Authors: Anne Hillerman
“No, dear. That means he had a chance to rebel a little.” She leaned forward on the bench. “My grandfather went all the way to Los Angeles on the train. He wanted a role in a movie, and eventually he met someone who knew someone who knew John Ford. One thing led to another, and Karl had an opportunity to work on
Stagecoach
. He only had a small part as a cowboy, but it meant the world to him.”
Heinrich took up the story. “Meeting John Wayne and John Ford, that was the most exciting time in his life. He loved to speak of it, and he retold the story many, many times.”
“Did your grandfather make a lot of movies?” Haskie said. “Maybe he ran into some of my relatives out here. They got to be Indians.”
Gisela looked puzzled, then laughed. “No, he only worked on
Stagecoach
. He missed his family, so Karl returned to Missouri, became a doctor like his father. He married, had two sons. The younger was my father, Charles. He served in the army as a doctor. When I was a teenager, he was stationed in Germany. That’s where I had the good fortune of meeting Heinrich.”
“Get on with the story,” Heinrich said. “These men have important things to do.”
Gisela patted his hand. “My father often told me about the trip he made with Karl out here when he was a boy. How he loved the blue of the sky and the red of the earth. They camped, just the two of them, and Papa liked this place as much as
Grospapa
. Maybe even more. He showed me the pictures of the two of them standing at Ford Point.”
“Tell about the necklace,” Heinrich said.
“Well, when
Grospapa
Karl was in the movie, he met an Indian named Robert, and they got to be friends. He loaned Robert some money—not that he had much—and Robert gave him a necklace as collateral.
Grospapa
kept it, and when he and
Grosmama
married, he gave it to her. The necklace passed on to my father, and he gave it to my mother for their tenth wedding anniversary. She loved it, and she always said she wanted to see where it came from.
“Meanwhile, I graduated from high school and college, went back to Germany, and married Heinrich. After Papa retired, he and Mother came to Germany to visit us, and we talked about
Grospapa
Karl’s movie stories and Monument Valley. We’d pull out our copy of
Stagecoach
and watch it together, waiting for the barroom scene where Karl was an extra.”
Heinrich said, “You’re giving out too many details. Get to the point.”
“It’s fine,” Chee said. “It’s an interesting story.” Haskie nodded in agreement.
“Then, last year, Mother said it was time to see this place for herself. She was sick, but she tried to squeeze in every last minute of life. Papa hadn’t been out here since that camping trip. I hoped to return to the States to accompany them, but Heinrich was involved in a big project at work, so we couldn’t make it. Mother told me she planned to wear
Grosmama
’s necklace for the whole trip. So they rented a car—”
“Not just a car. A big Lincoln,” Heinrich said. “Charles told me he loved driving it.”
Gisela smiled. “They’d been frugal their whole lives. Never went on vacation. I can just see them in that Lincoln. And we always camped, but this time Papa splurged on a hotel. Anyway, by the time they reached Monument Valley, Mom was really weak. They drove out, took pictures, and called me, so happy and excited. Papa told me they could see the monuments from the hotel room. Mother died a few weeks later.”
Heinrich said, “If Gisela’s mother left the necklace here, why didn’t the hotel return it to her or her husband?”
Haskie explained. “For some reason, they registered with a fake name. They left the line for vehicle information blank except for ‘California’ and ‘Lincoln.’ We couldn’t follow up.”
Gisela said, “He wouldn’t have recalled the plate number. But why a fake name?”
“A lot of hotels won’t let you rent a room without a credit card,” Chee said. “How did they get around that?”
Haskie shrugged. The couple looked at each other, and then the woman laughed. “They had a card they somehow managed to acquire in the name of their dog. They got it years ago, kept it for emergencies, but they never had emergencies. Dad always paid cash. He told me that way he never spent more money than he had.”
“The address on the card was a post office box.”
“That’s right. The post office was on the way to his office.”
“The maid found a stain on the carpet,” Haskie said. “I’ve been wondering—”
Gisela interrupted. “I know. Papa told me how embarrassed my mother was to have made such a mess.”
