Robinson started to say something, then turned and walked into the room, leaving the door open. He sat at the desk. Tsinnie stood next to his chair, looking down at him, and Chee stood by the door.
Even in the semidarkness Chee could see that, unlike the neat office, Robinson’s personal trailer was a mess. The laundry, papers, and unwashed dishes reminded Chee of the low points of his bachelor days, the debris of a life moving too fast.
Tsinnie got to the point. “Tell me why that grave is out there.”
“No idea. I don’t know anything about it. I told Chee that last night.”
“You guys want some extra publicity, so you decided to use the Navajo Police to get it. That was a bad, bad decision.”
Robinson stood. “Listen. Why would I want to waste time talking to the police? We’re on a tight shooting schedule. Whatever distracts from the filming costs us money. That certainly includes this nonsense. The planet is full of bones and graveyards. Why is this a big deal, anyway?” Robinson rubbed his hands through his hair, amplifying the bed-head effect. “This is crazy.”
Chee watched Tsinnie bristle, stand a little taller. “I live out here. I know everyone. I would have heard about that grave. I didn’t. It’s new with you people. It wasn’t here before you came.”
Robinson walked to the corner of his trailer that served as a kitchen. Chee watched him run water into a coffee mug and put the cup in the microwave.
Tsinnie raised her voice over the whir of the oven. “When the grave is exhumed and we come up with nothing, that could look like a way to get attention for a zombie movie. But it will be bad news for you, or whoever came up with this idea. And expensive.”
And, Chee thought, embarrassing for the Navajo Police.
“Like I told you, detective, and like I told Chee, I don’t know anything about this.”
“Who would?”
“Well—” The bell on the microwave cut him off. Chee watched him remove the cup and add the instant coffee powder.
“How do you guys come up with sites anyway?” Chee asked. “Does somebody look around for places to film the scenes?” Tsinnie glanced in his direction, her expression neutral.
Robinson took a sip of the coffee. “That would be the location supervisor and the scouting team. They went all over the place.”
“Call the supervisor,” said Tsinnie. “I want to get this settled.”
“Once we start filming, she moves on to the next gig. She’s not here.”
Tsinnie said, “Then get her on the phone.”
Robinson put his cup down. “BJ has all that contact information.”
“Are you making this hard on purpose?”
“BJ, the administrative assistant, office manager, etcetera. Next door in the office. She can—”
Tsinnie turned her back to them, leaving the door open. Chee felt the trailer stir as she clomped down the metal steps.
“Tough gal,” Robinson said.
“She’s only doing her job.”
“Nah. She enjoys being a big shot. We’ve got some of those around here, too.”
“Are any of those folks who helped with the scouting still here?”
“Mike Turner stayed on. He works with us in case we need some fine-tuning. The best time to find him would be tonight at the meal tent before the filming starts.”
“Thanks.”
“By the way, what did you think of Samuel last night? I mean, the way he dealt with the trespassers?”
Chee considered the question. “They were high school girls. He frightened the younger one. She was too scared to talk about it, but I wonder if he hurt her arm.”
Robinson put his cup down. “He told me he found a gun on them.”
“They dropped it before they got to that actress’s trailer. They’re kids.”
“You think he was too heavy-handed?” Robinson didn’t wait for the answer. “I’m going to get rid of him. I’d decided that even before last night, but Melissa talked me out of it. He enjoys being a tough guy too much.”
Chee met up with Tsinnie outside the central office. BJ had found the location scout’s number, and Tsinnie had left a message on a voice-mail system. Chee filled her in about Turner, hinting that he might be a better source.
“I don’t like dealing with these people. I’m telling Bahe to have you do it. I’ll handle the Navajo end, if there is one. You can come back and talk to Turner. Let’s get out of here.”
Chee had been around enough strong-willed women to know better than to argue.
“Hey there, Jim Chee.” Melissa trotted up to them. “What happened with those trespassers last night?”
“They were teenagers. I gave them a lecture and turned them over to their dad. Robinson called me in because Samuel said they had a gun, and one of them mouthed off to him. No big deal.”
“Samuel? Trouble follows that man like a shadow.”
“I thought you liked him. Robinson said you saved his job.”
Melissa shrugged. “One of the worst mistakes I ever made.”
Tsinnie asked, “You the woman who was lost?”
“That’s what they say. Did Chee tell you about the grave we found in the middle of nowhere? Spooky, huh?”
Tsinnie stiffened. “We’re looking into it.”
“A grave turns up on the site of a movie about zombies. How much weirdness is that?” She turned to Chee. “So now I’ve got new earrings as good luck.”
Chee looked at them. Beautiful silverwork framed the turquoise stones of robin’s-egg blue. They reminded him of some his grandmother had worn, the stone given to the Diné as a sign of protection. “They are beautiful.”
“I got them at the gift shop at the visitor center. I couldn’t afford them, but I decided to splurge. After all—”
Tsinnie interrupted. “Chee may need to talk to you again as part of the investigation.”
“Of course. Did he tell you how that arm reached up from the depths and grabbed my ankle? He beat it off with my tripod and saved me from certain death. Or, I guess, undeath.”
Tsinnie didn’t crack a smile.
Chee enjoyed the way the detective negotiated the road hazards, handling the ruts and washouts, loose animals, herds of sightseeing buses, and tourists driving like idiots because of the enchantment of the scenery. Nothing she encountered behind the wheel upset her. She kept her equilibrium, drove like a pro.
As they approached the John Ford Point turnout, she said, “Tell me about that blond girl.”
“She didn’t have anything to do with the grave. She was genuinely surprised when we found it.”
“You’ve said that already. What’s her job?”
“She’s a bookkeeper.”
“I’m like your Lieutenant Leaphorn. I don’t believe in coincidences. Why was she there by the grave? Why there instead of someplace else? That woman is in on this. That grave is nothing but a big headache for us. Too bad you had to find it.”
They drove past a black horse and a rider in a red shirt and white hat posed against Ford Point’s backdrop of mesas, buttes, and spires.
“What are you doing out here anyway, Chee?” Tsinnie slowed to avoid a cloud of dust from an open-air sightseeing van.
“It’s a long story.”