Rock with Wings (25 page)

“Could you bring me some water?” Mr. Tso asked.

“Of course.”

“Maybe, if you aren’t tired, you could make us some coffee.”

“I will. Would you like one of those plums, too?”

He smiled. “A soft one. Maybe our visitor will have one also.”

She went into the house, happy that she still had enough daylight to work with without the bother of using his kerosene lamp. Mr. Tso lived in one room, and he was a good housekeeper. His bed was made, the couch clear, and the kitchen area free from clutter. The only thing that seemed out of place was a pile of white papers on the table, a manila envelope next to it.

Bernie added water and some of the coffee she’d brought to the old coffeepot and found a match to light the propane to fire up the burner. She noticed Mr. Tso’s can opener, the old-fashioned kind that involved stabbing into the can with a sharp point and then peeling up the metal along the edge of the circle. The pungent fragrance tempted her to change her mind and make a cup for herself. But no, she wanted to talk to Mama and Darleen before it got too late. She’d say hello to the visitor, let the guest serve the coffee, and be on her way.

She heard the car door open and then a man’s voice speaking English. “Hello, sir.”

She thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar. As she searched for a spoon to measure the coffee, she worked to remember who it was, wondering whom she and Mr. Tso would know in common. Mr. Tso’s bench creaked, and she assumed he was rising to meet the visitor.

“I would have called, but you don’t have a phone. I have to talk to you about something very important, and we don’t have much time. That’s why—”

“
Doo yá’ásh
da
!” Mr. Tso spit out the words.

Why, she wondered, did he think this man was evil, intending to harm him? Was it his dementia?

“I don’t know any Indian.” The stranger’s voice sounded tenser now. “But I’ll take that as welcome. That’s my buddy, Buddy, sniffing around. Hey, hold on there.”

She heard the crack of the shotgun, a high-pitched animal cry, and then, “What the heck? You crazy old coot. Wait a minute now, don’t shoot me.”

Bernie rushed to the porch and pulled the weapon away from Mr. Tso. The elderly man was shaking. “Stop. No more shooting.”

“
Yeenaaldlooshii
.”

Bernie spoke in Navajo. “No. He’s not a skinwalker.” She looked at the visitor, recognized him. “See, he’s not even Diné.” There might be non-Navajo skinwalkers, but she had never heard of one on the reservation.

Bernie leaned the shotgun against the wall and helped Mr. Tso sit down.

She switched to English. “Mr. Miller, are you OK?”

Miller looked confused and shaken. “He shot at my dog.”

Mr. Tso stared at the porch floor, clearly avoiding the possibility that Miller might look him in the eye. “I saw the
yeenaaldlooshii
. I shot it.”

Miller stayed where he was. “What’s he talking about?”

“He thinks you and your dog are cursed.”

“Cursed? I guess he’s not far from right. I found Buddy at the shelter. He’s like me, you know? Lived a hard life.” Miller had a bottle and something that looked like a Frisbee in his hand. He pushed the pseudo Frisbee open into a bowl and poured in some water. “This is for Buddy when he comes back. When he gets over being scared. I hope he’s not hurt.” He put the bowl on the ground next to the porch.

Miller turned to Bernie. “You’re the cop who stopped me, right?”

She stood next to Mr. Tso, relieved that he had stopped trembling. “And you’re the one who offered me five hundred dollars and a rifle. And lied about it. Why are you here?”

Miller glanced at his watch. “Long, sad story. Basically, to apologize for scaring Mr. Tso the other night and to discuss the forms I left.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mirrors that make energy.” Mr. Tso’s voice was weak. “This one brought the lights. He wants me to sign to put the mirrors here so I won’t see the view so good. I told him no. He doesn’t listen.”

Miller turned to Bernie. “I offered him every deal I could think of for the lease. He says the panels will spoil his vista of rocks and dirt. The man I work for told me to be more persuasive.”

Mr. Tso leaned away from Miller. “Go away now.”

Bernie said, “You said you wanted to apologize?”

“Well, yeah. That’s right.”

“What did you do?”