“What happened?” Chee asked.
Heinrich sighed. “We don’t know all the details. A hemorrhage. If Charles hadn’t been a doctor, his dear wife would have passed to death there in his arms. He managed to stop the bleeding. He told us she insisted that he clean up the room as much as he could and that he leave a tip for the maid before they left for the hospital in Kayenta.”
“A few weeks after her funeral,” Gisela said, “I asked about the necklace. Papa thought it must be in one of their suitcases, but he never found it. He was depressed, sad, adrift after she died. A missing necklace was the least of his concerns. When we lost him a month ago, we intermixed his ashes with my mother’s.” She smiled at Haskie. “I’m sorry my parents caused you so much trouble.”
“I’m glad I can give this to you.”
Gisela took the necklace out of the bag and put it around her neck. Heinrich helped fasten the clasp. Then she pulled out the paper.
Haskie said, “That’s their registration card. You can take that, too.”
She studied the card her father had filled out for the room. “You wondered about the names they used to register. Here they are: Mr. and Mrs. Postkutsche.” Gisela chuckled. “That was their dog’s name. It means ‘stagecoach’ in German.”
Chee reached in his pocket and put the white chip with the eagle design on the table. “And you might want this. Or did you mean to leave it with the ashes?”
“You know about the ashes?”
Chee nodded. “Did you know what you did was illegal?”
“I told her we should bring them home with us,” Heinrich said, “not leave them here in the wilderness, but this woman has a mind of her own.”
Gisela sighed. “When I picked up the urn with their ashes from the mortuary, I thought I would send a bit of my parents off with the wind in a place that meant so much to them. As Heinrich looked for a campsite, we noticed that old grave. Since it was already there, it seemed like a gift, and so—” Her voice started to shake. She stopped talking and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Leaving the ashes and the bone fragments there showed great disrespect to our land and our culture,” said Chee. “The same goes for scattering ashes to the wind over Navajo land. But it’s done now.”
“I apologize.” Gisela picked up the chip. “I left this on the road by the grave. A talisman for my parents’ lucky travels in the great beyond. Was this how you found us?”
“Sort of. I have a very smart friend who helped me. Robert, the jeweler you mentioned, was Robert Etcitty. His work is well known. You can see his picture as a young man in the museum, along with some actor cowboys. Maybe one of them is Karl.”
“So now, do you arrest us for the ashes?” said Heinrich. “Do we pay a fine? Go to jail?”
“None of the above. I’m heading home. You two behave yourselves. Let the dead rest in peace.”
Gisela moved her thumb over the silver and turquoise pendant. “When I wear this, I will remember your kindness.”
Chee left Haskie and the couple and headed to the parking lot. He thought about Gisela’s parents and their farewell trip. Would he and Bernie be blessed with so many years together? Would they
cherish each other more in a few decades than they did now? He couldn’t imagine loving her more than he already did, but he’d learned that many wonderful and surprising things were possible.
By the time he got back to the substation, Bahe had left, so Chee typed him a note explaining the source of the bone fragments. He told the captain he had delivered the original citation, the one that charged the company for the fake grave but did not mention the remains, since
The Undead Return
couldn’t be held responsible for that. He found a message: “Call Melissa.”
“Hey, I thought you might want to know that Robinson is going to be OK.”
“Glad to hear it. I told the feds about the gun I found in his trailer. It was Samuel’s.”
“Are you coming out here again?”
“No, not even for another cup of that good coffee. I’m going home.”
“We’re gone in a few days, too. Rhonda will put up the money to finish the movie. She’s the new producer. BJ’s staying, and Gerald is coming back. We’re going to use him as an extra.”
“Great. I’ve gotta run.”
“Just one more thing. You remember those girls that Samuel caught trespassing? Rhonda wants to send them a photo.”
Chee found Courtney’s phone number. “Can she send one to me, too?”
“A souvenir of your time in zombie land?”
“Not for me. I’ve got a sister-in-law who would love it.”
