Authors: Anne Hillerman
After Darleen went to bed, Bernie returned to the couch, snuggled into her nest, and turned off the lamp. Now that Sister was back, she ought to feel better, but worry still tugged at her. Maybe Darleen really would start over. Maybe Chee would call tomorrow. Maybe she’d figured out what Miller was up to.
The new day was just a few hours away.
Chee quickly played the flashlight beam over the rectangle of rocks. From the way the earth rose, he assumed the mound inside the border was recent. He didn’t see a cross, nameplate, or memorial marker, but he knew a burial site when he stumbled over one. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his stomach felt unsettled.
He looked back toward Melissa. “Are you all right?”
“Nothing damaged except my pride. Is this a grave?”
“Sure looks like one.”
No Navajo he knew would bury a family member like this. In the old days, no one built graves. Now things were different. Some veterans requested interment in military cemeteries. Christian Diné wanted to rest in sanctified ground. A few of the most traditional still disposed of the deceased the way the family of Joe Leaphorn’s beloved wife Emma had done. Designated males escorted the corpse to a cave far away from the family’s living quarters. They walled up the remains to prevent predation and to let natural mummification take place. Then the men underwent a cleansing ceremony to free them from the
chindi
.
Melissa stood next to him, looking at the mound. “An odd place to bury someone. Makes it hard to come for a visit.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
They trudged through the sand to their cars, moving a bit more carefully now. The night seemed less inviting. Chee tried to shake off his unease. He’d seen family graveyards established by the
bilgaana
and Hispanic ranching families in Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico. Perhaps that was what had happened here. Before the US government gave the valley to the Navajos, they shared it with miners, ranchers, and western explorers. But he rejected that theory. The grave was new.
“Do you live out here?” Melissa asked.
“No, I’m from New Mexico.”
“That’s a long commute.”
Chee explained, briefly, about Paul, the new substation, and his interrupted vacation.
“This is my first time here,” Melissa said. “It’s amazing. The scenery is the best thing about my job.”
“The man who called about you, Mr. Robinson, he said you were the one who keeps track of the budget. That sounds like a lot of work.”
“I used to like it, but lately it’s crazy making, especially now that the production is behind schedule. Robinson worries about everything that could impact the budget, and I guess that includes me going off to get some photos. I think Chief Worrier is in his job description.”
Chee radioed Captain Bahe while Melissa loaded in her equipment.
“I’ve got good news.”
Bahe sounded tired. “You found her?”
“She’s fine.”
“Great.”
“And some bad news. We stumbled over what looks like a fresh grave out here.”
“Where?”
Chee gave him the location as best he could.
“Check with Robinson and find out if that’s part of a movie backdrop, or whatever they call it. Ask if they’ve got a permit for it.”
Chee bristled at the instructions. Did Bahe think he was a rookie? “Will do, sir.”
Melissa was standing by her car, waiting for him. Chee felt for her keys in his pocket and found the poker chip. He showed it to her. “Did you drop this?”
“Not me.”
“We’ll drive back to the movie camp together. You follow me.”
“I’m sorry you had to go to all this trouble.”
He handed her the keys to the red car. “It’s nice to find a missing person who’s not really missing. I like having a case where everything comes out OK.”
She smiled. “I’ll tell the guys back there not to worry so much.”
The air had cooled into comfortable shirtsleeve weather. Except for the sound of his engine and Melissa’s car behind him, the evening was calm and silent. Chee saw a shooting star and blew at it out of long-instilled habit. Some said the falling stars brought bad luck otherwise. The lights were off at the German campers’ hideaway.
He imagined the folks at the Monument Valley hotels, in their rooms watching television, the same shows they could see back in Indiana or wherever home was. Meanwhile, nature served up a celestial light show against a backdrop of million-year-old geology.
When Chee reached the entrance to the movie site parking area, Gerald waved him on through. He parked next to the dark administration trailer, and Melissa pulled up next to him. She climbed out of the car and extended her hand. “Come back when you’re not working and watch some of the filming. You might get a kick out of it.”
Hearing footsteps behind him, Chee turned to see Robinson. “Hey, missy. Everything OK?”
“Couldn’t be better. I’m sorry you guys worried about me. I wasn’t lost, you know, but it was a pleasure to meet Sergeant Chee here.”
