“You ask too many questions.” Mama got up, using her walker to provide some leverage as she rose from the couch and to steady her steps to the bathroom.
“I think that one isn’t feeling good.” Mrs. Darkwater fluffed up the pillow Mama had positioned behind her back as she spoke. “She told me she has a pain in her side. Right here.” Mrs. Darkwater put her hand on her own ribs. “I had an uncle with that pain. He went to the hospital in Farmington. They took out the gall bladder. Then he had a stroke. He’s better now.” Mrs. Darkwater gave the pillow a final pat and put it back on the couch.
Bernie knew how lucky she was that Mama had such a concerned neighbor. “If Sister goes to school somewhere, it wouldn’t be good for Mama to stay alone here in the house. Something could happen.”
“You worry too much.” Mrs. Darkwater frowned. “When you think about problems, you get more problems and they get bigger. That’s what happens.” She patted Bernie’s hand. “If something happens, you’ll do what you need to do then.”
It wasn’t the response Bernie was looking for, but she agreed with the logic. First things first. Still, she wanted to have a plan in place.
She fixed an early lunch for them all, and then Mrs. Darkwater headed home for an afternoon nap. To Bernie’s relief, the dog, which had been napping on the porch, followed after her. Mama looked tired.
“Before you take a nap, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I know,” Mama said. “Your sister and that school. I want to take a look at that place. How far is it?”
“About a four-hour drive.”
“Darleen will come with us. You both can drive.”
“I don’t think we need to do that yet.” Darleen should be in on this conversation, Bernie thought. The letter from Farmington must have to do with her sister’s arrest. “We should talk about this later, when Sister is ready.”
Mama had a question in her eyes. “When we go to Santa Fe, to see the school, will we drive by the car that burned?”
“No, you can’t see it from the highway.”
Mama nodded. “Good. What happened to the one who was driving?”
It never failed to amaze Bernie how quickly news spread on the reservation. “I don’t know, but at least he was not burned in the car.”
“I’m glad about that.”
Bernie mentioned Bigman’s wife and her desire to learn to weave. “Perhaps you know someone who could help her. She’s a good woman. She works at the school as a teacher.”
Mama didn’t respond except with a quick nod. Message received.
Bernie helped Mama lie down for a little rest, asked her about the pain Mrs. Darkwater had mentioned, and learned Mama didn’t want to talk about that.
Before driving back to the station, she walked over to Mrs. Darkwater’s house. The dog wagged its tail from the shade of the porch but, to Bernie’s relief, didn’t rise. Mrs. Darkwater sat working on a crossword puzzle. She tapped the point of her pencil gently against the page. “You’re a smart one. What’s a word that means ‘threatened’?”
“Scared? Or bullied?”
“Longer. Ten letters.”
Bernie thought. “Try frightened.”
Mrs. Darkwater looked at the page. “No. Third letter is a D.”
“Hmm.”
She glanced up at Bernie. “Drive back safely.”
“I will. I wanted to ask you something. How did you hear about the burned car?”
“Arthur told me. You met him. He’s my husband’s relative who drives the trucks with the packages. One of the other drivers saw it on fire out there.”
Back in the car, Bernie turned up the radio so she could hear it over the wind noise. KNDN’s broadcasts included a community calendar she always found interesting. That and the music kept her from thinking too hard about the talk she had to give to the Rotary, or about the mysterious Mr. Miller and how his stolen car had ended up burned and abandoned. Clearly, Miller hung with the wrong crowd.
She drove and listened, warm and windblown, and had almost reached the pavement of 491 when she heard her phone chime—a new text. She glanced at it when she stopped at the stop sign where the dirt and pavement met. A note from Darleen: call u 2nite. Bernie called her, and her voice mail picked up on the third ring.
She cruised past a new billboard touting Primal Solar and a herd of lean horses standing in the shade of the sign. Pulling off the highway to check on a pickup truck parked on the shoulder with its emergency flashers blinking, she realized it was empty. A car obviously speeding passed her, and she flashed her lights. She thought again of Miller’s car. Was it stolen for a joy ride? Of all the cars in Farmington, why his? Of 27,400 square miles of reservation, why there? And why would a guy in such a big hurry to get back to Flagstaff be in Farmington? She remembered the calls on his phone to the Farmington motel. Interesting.
When she got to the office, a domestic violence call was waiting, the kind of case she dreaded. Usually it meant a husband or boyfriend hurting a woman, sometimes with the kids as witnesses. Those incidents made her angry, broke her heart, and left her feeling totally ineffectual. Largo knew she’d rather deal with drunks or druggies, gang fights, even suicides. Anything but DV and men who let anger and fear, usually fueled by alcohol, transform them into pathetic monsters. It wasn’t the danger—that was an integral part of police work. She hated the devastation of beaten women and terrified little ones.
She ran into Bigman in the coffee room and told him the truth, at least part of it. “Largo wants me to settle this burned-car deal. I’ve got to track down a potential witness and see if I can reach Miller—you know, the guy who owned it. Can you take the DV?”
“I was going to volunteer for it,” Bigman said. “I’ve dealt with these two before. And I owe you for that Rotary talk tomorrow. I’d rather face a wife beater than those men in suits any day.”
“What about the new guy?”
“I’m taking him with me. It might get dicey out there.”
“I meant for the speech. I told Largo I’d do this one, but there will be more requests.”
“You want to scare him into resigning already?”
Bernie called the deputy in Farmington who had handled the report on Miller’s stolen car and left a message. She made more calls, attempting to get in touch with the delivery driver who might have seen the burning car. Then, while she waited for callbacks, she got busy with the task she wanted to postpone indefinitely—creating the Rotary talk from the outline she’d made in her head. She didn’t mind writing the speech, but the talking part bothered her.