“Young ones,” Paul said. “I like their music better now that we aren’t running sheep. I’m glad we came here, man. I was restless, you know, nervous about the tour tomorrow. I feel better now.”
Chee looked at the hint of stars appearing in the growing darkness and shifted to rest his back against a rock, adjusting until he found a smooth place, enjoying the evening. The raucous young coyotes reminded him of the two teenagers he’d met last night. Why were girls that age so infatuated with celebrities? He heard Paul begin to snore and nudged him with his foot. “Let’s head back. I want to get everything set for the breakfast so we can move quickly tomorrow.”
“I got the bologna and the bread.”
“I stopped at the store and bought what I need for burritos.”
“Fried bologna is good for breakfast,” Paul said.
As they hiked back toward the vehicle, Chee thought about the grave. Even though he didn’t like the idea, since he was this close, he should take another look. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if his call to Turner had had an effect, and the company had done the right thing and removed the grave?
“I need to look at something for work.”
“I figured. I’ll meet you at the People Mover.”
Unfortunately, the ring of rocks and the mound of dirt inside were still there. Chee lectured himself about it. There was no good reason a fake grave should spook him. He took a breath, and thought about how beautiful the evening was, how fortunate he was to be in this special place.
Then he saw what looked like a bone protruding from the red earth. Pushing back the impulse to walk away, he squatted down, pulled out his phone, turned on the flash, and took some pictures. He was careful not to touch it. Even so, an uneasy feeling spread from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
Chee rose early to make breakfast for the group, cooking the onions, scrambling eggs with them, adding bologna and then cheese to the mix, and rolling it in warm flour tortillas for the expected customers. After the Norwegians’ problems with spice, he was tempted to leave out the chile to make the assembly quicker. But he’d worked with some Texans and remembered that they liked things hot.
Paul set up the coffee in his big black campfire pot and assembled cups, napkins, and some oranges. He loaded an eight-gallon thermos of water onto the People Mover.
The sky had lightened when Chee started his truck to follow Paul. He drove with the windows open, enjoying the cool air. From somewhere amid the monuments, he heard the raspy cry of a raven.
Paul made it to the Inn to pick up his customers without trouble, and Chee headed in to the police station. Today he’d talk to Turner and wrap up the grave problem. Maybe the bone he’d seen came from a chicken or something, another movie prop. Nothing to fret over. Bahe would rejoice at his competence and let him go home to Bernie a few days early.
He strolled into the office with a spring in his step.
Bahe had left a faxed copy of the contract between the movie company and the Navajo Nation. The contract clearly specified places that could be used for filming, and the area where the grave had been discovered was nowhere on the list. The company had agreed to restore each site where they worked to its original condition or better.
Along with the contract was a note Bahe had scrawled in red pen. “Prove they did it. Settle this today. Tsinnie’s contacts all say the grave came with the zombies.”
Guilty until proven innocent, Chee thought. He typed a note about the bone fragment and sent Bahe the photos. He wrote his report about yesterday’s contacts with the hotel security people, including the towels and necklace at Goulding’s. Then he picked up the copy of the contract and the citation Bahe had drafted and headed out to find Turner.
The film base camp buzzed with activity. Chee wondered why they bothered with the tent for the dining area. Sanitation rules or something? He would have rather seen the view. And it was hot inside, even early, despite the fans and the portable air conditioners the movie company had hauled in, all of it running by generator. However, the tent made an excellent container for the wonderful aromas of grilled bacon and plump sausages, pancakes with warm, sweet syrup, and the sweet fragrances of the bakery section. The plates of food the staff members enjoyed looked delicious. These people always seemed to be eating.
There were as many staff here now as when he had stopped by last night. A few people in zombie makeup and costumes chatted with normal-looking folks in shorts and sleeveless shirts over plates of omelets, bagels with cream cheese, whatever. The crowd was mostly young and white, with some Navajos and Hispanic-looking people among the crowd. Samuel was sitting by himself.
Chee unsuccessfully surveyed the room for a fellow searching for him. He thought it odd that most of the cast ignored his presence, a rare experience for a cop in a room of civilians. Even a Navajo cop, an extra-rare species, couldn’t compete with zombies.
Seeing a couple of men about his age in boots and jeans eating eagerly, he walked toward them. The cinnamon rolls they had looked good.
Chee introduced himself. “I need to find a Mr. Turner. Is he in here?”
“Never heard of him, but that guy might know,” said one of the men, gesturing to the left toward a man with a clipboard. “He’s one of the big shots.”
The man scooted his chair back from the table and rose as Chee approached. “I’m looking for Mr. Turner.”
“Michelangelo Turner at your service. Call me Mike. You must be Officer Chee? What can I do for you, Officer?” Turner looked to be in his late fifties. He was well-built, an inch taller than Chee.
“I’m investigating a grave we discovered out by Rabbit Ridge. I need to see scouting pictures to determine if it was there when the movie company arrived. Mr. Robinson said you would have them.” After he took a look, Chee thought, he would present the citation and be on his way.
“I never heard of Rabbit Ridge,” Turner said. “I have no photos to give you. I could have told you that on the phone. I’m sorry you wasted a trip.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Hard to miss a grave here in the naked desert, don’t you think?” Turner turned, ready to walk away.
Chee had seen this attitude before. “Sit down.” He didn’t like dealing with jerks. Turner frowned and sat, and Chee took the chair across from him. The man’s height was all in his legs. Sitting gave Chee an edge.
“I agree. It would be hard to miss a grave, and the people who live out here never noticed it until the zombie crews arrived. I’d like to learn that what some people think is a grave is actually just a misunderstanding. That’s where you come in.”