Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries (54 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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“Right here.” She gestured flamboyantly with her hand. “And going nowhere since that tight-knickered bastard took my passport.”
Dusty met her eyes. “How do you feel about all this?”
She chugged more of the Guinness, before she replied, “I feel like bloody damned Alice falling through the looking glass.”
Dusty smiled. “Sorry. I’m feeling pretty confused myself. I can’t imagine having someone like Hawsworth
for a father and Ruth Ann for a mother. And then there’s Nichols sniffing around like a starving coyote.”
“Well, it’s not going to be pleasant, you know.”
Dusty frowned. “What isn’t?”
“What they find out about Collins.”
“Your husband? The one who died in the crash?”
She pursed her lips, hesitated, and finally shrugged. “There were questions about the crash, Dusty. The people who saw it said he accelerated like a crazy man. He never even touched the brakes. Just smashed himself under the back of a stalled lorry.”
Dusty didn’t quite know what to say. He toyed with his beer, then said, “My father committed suicide, too.”
“Well, it would be nice if it was all so clear, dear brother. Unfortunately, when the widow collects over a million pounds of insurance, on a policy that was taken out the week before …” She gave him a knowing look and handed him her empty Guinness bottle. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for another? This one is quite done, and after the day I’ve had, all things considered, I think I could stand being a little tight tonight.”
Dusty took the empty, set it beside the ice chest, and pulled out a fresh bottle. As he popped the top for her, he said, “Well, why would Nichols care? It’s not his jurisdiction.”
She looked at him as though he must be joking. “Why would Nichols care that I’m a suspect in another suspicious death? I can’t imagine.”
 
 
MAUREEN AWAKENED AT the graying of dawn, and though they slept in different sleeping bags, she found Dusty comfortably pressed against her on the
foldout couch in the trailer. Her face felt icy, and she could see frost on the aluminum frame surrounding the window. Her breath rose in the cold.
At her movements, Dusty opened one blue eye. “Is it morning?”
“I think you can sleep for another hour if you want. I’ll get breakfast started.” She unzipped her bag and sat up.
“Wake me when Yvette gets up?” he asked.
“If it’s before noon, you mean?” she said, and smiled. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”
“Perfectly fine. There’s an intact kiva waiting for me.”
Maureen rose, fully dressed in jeans and a black sweatshirt. As she slipped on her hiking boots, she peered down the hallway toward the bedroom. Yvette lay snuggled under the blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Only her hair protruded. She’d been in no condition to drive, and she certainly could not sleep in her Jeep. She’d accepted Dusty’s offer of a bed without the slightest hesitation.
Dusty rolled to his side and said, “I wager Yvette is not going to have a pleasant morning.”
“I suspect not.”
Maureen stood up, went to the kitchen, and poured water into the coffeepot, then filled the basket with coffee. While she worked, she gave serious thought to the shower in the dormitory behind the park headquarters where Michall and Sylvia were staying. The problem with life in the field, and the one thing she still could not abide, was the lack of hot water. Maybe tonight she’d take them up on their offer for a hot shower.
Maureen slipped on her coat and stepped outside into the shimmering morning. The trucks, the trailer, the rabbitbrush, and the picnic tables carried a quarter-inch layer of frost. She walked hurriedly down to the rest room and, with great stoicism, exposed herself to the
cold. At the same time she reminded herself that her ancestors had withstood colder temperatures than this, for much longer periods of time, and without the benefit of Duofold and Hollofil.
She made her way back to the trailer and found Dusty gone and Yvette sitting at the table.
“Where’s Dusty?”
“Went to the loo.” Yvette had a pained look on her face. Her hair was mussed, and her white turtleneck looked the worse for wear. Through puffy eyes she watched Maureen check the coffee and unpack eggs from the cooler.
“I feel bloody beastly,” she muttered.
“There’s orange juice in the cooler,” Maureen said sympathetically. “That or a can of Pepsi.”
“Pepsi?” Yvette screwed up her face. “That sounds positively sadistic.”
“Trust me. It’ll help.”
“Plenty of experience, Dr. Cole?” She narrowed an eye. “I didn’t see you sucking down pint after pint last night.”
“No, I don’t drink.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to get a lecture, does it?”
Maureen smiled. “I wouldn’t dare to lecture anyone, Yvette.”
As Maureen melted margarine in the frying pan, she thought about how she’d fallen apart after John’s death, and how Yvette didn’t seem to show any of the normal signs of grief she would have expected. After everyone had gone to sleep last night, Dusty had told her a few of the details of Yvette’s husband’s death, and Maureen hadn’t been able to get them out of her mind.
