chrome. The overflow lined the sides of the street for some distance.
Just to the south traffic roared past on I-40, individuals headed about their evening business, unaware that a passing was being marked. A scattered mosaic of lights in the high Marriott marked rooms occupied by people ignorant of Dale Emerson Robertson and his contributions to people’s lives.
Dusty’s face lingered in Magpie’s memory: pained, longing to collapse in grief. For the first time in her
life, she’d been able to look beyond a person’s skin and feel the howling ache down inside Dusty’s ribs. It scared her a little.
“You gotta let yourself see,” Aunt Sage’s voice reminded. “It’s there for you, Magpie. You just never trusted yourself before. Look … look past this world. It’s like those pictures at the mall. If you look at all the bits of color, suddenly you’ll see an image. But when you blink, all that’s left is the little bits of color.”
Could she? Drawing her lungs full, she looked up at the night, smeared here by the city and its pulsing illumination.
“Hey, Mag?” a cautious voice called from behind.
She turned and saw Reggie. He stood several paces away, leaning against a red car, his fists shoved in the pockets of his black jacket.
“Hey, Reggie. I needed some air.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He walked up, his smile shining in the night. He had a handsome face, like his grandfather’s. Tall and muscular, he stood right at six feet. He wore his black hair long, usually in a braid, but tonight it was held in a sleek ponytail clasped with a Zuni silver clip. New jeans looked stiff on his long thin legs and a white western snap shirt could be seen behind the black jacket. “Too many people.”
She cocked her head. “That makes you nervous?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. College people. You know? I just don’t feel like I fit in with all those smart white guys.”
Magpie frowned down at the parking lot. “You’re part white. Most of us are these days.”
He scuffed a worn western boot on the pavement. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just paranoid, I guess.” He gave her a shy apologetic smile. “What’s blood, huh? It’s soul that counts.” He tapped his heart. “Power’s in here. In what you believe. Not in book learning.”
She was silent, having her own ideas about that. Finally she said, “Your grandfather has a Ph.D., Reggie.”
Reggie bowed his head. “I know, and I’m really proud of him.” There was reverence in his voice when he talked about Rupert. “But
Nana
’s not so different as you think, Mag. You only see him at the office. He’s a cunning old warrior. Just like the old ones, biding his time to take coup.”
“That’s a Plains Indian thing. You turning yourself into a Sioux?”
“Not me,” he stated matter-of-factly, and smiled again. “What are you doing tonight? Got a place to stay? You’re not gonna drive all the way back up to Chaco, are you?”
She shook her head. “No. I have to get back to Aunt Sage’s tonight. She’s out north of Grants.”
He frowned. “That’s a long drive. You sure you’ll be okay? It’s pretty late.”
The genuine concern in his voice made her smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done it before.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind, I’ve got an apartment here in town. Nothing much, just a room I rent. But you’d be more than welcome to crash there.”
She liked Reggie, but not that much. Not yet. “Uh-huh. Just crash?”
… a voice, soft, indistinct.
Maggie stopped breathing and her gaze scanned the cars in the parking lot, then searched the sky. It had been a voice, though she couldn’t exactly hear it. Something was happening to her. Ever since she’d seen the owl and Dale up near Rinconada, she’d felt as though her body were changing, growing in some primordial way that she didn’t understand. She could hear better, see better; her sense of touch had become acute.
He nodded his head judiciously. “Yes, Magpie. Just crash. Nothing else. Let’s see if I can say this right. I like you a lot. My Spirit Helper says you’re special. I don’t want to make no mistakes. Don’t want to rush nothing. I don’t want to be like
Nana,
in there, growing
old and choking on love for a woman who never loved me.”
“Rupert choking on love? I thought he and Sandy had a pretty good thing.”
Reggie stared out at the night. She could see the pain in his dark eyes. Sandy, his grandmother, had died four years ago from cancer. Her death had broken Reggie’s heart. He’d gotten into a lot of trouble after she died. “Don’t get me wrong. They loved each other more than any two people I’ve ever known. But Grandpa’s got a lot of old pain left. I really want to be different. People are going to look up to me one day, Mag. Just watch me.”
“Yeah, Reggie, I will.” She smiled. “In the meantime, take care of Rupert, huh? He’s seemed distracted the last couple of months. Not quite his old self. And this thing with Dale, well, it’s going to take time for him to heal.”
“I will.
Nana
sure came through for me enough times. But just remember that he’s more than you think he is.” His dark eyes were shining as he watched her. “You sure you don’t need a place to sleep?”
“No. I really have to make it back to Aunt Sage’s. But I appreciate the offer.” She smiled, enjoying his attention. “Tonight’s the first time I met your dad, Lupe. He seems nice.”
