Chilling Effect (28 page)

ran through her—Lily’s comment niggled at her. Th ere was some-

thing wrong about it. Something that didn’t make sense. She tried

to shake it off , but it clung to her and lodged itself into her mind.

“You don’t drive much?” she asked Boom.

“Not in years. I haven’t driven regularly since I was a young man.”

Joe eyed her curiously.

“Come on,” Ruby called, gesturing them to a picnic blanket

that she had stretched across a patch of grass.

“Roo?” Joe asked.

“You go ahead and eat. I need to check in with Sid and just

take care of a few quick things.” She knelt beside the girl. “Save me a good dessert, okay?”

She walked through the sea of people carrying plates and cov-

ered dishes. She bumped into Carole, whose arms were wrapped

around an enormous salad bowl.

“You aren’t leaving?” the judge asked.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” She started through the doorway then

turned back. “Carole?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you think Lee Buckmount wouldn’t take responsibil-

ity for the drones?”

223

MELISSA F. MILLER

Th e judge shook her head, and her hair fell around her face like

a silver curtain. “I’ve known Lee a long time. His refusal to admit the embezzlement makes a certain sort of sense—he’s motivated by

money, he always has been. I think he hoped he could somehow

keep that money even if he went to prison. But I don’t understand

why he wouldn’t allow us to judge the accusation of breaking into

Ruby’s home or why he refused to admit to stealing the drones.

Th ere’s no gain for him there. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless he truly didn’t do it.”

224

Boom was waiting for her. He watched through his front window

as she trudged from the guest house, her shoulders bent as though

they carried a great weight. As she stepped up onto his porch, he

turned the doorknob and opened the door. She froze, her fi st stop-

ping midknock, and blinked at him with sad, fatigued eyes. Dark

circles rimmed her eye sockets.

“Th ere you are, Aroostine.”

He stepped aside to let her in. She hesitated.

“It’s okay, come in. I know why you’re here.”

She stiff ened at that but then her face relaxed, as if she also

found comfort in it. He knew what was about to pass between them

would wound her. He wished it didn’t have to be so.

She walked past him into the living area but didn’t sit. He

closed the door and locked it.

“Can I off er you some tea? Toast?”

She shook her head.

MELISSA F. MILLER

“You should eat,” he urged.

“I’m not hungry.” She inhaled deeply, gathered herself, and then

exhaled and asked the question he’d been dreading. “Why?” Her

voice broke.

He found it diffi cult to speak around the lump in his throat.

“Please, Aroostine. Sit down. I’m making tea. I’ll bring it in and we can talk. I’ll tell you what you need to hear. But, sit. You look like you’re going to collapse.”

She started to protest but stopped herself and sank into the

love seat.

She still wanted to trust him,
he realized with a start. He hadn’t expected that. Perhaps she was willing to listen with an open heart and be persuaded.

He hurried to the kitchen to pour the tea before she reconsid-

ered. When he carried the cups into the living room on their sau-

cers, he was pleased to see that his hands didn’t shake.

“Th ank you,” she said. Th en she set aside the cup and saucer

without taking a sip.

He lowered himself into the chair across from her and waited,

wondering where she would begin.

“Does she know—Carole Orr?”

“Does she know what? About my past? Or my present?”

She gripped her hands together, almost as if she were praying.

Her interlocked fi ngers turned white from the pressure.

“All of it.”

He sighed, blowing air across the surface of his tea. “Any

Chinook on this reservation who’s of a certain age remembers AIM

and what things were like then.”

“Th e American Indian Movement?”

“Yes. You’re too young, and the Lenape didn’t have a recognized

reservation, so you may not fully understand our history. In the

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CHILLING EFFECT

late sixties, early seventies, the country—the entire country—was

in upheaval. White, black, red, yellow, brown. No matter the skin

color, the people were rising up. Leaders were killed. Th e govern-

ment,
your

y
go

our

y

vernment, was brutal.” He heard his voice take on

power. He sounded like a younger version of himself, the man who

rallied the people.

“Your history books teach about the Black Panthers, the Kent

State massacre, and the assassinations of civil rights leaders. Have you read about the Trail of Broken Treaties or the standoff at

Wounded Knee?”

She shook her head no.

“I would guess you haven’t. Our people were being executed,

stabbed, shot, mutilated by federal government agents. Evidence

was manufactured. People went to jail. Women, mothers, were

beaten on the courthouse steps for daring to demand justice for

their dead sons—”

He stopped himself abruptly and reached for his tea. Now his

hands were shaking. Th e china cup banged against the saucer with

each tremor. He drank and tried to slow his heartbeat.

“So, you were in AIM,” she said softly, encouraging him to

continue.

His voice was weaker now, even to his own ears. “Yes. I was in

AIM. So was Carole. So were many others. But I was a young man,

full of fi ght. I grew frustrated; I felt that the leadership was losing sight of the people. Splinter Red Power groups began to form—

other natives who felt as I did. Some were angrier than others. I got involved with the wrong people. I made mistakes.” He stared down

at the teacup for a moment then lifted his head.

She glared at him, her brown eyes fl ashing. “Mistakes like

bombing the IRS building in Salem?”

“Yes.”

227

MELISSA F. MILLER

Th ey sat in silence for what seemed like a very long time. He

had to decide how much to tell her and whether he could accept the

consequences of telling her.

“You feel betrayed by me, daughter?”

She set her mouth in a hard slash. “I’m not your daughter.”

His heart squeezed in his chest at the rebuke. “So you researched

my background and you learned that I spent eight years in prison.”

She said nothing.

“No one was injured, you know. We bombed the building on a

weekend. It was a protest.”