Cautiously, Maureen said, “You seem to have survived your husband’s death much better than I survived mine.”
“Yes, well …” Yvette looked down at her hands. “I think Collins and I were together just because we didn’t
have to be someplace else. The investigators, sod them all, tried every trick to pluck that out of me.”
Maureen chopped up the last of the fresh poblano peppers and added them to the pan. “Were you together long?”
“Too long,” she said, and looked around at the shabby interior of the trailer. “You’d jolly well never catch me living in a mobile camper like this. Just where the hell are we? Is this Chaco place even on maps?”
While Maureen peeled an onion, she replied, “Chaco Canyon is on lots of maps. This is actually a popular tourist attraction.”
“Really, well, good on them.” She propped her hands on the table and twisted them, appearing distracted.
“You don’t really look like much of an outdoors type. Why did you stay so long yesterday?”
“I just couldn’t make myself leave. I kept watching, wondering, and then to see the bone and the burned wood …” She smiled. “It was really fascinating. Though, you can be sure, had I known that Father and then your blasted Mr. Nichols were going to arrive, I’d have been long gone.” She stood up and groaned. “You don’t really expect a girl to walk down to that cold toilet when there’s a perfectly good little water closet right behind you?”
“With no running water because the pipes would freeze this time of year.” Maureen pointed at the camper door. “I’m afraid your only choice is a tall bush or the rest room down the way. Welcome to the Wild West.”
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, and pulled on her long black wool coat. “So, how long have you and Dusty been together?”
Maureen used the spatula to dig
refritos
from the can and added them to the simmering pan. “We’re not together, Yvette. Just friends.”
“Oh, sorry ’bout that. But he’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and he knows it, too. He has quite a reputation as a lady killer.”
“Too bad he’s my brother.” She paused, her hand on the door handle. “Tell me, did he have a lonely childhood?”
Maureen met Yvette’s curious eyes. “After his mother left, I think it was pretty tough on him. But, later on, he had Dale, and Dale loved him very much.”
Yvette nodded. “We’re not that different, he and I. Except I never really had anyone.”
Yvette opened the door and stepped out onto the rickety trailer steps.
Maureen watched her pass the window; then she poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned heavily against the counter.
 
 
SUNLIGHT DRENCHED THE rimrock as they stepped out of the Bronco, but shadows still clung to the canyon bottom, creating a well of cold air.
Yvette parked beside them and climbed out of her Jeep.
“Yvette?” Maureen asked as she put on her gloves. “Do you have any other clothes?”
Looking a bit uncomfortable, she said, “I’m afraid everything looks like this.”
“Then,” Dusty said as he buttoned up his denim coat, “I think you had better take a day and go shop for something more practical. A down coat and some hiking boots for starters.”
Yvette sighed, “I suppose I should at that.”
When the first gust of wind hit Maureen, she jerked her wool hat from her coat pocket and slipped it on her head. “Michall is going to be very glad that Rupert provided that tarp and those hay bales. That freeze last night went deep. I wish I’d …”
Dusty blinked at the hill where the site nestled.
“What is it?” Maureen followed his gaze to the irregular shape on the hilltop. She didn’t remember it, but maybe it was just the poor light.
The sound of a truck motor made her turn. Michall and Sylvia’s vehicle led the FBI Suburban around the turn from Loop Road onto Rinconada Drive.
“What is that?” Dusty whispered, and started up the trail.
Maureen gripped his sleeve to hold him back. “I think we should wait for the FBI to get here.”
“Why?”
“If it’s something unusual, you want them to find it first. That way it doesn’t look like we did it. Understand?”
“Oh. Sure. Okay.” Dusty tucked his hands in his coat pockets. His gaze was fixed on the ridgetop site.
“Good morning!” Sylvia called as she climbed out of the truck. Brown hair stuck out from beneath her gray knit cap. She lifted a gloved hand to wave.
Dusty waved back, but he’d started grinding his teeth, obviously eager to be at the site. He folded his arms and gave Maureen an irritated look when the ERT people climbed into the back of the Suburban and began handing out equipment. Dusty leaned sideways to whisper, “If my crew took this long to get to the site in the morning, I’d fire them.”
Yvette chuckled. “They’re bloody government employees. What do you expect?”
Finally, they started up the trail toward Dusty, Maureen, and Yvette.
Dusty looked at Maureen. “You think it’s safe to go up now?”
She took his arm. “Why don’t we let them lead the way.”
He muttered something unpleasant under his breath, but he waited.
