Miller turned toward the road and whistled energetically. Mr. Tso frowned. Even though it wasn’t quite dusk, loud whistling such as Miller’s attracted the attention of evil spirits. And whistling after dark violated a traditional taboo; the sound summoned up chindis.
Bernie saw the old man cringe as Miller whistled again. “Stop that noise,” Mr. Tso yelled at Miller. “Go away now.”
A set of headlights had left the highway and turned onto the entrance road that led to Mr. Tso’s house. Bernie saw Mr. Tso watching them, too. His voice had steel in it.
“If that is your boss man, I will talk to him about you. I think there is no boss man. Who would kill an old man over a machine with mirrors?” Then he said something in Navajo, an insult. Bernie didn’t translate.
Miller looked at Bernie. “Is there another way out of here?”
“Sort of.” She told him about the back way. “What about your dog?”
“The dog ran off the same way that road goes,” Mr. Tso said. “Maybe it will hear you calling for it way out there if it’s not dead. I shot it good.”
Miller rushed to the van and started it. They watched his vehicle disappear in the dusk, bouncing down the rutted road in the shadow of Ship Rock. His shrill whistle was enough to summon a corpse.
It was, Bernie realized, one of the most beautiful times of day, dark enough now for headlights with automatic sensors to turn on, dark enough that Ship Rock seemed to glow and the air had begun to cool. Dusk but not totally black. Time to get to Mama’s house, but first a moment to savor the evening and the silence after all that talking. But even though Miller’s story might have no substance, she hesitated to leave Mr. Tso alone.
Mr. Tso seemed to read her thoughts. “Your mother will be waiting for you. But we forgot to have a plum.”
She went inside and took Mr. Tso a plum and found one for herself. Soft and sweet, it reminded her that it had been a long time since lunch, and that cake and salad didn’t make a stick-to-the-ribs meal. When Mr. Tso took a bite, she saw that most of his teeth were gone. He wiped the juice from his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
“In this car coming, it must be a friend of my daughter. You go now. I will explain if anyone asks why you drove away. She can bring the coffee.”
Bernie thought Mr. Tso looked tired. “Whoever this is, please tell her you need to go to bed soon. And now, you can sleep well. You don’t have to worry about the evil ones. It was only that lying man, Miller, and his dog trying to scare you.”
Mr. Tso said, “You need to leave. If the man comes back, or his dog comes, I have the gun. I can take care of myself.”
20
Bernie went inside and turned off the fire under the coffeepot. Like all good desert dwellers, Mr. Tso kept his windows tightly closed until the day cooled, then opened them to welcome the evening breeze. The heat from the stove had added to the accumulated warmth. “I can open the windows for you. Shall I light the lamp, too?”
“I know the dark as well as a mole. Just open the window in the back by my bed. I’ll do the rest when it gets cooler. Go see your mother.”
She made her way around the piles of yellowed copies of the Navajo Times, neatly bound with twine, and what looked like junk mail in paper bags on the floor and pushed the window up to let in the evening air. She gathered her backpack from the porch and waved goodbye, walking to her car past the warm glow of the solar lights Mr. Tso objected to.
Miller had left Buddy’s water bowl on the porch. Above Mr. Tso’s dark little house, the stars shone clear and beautiful, keeping company with a moon that looked as though someone had shaved a sliver from its right side. She thought about Miller as she started the Toyota. If he was on the feds’ radar for credit card fraud, that would explain the pressure on Largo to drop her bribery complaint.
She decided to drive up the road a bit, then park to make sure the visitor was a friend. Maybe, as Darleen complained, she didn’t have to act like a cop all the time. But Miller’s story was believable enough that she’d invest a few more minutes here before she headed to Mama’s house. And she wasn’t eager to confront her sister; better to sit and gather her thoughts.
The breeze through the car’s open windows felt good on her skin. Her bun kept her hair from blowing in her face. She’d have to wear this hairstyle more often, she thought. Next time she’d get Mama to help her with it.
As she looked for a place to pull over, she considered Miller the mystery man again. She and Cordova had built some rapport during a previous case they’d worked on together. She even thought he’d been flirting with her. Now he treated her like a spy or worse, like a schoolgirl. The man annoyed her. When she had phone service, she’d call him and mention that she’d seen Miller again and had news for him. See if Cordova would confirm the credit card story.
She swerved to avoid a rock in the road and remembered the numbers she’d seen on Miller’s phone. The calls to Las Vegas might be connected to the credit card scam. What about the California number? Probably tied to the cacti.
She slowed down to spare her little car the worst of the ruts, found a place to pull over, and turned off her headlights. Her shoulders felt heavy, her neck stiff. A long day. None of this was her concern anymore, of course, but she didn’t like loose ends. What about the calls to the Farmington motel? A partner in the cactus business? A girlfriend? Another con man?
Mr. Tso’s visitor’s vehicle came closer. Maybe a pickup? Its lights bounced up and down with the ruts on the dirt road. It was that awkward time of night when headlights didn’t help much, but at least they made it easier for other drivers to notice your vehicle on the road.
She considered happier thoughts. She’d been right to suspect something illegal in the boxes of dirt. Thanks to the Lieutenant, she’d learned about the cacti. She could tell him how he’d helped her solve the mystery. She and Chee had researched several cases for their old commander. Now the seasons had shifted, and he could assist them. In the future, perhaps the Lieutenant’s insights would provide even more help. Nice to be a team again, she thought, even though the dynamics had changed.
Chee would be home soon. Life was good, except for Darleen, and she’d deal with her in the morning. A shower, whatever Darleen had saved for her for dinner, and then into her little nest of a bed on Mama’s couch. She’d use the old blanket Mama planned to sell at the trading post to keep off the evening chill, and maybe dream about the lamb.
The oncoming vehicle passed her, a big black SUV with a strange depression in the front bumper. It looked like a truck with a tow ball on the back had plowed into it. She’d seen it before, but where?
She started the engine. When she got to Mama’s, she’d set up the coffee for the morning so after she came back from her run it would be ready. Coffee. Starbucks. California. A motel in Farmington. Oster.