Miller pursed his lips and released them. “I thought if I couldn’t encourage Mr. Tso to sign the papers, I could scare him into leaving, or get his family to think he was crazy. I got the idea when I came in April. That’s when a kind of little cactus blooms. The
yellow flowers make them stand out; otherwise, they blend into the gravel real well.”

“We’ll come back to that, but tell me about frightening this man.”

“OK. With my binoculars, I could see Mr. Tso on his porch, and I knew he was the main obstacle to getting the lease done. I’d learned some things about Navajo skinwalkers from a program at NAU, you know, that college in Flagstaff? I got Buddy to give a good howl so the old gentleman would look up here. It was cold, so I had packed the poncho with me. I took it out of my backpack when I got out the string to mark the plants so I could come back for them later. I put it on over the pack and moved up and down among the rocks, like those skinwalkers are supposed to do. I knew his daughter was worried about him being a little off, so I figured even if it didn’t scare him into moving away, if he told her the story, she might think he’d flipped. She and the grandson would move him out of here, sign the papers, and we’d be in business.”

Miller stopped talking and looked out toward Ship Rock. “Buddy. Buddy. Here, boy.”

Binoculars, Bernie thought, catching the sun. That explained the glowing eyes Mr. Tso had mentioned.

“Was that it?”

“Well, no. I did the same thing, walking on the ridge like that, when I came back to dig up the plants. That time, we snuck up to his house, too. I had Buddy scratch at the door and jump up and paw at the window in his bedroom. I read that skinwalkers act like that.”

Mr. Tso was staring at the deck, ignoring Miller as though he wasn’t there. Bernie felt her anger rising. “You should be ashamed. Is that why you set your car on fire—one last effort to terrify Mr. Tso? Or was it for the insurance money?”

Miller’s eyes widened. “Me? Not me. I needed that car. I don’t know what happened, and that’s the honest truth. I went up there
the third time to see if there were any cacti I’d missed and to give Mr. Tso another jolt, get him to think moving was a good idea. I heard something strange, so I looked down and saw the flames. No other cars out there; no people around. It scared the you-know-what outta me. Buddy and me scrammed as quick as we could.”

Bernie watched Miller wipe the sweat off his forehead. He was nervous, just like he’d been the night she first encountered him. She looked over at Mr. Tso. Hard to know what he thought.

“But now you’re back, and you’re nervous,” Bernie said. “Tell me how that makes sense?”

Miller hesitated. “When the car burned, I had to hitch a ride out of here. It took a long time before someone stopped, and as I was waiting for a ride for me and Buddy, I decided I’d had enough of this whole thing. I figured I’d try a new plan, telling the truth. So, besides saying sorry for what happened on the ridge, I came to warn the old gent that he really should sign those papers before something happens.”

“Go away now.” Mr. Tso moved toward the shotgun, but Bernie put a hand on his arm.

“Hold on, sir. I need to find out something before he goes.” She focused on Miller. “Since you’re now into honesty, tell me more about the cacti. How do you sell them?”

“Through the Internet. Phoenix, Tucson, Palm Desert. I ship them out as quick as I can.”

“Is that why the feds are interested in you?”

“The feds? You think I’m, like, the orchid thief of the desert?” Miller chuckled. “The cacti are just a few hundred bucks a pop. But why not sell them? I have to dig them up anyway, so they won’t cause trouble with the greenies and slow down construction where the road for the panels would go.” Miller looked at his watch. He called, “Buddy. Here, boy. Buddyyyy.”

“You didn’t answer the question. Why do the feds have you on their radar? That’s the reason you got away with trying to bribe me.”

Miller walked to the edge of the porch, studied Bernie’s backpack perched on the step, walked back. Probably creating a lie to satisfy her, she thought.

“The feds want to know about some of my old Las Vegas contacts. I got tired of their questions, came out here, got a job. When you stopped me, I was on a con with some guys in Albuquerque who know how to use credit card numbers creatively. I figured somebody ratted me out. Sure enough, the feds are on my tail again.” She could see the moisture glistening on his forehead as he turned to her.