“He is. Now. You shoulda seen him back a couple of years. He’d do anything to cage a bottle. It was disgusting. He was disgusting.”
Maggie folded her arms. The words obviously weren’t meant to demean his father, he was just stating a fact.
“I haven’t seen Lupe touch a drop tonight. Which is hard when everyone around you is drinking. Even more so when you’re mourning the death of a good friend.” She let out a breath. The lights of thousands of houses cast a golden halo over the city. “But I know what you mean. My mother was an alcoholic. She was dead
drunk when she drove off the road and killed herself. Drinking scares me.”
“Yeah, booze is a thief. It’ll steal your soul. I swear two years ago Dad had lost his soul. Then something happened. Something
Nana
did to him. A Power thing, you know? A Healing in the old way. Now Dad’s got a good thing going. Making flutes. He sells them to the whites that go to the galleries.”
“Lupe’s been out at the park quite a bit. I’ve seen his truck at Rupert’s on a lot of nights. I’ve never had the chance to really talk to him though. I guess, from the things he and Dusty said tonight, they were really close once.”
“Yeah. They grew up together.” Reggie leaned on a car beside her. “Did you know that Lupe and Dusty were initiated into a kiva together? A
Hopi
kiva of all things.”
“Yeah, I did … well, I knew Dusty was.” She frowned. “It’s a dead kiva, isn’t it?”
“It is. The Hopi are matrilineal. The clan died when the last female died. I guess there’s another initiate out there, another man who went through the ritual with Dad and Dusty. He’s in jail someplace. After him it’s just Dusty and Dad.” Reggie paused and glanced back at the people in the office.
Reggie’s voice turned tender. “Dad and I grew up apart. It’s only been in the last year, when he’s been coming out to see
Nana,
that I’ve finally had a chance to talk to him about the bad old days. It’s nice to get to know him. He’s really been trying, you know?” Reggie was watching her carefully, as if studying her face. “It seems he’s in and out of the park more these days than I am. And I work there. Dad and
Nana
have been arguing about something. I’ve asked but they won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“So, what do you think it is?”
Reggie lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. But
Nana
’s
worried about it. I can tell. Something’s really wiggling around under his skin.”
“Well, I like Rupert. I hope he can solve his trouble with Lupe. Come on, you can walk me back inside. I’ve got to say good-bye to Dusty—boy, is he going to be sorry tomorrow morning—and then I’ve got to drive out to my aunt’s.”
“Sure, Mag.” Reggie offered her his arm and when she took it, he placed a gentle hand on top of hers. “And maybe when this all settles down we can go out, huh? Maybe get some dinner? Go for a walk, hell, I don’t care. I just want to spend some time with you.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yeah, I gotta feeling about you.”
They walked back inside holding on to each other, and Maggie felt a little better.
 
 
“OH, GOOD LORD,” Dusty groaned and gingerly rolled to his side.
Gradually it came back to him. The memorial party at the office had turned out to be a classic wake. Dale would have approved. Copious amounts of alcohol had been drunk. Stories had been told. A life had been remembered and toasted. Venerable professors emeriti had related tales of digs long back-filled, of arguments they had won or lost with Dale. Neophytes, students on their first digs, told how Dale had, in his short time, touched their lives with the magic of archaeology.
Dusty ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth.
He was dying of thirst and his head felt like it might explode.
He opened one eye and looked around. He was lying across Dale’s big bed. He didn’t recall how he’d gotten here, but it was comforting, a link to the man he’d loved with all of his heart. Grief vied with the throbbing misery of the hangover. Trying to imagine the future, how it would be, added to his grief. Whom would he talk to? Dale had always been there to listen, and then give advice.
I’m alone now.
That knowledge grew like a yawning pit in his already rebellious stomach. From this day forward, anything that should have been said between them would never be said—and he knew it for the first time.
Dusty sat up and found himself fully dressed, but for his boots, which rested neatly side by side against the nightstand. He frowned at that, finding it terribly out of character for him.
The faint odor of eggs, cheese, beans, and chili carried to his nose. At the first watering of his mouth, his stomach squirmed.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, and doggedly pulled on his boots.
He gingerly walked down the hall to the bathroom, where he washed his face, cupped a half gallon of water into his greedy mouth, and ran a comb through his blond hair. His eyes looked like misshapen cherries. He knew from long experience that they’d stay swollen and red for most of the day. He grabbed the aspirin bottle and choked down three pills, desperately hoping they’d cut the knifelike pain in his brain.
He squinted at himself, decided he was presentable, and headed for the kitchen.
“Welcome to the world of the living, Stewart,” Maureen greeted. She stood before the stove with a spatula in her hand, wearing blue jeans and a red turtleneck.
Her long black braid fell down her back like a glistening snake.
