“I don’t know. Not soon enough. I miss him.”
“Seems like a cool assignment. Hanging out with the stars.” Bigman looked at the sandwich, offered Bernie half. She declined.
“How famous do you have to be to get a job as a zombie?”
“I heard that Rhonda’s in the movie.” Bigman took a bite of his lunch.
“Rhonda who?”
He chewed, swallowed. “Rhonda Delay. Even you must have heard of her, Manuelito. She’s everywhere. TV, ads, on the Internet. She has a new record out.”
“I’ll ask Sister. She keeps up with that stuff.”
“How’s that girl doing?”
Bernie wondered if Bigman had heard of Darleen’s latest predicament. “Now she wants to go to art school. She’s looking into that one in Santa Fe.”
“The IAIA?”
“That’s it.”
Bigman rewrapped what was left of his sandwich. “And your mother?”
“She’s OK.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Bernie grabbed a pair of Styrofoam cups for the cactus plants and got the evidence room key one final time. She scooped up some of the gravelly dirt and gently moved several of the little cacti to a new temporary home. She left them on the table; then she told Sandra about the man coming to pick up the boxes.
The late June heat must have made criminals lazy. Her afternoon’s assignments ranged from tedious to downright boring. As she drove toward Shiprock High School to check a vandalism report, she heard an electronic chime. It seemed to be coming from the backseat of her unit. The noise continued for several cycles and then stopped. When it started up again, she pulled to the shoulder, killed the engine, got out, and opened the back door. She saw nothing, so she raised the lid of the trunk to investigate. Nothing unusual there, either, but she knew she hadn’t imagined the sound. She checked the rear seats again, more closely, then squatted down to peek beneath the front seats.
This time, she found a slim black cell phone.
One of the technicians checking for drugs must have dropped it, she thought as she picked it up.
Then she looked at it, and radioed Captain Largo.
“Remember that guy I arrested? The one Cordova talked to me about?”
“Miller. Go on.”
“I found his phone on the floor of my unit.”
“How do you know it’s his?”
“When I touched it, the screen lit up with a picture of him.”
“I’ll mention it to the feds. Remember to drop it off when you get in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Bernie, we saved those cups with the dirt for you when the guy came in to get the boxes. They’re on your desk.”
She looked at Miller’s phone again. The home screen displayed several missed calls. None were familiar, but two of the numbers that came up more than once showed a 505 area code. That meant her part of New Mexico—Sheep Springs, Shiprock, Newcomb, Sanostee and also beyond the reservation, as far out as Albuquerque and Santa Fe. She made a note of those numbers, and several other frequent connections.
Then she touched the camera icon. The pictures were mostly shots of the landscape. She saw several views of Ship Rock, some sunsets, pictures of the Grand Canyon, blooming flowers. No photos of people, but about a dozen shots of a large, hairy black dog.
She would have checked the phone into the evidence room before she left for the day, but Sandra had gone home, and Largo was out. Instead, she locked it in her desk drawer for the evening, finished her paperwork, and drove to her trailer along the San Juan River.
Bernie wasn’t used to being home by herself. Since their marriage, she and Chee spent their time off together except when she needed to sleep at Mama’s. The place felt empty without him. She straightened up the house and then went to the deck and moved the cacti from the white cups into small flowerpots, using the same gravelly dirt. Since the plants were only three inches across, she’d assumed they were babies, but now she noticed tiny dried flowers. They must be full grown, some sort of miniature barrel cactus. She’d look them up in her cactus guide when she got a chance. Something else to keep her mind off her missing husband.
She checked the refrigerator and remembered that she and Chee had done a good job of eating everything before they left for vacation. Oh, well. She didn’t have much of an appetite anyway. She turned on the TV and turned it off again. Picked up her book, but found herself staring out the window instead of reading. When the phone rang, she wished it would be Chee, but it was Darleen.
“Drive out and eat with us. Mama says the atoo’ is even better now. And I want to talk to you about that school idea.”
“I don’t know. It’s hot. I’m tired.”
“It’s as hot there as it is here. Hold on.”
“Wait. Don’t put Mama—”
Mama’s voice came on the phone. “Come over now, daughter. I need to give you some of this food. It’s too much for your sister and for me. And she wants to say something to you.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“And bring the Popsicles.”
Then Darleen was back. “We’ll wait to eat dinner until you get here. Just because Cheeseburger isn’t there doesn’t mean you can feel sorry for yourself.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t be grumpy. And hurry up.”
Her appetite had returned by the time she got to Mama’s, and the stew smelled wonderful. It was always better the second day. After they ate, Mama put some in two containers. “One for the Cheeseburger. One for the one who got shot.” Bernie put them in the freezer, along with what was left of the Popsicles.
Darleen had been quiet during dinner. Now she was watching the news on TV. Bernie joined her on the couch. “Hey,” Darleen said. “There was just something on about a movie at Monument Valley. Something with zombies. Rhonda is the star. Rhonda! Whoa. I wonder if Cheeseburger is working near there. Maybe he’ll get to meet her.”
“Bigman was talking about Rhonda at work. I’ve never heard of her.”
Darleen made a clucking sound. “Seriously? You must have seen her in one of those movies, and then she did the way-cool videos, and then she was on that TV thing, you know, with those cute guys? Has your husband seen her yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he could take a picture of her for me. That would be awesome.”
“I’ll ask him.”
Darleen said, “You sure were grouchy on the phone.”
“I had a bad day at work.”
“What happened?”
The question surprised Bernie—Darleen’s world focused on Darleen. But she filled her in on the details.
“Dirt Guy sounds like a weirdo to me. I’m glad he didn’t shoot you or something.”
“Me too.”
“Why won’t the FBI tell you about him?”
“I don’t know.” Bernie wondered how she could get more information out of Cordova.