“I wasn’t supposed to have that rifle. I wasn’t supposed to be driving out here. The cacti? I figured I could make a few bucks on the side, after the boss told me to get them.”

Miller called for his dog again and stared into the distance. Then he turned back to Mr. Tso. “I’m sorry about all this. I told the boss I would deliver the papers, or report back that you’d had a fatal accident, but Buddy and I are headed to Phoenix.”

Bernie said, “Who is your boss?”

“A West Coast guy. He’s got me by the short hairs. I’m telling you, Manuelito, because I’m done with lies, with cons, with the low life. I’m not the straightest guy around, but no way could I kill this old man.”

“Oster?”

“I just call him boss.”

If she hadn’t heard so many creative fabrications and cons, she would have bought Miller’s entire story. A credit card scam would have caught the feds’ attention. Scaring Mr. Tso to get him to sign the lease sounded plausible, but she couldn’t imagine a businessman like Oster would condone it.

Miller turned toward the road and whistled energetically. Mr. Tso frowned. Even though it wasn’t quite dusk, loud whistling such as Miller’s attracted the attention of evil spirits. And whistling after dark violated a traditional taboo; the sound summoned up
chindis
.

Bernie saw the old man cringe as Miller whistled again. “Stop that noise,” Mr. Tso yelled at Miller. “Go away now.”

A set of headlights had left the highway and turned onto the entrance road that led to Mr. Tso’s house. Bernie saw Mr. Tso watching them, too. His voice had steel in it.

“If that is your boss man, I will talk to him about you. I think there is no boss man. Who would kill an old man over a machine with mirrors?” Then he said something in Navajo, an insult. Bernie didn’t translate.

Miller looked at Bernie. “Is there another way out of here?”

“Sort of.” She told him about the back way. “What about your dog?”

“The dog ran off the same way that road goes,” Mr. Tso said. “Maybe it will hear you calling for it way out there if it’s not dead. I shot it good.”

Miller rushed to the van and started it. They watched his vehicle disappear in the dusk, bouncing down the rutted road in the shadow of Ship Rock. His shrill whistle was enough to summon a corpse.

It was, Bernie realized, one of the most beautiful times of day, dark enough now for headlights with automatic sensors to turn on, dark enough that Ship Rock seemed to glow and the air had begun to cool. Dusk but not totally black. Time to get to Mama’s house, but first a moment to savor the evening and the silence after all that talking. But even though Miller’s story might have no substance, she hesitated to leave Mr. Tso alone.

Mr. Tso seemed to read her thoughts. “Your mother will be waiting for you. But we forgot to have a plum.”

She went inside and took Mr. Tso a plum and found one for herself. Soft and sweet, it reminded her that it had been a long time since lunch, and that cake and salad didn’t make a stick-to-the-ribs meal. When Mr. Tso took a bite, she saw that most of his teeth were gone. He wiped the juice from his mouth with his shirtsleeve.

“In this car coming, it must be a friend of my daughter. You go now. I will explain if anyone asks why you drove away. She can bring the coffee.”

Bernie thought Mr. Tso looked tired. “Whoever this is, please tell her you need to go to bed soon. And now, you can sleep well. You don’t have to worry about the evil ones. It was only that lying man, Miller, and his dog trying to scare you.”

Mr. Tso said, “You need to leave. If the man comes back, or his dog comes, I have the gun. I can take care of myself.”

Bernie went inside and turned off the fire under the coffeepot. Like all good desert dwellers, Mr. Tso kept his windows tightly closed until the day cooled, then opened them to welcome the evening breeze. The heat from the stove had added to the accumulated warmth. “I can open the windows for you. Shall I light the lamp, too?”

“I know the dark as well as a mole. Just open the window in the back by my bed. I’ll do the rest when it gets cooler. Go see your mother.”

She made her way around the piles of yellowed copies of the
Navajo Times
, neatly bound with twine, and what looked like junk mail in paper bags on the floor and pushed the window up to let in the evening air. She gathered her backpack from the porch and waved goodbye, walking to her car past the warm glow of the solar lights Mr. Tso objected to.