She whipped her head up at that. “Was it a protest when you

tried to blow me up?”

“I panicked. Please try to understand. Lee Buckmount and his

supports were destroying our culture. Th ey were happy to turn a

profi t on the backs of gamblers and drinkers, but at least we struck a deal with Lee to fund some of our cultural initiatives and to set up a scholarship fund. But then he brought the drones. Th at was sheer greed. Blood money. He had to be stopped. When Isaac discovered

Lee’s fi nancial shenanigans, it created an opportunity for me to try to help our community. Lee was distracted, worried, not focused on

his businesses. I was able to convince a sympathetic security guard to look the other way while a couple military drones disappeared.”

“What was the plan? Were you going to sell them or what?”

“Sell them to whom? Terrorists? My word, no. I don’t want
any-

one
to hav

one

e them. Th ey’re death machines. I planned to destroy them.

Th e Department of Defense would learn that the testing facility

wasn’t secure and cancel the contract. Th at’s all I wanted to achieve.”

He thought he sensed her beginning to soften toward him—

she seemed to have less stiff ness in her shoulders, less anger in her gaze. He plowed ahead, hopeful that she would understand. “You

know in your heart that those drones are evil. Th at’s why you had

the vision that fi rst night.”

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CHILLING EFFECT

“Who told you that I heard about the drones from Ruby?”

“You did.”

She recoiled. “I did no such thing,” she spat.

“Your spirit guide showed you Lily in the vision with the drone.

It seemed odd that you felt such a connection to a girl who you’d

just met. Unless . . .”

“Unless Ruby told me about the drones? You were comfortable

acting on that hunch?”

He shrugged. “You call it a hunch because you deny your back-

ground, Aroostine—”

“Please, no more spiritual mumbo jumbo from you. You broke

into Ruby’s, and you tried to kill me and Joe.”

“One life, two lives—this is nothing in the face of an entire

people’s history.” He said the words coldly, even though the truth

was he’d struggled over the decision, consulted his own spirit guide, asked the ancestors for guidance. She may not have considered herself his daughter, but he felt a connection to her, and it had pained him to do what he’d done—what he’d had to do.

“As one of the lives you found so disposable, I have to disagree.”

He allowed her reproach to wash over him in a wave.

“My turn to ask a question. How did you put it all together?”

“Something Lily said at the sentencing circle about your driv-

ing. You’re a cautious, out of practice driver, but you got to the scene so quickly when Lee was attacking Ruby. Lily said you drove slowly, though. You were already off the reservation grounds when Ruby

called—weren’t you? You snatched Lily from school as an insurance

policy to keep Ruby from talking to anyone else about the drones.”

“Partially correct. I knew Lee was going to beat information out

of Ruby. It’s his way. I didn’t want him to harm the child, but I also didn’t want Ruby and Lily to talk to the government. I didn’t plan

to harm Lily. I just needed to keep the theft of the drones quiet until I could arrange for their destruction.”

229

MELISSA F. MILLER

She scrunched up her face and looked at him as though he were

abhorrent. He didn’t know how to convince her that she did mat-

ter to him—but the Nation mattered more. She was a pure spirit, a

fi ghter for good. Of course she mattered.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her to see. It was a battle

he’d lost once before: when a young Carole Orr had told him to

choose Red Power or her. Of course, his warm feelings for Aroostine were only paternal, unlike the heady fi rst love that he and Carole had shared a lifetime ago.

“But you let me—you
helped
me—tr

helped

y to convict Buckmount

for your crimes. You aren’t the mystic sage you pretend to be. You’re just an old coward and a fraud.”

He drained his tea and stood. He looked down at the young

woman—ablaze with anger—sitting on his old corduroy divan and

felt something like pity. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Aroostine wasn’t sure what she’d hoped to accomplish by confront-

ing Boom. He was unrepentant and committed to rationalizing his

crimes as somehow being in furtherance of some amorphous, greater

Indian good. She’d wasted her time coming here. She should have

followed her fi rst instinct and gone straight to Chief Johnson.

I’m sorry it has to be this way—that’s the best explanation he could
manage for attempted murder?

She pushed herself up and out of the sunken love seat cushion.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have come.”

She started toward the door, but he blocked her path. She

moved to her left, he moved with her. She moved right. Again, he

followed. She stopped.

“I don’t have anything else to say to you. I’m leaving.” She

forced the words out between clenched teeth.

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CHILLING EFFECT

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I’m not asking permission. Now, please get out of my way.”

Something about the sad smile he wore and the hooded expres-

sion in his eyes chilled her.

“You can’t leave.” He raised his right arm and made a sweeping

gesture that encompassed the door and windows. “I watched you as

you left the circle. I could see in your face that you were beginning to suspect what I had done. At that point, I had a choice. Run or stay and face you. I’m too old to run, Aroostine. I don’t want to start a new life away from White Springs. But I’m not going back to prison.”

She stared at him, trying to make sense of his words, but his

impassive face gave her no clues. She swept her gaze around the

room. When she strained her eyes and squinted, she could just make

out a thin ribbon of wire dancing around the door and window

frames—as if he’d strung a line of Christmas lights that had no bulbs.

Her chest tightened.

“What’ve you done?”

“I didn’t have a lot of time, so I won’t pretend it’s my best handi-work. But it should suffi ce. I left the potluck and came back here to wire all the windows and doors to a series of incendiary devices.

When I locked the door after you got here, it activated the fi nal

bomb. Try to open the door and you and I go sky high. Same for

the windows. Th e only way out is in pieces.”

She surveyed the fi rst fl oor. Two windows in the small front room, one in the kitchen, a front door, and a back door. No basement. A set of stairs, off set from the front door, led to the second fl oor.