Sylvia climbed the hill first. As she approached, she called, “Hey, Washais. How are you this fine morning?” She had her pack slung over one shoulder and a thermos in her other hand.
Maureen waited until Sylvia came closer, then said, “What’s the strange shape at the site?”
Sylvia stopped and squinted, and her expression slackened. “I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”
“Now you’re talking,” Dusty said, and headed up the hill beside Sylvia.
Everyone else followed.
The black plastic was not as Michall had left it the night before. Two of the straw bales were set neatly side by side on the ground, making the strange shape seen from below.
“Somebody’s been here.” Michall looked at Bill and Rick. “Did you guys bring Agent Nichols up here last night.”
“No.” Rick had his camera out. “Don’t touch anything. Stewart, you, Dr. Cole, and Ms. Hawsworth just arrived?”
“Five minutes before you did.”
“We waited for you,” Maureen told him. “We didn’t want another tongue-lashing from Nichols.”
“Good.” Bill knelt to study the black plastic tarp. “Okay, let’s take this one step at a time. Rick, you keep shooting as we take this apart. If someone’s been dicking with our evidence, I want it thoroughly documented.”
“Uh, guys,” Sylvia pointed. “Someone has also been in our back-dirt pile. Look at the hole scooped in the side.”
The shovel, its handle frosty, still stood, stuck in the hollow that someone had excavated. Bill pulled Michall
away and gestured Rick over. “See if you can get photos of the tracks.” He looked back at Dusty and added, “I want everybody else to stay put. Don’t move an inch. Do you understand me?”
Dusty nodded. “Yeah. I understand.”
The two agents donned gloves and carefully peeled back the black plastic. The kiva depths remained in shadow, the other straw bales barely visible.
As the light filtered in, a mound of dirt like a cinder cone appeared in the center of the kiva floor. Rick and Bill pulled the plastic back farther, and Sylvia’s breath caught. She stumbled backward, hissing, “Oh, Jesus!”
Michall whispered, “Son of a bitch.”
Maureen stared, unable to move.
Dusty murmured, “Dear God, don’t let it be anybody we know.”
Two human feet, bloody and sand-matted, protruded from the fresh earth. They looked small. Too small to be a man’s feet.
Maureen closed her eyes, afraid of the worst.
 
 
BROWSER LED THE way past Corner Kiva, slowing only long enough to stick his head inside and ensure that no party of warriors lurked there to ambush them. Catkin followed behind him, her war club thrust in Old Pigeontail’s back to keep him moving. As they climbed the slope, Catkin peered down at the abandoned villages of Pottery House and Spindle Whorl. Fallen stones and bits of cracked plaster covered the ground.
It had taken them much longer than Browser had planned to get here. Time was their only advantage. The elders, Rain Crow and the wounded Horned Ram, had slowed their pace. Would they have time enough to rush Owl House, kill Two Hearts and Shadow, and
still make an escape? That
was
what Browser was planning, wasn’t it?
A sudden whirlwind sprouted from the washed clay, lurching and dancing as it toyed with the weeds and wavered its way across the canyon floor. Before them, the sandstone rim jutted against the southern horizon. The deeply eroded cliff looked almost tired in the late fall light. How many pairs of eyes watched from up there? Catkin’s skin started to crawl. They turned away from Corner Kiva and began the last climb up the ridge toward Owl House.
The small block of rooms stood on the ridgetop. It seemed to waver in the clear light. As they climbed, the cold grew deeper and more bitter, forcing the elders to huddle together with their capes clutched at their throats. Stone Ghost hobbled up the slope behind Pigeontail, grunting softly. His thin white hair whipped around his wrinkled face. White Cone struggled up behind Stone Ghost.
“Fire Lark, break right,” Browser ordered. “Red Dog, take the left. Let’s make sure we see all sides as we approach.”
At his words, the warriors tapped their weapons in acknowledgment and split off from the party, advancing along the slope at a trot.
Catkin walked up to stand less than a handsbreadth away and whispered, “We’re just going to walk up the hill to the Owl House?”
“Yes.”
“There must be a way around, Browser.”
His thick black brows had pulled into a single line over his flat nose. “By now, they already know we’re here, Catkin. Being clever isn’t going to help us. We must strike before Shadow and her warriors have time to move Two Hearts, or get reinforcements from Starburst Town.”
Catkin’s gaze lifted to the rim and she searched for
the guards Pigeontail had said would be here. She saw no one. But they must be there.
