Earthcrack: A Lin Hanna Mystery
Read Earthcrack: A Lin Hanna Mystery Online
Authors: Sharon Canipe
EARTHCRACK
A Lin Hanna Mystery
BY
Sharon Canipe
Cover design by
Steve Canipe
Copyright 2013 by Sharon W. Canipe
All rights reserved
This novel is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously.
Any resemblance to
actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Special thanks to my husband Steve for
his help with cover design, editorial advice, and all things technical.
My daughter Marti also provided input as
a reader that was much appreciated.
Thanks also go to the staff at Wupatki National Monument for the
opportunity to work there as a volunteer.
Thanks go to Mary Blasing, former ranger at Wupatki, who provided
valuable input regarding law enforcement in the national parks.
Table of Contents
May 2010
Wupatki National Monument Arizona
The late afternoon sun created deep
shadows around the hills and mesas. Junipers and a few pinion pines stretched
across the slopes.
Boulders strew
the rugged fields. This was wild country and usually no one was about; just a
few cows here and there to see the truck as it slowly made its way along the
park boundary.
The old Chevy truck bounced gingerly
along the rutted single-lane dirt track. The driver, Cullen Honeyestewa,
carefully avoided the worst of the holes while slowly progressing along the
boundary.
He was deep in
thought.
Why was he here?
Why was he doing this?
He told himself it was for family and their
future.
There were so many needs.
Like most families on the reservation, they were always short of money. Now it
was so much worse since his nephew Michael had borrowed money to feed a
gambling habit.
Michael was afraid.
Raymond Tso, a loan shark who operated a pawnshop in Tuba City, was threatening
him.
Michael was his sister’s only
son and Cullen’s responsibility in the family.
That was the Hopi way.
The boy was frightened and seemed
genuinely regretful about his situation.
He wanted to go back to school and get a fresh start.
He was a good boy who just fell in with
a bad crowd. No way could this debt be settled and his nephew given a second
chance without more money than anyone in the family could come up with.
The boy swore he would get his act
together and Cullen felt bound to help.
The unexpected find of old pottery fragments, some pieces basically
whole, seemed like a true gift.
After all Dr. Neal Smith, his friend at
the university, said it was a rare find and very valuable.
Dr. Smith seemed to understand Cullen’s
situation and genuinely wanted to help. Smith offered to contact a friend who
owned a gallery to arrange a sale.
He assured Cullen that, if he told no one else, it would be easy to hide
knowledge of the deal.
After all, such
finds were really rare these days and totally unexpected.
Cullen had permission to come and go in
Wupatki because of his clan affiliation.
He was allowed to gather eagle nestlings and feathers for ceremonials.
No one would question his presence in
the backcountry. Of course, Smith would have a share of the money but Cullen
should have enough to help Michael.
Cullen had many misgivings and mixed feelings about his decision to do
this.
He respected traditions and
knew the importance of preserving the past but the money was needed to give
Michael another chance and the boy’s future was important too.
In the end Cullen had decided to sell
the pots and now the time had come to carry out his plan.
He was expecting to meet Smith and
someone from the gallery near Lomaki ruin, one of the sites far away from the
park visitor center.
Cullen pulled over near the boundary
fence and parked behind some junipers up against a rocky outcropping. He
scanned the area.
He saw no other
vehicles around. There was a lone horse, probably a quarter mile away, tethered
to a juniper.
There was no person
in sight. It was probably some cowboy from the ranch checking fence line.
If the rider had even noticed Cullen
driving in, he would think he was just someone hunting rabbits in this
backcountry.
He would not be able
to see the truck now, so no worry.
Cullen carefully crossed under the fence
at the gap left for pronghorn to safely travel back and forth and began his
hike across the park toward the meeting place.
It should only take him about half an
hour.
It was still light enough to
see in the lingering spring evening but, as the park would be closed soon,
traffic should be light and visitors less likely.
Hopefully, he could conduct his business
and be back to his truck by nightfall.
He wanted this to be over.
Cullen thought back to when this all
started about a month ago.
He had
come to the park looking for eagle feathers at the nesting site where his clan
was permitted to legally collect.
He had decided to walk through a nearby area where the park boundary joined
forest service land.
He had heard
that the forest service was exploring some previously undocumented ruins in
that area and he was curious as to what they might have found.
The area was pretty rough, covered in
loose cinders.
He was walking along
the edge of a gully when he spotted what looked like pottery fragments sticking
up out of some cinders.
When he
examined them further it seemed that they might be whole, buried in the crumbly
cinders and now partially exposed by erosion.
He dug just a bit and became more convinced
that he had found something valuable.
The next day he had returned with some
digging tools.
Cullen knew that the
find should be left in place and reported to the forest service, the park, and
even the tribe itself, but he also knew that he might be onto something
valuable which could help his family and which no one else knew about as yet.
He would have heard if the forest service workers had found something like this—rumors
spread quickly. He excavated the immediate area very carefully.
It was not difficult; the cinders were
loose and easy to move aside.
He
uncovered two pots basically intact—only a couple of minor chips.
He removed them and also removed some
additional fragments.
There might
be others but he saw no immediate evidence so he carefully took his find back
to an area near his clan site which was not near any areas visited regularly by
tourists.
After first
photographing the pots with his cell phone, so he would have something to show,
he hid them behind some ruined walls carefully burying them with earth, brush,
and more cinders. He immediately thought of his friend, Dr. Neal Smith, at the
university.
