Blackening Song (18 page)

“You’ve been a good friend to my brother, and to me. But if you’d rather, there’s something else you could do to help me. My mother won’t be attending this service. I wish you’d stay here and make sure she’s
handling things okay.”

“I don’t think she’s going to need me as much as you will. You’re really all alone here. Unless I’m very much mistaken,” he said softly, “this duty is going to be difficult for you.”

“I won’t deny that,” Ella admitted.

“Then let me come with you.”

Maybe she should have argued a bit more and released him from the offer. Yet, the truth was, she wanted him there. Facing
her father’s burial alone, with only Mr. Silva and the Christian minister present, left her feeling as cold as if she’d been standing naked in a snowstorm. “I’d be grateful if you’d come.”

“Then the matter’s settled.”

*   *   *

Almost three hours later, they stood side by side at the grave site. The sun was sinking quickly into the horizon as the preacher concluded his prayer. His wife was
by his side, holding a Bible. While the coffin was lowered into the ground, gruesome images of what the killers had done to her father’s body flashed through Ella’s mind. Ella dropped the blanket-wrapped bundle of her father’s possessions onto the coffin. It landed with a dull, hollow thud that echoed the way she felt inside. She nodded at Mr. Silva, who began to fill the grave.

Orange and lavender
lit up the sky as the sun began its final surrender to the gathering night. “I’ll meet you back at your truck in a minute,” she told Wilson after the casket was completely covered.

Ella picked a handful of the wild sunflowers that grew near the fence, then placed them over the dark soil of the newly covered grave. “I
will
get the ones who did this to you. You would have said my motive is revenge,
and asked instead that I forgive. But evil can’t be left unchecked; otherwise it continues to destroy. The scales must be balanced.”

Ella rose to her feet, resolve and purpose strengthening her, to discover Reverend Williamson hovering a discreet distance away. His wife had gone back to the rectory.

The Anglo minister approached her hesitantly. “It really wasn’t necessary for those items to
be buried with him.”

“Not to you,” she answered. “Our family feels the need, however.”

The reverend shook his head. “What I meant was that your father is at peace. He was a good man. You should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Ella replied simply.

“Tell your mother she will always be welcome at our services. And you too, if you choose to remain here.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t count
on either of us attending,” Ella said gently. “My mother respected my father’s choice while he lived and always supported him, but her own religion will sustain her now.”

“And you?”

“I don’t share either of my parents’ beliefs.”

The minister nodded pensively. “Tell Rose that I’ll always keep her in my prayers.”

“Thank you, Reverend.” Ella managed a smile. “By the way, Reverend, my mother and
I were discussing the church and we were wondering who would minister to the Navajo congregation now. I understand Willy Ute will be taking over?” Ella tried to make the question as nonthreatening as possible.

“He would like to, but he doesn’t have enough training. I’ve given this some thought. I worked closely with Raymond for years, and I believe I share his compassion for your people. I’m
going to step into his footsteps, for now at least. I think he would have wanted it that way.”

“I wish you the best of luck, then, Reverend. Thank you for your candor.” Ella nodded to Williamson, then walked away. If Williamson was an ambitious man, and she knew that some evangelists were, then Williamson definitely remained a suspect. With her father’s murder, Williamson had doubled his congregation.

Ella joined Wilson in his pickup. Feeling a little bit guilty, she confessed, “I’ve never liked that man.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a holdover from when I was a kid. I used to resent when he telephoned and interrupted Dad at home in the evenings. That was the only time we had with him.” She shrugged. “But that’s not all of it. He’s so sanctimonious sometimes, he sets my teeth on edge.
The only beliefs he respects are his own. I don’t have anything against his religion, but I resent his attitude.”

“I’ve heard others question his tolerance.” As the miles stretched out before them, Wilson broke the silence. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”

“I’ve been considering asking my mother to stay with relatives. I just don’t know how safe she’ll be all alone at the house as I continue
to investigate, especially considering what has already happened to us.”

