“If he wants to ask me about why Samuel got shot, he better be quick. I’m leaving next week.”
“Is that when the filming will be done?”
“No. But most of the administrative functions, like this job, shift back to California to save money.”
“Well, good luck to you.”
She smiled. “You look like you could use a cold drink. You know how to find the food tent. Help yourself.”
That sounded like a good idea. Maybe a bottle of cold, cold water would get him in the right frame of mind for working on the People Mover on a very warm afternoon.
In the tent some local crew members nodded to him and motioned him over. Randy said, “I heard your cousin ran into some trouble with that big vehicle he uses for tourists.”
“I heard that, too.”
“Tell him my boy used to drive one of those at Canyon de Chelly, taking folks to the Canyon del Muerto and the ruins. He knows what makes them tick.” The man gave Chee his son’s name and number. “Paul knows me, but we haven’t seen each other for a while.”
Chee was leaving with his water and an oatmeal cookie when he saw Missy. She was chatting with another woman, but Chee knew it would be rude to ignore her. She introduced him to Trish, a tall brunette wearing a T-shirt with an eagle design.
Trish smiled. “So you’re the one who found my friend here?”
“That’s me.”
Melissa said, “I wasn’t lost. I keep saying that, but no one listens. Hey, I heard about Samuel. How awful. Do you know what happened?”
“Not exactly.”
“Someone told me Delahart shot him,” Trish said.
News traveled almost as fast in the movie company as it did on the reservation, Chee thought. “That’s interesting. Did he say why?”
“That guy was a slimebag.”
“Which guy?”
“Take your pick. Sorry to speak ill of the dead, but it’s true. Samuel would make up lies based on little things he heard or saw. Then Delahart would put stupid gossip in the movie blogs, fan pages, whatever. He didn’t bother to check to see if it was true, or fair.”
Melissa said, “Delahart never seemed like a guy who would shoot anybody. Spreading rumors about them, innuendo, that’s more his style.”
“So that leaves about a hundred other suspects. You, me, BJ, even Rhonda,” Trish said.
“Rhonda, she’s another story. She’s got an ego and a temper, and Samuel’s lies didn’t do her any favors.”
Trish laughed. “Seriously. I think you’re confusing the real Rhonda with the Zombie Queen.”
When Melissa shook her head, Chee noticed that she wasn’t wearing her turquoise earrings. He asked about it.
“I loved those earrings, but I took them back to the shop. I decided they were beyond my budget. Delahart had Robinson announce his budget cutbacks, and I figured I shouldn’t have been so extravagant.”
“BJ told me that parking-lot Gerald lost his job.”
Melissa sighed. “We were expecting more underwriting, but it didn’t come through. I feel bad about Gerald, and there’s more layoffs to come.”
Chee left the air-conditioned tent for the late-afternoon heat. He’d never minded summer, even at its peak. What was the point of calling anything in nature “bad”? Weather was weather, hot was hot, cold was cold. He didn’t see the need to attach judgment.
While he still had phone service, he called his cousin on the off chance that Paul was somewhere within range of a cell tower and had his phone with him.
Paul answered. He had just finished filling his water tanks and was heading for home.
“I’m about done, too, ready to get back to your place,” Chee said. “I thought I’d see if you had any idea what was wrong with the People Mover.”
“You heard about that?” Paul sounded remarkably upbeat for a man who had looked business disaster in the face earlier that day. “Yeah, I guess I’m famous all over the valley now.”
Chee waited for Paul to bring up his botched repair job, or to ask him to work on the People Mover. He did neither.
“I’ve been thinking some more about this food deal. You know, what to feed the customers. Something easy but good. I’m doing the research, man. You can be my test subject. You know, like a crash test dummy?” Paul chuckled.
Chee didn’t appreciate the comparison. “What about the vehicle?”
“Don’t worry, bro. It’s under control.”
On his way through the valley, Chee cruised past the former campsite of the German tourists. They had done a fine job of cleaning up. Except for tire tracks, the place looked as though no one had been there. He wondered if the movie people would do as good a job when they left with the burned bones with which they had desecrated Navajoland.
15
The next day the memory of the burned sedan, the stench of rubber and plastic, still bothered Bernie. She pictured the scene again. She wondered if it had to do with gangs, some sort of initiation. Another thing to mention to the Lieutenant. Talking to him always helped.
She steered her mind to happier thoughts. The Lieutenant using the computer. Wonderful news. Another step in his recovery.
As she drove into Window Rock, her cell phone vibrated. She was surprised to see that the caller was Officer Wheeler, a colleague stationed there. She put him on speaker.
“Hey, Manuelito. So the Captain has you tracking down a burned car?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve been investigating incidents like that out here. I can give you some info, share my files. I heard you were coming out this way to see the Lieutenant. Meet me at the Navajo Inn, and I’ll pass all this off to you. I want to talk to you for a minute about that guy Miller, too. I’m almost at the parking lot now.”
“OK, thanks, but—” And before she could suggest an alternative place to meet, he hung up.
She would have suggested that they get together at the chain restaurant down the street or the Chinese place in the little mall. She had always enjoyed the Navajo Inn, but now the thought of going there felt like a cold wind on her neck.
She forced herself to park in the open spot by the door, the same place where the Lieutenant had parked his truck the day he was shot. Even looking at the building made her edgy. She climbed out of her Toyota, straightened up, took a breath. She knew she had to do this sometime, and now was as good a time as any. She walked through the big doors and into the dining room.
Wheeler sat at a booth by the back windows, looking at the oasis of shade and water the restaurant and adjoining hotel had created. Bernie slipped in across from him.
Bernie’s favorite waitress, Nellie Roanhorse, handled their section. Nellie came by for their orders and smiled at Bernie. “Good to see you again. I’ve missed you here. How’s your friend, the one who got shot?”
Surprisingly, it was a relief to talk about him. “He’s getting stronger, doing better. He’s able to use the computer now, working a little.”
“You want some fries today?”