“They’re ready to head out to the film site. The van leaves as soon as you get there. On the way out, Turner can fill you in on the meeting you missed.” Robinson turned to Chee. “I appreciate you finding her.”
“I’ve got a question for you about something we ran into out there.”
“Sure. You have time for a sandwich? I was on my way to get something.”
The word
sandwich
reminded Chee of how small and long ago lunch had been.
He was surprised to see so many in the food tent. People dressed in tatters, decorated with makeup that made them look pale and ugly, sat chatting with others wearing shorts and T-shirts, eating together as if dinner with zombie guests was perfectly normal.
“We do a lot of filming at night.” Robinson looked around at the crowd. “We love this moonlight.”
Chee selected a thickly handsome roast beef on rye, served with a pickle. The apple pie in the dessert case made him think of Lieutenant Leaphorn and how the man loved almost anything sweet. He examined the machine that made coffee—a fancy glass-and-stainless-steel contraption. The device offered half a dozen choices and could have even given him a double
café macchiato
—whatever that was. He pushed a button that read “Dark Roast Hawaiian.”
He sat across from Robinson, watching as the man carved off a forkful of tomato with a green leaf—some herb—on top and a soft white platform beneath it. “What’s that you’re eating?”
Robinson put his fork down. “It’s called a Caprese salad—sliced tomato, fresh basil, and fresh mozzarella cheese. It’s good. Movie
companies eat well. We buy some stuff out here, but we have food suppliers who cater to our whims and charge accordingly. It costs an arm and a leg to bring union food trucks out here, but it’s a requirement for any big production.” He picked up the fork and cut a bite of cheese and tomato. “Are you a movie fan?”
“I work a lot at night, but my wife and I go when we can. Or watch them on video.”
“Maybe you know some of the ones I’ve been involved in.” Robinson mentioned names that sounded vaguely familiar to Chee. “This is the biggest job we’ve done. Delahart, he’s the producer, finds investors, and Missy and I try to make the money last as long as possible.”
Chee finished the sandwich and mentioned the grave.
“No kidding? Here we are making a movie about zombies, and you find a grave? How strange is that? Maybe one of those missing miners, those guys who got the buttes named for them, maybe he’s buried there. You and Missy might go down in history.”
“No. It’s new, still mounded up. Did the company get special permission for it?”
“Not that I know of. This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Robinson took another bite of his salad. “So, are there Navajo zombies? Do you guys worry about that?”
Chee considered the fact that Robinson didn’t want to talk about the grave, and what that meant. “No, not zombies. Some people believe in skinwalkers, shape-shifters who come out, usually at night, to cause trouble. And there are evil spirits that linger after a person dies, making problems. Our ghosts are more complicated.” The old ones believed that talking about
chindis
called them forth. Chee was ready to change the subject.
Robinson nodded. “When things go haywire it’s nice to have something to blame that’s beyond our control. I think that’s one reason people like horror movies. That, and they like to be scared.”
“Do you enjoy watching them?”
“Well, horror movies tend to do well at the box office. At least, that’s what we’re hoping.”
Chee tried bringing the conversation back to the reason for his visit once again. “What can you tell me about the grave?”
“Nothing. Sorry.” Robinson looked at the clock over the food line. “I’ve got to run. Have some dessert if you’d like. They do a good job with the pie. Thanks for finding Missy.”
As he savored the last of his coffee, Chee noticed three Navajo men in the food line. When they settled in at a table, he selected a piece of apple pie—a juicy one, in the Lieutenant’s honor—and introduced himself to the men, mentioning his cousin Paul.
The one who called himself Randy wore a black Stetson with a band of small silver conchos. He motioned to Chee to join them. “I know that guy. Good man. I remember him from high school. I heard that he got one of those big old Jeeps they used at Canyon de Chelly.”
Chee told them the story about the People Mover and Paul’s tour business, and then they sat in silence for a while.
“So did they hire you to be an actor?” Randy asked.
“No. I’m a real cop. I got called to find a missing lady who wasn’t really missing. Then I got invited to have a sandwich.”
All the men nodded. “You are having a good evening,” Randy said.
When Chee finally asked, none of them had anything to say about the grave. But they didn’t seem surprised at the question.