“I doubt she’ll go anywhere, or allow anyone to come stay with her. I expect she’d see it as admitting she couldn’t take care of herself, and there’s no way she’s going to do that.”

“Maybe she could move in with Loretta for a while,” Ella countered. “That’s not too far from home, and I could tell her I’m worried about Loretta.”

“Then the risk to each of them would double. It could tempt others to try and kidnap them both and force your brother out of hiding.”

“Good point.” Wilson thought almost anything that forced Clifford to come forward was a pretty good idea, but even she wouldn’t recommend this tack.

“You could talk to your mom, maybe convince her to go visit your Aunt Merilyn, at least for a few days. They’ve
always been fond of each other.” Wilson came to a stop in Rose’s driveway.

“I can try. And thanks again for being there for me this afternoon.” Ella smiled as she stepped out of Wilson’s pickup.

*   *   *

As Wilson drove away, Rose hurried out to the front porch. Suspecting trouble, Ella held her breath, searching her mother’s eyes for a sign. When her mother smiled, Ella breathed again.

Ella almost ran up the steps to her mother. “Is everything all right?”

“Stop worrying. I was just hoping to catch Wilson before he drove away. I could use some help with the water pump. The handle’s stuck. I’ve tried oiling it, but it doesn’t make any difference.”

“I’ll take a look at it.”

“Someone has to force it, then it’ll start working again. This has happened before.”

“You probably just
need a new handle.” Ella remembered when the red pump had first been installed, when she was in grade school. The paint had long since been rubbed and weathered away.

“No, I’ll just keep fixing it. No sense in replacing something that’s still working.”

Ella smiled. Some things never changed. Her mother never threw out anything. What became obsolete was always kept in reserve—just in case. The
question “in case of what” had never been answered. Items broken were likely to remain broken. Every once in a while, something would serve an alternate purpose. A spare tire became a swing for years, and an old leaky washtub, a planter.

“I’d better get to it now,” Ella said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

Ella walked around to the back of the house, where the pump was. They had running water in the
house; this pump provided water for her mother’s garden. Ella tried the handle with one hand, then both, but it was stuck fast. Placing her entire weight on it, she leaned into the curved metal. Slowly the handle gave.

Ella worked the handle up and down a few more times to test it. As she brushed her hair away from her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a figure, high on the mesa behind the house.

She stepped to one side, pretending to study the pump from a different angle, then stole another furtive look. She couldn’t tell whether it was a man or an animal. All she could see was a vague outline.

Ella made a snap decision. She’d face whoever was out there. First she draped her windbreaker over the handle. Maybe it was already dark enough that, from a distance, it would look like she was
still working on the pump. Then she patted her waist where her pistol rested, for reassurance.

Ella had never mastered the traditional hunting skills Wilson and Clifford set such store by, but she was light on her feet and had been trained to proceed cautiously, conserving her energy. She circled around the base of the hill and reached the summit of the mesa less than five minutes later.

The
mesa’s top sported only a few patches of waist-high gray sage and grass; it was impossible for anyone to hide effectively. Yet there was no one there. She realized she wasn’t likely to find any tracks on the rocky ground.

Still, she searched the slope that led downhill to the west. But it was just too rough, and in the low light, not even her own prints could be discerned.

The howl of a coyote
rose high in the air. The sound was so cold, it pierced her like a needle. Its pitch fluctuated like unearthly laughter.

Turning toward the sound, she saw movement on the next mesa. The phantom figure was hard to discern. It was taller than the brush, but certainly not a man. Feeling unnerved, she fingered her gun.

Ella glanced down at her mother’s home. For the first time she was truly glad
it had the added protection of the pollen blessing. If nothing else, the ones who were using traditional beliefs to create fear might respect that, if only to avoid revealing the fact that they were fakes. She knew she would be unable to get any closer to whoever or whatever was out there. Either there were two of them, or she was awfully slow.