Dusty eased onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and whispered, “Coffee. Hot, black coffee.”
“Coming right up.”
She handed him a steaming cup, and Dusty cradled it in both hands. “Okay. How’d I get here?”
Maureen’s brows lifted. “Well,” she said as she shoveled eggs onto a tortilla and put the plate in front of him. They looked marvelous: dripping melted cheddar topped red salsa while green speckles of jalapeño peeked out at him. The
refritos
might have been from the can, but on a morning like this, who was complaining? “Let’s say that you were not the life of the party last night. The more stories they told about Dale, the more morose you became. The more morose, the more beer you drank, and the whole thing bootstrapped you into a mess. Lupe, Steve, and I poured you into the Bronco a little before midnight and you insisted on coming here, because you just knew Dale would be waiting for you.” Her expression softened. “And, when I got you here, Dusty, you knew. So I put you to bed where you’d be closest to Dale.”
He picked up a fork, but waited until she’d fixed her own plate and came to sit beside him before he took the first bite.
Maureen spread her napkin over her lap. “I wanted to join you last night. You don’t know how hard it was not to.”
“Yes,” he said, “I do.” The eggs were wonderful. “Where’d you learn to cook
huevos
like this? These are great.”
“I’ve been watching a master. Did I get the cumin right?”
“Perfect.” He frowned. “Where’d we get fresh cilantro? I don’t remember any of it in Dale’s fridge.”
“At the Safeway supermarket, down the road. I had plenty of time this morning.”
They finished breakfast in silence. Dusty didn’t have the strength to eat and talk. It would have required too much concentration. Besides, his aching heart needed companionable silence more than it did conversation.
After wiping up the last of the salsa with a tortilla and washing it down with coffee, he said, “I didn’t dance with any strippers last night, did I? Didn’t get into any dick-swinging contests or do anything else stupid?”
She took a drink of coffee, then answered, “No. I thought it best to get you away before you could generate more archaeological legends. Besides, I was pretty sure you’d want to do your crying in private.”
Dusty lowered a hand to his rebelling stomach. “You’re not trying to tell me that I … did I?”
“No. Would that bother you so much? To show your grief to others?”
He nodded stiffly, said, “Yes, it would,” and sipped his coffee. His stomach knotted and squealed, as though preparing to make a break for it. He sat as still as possible.
Please, God, if you let me live through this, I swear I’ll never do it again.
His headache only seemed to get worse. Probably because God knew he was a liar.
When he laughed at himself, Maureen smiled.
“What are you chuckling at?” she asked as she collected the plates and took them to the kitchen sink.
“I was just contemplating the fact that hangovers are the greatest impetus for prayer in the modern world. Maybe if I drank more, I would be a truly holy person.”
“You’d be holey, all right, at least your liver would.”
He liked the way her body moved as she scoured the dishes and placed them into the dishwasher. On the wall behind her, the clock said 10:04.
“Jeez, I didn’t realize it was so late.” He finished his coffee and let out a sigh. “What have you been doing all morning?”
She pointed. “Take a look. I left a note card on page twenty-two.”
He frowned and realized that the bound book on the tile counter beside her coffee cup was one of Dale’s journals. Reaching across, he picked it up. “Been doing a little reading this morning?”
“Not much else to do unless I wanted to watch you sleep, which sounded about as interesting as watching railroad tracks rust.”
He opened the diary to the marked page and started skimming, then reading every word, once, and finally twice. Each was as pointed as a sword, and aimed right at his heart. “I don’t believe it.”
“But there it is in his own handwriting.”
Maureen brought the coffeepot around and refilled their cups as she waited for Dusty to finish reading. “Did you know any of that?”
Dusty raised his eyes from the page, stunned. “No. I—I didn’t. He never told me.”
Maureen was watching him closely. “That’s 1963, Dusty. Ruth Ann was working on her Ph.D.”
He returned his gaze to the diary and silently reread the words:
“Ruth is coming! Thank God. I feel like a millionaire whose ship has come in. She always turns me into a beaming idiot. The question is, where do we go for the first weekend? Taos, or Santa Fe? Finances are short, but I’m going to bite the bullet for a suite at La Fonda in Santa Fe.”
“What’s La Fonda?” Maureen asked. “Fancy?”
Dusty nodded, and his voice sounded strained even to him. “Yeah. Right on the square. I didn’t have time to take you there.” He swallowed hard. “Dale and my mother …”
“There’s a lot more, Dusty, though I don’t know if you want to read it. I didn’t get all the way through that summer yet, but that suite isn’t so she can sleep in the bed while he’s sacked out on the couch.”
The book in Dusty’s hands felt unnaturally warm.
He closed it and set it to one side. Tugging on his beard, he tried to still his roiling gut. Finally, he put a hand on his belly and tried to breathe deeply. “You mean they were lovers?”
