It looked like too much food for the delegates, but among the people in the room she saw clusters of faces she hadn’t spotted onstage. The Navajo tradition of hospitality reigned. The staff wouldn’t challenge anyone who came for food and a soda unless Palmer gave the order. When she’d gone to receptions at the university in Albuquerque, for instance, she thought it odd that people hadn’t brought their children along. Now she understood that mainstream culture preferred “adult only” events. But she didn’t like it. Children added joy to anything.
A man came up to her as she was contemplating the food. He was clean-shaven and wore a knit cap. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
“Hi. I didn’t see you at the session. Are you representing one of the tribes?”
“No. I’m here with my husband, Sergeant Chee.” She knew to discourage flirting early.
He nodded. “Thomas Blankenship.”
He extended his hand. She took it and told him her name. “Chee has something for you.”
“Yeah, he told me. He wanted to give me an envelope from an old Navajo woman. I thought he was joking.”
Bernie summarized the details. “How do you know Rick Horseman?”
“I don’t. Never heard of him. Chee can return whatever it is back to Granny.” Blankenship took a sip from his water bottle. “So do you live around here, Bernie?”
“Depends on how you look at it, I guess. I’m from Shiprock. How about you?” She wasn’t good at small talk, but she had learned something about it, dealing with so many white people. She learned to answer a question and then ask one.
“Oh, I’m from Page. I’m the delegate for the Association of Outdoor Recreation Professionals. Actually, ‘delegate’ sounds too formal. I’m just a die-hard river rat.”
She knew a question was on its way.
“Have you taken a trip down the Colorado?”
“No.” The idea of spending so much time on or in water made her uncomfortable.
“You have to do that. You’ve been to the Grand Canyon at least?”
“Yes. What do you think about the Canyonmark plan?”
He frowned. “Canyonmark wants to give the lazy jerks, too fat and out of shape to even get out of their cars at the overlooks, a cushy place to stay. The resort will destroy the environment, including the river. Guys like me, river contractors who want to live free and make a buck, will be out of business because of the mess their construction makes. Don’t believe what they say about environmental protection. All that’s just bull . . .”
She followed his glance, and it settled on Palmer, who was at a table with the Hopi delegate, Mr. Keevama, his wife, a little girl in a pink dress, and a smaller boy in black pants with a can of orange soda.
Blankenship said, “After something like the Shiprock bomb, people always wonder if there will be another explosion, don’t they? But those sodas in the buffet over there, they’re more likely to do people harm. I saw Chee come into the session with a soda and candy and give them to Palmer. No wonder Palmer’s thinking is so off base.”
Bernie badly wanted a Coke. “Palmer’s diabetic. Maybe he was having a blood sugar issue.”
Blankenship raised his eyebrows again. She noticed that his nose and forehead were as brown as a pecan shell, but his cheeks looked chalky white. Bernie realized why he seemed familiar: Darleen had sketched his face as the man who had treated Chee rudely.
Blankenship took a sip from his fancy bottle. “What do you do?”
“I’m a cop.”
“You’re in such good shape, I thought you might be a physical trainer or something. Do you work out a lot?”
Too personal. Time to change the subject.
“Mr. Palmer’s son told me you wanted to hire him to do some work for you, spying or something. How do you know Robert?”
“Oh, I ran into him somewhere. Spying? That’s a hoot. I asked him to do some research but he declined. He sure doesn’t like his dad.” Blankenship laughed. “He’s in good company there. This whole meeting thing is a sham, a way for Palmer to add another star to his résumé. You know, he encourages the wackos—self-righteous defenders of little fish and abandoned pueblos and Indian groups who could put their whole tribe in a minivan—to think they’re legitimate. But no one cares about the hardworking people who love the river and the canyon and make our livelihood there. Our clients have invested a big chunk of change and a lot of energy getting ready for the trip of a lifetime, their dream adventure on a magnificent river. And the resort would threaten that.”
“It’s a complicated situation.” Bernie stood a little straighter. “I’m going to get something to eat.”
“Be careful. Nothing healthy on that buffet except the fruit and salad.”
Bernie walked toward the food. A woman wearing a turquoise-and-coral choker moved the same direction, and Bernie let her in the line first. “What a gorgeous necklace. Do you know who made it?”
The woman put her hand to her neck. “I don’t know. My mother got it for me in Fruitland at the Hatch Brothers Trading Post when she and my dad made their first trip out west.”
“Hi. I’m Bernie Manuelito.” She saw the question in the woman’s eyes. “My husband is the sergeant providing security for Mr. Palmer and I’m backup. I’m a cop, too.”
“Jessica Atwell. I’m not good at parties like this.”
“Me neither. Are you a delegate?”
“Oddly, yes.” Atwell smiled. “I represent the Archaeology Conservancy.”
“Why is that odd?”
“When I retired from Crow Canyon and moved to Santa Fe, I started volunteering with the conservancy and one thing led to another. My dad was an archaeologist who worked at Chaco Canyon in the summers, and Mom and we kids tagged along. That’s where my interest in archaeology began. More than you wanted to know, right?”
“No, it’s interesting.” Bernie took a plate and followed Atwell down the buffet line.
Atwell took some of the tortilla rolls. “I saw there was a threat on Palmer’s life. Is that why your husband is here?”
Bernie nodded. “Mr. Palmer’s car blew up. The FBI is trying to figure out why.”
“That might be a big job.” She lowered her voice. “I heard the tribe that runs the other resort was behind the attack. Some people think he favors environmentalists because of the way a couple of his other mediations in Indian Country turned out. A lot of people aren’t fond of Palmer.”
A man with his gray hair in braids came to stand in line behind them.
“Jessica?”
As soon as he spoke, Bernie recognized the gravelly voice as the man who had called Palmer and driven off with him. Atwell introduced her to Denny Duke and then said, “I’m surprised you’re here, Denny. Last I heard, you Paiutes didn’t have a seat at the table.”
“Palmer invited me. I guess he feels guilty. I heard that he’s in the pocket of the developers.”
Duke turned to Bernie. “You’re not from around here. Are you part of the Diné delegation?”
“I’m from Shiprock. Not a delegate.”
“I understand that some Indians are so riled up that they are workin’ behind the scenes. You know about that, miss?”
“No.”
Duke said, “Who’s paying for this shindig?”
“I heard Canyonmark was,” Atwell said.