The house was still except for the murmur of muffled conversation from the television in the living room. Bernie was comfortable with silence, but Mama, the person from whom she had learned to respect silence, was better.
“Well, I interviewed people to find out if anyone knew what happened or why.” She might as well get the interrogation over with. “Some of the children were upset. That’s always hard to take.”
Mama patted the space beside her. “Sit down. Something else troubles you.”
The powerful quiet that filled the room made her think of the mountain lion, náshdóítsoh, the one the Holy People sent to guard Turquoise Girl on Mount Taylor. She stroked the fetish rock in her pocket. This was at least the fourth time Mama had asked. Bernie had to be honest in her answer.
“I did see something that upset me, a person who was badly hurt, burned. Then I learned that he died. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Daughter, stay here tonight.”
“I can’t, Mama.” Her body felt heavy, her brain unfocused, weary. “I have to get up early tomorrow for work.” She wanted to call Chee, go to bed.
Mama nodded. “Then drive safely. Rest. Say your prayers.”
Bernie pushed down the surprise of tears building in the back of her eyes. Mama’s concern made a Navajo policewoman feel like a treasured child.
She went to the living room to gather her backpack and say good-bye to her sister. Darleen had put the TV on mute and was fiddling with her cell phone.
“So, what did Mama lecture you about?”
Bernie hesitated. “Oh, she figured something was bothering me and wanted me to tell her.”
“Did you?”
“You know how she is. She could pry a secret out of a stone.” Bernie shrugged, waited a few beats. “How are your classes?”
“Fine. Mama wanted to know about the bombing, right?”
“Yes.”
“Was the Cheeseburger there, too?”
“No. Only me at first. Then backup arrived.”
Darleen twisted a lock of her straight black hair around her index finger. “It’s a good thing you were there. I’m proud of you.”
“I was off duty actually. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, it is. So who won?”
“I think the old guys squeaked it out, but I missed the end.” Bernie motioned toward the books on the coffee table. “How are your classes?”
“You already asked me that. They’re fine. Sometimes interesting.” Darleen slipped off her shoes and pulled her feet beneath her. “There’s a guy in my math class. He makes videos. He’s cute. I call him CS because he’s a veggie, you know, vegetarian.”
“Sea Yes?”
“The letters CS, short for Carrot Soup. I’m enjoying classes this time, more than high school. I guess I’m not as dumb as I thought I was.”
“You’re not dumb. You just got distracted.”
Bernie walked into the kitchen and filled her water bottle. She waited for her sister to say more about CS. Darleen picked up her books and headed into the kitchen, too. When they were children, Mama had told them to do their homework at that table after they had cleared the dishes. The lesson stuck.
Darleen got a pen and opened a notebook. “Sister, did you ever think about not eating meat?”
“You mean give up hamburgers? No pepperoni pizza?” Bernie shook her head. “That guy I married cooks the best steaks on the grill. No way I could live on lettuce and those ugly ball things.”
“Garbanzos. CS told me not eating meat is healthier and helps Mother Earth. You know about all those cows chowing down on the rain forest?”
“That’s not exactly what’s happening, but I’ve read about it. What’s Carrot Soup’s real name?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a cop and you’re my baby sister.” Bernie put the water bottle in her backpack. “I want to make sure he’s not a serial killer.”
“CS is OK. A little offbeat, but hey, so am I. The only cereal he kills goes in the bowl with soy milk.”
“Soy milk sounds questionable. What’s his real name?”
“Don’t stress out about him. He’s a good guy, and he’s even got Code Talker in his heritage. Don’t be so suspicious.”
“I’m just curious.”
“You can ask him when you meet him.”
On the dark, empty road, Bernie thought about Darleen. She still worried about her little sister, but she worried less these days. She’d been around enough drinkers to know that sobriety didn’t always last. Maybe Darleen’s would. Ever since she’d been arrested, her little sister had seemed happier, less angry.
Bernie focused on the swath of pavement her headlights illuminated, and thought about what awaited her at home. Or what didn’t await her. Chee. She’d never believed in love at first sight, but she’d been attracted to him from her first day as a neophyte with him as her boss. She hid her feelings so well that he treated her as one of the boys until she left for an assignment with the Border Patrol. Then, finally, he realized she was a woman in addition to a police officer. He was the man she’d always hoped to find.
And now, she headed home to an empty house. She rolled down the window to let in a blast of winter air scented with sage and dust and to allow her melancholy to escape. Instead her thoughts circled around the man who had died. Long before Bernie became a cop, Mama made her and Darleen promise they would never make her ride in an ambulance because of the chindis, the spirits of the dead.
After the cold stiffened her neck and shoulders, she rolled up the window and switched the heater to high. She replayed the conversation with Lona. Why would an ex-wife call to check on her ex-husband after a bomb exploded? Because they were connected through money—alimony, child support, a shared business interest? Because she still had feelings for him? Because she’d tried to kill him?
Bernie smiled. She was getting ahead of herself. She hadn’t spoken to Lona for years, and now she was accusing her of murder. But she’d mention the call when she talked to Leaphorn and to Cordova.
The Lona she remembered was smart, smart and quiet. When she dropped out, people were surprised. And then, when she came back to school, everyone knew about the baby. Lona returned with a new attitude, more serious and more grown-up. She never mentioned the baby or Aza Palmer at school, and they avoided each other on campus. Then, shortly after Palmer graduated, he married Lona and they moved away.
Bernie drove up to her empty house and turned on the lights. She put on the kettle and, while she waited for the water to heat, jotted down a to-do list, which included a follow-up call to Lona. She was working the early shift the next day, which gave her time to check on Darleen’s new friend.
The buzz of her phone startled her. Bernie glanced at the screen: the captain trying to reach her.
She picked up the incoming call.
Largo got right to the point. “Cordova says they ID’d the body. A guy from right here in Shiprock, Richard Horseman, with no record of prior involvement in bombings. You know him?”