Maureen glanced at his hand. “Is that the bombshell that just exploded in your life or the hangover?”
“A little of both, I think.”
“Well,” she said, and tapped the diary with a finger. “We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. Not until we’ve read all of his diaries.”
Dusty barely heard. A numbness had settled on his soul. The idea of Ruth Ann and Dale … it just didn’t gel in his mind.
The doorbell gave him a start. He jerked around, breathing hard.
“I’ll get it,” she said, and sprang to her feet.
When Maureen opened the door, Agent Nichols stood there, wearing a brown canvas coat against the November chill. A gray stocking cap covered his thick black hair.
Nichols asked, “Any more messages on the machine?”
“No,” Maureen answered. “Come in. I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Can I get you a cup?”
“No, thanks.” Nichols stepped inside, took off his stocking cap, and glanced back and forth between them. “Is there anything I might need to know?”
Dusty hesitated, then answered, “Not that I’m aware of. What’s up? What have you discovered?”
Nichols crushed his hat in his hands. “Not much. Just some odds and ends.”
Dusty swiveled around on his stool. “Define ‘odds and ends.’”
Nichols stuffed his hat in his coat pocket and shrugged. “Well, remember I told you that we couldn’t find Carter Hawsworth? He seems to have just dropped off the face of the earth. The same is true for Dr. Sullivan. She called in and told the department secretary
to either cancel her classes or cover them, because she had—” He pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped through to the right page. “—an important opportunity.” When Nichols looked up, he asked, “I thought maybe one of them might have been in contact with you.”
Dusty shook his head and glanced at Maureen.
She walked closer to Nichols. “Agent Nichols, did you see the woman in the black coat at the memorial yesterday? The one with the fur hat and dark glasses?”
“I’ve been over that tape twenty times. We’ve got most of the people IDed. I didn’t see any woman in a fur hat with dark glasses.”
“She showed up late.” Maureen frowned as though considering. “She looked to be in her thirties. It’s just that …”
“Go on,” Nichols urged.
“Well, she came late, and she reached down to touch Dale’s ashes. The action was … I guess you’d call it reverential. It caught my attention. That’s all.”
Nichols looked at Dusty. “You’ve got some interesting friends. Did you know that both Lupe and Reggie Brown have criminal records?”
“Yeah.” Dusty winced. “Look, as to Lupe, he’s an alcoholic. He did some stuff when he was on booze that he shouldn’t have. If you’ve been here for any length of time, you’re familiar with the problem. It doesn’t mean he’s not a good man. And he’s dried out. I was really afraid that he’d fall off the wagon last night, but he didn’t.”
“Uh-huh. Did Lupe ever have any problems with Dr. Robertson?”
“No. I mean, you know, just the usual stuff. Dale didn’t approve of some of the things he used to get me into when we were kids.”
Nichols glanced down at his notes. “Did you know that ten years ago Dr. Robertson informed the Albuquerque police that Lupe Brown had stolen a car? Subsequently,
Mr. Brown did six months in the Albuquerque jail.”
“Yeah.” Dusty’s misery wasn’t just the hangover. “The thing is, they talked about that later. Dale told Lupe he turned him in so that he’d get help.”
“And Lupe just smiled and thanked Dr. Robertson for ratting him out?”
“No, not exactly.” Dusty felt like throwing up. “Come on, Lupe didn’t kill Dale.”
“I have it here”—Nichols glanced at his notes—“that the arresting officer heard Lupe Brown swear—and I quote—‘I’m gonna kill that self-righteous son of a bitch.’”
“You’ve got to believe me, Lupe and Dale talked about it after Lupe got out. Sure, Lupe wasn’t happy about Dale turning him in, but he understood that Dale was just trying to help.”
“I see.” Nichols narrowed his good eye. “What about the kid, Reggie?”
“He’s got problems, too. Bad home. His mother used to beat him. Drugs, alcohol, some trouble with the police.”
“Like burglary, grand theft auto—that seems to run in the family—dealing in controlled substances, and he’s currently on parole. It seems that El Paso cut him loose on Rupert’s word that he could keep the boy out of trouble. Did you know that Reggie’s wages out at Chaco are currently garnered to pay back the people he robbed?”
“Rupert kept Reggie alive. Listen, if anyone can straighten Reggie out, it’s Rupert. He’s got some kind of threat he uses to keep him in line. As long as Reggie’s not around his mother, he does okay.”
“I see.” Nichols’s predatory stare didn’t abate. “Anything else you want to tell me? Anything that struck you as odd about the memorial?”
Dusty sat down on the couch. He took a deep breath to ease his headache before he said, “Maureen, don’t
forget the man that you saw leave early.”

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