Miller had left Buddy’s water bowl on the porch. Above Mr. Tso’s dark little house, the stars shone clear and beautiful, keeping company with a moon that looked as though someone had shaved a sliver from its right side. She thought about Miller as she started
the Toyota. If he was on the feds’ radar for credit card fraud, that would explain the pressure on Largo to drop her bribery complaint.

She decided to drive up the road a bit, then park to make sure the visitor was a friend. Maybe, as Darleen complained, she didn’t have to act like a cop all the time. But Miller’s story was believable enough that she’d invest a few more minutes here before she headed to Mama’s house. And she wasn’t eager to confront her sister; better to sit and gather her thoughts.

The breeze through the car’s open windows felt good on her skin. Her bun kept her hair from blowing in her face. She’d have to wear this hairstyle more often, she thought. Next time she’d get Mama to help her with it.

As she looked for a place to pull over, she considered Miller the mystery man again. She and Cordova had built some rapport during a previous case they’d worked on together. She even thought he’d been flirting with her. Now he treated her like a spy or worse, like a schoolgirl. The man annoyed her. When she had phone service, she’d call him and mention that she’d seen Miller again and had news for him. See if Cordova would confirm the credit card story.

She swerved to avoid a rock in the road and remembered the numbers she’d seen on Miller’s phone. The calls to Las Vegas might be connected to the credit card scam. What about the California number? Probably tied to the cacti.

She slowed down to spare her little car the worst of the ruts, found a place to pull over, and turned off her headlights. Her shoulders felt heavy, her neck stiff. A long day. None of this was her concern anymore, of course, but she didn’t like loose ends. What about the calls to the Farmington motel? A partner in the cactus business? A girlfriend? Another con man?

Mr. Tso’s visitor’s vehicle came closer. Maybe a pickup? Its lights bounced up and down with the ruts on the dirt road. It was that
awkward time of night when headlights didn’t help much, but at least they made it easier for other drivers to notice your vehicle on the road.

She considered happier thoughts. She’d been right to suspect something illegal in the boxes of dirt. Thanks to the Lieutenant, she’d learned about the cacti. She could tell him how he’d helped her solve the mystery. She and Chee had researched several cases for their old commander. Now the seasons had shifted, and he could assist them. In the future, perhaps the Lieutenant’s insights would provide even more help. Nice to be a team again, she thought, even though the dynamics had changed.

Chee would be home soon. Life was good, except for Darleen, and she’d deal with her in the morning. A shower, whatever Darleen had saved for her for dinner, and then into her little nest of a bed on Mama’s couch. She’d use the old blanket Mama planned to sell at the trading post to keep off the evening chill, and maybe dream about the lamb.

The oncoming vehicle passed her, a big black SUV with a strange depression in the front bumper. It looked like a truck with a tow ball on the back had plowed into it. She’d seen it before, but where?

She started the engine. When she got to Mama’s, she’d set up the coffee for the morning so after she came back from her run it would be ready. Coffee. Starbucks. California. A motel in Farmington. Oster.

Her fatigue vanished. She swung the Toyota back around toward Mr. Tso’s. She didn’t know why, exactly, but Oster held the key.

The Porsche Cayenne had parked close to the porch. Mr. Tso was sitting where he always sat, and Oster was in the wooden chair, still in the business clothes he’d worn at the Rotary meeting.

“Officer Manuelito, what are you doing here? It must be my lucky day to see you twice.”

“Mr. Oster, I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m here to talk to Mr. Tso. We have a little unfinished business.”

“Is Miller working with you?”

“Miller?” It was too dark to see Oster’s face at this distance. “Oh, yes. That’s what he calls himself now. You know him?”

“I stopped him because I thought he was suspicious.”

“Well, you were right about that. I’m afraid he’s done considerable damage to my business and threatened Mr. Tso.”

Mr. Tso stood. “That man who works for you is evil.”