Cullen often came to
talk to Smith’s classes about native culture and customs and he had even helped
Dr. Smith from time to time with some small local excavations.
When Smith saw the photos, Cullen knew
that they excited him.
Of course he
would have to examine the actual pots but he thought they probably dated back
to about 1100 AD and were about 900 years old.
They were of two different styles—one
probably Cohonina, the other Kayenta Anazazi.
In ancient times Wupatki was a major
trading center so it was not unusual for different types of pottery to be found
in the area.
However, finding pots
that were essentially whole was almost unheard of these days.
Most of those finds had occurred
earlier.
Nowadays folks mostly
found fragments.
To see pots like
these you had to go to a museum or art gallery.
Smith had asked Cullen what he planned to
do with his find and Cullen had told him about his family’s financial
problems.
Smith was sympathetic
and, swearing him to secrecy, had told Cullen that he had a friend who owned a
gallery and who might be able to help him sell those pots.
He said there were plenty of wealthy
folks who collected antique art works and were not too picky about where and
how they obtained them; private collectors who simply wanted to enjoy these
things and maybe impress their friends.
Some of these people lived abroad so the items might even leave the
country.
Cullen had somewhat
reluctantly agreed to let Smith help him sell the pots.
He knew it was wrong but he could see no
other way to help Michael make things right.
Smith had assured Cullen that the pottery
would bring a tidy sum on the antiquities market. His contact at the gallery
would buy the pieces and sell them far away from the reservation, a closed sale
to a private collector.
No one else
would know about the transaction.
The money would solve his immediate problem with his nephew and help put
Michael on the road to a better life, hopefully. Maybe this was a true gift
from the spirits meant to help him and his family. Now the moment for the
transaction had come.
Cullen
trudged along feeling downhearted but determined to go through with his plan.
Cullen had set the meeting site at the
box canyon near Lomaki, one of the more distant ruins in the park yet still
accessible by the main road. He told Dr. Smith that he had hidden the find
nearby but did not tell him exactly where. Cullen implied the hiding place was
in a narrow slot area at the end of the box canyon near the ruin.
He wanted to ensure that the pottery
pieces could not be found without his help.
In fact the hiding place was only a few
minutes walk from the ruins, but only Cullen and the other clan member who
collected baby eaglets for the sacred ceremonies knew the exact location of the
nesting site and the small field house ruins nearby.
Cullen’s plan was to have Smith and his
contact wait at the box canyon while he moved the pottery from its hiding
place. He could manage it and preserve the secret of the nearby nesting site.
There were few landmarks and it was easy to get confused in this
countryside.
Someday, if he proved trustworthy,
he would pass his knowledge of this location along to his nephew and Michael
would take over his role.
That was
his hope and the main reason he was doing this.
It was important to ensure that Michael
got on the right path.
He approached the ruins site where the
meeting was to occur looking for the professor’s car somewhere nearby.
The road was empty, as was the parking
lot at the ruin. Perhaps Dr. Smith had parked a bit beyond the site, off the
road near the box canyon where there was lots of juniper for cover.
The box canyon was a bit hidden around a
small curve in the entrance road and a short walk from the parking lot near the
ruin.
As he approached the entrance
to the box canyon he caught sight of a vehicle in a low place behind some trees
near the entrance road but it was unfamiliar to him. Maybe it belonged to the
art dealer. Perhaps it belonged to a backcountry visitor, but why not use the
open parking lot?
An uneasy feeling
crept into his bones as Cullen slowly moved forward to the meeting place.
He had expected to see Smith and his
contact at the entrance to the box canyon.
He felt a chill as a cold breeze wafted from the canyon entrance.
This did not feel right.
He shrugged and looked around—just
nerves and guilt because he knew he should not be doing this.
Well, he was into it now.
It would soon all be over. Cautiously he
proceeded into the canyon.
Once within the walls of the small
canyon, the shadows deepened making it harder to see ahead.
Moving slowly forward, Cullen scanned
the area before him for those he expected to meet.
At the halfway mark he rounded a small
bend and could see in the distance the end wall and the entrance to the small
slot canyon. He began to call out for Professor Smith.
There was no answer.
A deep uneasiness spread through Cullen’s
body.
This was not what was
planned.
He was to meet Dr. Smith
and someone from the gallery, or so he thought.
He would collect the pottery for them
and get his share of the money—all quick and clean.
Then he could return home and forget
this ever happened. Cullen did not trust the situation. Where was Dr.
Smith?
He already felt guilty and
unsure about what he was doing; he knew it was wrong and he was beginning to
regret his choice.
What was going
on here?
Cullen proceeded cautiously toward the
end of the small box canyon.
There
was a slot there.
He had told Smith
that was where he was putting the pottery so maybe he was there, blocked by the
junipers.
He slowly moved forward
toward the brushy junipers at the end of the canyon.
This whole thing was getting on his
nerves.
Taking a deep breath he
tried to calm himself.
The slot at
the end of the canyon opened out into a rough field that led to the eagle nest
site.
If Smith and the other guy
were not waiting at the slot, Cullen would proceed out that way cutting back
toward the truck.
He was becoming
uncertain about going through with this deal.
Maybe he could find another way to help
Michael.
Maybe he would sneak back
later and retrieve the artifacts and turn them over to the authorities, as he
should have done at first.
This
whole thing felt so wrong.