Chee had just opened the door of his unit, ready to drive back, when Robinson jogged up.
“Glad I caught you. We’ve got some trespassers. Our security guy was going to give them a warning, but they turned belligerent. Can you help us?”
“Where are they?”
Robinson pointed to a trailer. “Over there in the production office. The guard is waiting for you with them.”
“OK, I’ll be there in a minute.”
He radioed the station with the news about the trespassers and Robinson’s professed ignorance of the grave. Bahe had gone home, but Monica filled him in. “We handle those trespass calls every once in a while. Usually bored local kids.”
But instead of Navajos, Chee found two young white women and a well-muscled rent-a-cop. His name badge read “Samuel.” Chee wondered if that was his first name or his last.
“
Yá’át’ééh
.” Chee introduced himself to the guard.
Samuel didn’t return the greeting. “What happened to Tsinnie?” Leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, he turned his gaze from the girls to Chee.
“I don’t know. I’m the new guy. Temporary help.”
Samuel uncrossed his arms, moving his hands to his hips. “Well, you need to arrest these two for trespassing and having an illegal firearm. And for being smart-asses.”
The suspects, squeezed together knee-to-knee on a love seat against the office wall, looked to Chee to be in their late teens. They stared at the floor.
“So, trespassing and a firearm. What happened?”
Samuel studied one girl, then the other—focusing long enough to make them uneasy, Chee noticed. “I was driving patrol when I heard something up by one of the cast trailers. I drove over to check it out, and I saw these idiots outside Rhonda’s place, trying to break in.”
The girl in the black T-shirt with a silver ring in her eyebrow looked up. “We weren’t—”
“Just a minute. Let him talk. You’ll get your turn.” Chee spoke to the security guard. “Who’s Rhonda?”
Samuel looked at Chee as though he thought the officer was an idiot.
“Rhonda Delay. Even you people out in the sticks here must have heard of her. She’s our star, man. She’s queen of the zombies. She’s the one who causes the headaches when numbskulls like these two try to sneak in for an autograph or a picture of her.” Samuel made a sound, a humorless laugh. “Nobody should be back there where she’s at. Strictly off limits. I rolled down the window, told them to move away from the trailer. Instead, they took off.”
“We didn’t—”
Chee gave Eyebrow a hard stare. The other girl, her brown hair pulled back with a headband, never looked up.
“I had to chase them. That’s when I saw this on the ground.” Samuel reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. “It wasn’t there when I cruised by earlier, so I knew one of these two dummies dropped it.” He put the gun on the desk next to Chee and went back to leaning against the wall.
Eyebrow made a snorting noise.
Samuel was grinning now. “Hear that? They have what I call attitude. Bad attitude that needs an adjustment. Laugh at me all you want, baby doll. The last laugh will be on your own skinny behind.” A vein pulsed blue through the thin skin at his temple.
The girl jumped to her feet. “You think you can bully—” She took a step toward the guard, and he toward her.
Chee moved between them. “Young lady, sit down.” He gave Samuel a look.
Chill, man. You’re the grown-up in this situation
.
The guard stepped back to the wall.
“Anything else to add?” Chee said to him.
“Stupid little twerps. They’re all yours.” A wave of warm air rushed in as Samuel opened the door and went outside.
Chee sat in the desk chair and rolled it closer to the girls. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.” Eyebrow spoke first.
“How about you, miss?”
Headband mumbled, “Sixteen.”
“Do you live around here?”
“No. We’re on vacation. Our dad brought us here. It was boring until we found out that Rhonda’s movie was here, too.”
“Your dad drove you out here?”
Eyebrow said, “Not here, to the hotel, you know, the one across the highway? He’s asleep. I drove to this place.”
Chee said, “Can I see your license?”
Eyebrow rustled through a purse as big as a duffel bag, extracting a lime-green wallet. She pulled out a laminated card and handed it to Chee. Her fingernails were green, too, with something glittery on the ends.
He took the card, one of those graduated driver’s licenses issued to teenagers in Arizona. Courtney Isenberg from Sedona. She’d turn eighteen next month. The license came with restrictions designed to ease the young person into the world of freeways and road rage. Among other limitations, the person who held it could not legally drive between midnight and five a.m. unless a parent or guardian was in the car with the young driver.