When Bernie returned from her morning run, she found a message from Chee:
“Wonderful hearing your voice, even on the answering system. I’ll call back and you call me, too.”
She called, and he answered on the second ring.
“Hi. Everything OK out there?” she asked.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “As good as can be expected without you here. At least I didn’t have to give a presentation to the Rotary. How did it go?”
“It’s later today. Don’t remind me.”
“Which Rotary group are you talking to?”
“There’s more than one?” Obviously, she thought—otherwise he wouldn’t have asked the question. “It’s the San Juan County chapter.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Who, me?” She told Chee what she planned to talk about. “After that, I’m going to the Farmington sheriff’s department and see what they know about Miller’s car being stolen.”
“If you can swing it, go there before lunch. They’ve got good coffee there, and usually cookies, too.” Chee gave her the name of an officer who specialized in car thefts.
“What’s happening with you?” she asked.
He told her about the Germans and the necklace and Delahart’s arrest by the FBI.
“I knew there was something off about that guy,” he said. “I couldn’t figure it out. It all came down to money laundering in Las Vegas, using the movie as a cover. Above my pay grade.”
“I feel the same about Miller. When will you be able to come home?”
“Not soon enough.”
They hung up, and she showered, put on her uniform, looked at herself in the mirror, and had an idea. She ran her
be ezo
, a traditional brush made with dried muhly grass, through her hair until it shone and gently gathered it into a thick ponytail. She took some yarn and tied it up, folding the ponytail over three times until it reached the back of her head, forming a loop. She wrapped the yarn tightly around the center and then fanned out the ends, creating the traditional
tsiiyeel
, the Navajo bun. She decided the hairstyle made her look more businesslike and perhaps a touch more mature. The elders said that pulling the hair in close to the scalp kept the thoughts contained—just what she needed for her venture into public speaking.
She checked in at the station before heading to Farmington. Captain Largo motioned her into his office.
“I haven’t had a chance to read your report, so give me the short version. Anything new on the burned car?”
“I told Cordova the hitchhiker story, and he was unimpressed, to say the least. I haven’t spoken to the grandson again yet. Aaron thinks his grandfather has some dementia, but he seemed sharp to me.” She told Largo Mr. Tso’s skinwalker theory.
He shook his head. “I could tell you some scary stories. Anything else?”
“Remember those plants Miller had in his car?”
“No.”
“The cacti?”
“I don’t think of those as plants. They’re a nuisance.”
“Well, turns out the ones in the box were an endangered species. Miller is a plant poacher.”
“Whoa. A dirt thief and a plant poacher?” Largo’s phone rang. He looked at it. “Any other big news? That’s hard to match.”
“I’ll let you know if I think of something.”
She turned to leave, and he called to her. “Your hair looks great today. Good luck with your talk.”
At the Farmington sheriff’s office, she met the deputy Chee recommended. He found Miller’s stolen car report.
“I took the information over the phone. He said he’d left the Malibu parked outside a bar, and when he came out, no car. He had the license number and all the make and model info, but he also knew the VIN. Besides his being so organized, two things struck me as off about it. First, if it was gone when he left the bar, why didn’t he report the car stolen until the morning?”
The waiting-until-morning thing would be explained if Miller were drunk, Bernie thought. But the deputy wasn’t done.
“Second, the bar was closed that evening because some gal drove into the back wall the previous night and did a bunch of damage. I wouldn’t have realized it, except we always get at least one call for fighting or rowdy drunks or something from there. That place is notorious. Since they’d had to close, it was peaceful. So I wondered why Miller would have parked there.”
“Did you ask him?”
“I didn’t realize it was closed until I double-checked when the FBI guy asked about it.”
“When was that?”
“After you found Miller’s car torched. I wonder why the feds have his number?”
“Me too.”
He asked about Chee, and then whether Darleen Manuelito was related to Bernie. “You know,” he said, “she might be eligible to get into that new diversion program. It works pretty well. Of course, she’d have to stay with it.”
“What program?”