Owl House had a commanding view of the canyon bottom. Not even a rabbit could have hidden in the flat expanse that stretched from Corner Kiva to Straight Path Wash, much less a war party. The only cover was in the tumbled rimrock that lay beneath along the cliff face several bow shots to the south.
Catkin glanced at Old Pigeontail. Something about him wasn’t right. He looked smug and self-confident—as though proud of himself for leading them into this trap.
She looked around the canyon. Nothing, only the deteriorating houses and the pale barren silts of the canyon bottom could be seen. Above, on the rim, nothing moved, no heads rose against the skyline.
It couldn’t be this easy, could it? Just walk up and storm the house? Kill Two Hearts and Shadow and set Obsidian free? She stepped closer to Browser, lowering her voice to say, “I’m worried.”
“Why?” His eyes searched the single-story structure they approached.
“I don’t like the way Pigeontail is taking this. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned even though he has betrayed the White Moccasins and Two Hearts.”
“That’s because he lied to us back at Kettle Town.”
“Lied?” Catkin whispered. “You know this to be true?” She shot a hot glance at Pigeontail.
“He gave in too easily. He must have been lying.”
She shifted and clutched her club more tightly. “Then he got us to do exactly what Two Hearts and Shadow wished.”
Browser nodded. “Yes, but we’re ahead of schedule. Ordinarily, I would wait until nightfall to go in, hoping darkness would cover our approach. Two Hearts knows this.”
“You are telling me that we’re walking into a trap?” she asked, searching his face.
“Of course.”
Catkin gripped his sleeve and pulled him back to stare hard into his eyes. “What is your plan?”
Browser smiled at the commanding tone in her voice. “Just promise me: When I give the order, kill Two Hearts. His death and Shadow’s are the two most important objectives. Everything else—Obsidian, you, me, the elders, the Mogollon—is secondary.” He gave her a look that melted her heart. “Do you understand?”
She twined her fist in his sleeve as though to rip it from his arm and said, “Yes. I understand.”
He smiled. “I thank you for you loyalty, Catkin. Because this is a turning point.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if we are successful, killing Two Hearts will be the beginning of the end.”
“The end of what?”
“Of this war, of clan against clan, of the katsinas against the old gods. It might take generations for all of the hatred to seep out through the people, like rings on a pond, but in the end the waters will be still again, as they were before the katsinas came to Sternlight. Someone must show the world a beginning—that we can all live together: Made People, First People, and Mogollon.”
Catkin studied the blocky shape of Owl House on the hilltop. “Who will win, Browser? The old gods, or the new gods?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But let us go and stamp out this evil now. Let us make a beginning to the end.” He walked up the slope.
Catkin reached into the quiver that hung down her back and pulled out two arrows. She thought she caught sight of a head lifting ever so slightly from the rooftop of Owl House.
“They’re watching us,” she said.
“Good. It is time to spring their trap and see how they plan to kill us.”
 
 
“THE THREE OF you were together all night?” Agent Nichols asked for the fifth time as he paced up and down the yellow tape in front of the murder scene.
“All night,” Maureen said. “We didn’t hear anything. There was frost on both our vehicles this morning. So we didn’t drive anywhere. We didn’t do it.”
Nichols had that look in his eye. He wasn’t a man a sane person wanted to cross. His fists worked for a moment as he read the truth in Maureen’s eyes, then turned away and walked to where Sylvia and Michall sat on a small sandstone ledge. Spooked and cold, they obviously longed to be anywhere but here with a corpse in their dig.
“Jesus,” Dusty whispered. “Why is the killer doing this?”
Maureen felt a sudden chill. “He’s just taking it to the next level of the game.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is the dare,” Maureen murmured as she watched Nichols pace. “And Nichols knows it.”
Yvette said, “Since I have a good solid alibi, I suppose I’m off the good inspector’s list of suspects. But given his mood, I don’t fancy asking him for my passport back. At least not in the near future.”
Dusty smoothed his hand over his beard. “Who do you think the victim is?” He tipped his blond head toward the hilltop. “Could you see anything?”
Maureen shook her head, not willing to tell him what she’d thought about the size of the feet, because if she was right, Dusty was about to lose someone else. “We’re not going to find out until Sid gets here.”
“From Albuquerque? That’s late afternoon at the earliest.
Won’t Nichols try to …” Dusty turned at the distant chatter of a helicopter.
“I think”—Maureen looked toward the southeast—“that when Agent Nichols gets pissed, things happen.”
Dusty’s eyes narrowed as he shifted to watch Nichols question Sylvia and Michall. Both women looked like they wanted to throw up. “Think I ought to mosey over there and eavesdrop?”

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