“I was trying to give a hand up to an old acquaintance. I thought I could help him, and the next thing I know, he’s selling endangered plants. And trying to scare Mr. Tso with that skinwalker business. I apologize for the late visit and for Miller’s brutish behavior. His audacity in trying to scare this gentleman embarrasses me profoundly. I didn’t want to put off making amends for another day.” Oster rose and offered Bernie his chair. “Please join us.”

She shook her head. “Mr. Tso has had a long day, and I need to get to my mother’s house.”

“I understand. It will only take a moment.”

Bernie’s innate politeness trumped her fatigue. She put her backpack on the porch next to her chair, in reach just in case some of what Miller had said was true and she needed the gun that was in it. “If Miller is so despicable, why did you hire him?”

“What can I say? An error in judgment. I was invited to give a talk at Northern Arizona University about solar energy. He was in the audience, and I remembered him from a trade show in Las Vegas. But when I used his name, he grew flustered and offered to buy me a beer. As it turned out, he was in Flagstaff because of the Witness Security Program.”

“What? You mean the US Marshals were keeping an eye on him? Why?”

“My question exactly. The man is a notorious liar, but I believe that he was actually in the program because of his reaction to
meeting me, someone who’d known him in his earlier life before his identity had been changed. He said he had agreed to testify in a money-laundering scam that involved real estate, the entertainment industry, and his Las Vegas colleagues. He was working as a building contractor and landscaper in Flagstaff with his new Michael Miller identity, but not making much money. He seemed to have some skills that would help me with the solar project, so I offered him a job.”

“A bad man,” Mr. Tso said. She heard the weariness in the old man’s voice. Time to wrap this up so she could get to Mama’s.

“Yes,” Oster said. “He told me he scared you into signing the papers. There’s no need to be scared now. I came to tell you that you did the right thing. You’ll be a hero out here when the electricity comes. And Aaron and Roberta won’t worry about you so much.”

“I signed nothing.”

“He also said that, if you didn’t sign, he would arrange an accident. Obviously, he lied about that.”

“I want to go to bed,” Mr. Tso said.

Bernie expected Oster to leave then. Instead, he stepped closer to Mr. Tso. “I don’t think you realize the value of solar energy and how it can make a real difference to your family, friends, the Indian people out here, even the world itself. You will be a big man around here once those panels go up. And—”

Bernie interrupted. “Wait a minute, sir. Mr. Tso is tired. He’s already said no, and he’s asked you to leave. I know you’re passionate about this, but Mr. Tso has the right to refuse your offer.”

“I don’t understand why you are involved in this, Manuelito, but no, he doesn’t. It’s selfish, putting his desire for a view of that ugly hunk of rock ahead of the well-being of his people. You know how important solar energy is to the Navajo Nation. To America, to the world. This is a perfect spot for the panels. It doesn’t make sense for one old man’s lack of vision to imperil the project.”

Oster turned to Mr. Tso. “Your daughter wants you to move in with her. If you do that, you won’t have to look at the panels. You won’t have to worry about skinwalkers, or goblins, or anything else like that.” He put his hand on Mr. Tso’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside and get the job done.”

Mr. Tso pushed Oster’s hand away. “You leave now. When I die, my daughter and my grandson, they can do what they want.”

Bernie turned to Oster. “It sounds like you will get what you want if you have patience. You’re badgering Mr. Tso. It’s time for both of us to leave. I’ll follow you out so he can get some rest.”

Oster ignored her and pressed a finger against Mr. Tso’s chest. “I don’t have patience. I have loans, a contract for the power, and I don’t have time to wait. The planet can’t wait, either. We are about out of time, thanks to Miller’s bungling. The other pieces are in place, but this property is central, and you’re acting like a selfish old goat.”

Mr. Tso rose from the bench. He spoke in a hoarse angry shout. “Go away now. I have nothing else to say to you.”

Bernie stood, too, hoping to defuse the situation.

“We’ve all had a long day. You’ve got a big drive back to Farmington.”

“OK, then, as you wish. Talking is done. I have one more thing to show you before I go.”

In one quick move, Oster pushed Mr. Tso down on the bench and pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.

Bernie thought of the gun in her backpack. “What are you doing?” she said, keeping her voice light. “You’re smarter than that, to threaten someone with a gun. Especially in front of a cop.”

