“Chee? Oh, right, I haven’t given you the update.”
She filled him in on the discovery of Samuel’s body, the man hiding in the bathroom, and Paul’s adventures setting up the tour company. She remembered what Chee had wanted her to ask. “Hold on a second. I left my backpack in the living room, and I need to show you something.”
She located the backpack on the coffee table, then remembered her phone was in her pocket. She called up the photo Chee had sent her of the necklace.
“Chee said he e-mailed this to you, but he wasn’t sure it came through. He asked me to get your opinion. Does it look familiar?”
Leaphorn studied the photo, then tapped three times, his code for maybe.
Why.
“You know Chee. He doesn’t like loose ends.” She told Leaphorn the story of the bloody towels. “He’s been wondering why someone would abandon something so beautiful. It doesn’t sit right with him. Like me and those darn boxes of dirt.”
She watched the hummingbirds for a few minutes more while Leaphorn typed. Not a message this time; he was calling up his e-mail. Chee had managed to send the Lieutenant the same photo.
Leaphorn switched out of e-mail and typed. Will get back to Chee.
“Have some tea first,” Louisa said when Bernie went to say goodbye. “It’s herbal. Good for you. Better than all that coffee you and Joe drink. I won’t keep you long, but you have to try this.”
Louisa poured a cup for Bernie, one for the Lieutenant, and one for herself. “You know, when Chee gets back from Monument Valley, you both should come over. That would be fun. Joe and I will rent some of those old John Ford movies that were filmed out that way.”
Bernie took a sip, then added some of the honey Louisa offered. It didn’t seem to help. If she drank half a cup, that would be polite enough, Bernie decided. Then she could be on her way.
She glanced at Leaphorn, sitting in his familiar place. His eyes were closed, his tea untouched.
On the drive to the office, Bernie puzzled over Miller without coming up with any ideas, then turned her thoughts to the Rotary speech. She’d finished a mental list of the major talking points when her phone rang. She put it on speaker.
“Mr. Tso’s daughter called,” Largo said. “She says her dad asked her to call you. Says he remembered something else and wants to talk to you.”
“About the car?”
“I asked her that. She said he wouldn’t tell her. He said he could only talk to the police about it. He said it was important.”
“OK. I’m near that turnoff, so I’ll stop and see him now.”
“The daughter said to tell you that his grandson will be there, too.”
Bernie hoped surprise would work in her favor with Aaron Torino.
When she got there, the young man’s posture told her he hadn’t expected his grandfather to have company. She started over, introducing herself with her clans. Some young people reciprocated. Some looked puzzled. Some saw this link to tradition as old fashioned. She watched Aaron’s attitude shift from surprise to impatience. He gave her a hard look but didn’t speak. The man could use a refresher course in manners, she thought.
Mr. Tso said, “Officer Manuelito is curious about the car out there. I told her you might know something.”
Aaron was older than Bernie expected, probably mid-twenties, but he acted like a teenager. She wondered if he’d been arrested. He had the sort of arrogance she’d observed in ex-cons.
“My grandson was bringing us some beans,” Mr. Tso said. “You have some, too.”
“Only a small serving.” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings by refusing. And they couldn’t be as bad as Louisa’s tea or Mr. Tso’s ultra-sweet coffee, could they?
Aaron disappeared into the house. She heard some noise, and then he came back to the doorway. “Gramps, you got any salt?”
“It’s here on the porch.”
Mr. Tso motioned Bernie to the wooden chair again. There was room on the bench next to him for Aaron, but the young man squatted on the porch step, balancing the plate on his lap. Bernie studied the pinto beans he’d given her on a plate with a chip in the rim. Then she tasted them, lukewarm and old. “I’m the officer who talked to you on the phone. I’m investigating the car fire, trying to find out if anyone out here saw anything. Your mother and your grandfather both suggested that I talk to you.”
He tossed his head toward Mr. Tso. “Talk to him. He has nothing to do but pay attention to what happens out here.”
“Your grandfather tells me he wasn’t feeling good that day. That he was in bed resting, and then he smelled something, and when he got up he saw the fire. Is that right, sir?”
Mr. Tso gave a quick nod.
Aaron took a bite of beans. Chewed. Swallowed. “You know a dude, a cop named Wheeler?”
“Officer Wheeler. Yes.”
“He’s been riding one of my friends pretty hard. If he lets up, I might remember something.”
“I don’t have any control over what Officer Wheeler does. He told me there have been a bunch of car fires lately in Window Rock, too.”
Aaron laughed. “That guy stays up with the news.”
“He’s wondering if this one might be tied to those. He mentioned the idea of gang involvement.”
Aaron took another bite of beans, added salt.
Bernie heard Mr. Tso’s bench creak as he shifted his weight. Then he spoke. “I have been thinking about the questions you asked me about that fire.” He pressed his palms together. “Some young people might go out to where that car is. They drink, play loud music. My grandson, I tell him not to go there. I tell him to make those boys go somewhere else.”
“That party was nothing,” Aaron said. “You make it sound like a big deal.”
“Come up here and sit with me. Don’t make the lady talk to you down there on that step.”
To her surprise, Aaron rose and joined Mr. Tso on the bench. “Grandfather, you didn’t tell me you’d been sick.”
“It was because of what I saw up there on the ridge.” Mr. Tso continued. “It was in the late afternoon, after you brought food for the sheep. Sometimes it looked like a man. Then it was low, like a coyote. Then a man. I saw it before the car caught on fire, my grandson. That’s what I needed to tell the officer, too.” Mr. Tso turned his attention to the west, where a few high clouds caught the beginnings of the sunset color show. The day had started to cool a bit. “No more talk of that.”
Aaron looked at his grandfather’s empty plate. “Would you like more food?”
“No.” He handed the plate to Aaron. “Bring me some water.”
Aaron headed inside, and Bernie followed. He turned to her. “You’re bothering an old man. I left before the fire, OK? I don’t know anything about it.”
“Your grandfather invited me here, and he was glad for my company. I think he gets lonely.”
“Lonely, so then he makes up stories. Do you think he is crazy?”