Ella looked back down the hill. The brightly lit
house beckoned invitingly. More than ever, it looked like a haven. Frustrated, she was ready to go back. She’d lost this round.

The coyote’s cry rose again, mocking her. She was beaten for now, and she knew it. But tomorrow she’d see how fast she could turn the hunter into the hunted.

Whoever was behind all these stunts was going to pay.

ELEVEN

It was close to lunchtime the next day when Ella drove home, hurrying back from a fruitless meeting with Yazzie and a more rewarding visit to the grocery store. At least they’d be able to eat for a while. Her mother wasn’t feeling well so Ella hadn’t lingered over her errands. Ella could tell that the strain was beginning to wear on her mother. First her husband had been taken from her,
and now she was denied the comfort of her son’s company and support. Ella couldn’t understand why Clifford was being so unreasonable. But then, she never had understood her brother.

Ella couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother was disappointed by her inability to produce evidence that would clear Clifford. To Rose, it was unthinkable that anyone could suspect her son.

Lost in thought, Ella
drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she steered down the narrow asphalt road. The beauty of the Colorado plateau, washed in reds, yellows, and browns, was only a momentary distraction. The longer the case went unresolved, the more it would sap her mother’s strength. Ella needed to make real progress soon.

Seeing flashing lights in her rearview mirror, Ella pulled over, her pursuer
a dark blue pickup she recognized as Blalock’s. The FBI man approached casually. Ella got out of the truck to meet him. “What’s up?”

Blalock regarded her for a long moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you alone,” he said at last, looking up and down the empty highway. “Come sit in my car.”

Settling into the passenger seat, Ella
tried to appear unconcerned, but she was intensely aware that no one knew where she was, or who she was with. If Blalock was one of her enemies, she was making a big mistake. “What’s this all about?”

Blalock reached under the driver’s seat.

Ella unobtrusively moved her hand closer to her sidearm.

He pulled out a large padded manila envelope. “Here.”

“What’s this?” she asked, opening it to
peer inside.

“A formal letter of apology to your mother for the incident at the church. Also, as keepsakes for her, I’ve had copies made of all the official letters of commendation you’ve received throughout your career.”

Ella smiled, disarmed by his blunt kindness. It was totally unexpected. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” He was being uncharacteristically nice.

“Yes, I did. Believe
me, it’s as much for me as it is for her. I’ve got to live with myself.” He met her gaze. “And that’s as close to an apology as you’re going to get.”

“I appreciate this, and so will my mother.”

“I realize you’ve got a vested interested in this case, and the help you’ve given me so far has been useful. My problem is that I can’t just ignore direct orders from the Albuquerque office. That’s why
I’m reluctant to tell you anything that can be traced back to me.”

“Look at it this way. It’s to our advantage to work together. The sooner you close this case, the quicker you’ll get transferred back to your kind of civilization. It doesn’t take a mind reader to know you’re unhappy out here,” she said.

“You’re not totally at home here either; don’t kid me.”

“That’s true, but this is where
I was born and raised. I may not like many of the things here, but at least I’m used to them.”

Blalock nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. We’ll pool our information. I know you’ve been investigating unofficially. What have you uncovered?”

“First, what have you got to trade?” Ella knew better than to trade something for nothing.

“For now, not much at all. I admit, I’m at a standstill. But I’m pursuing
a few angles that might pan out. For one thing, I’m trying to establish where everyone even remotely connected to your father was that night. It’s taking some time, because names keep popping up.”

“You’ll let me in on those?”

“Count on it. What have you got?”

“Nothing solid, just guesses and feelings. Add Wilson Joe to that list you’re checking out, but please do that one yourself.” Blalock
nodded, and Ella continued, “It’s not that I suspect him of anything, I just want to know where
everyone
fits in. Also, add Allison Begay to your list. I hear she used to be involved in some, let’s say, ‘superstitious’ behavior around here. If I turn up anything else, I’ll let you know.”

Blalock glared at her. There’s something you’re not telling me.”