“Shut up.”

When she saw Mr. Tso reach for his shotgun, Bernie leaned down for her backpack.

With surprising quickness, Oster grabbed her, kicked her feet
out from under her, and pushed her hard into Mr. Tso. The old man grunted as she fell against him. He grabbed for her, throwing her farther off balance. She heard the shotgun slide along the porch and into the dirt below with a dull thud. Mr. Tso’s lean body hit the porch hard, the kind of impact that could break fragile ribs.

Oster grabbed Bernie’s arms and twisted them behind her back. She automatically moved to free herself, but he acted quickly. From the level of pain, it felt as if he’d dislocated her shoulder.

His voice stayed calm. “I’m not much for violence, Mr. Tso, but we need to get things moving. Enough talk.”

He grabbed Bernie again, yanked her to standing, and pressed the gun to her back. She forced herself to stay calm.

“Stand him up, and we’ll go inside and get the papers.”

She heard Mr. Tso’s ragged breathing as she reached to support him. He moaned. She spoke to him in Navajo. “Grandfather. Think strong thoughts. You are a brave man.”

Oster’s gun prodded her kidney. “What are you saying?”

Bernie switched to English. “Do what the man says.”

“That’s right. Listen to this smart woman.”

Because of the pain in her shoulder, Bernie used her left arm to help Mr. Tso to his feet. He was shaking, and he did not put any weight on his right leg as they moved to the door.

“We’re going in so you can sign the papers. That’s the only way you both stay alive. Clear?”

Tso grunted.

“Lean on me,” Bernie said. Tso was several inches taller than she was, but about the same weight. He quivered as he gripped her arm. Bernie willed herself to come up with a plan to save his life.

It was darker in the house than on the porch, but she could see the outline of the sofa. She walked toward it, Mr. Tso clinging to her and Oster urging them forward with the pressure of the gun.

“Let go of her now.”

She felt Mr. Tso loosen his grip. Oster slapped her, hard enough to snap her head against her neck and force her backward. Her skull hit the wall as she sank into the couch, and she tasted blood from where her teeth had torn her check.

Oster pointed the gun at her. “Old man, take off that rope of a belt. Do it now.”

Mr. Tso did as told, his stiff hands struggling to move it out of the pant loops. Oster grabbed it.

“Now sit next to her.”

Mr. Tso slumped down on the sofa.

Bernie said, “My fellow officers know where I am. They are probably on their way here already.” She hoped the darkness made it hard for Oster to read her face. “There’s no way you can escape without being caught unless you take the back route. It’s impossible for a stranger to find it in the dark, but I can explain it to you. But only after you toss your gun into that bucket of water by Mr. Tso’s stove and agree to drive away. He and I will say nothing about this as long as you promise to leave us alone.”

Oster looked at her as though she’d never spoken and handed her the rope, keeping the gun leveled at Mr. Tso’s chest. “Wrap this around your ankles.” He watched as she complied. “Tighter. OK, now make it tighter.”

“Now wrap it around the leg of the couch.” She leaned over to comply, looping the rope around the couch leg, fastening her ankles to it.

Mr. Tso coughed, and she heard fluid, a bad sign in a person with a possible broken rib. Oster spoke to him.

“Now, Mr. Tso, slip that twine off those newspapers over there and bring it here. Quick now.”

She felt the gun in her side.

The old man did as told, leaving the newspapers scattered where they fell.

Oster pushed Bernie’s ribs with the gun again. “Get up and put your hands behind you.”

Oster stepped back, and Bernie stood awkwardly, off balance because of the narrowness of her stance. She swung her good left arm toward his face, aiming for his nose with the heel of her hand and all the power she could summon. She made contact just as she felt the weight of the gun come down hard on her injured shoulder. She crashed to the floor chin first. Before she could reach his feet to trip him, Oster grabbed both her arms. He twisted hard as she struggled, sending another shot of hot, raw pain through her right side. He kicked her and stepped on her back, putting his weight into it, as he bound her wrists so tightly it felt like wire cutting into her bones.