“You must have heard about it. The one for first-time offenders that the county got that grant for. Alcohol and drug rehab, counseling, that sort of thing. It’s a trial, designed to keep down DWIs and reduce repeat offenders.”
“I have to talk to her about it. Thanks for the Miller stuff.”
“Here, take this with you.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a full-color brochure:
San Juan County Fights DWI
.
She put the brochure on the passenger seat of her unit. Someday, she’d like to feel proud of her sibling, happy for her accomplishments instead of ashamed. Would that day ever come?
Bernie noticed a thrift store as she headed toward the restaurant for the meeting. An empty parking slot beckoned, so she stopped. Sometimes she could find zip-up sweaters or ones with big buttons that were easy for Mama to handle. She didn’t see a sweater she liked, but when she passed a rack of belts, she thought of Mr. Tso holding up his pants with a rope. She invested a dollar in a canvas belt with a D-ring for a buckle so he could adjust it to fit.
She drove toward the restaurant, thinking about the fake stolen car report instead of her talk. It was inconvenient to set your own car on fire in the middle of nowhere and then have to hitchhike. She remembered the ridge, the places where the earth had been disturbed, and the yellow pieces of wood. Miller must have used the stakes to mark the cacti when they bloomed, the easiest time to spot them. She smiled. The pieces were coming together, but many were missing, including Miller himself.
As for Mr. Tso’s apparitions, perhaps he couldn’t see very well.
Maybe, as Aaron suspected, his grandfather’s brain had slipped into decline, wobbling between reality and imagination.
She parked in the restaurant lot, noticing that it was nearly full, and picked up her backpack, double-checking to make sure her notes were there. She put on a bit of lipstick, squared her shoulders, and walked into the room where the meeting would be. She felt almost as unsettled as when she’d met Chee’s relatives for the first time.
The sixty-something woman at the door in the gray business suit introduced herself as the program director and the person Bernie had talked to on the phone. “We’re so glad you could join us. You’re younger than I expected. Have you met our president?”
“No, ma’am.” Younger than expected? That didn’t sound like a good thing.
The woman ushered Bernie to a round table, where a man in a business suit and well-polished cowboy boots was talking to a small group of people. The man in the boots extended his hand. “Clayton Sanchez, president of this bunch of rowdies, at least for a few more months. We’re pleased you could come today.” He introduced the other men at the table: a Farmington banker, a gentleman who owned a drilling company, and an insurance broker. Only the banker wore a suit, and he had a bolo with a piece of coral in place of a necktie.
Bernie nodded, wishing she had Chee’s gift for remembering names. Clayton reminded her of clay, and she pictured his boots encased in claylike mud. Maybe she could use sandy clay, whatever that might be, for the Sanchez part. She felt the men watching her while Sanchez spoke.
“Captain Largo and I got to know each other pretty well when I was with the Farmington Police Department. He’s a good cop.” Sanchez talked about a meth case he and Largo had worked together. The man knew his way around a story.
The room had nearly filled. A flock of waiters and waitresses in black pants and white shirts began delivering plates of salad to the tables.
Sanchez interrupted himself. “We better sit so the young lady can eat before she has to talk.”
The salad looked good. So far, being in this room with the Rotary group wasn’t the heart-stopping experience Bernie’d imagined, but the hard job was still to come.
A tall man wearing a white shirt open at the neck and a sport coat approached. Bernie thought he looked familiar, and struggled to place him. He introduced himself to the group just as Bernie’s brain had churned up his name: David Oster.
“I’m the guy working on that big solar project. You all may have heard our radio ads: ‘Harnessing the power of the sun to provide electricity to our families and the rest of America.’”
“The rest of America? That sounds great. Ambitious.” Sanchez winked at him. “Join us here? We’ve got an empty seat.” Sanchez turned toward Bernie. “This is Officer Bernadette Manuelito. She’s our guest speaker today.”
Oster smiled. “We’ve met. Officer Manuelito was the one who had to give me the sad news that the town of Shiprock didn’t have a Starbucks.”
Sanchez chuckled. “We’ve got three here in Farmington. Did she tell you that?”
“No, she didn’t. Your secret is safe with Officer Manuelito.” He sat across the table from her. “It’s nice to see you here.”
“So you’re a Rotary member?”
“I’m with Rotary in San Francisco, and as part of our membership, we have a standing invitation to visit other clubs when we’re in the area.”
“How’s your project coming?”
“Fine. Except for the wind, the weather has cooperated. Once
we smooth out a few bumps in the road, we’ll have the perfect site for a large installation.”
“We’ve got plenty of sun out here, that’s for sure. What kind of bumps?”
“Oh, nothing too serious. There seem to be some people who still don’t understand the value of solar power. My contractor and I are working to change some minds, open the naysayers to the possibilities of nonpolluting, renewable energy. Where would we be without the sun?”
“Good question. And good luck with your project.”
“I don’t need luck. It’s a natural, you know—the wave of the future, the way the world is moving.”
Bernie looked at her salad, carefully pushing the strawberries to one side and the pecans to the other. She tried a bite of the lettuce and a little red tomato and found them acceptable. Chee would have appreciated this fancy dish, she thought, but give her iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing any time.
Bernie heard Sanchez pushing his chair back, and she took a breath. Show time on the horizon. She felt her chest tighten.
Sanchez went to the microphone, and everyone stood for an invocation and then faced the flag for the Pledge of Allegiance. When he invited them all to sit and began to read extensive announcements, Bernie moved her plate to the side and took out her notes. One more quick review.
He introduced her, and she walked to the podium, suddenly regretting the salad she’d eaten. She adjusted the microphone, lowering it to pick up her voice. She felt her knees wobble.
“Ladies and gentlemen,
yá’át’ééh
. Good afternoon. Thank you for inviting me here today. And for the free lunch.”
A few of the attendees chuckled.
“This is the first time I’ve been asked to speak on behalf of our department.” She looked up from her notes. “I thought I would
start by explaining that if you want to be on patrol with the Navajo Nation police, you have to enjoy driving. Each officer who works on our force is responsible for about seventy square miles of reservation land. That’s about twice the area of Grand Rapids, Michigan. Or think of it this way: the whole country of Liechtenstein is only sixty-two square miles.”
People in the audience smiled. She relaxed a little, looked at her notes for the next point she wanted to make, and kept talking. “In the rest of rural America, there are about three officers for a thousand civilians. Out here, when our department is fully staffed, there might be two of us for that same population. But I’m not complaining. I love my job, and I like to stay busy.”
Most of her nervousness had evaporated, amazingly. She moved on to the next point and the next. It was over before she knew it.
By the time she sat down again, the rest of her table had finished eating. The waiter brought her a large white plate filled with noodles shaped like ridged tubes covered with a mysterious sauce. She recognized mushrooms, green peas, and circles of sausage. If Chee were there, he’d probably figure out how to make it and experiment on her.
She finished the salad, eating the strawberries and pecans separately, and followed it with her bread and butter. The noodles scared her.
Then the waiter brought something delightful to the table. Chocolate cake beneath white frosting dotted with pastel sugar sprinkles sitting next to a big serving of whipped cream. He came back with hot coffee, filling cups carefully, and offering decaf to those who declined. Being a speaker wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined, especially when it included cake. She’d have to thank Largo for the assignment.
At the podium, Sanchez asked for any final business, reminded the group of the speaker for the next meeting, and then, with a bang of the gavel, adjourned the meeting until next month.
Oster stood to tell her goodbye.
“I ran into Mrs. Benally at Teec Nos Pos,” Bernie said. “She told me the two of you had done some business.”
“Lovely woman,” Oster said. “I wish everyone out here were as easy to deal with.”
Bernie went back to the office to get her assignments for the rest of the day and to tell Largo about the talk. Sandra got her attention.
“Hey, your sister has been trying to reach you. She wants you to call her.”
She wondered if Darleen had an emergency, the rationale for calling her at work instead of at home or on her cell. Bernie called Mama’s phone. Busy. She called Darleen’s cell and left a message.