Blackening Song (30 page)

Rose laughed. “If I recall, my son also had a part in the mischief. Only he ran faster than you did.”

“Well, true, but he didn’t
have
to come back.”

“Oh, yes he did,” Rose answered with a tiny smile. “It would have gone against his nature to let you face the music on your own. He could no more have done that than I could forget I’m Navajo.” She turned and went back inside. “Come
on, I’ll fix us all a snack. We’ve worked hard and deserve a break.”

“I’ll be right there,” Wilson called. “Let me put the tools away.” He took down the ladder and hauled it toward the shed.

Rose had left a pile of burnt items on the porch. Looking at the rubble, Ella noticed a short length of electric cable still attached to a plug. A badly melted aluminum wire extended from one of the burned
outlets. Ella moved it with her foot. The wire had been cut.

“I had to cut away three of the damaged outlets. You’ll be without power on that circuit,” Wilson said.

“We’re grateful for all you’ve done, but you shouldn’t have cut that box away. It’s evidence.” Ella tried to show patience in her voice, but she couldn’t quite hide her annoyance.

“What’s so special about the box? It can’t be repaired.”
Wilson shrugged.

“Look at it carefully. Someone stuck a piece of wire in there. It got hot and wore away the insulation, shorting out the box. I bet that’s where the fire started. You should have left it in place for an arson investigation,” Ella explained.

“Where’s the closest arson squad? Farmington? Albuquerque? Even if the fire was no accident, how would that change things?” Wilson’s tone
showed that he found Ella’s attitude irritating. “This isn’t L.A., remember?”

“You’re right.” Ella relented, wanting to avoid any further argument for now. She still was going to take the outlet to Blalock. If he didn’t send it to a lab, she would. “Let’s go have a bite to eat. You’ve been working all day.” Ella smiled and motioned toward the house.

Later, when Wilson was leaving, Ella walked
outside with him. “You must be dead tired.”

“Yeah, but I’ve still got some papers to grade. Afterward, if you don’t mind, I’m going to pay your brother a visit and make sure he’s okay.”

“Excellent idea. If someone saw you, your presence wouldn’t create the same problem mine would.”

“Anything you want me to tell him?”

Ella considered, then nodded slowly and recounted what Peterson had told
her, omitting the personal observations. “He’s in danger from every side now. I don’t know how to keep him safe. He has to turn himself in soon.”

“Your support, and your faith, are what matter to him the most. And in case you need to hear it, he’s worried about you, just as much as you are about him.”

“He shouldn’t be.” Then, remembering the coyotes and the men who had attacked the hogan, and
the fire, her expression became somber. “Then again, maybe he should.”

“One bit of advice?” Wilson saw her nod and continued. “You’re being asked to accept and act according to rules of behavior that conflict with the law enforcement career you worked hard to attain. You can’t expect to become comfortable with that overnight. Be patient with yourself. We’re all trapped in something we have no
control over. Be thankful that at least we’re not alone,” Wilson said.

Yet Ella was alone. A gulf as wide as the desert separated her from her people. Wilson’s life had been punctuated by normality. His father and mother had been educators, like him. Their life had been predictable and comfortable, framed by stability and common ground. Despite the mistakes he’d made today, something told her
he wasn’t the wolf in sheep’s clothing Peterson had described. All the violence she’d seen in him had been purposeful, not self-serving.

“You’ve never known what it’s like to need to define yourself apart from those around you,” Ella argued softly.

“Everyone goes through that to one extent or another.”

“I’m not talking about a search for individuality. I’m talking about fear and survival,”
she affirmed.

“In my own way, I’ve known both.” Wilson had a faraway look on his face.

Before she could ask him about that, or for his side of the story Peterson had told her, he walked away without another word. Ella let him go, and waved as he started the pickup.

There was no way Wilson would ever understand her or what it had been like for her to grow up as part of a family that people stood
in awe of. All her life, her family, and traditions she couldn’t understand, had called to her, even as they pushed her away. The battle was one she’d fought as long as she could remember, and one whose outcome was still undecided.

*   *   *

Ella and Rose spent the next two days working to restore the house. They brought in an Anglo technician to get the wiring back in operation. Ella hadn’t
yet told her mother about the possibility that the short circuit had been induced. Maybe she never would. She’d cajoled Blalock into sending the fused outlet to the bureau’s crime lab, but it would be weeks before they got a full report.

Hearing the telephone ring, Ella put down her paintbrush. The doorway trim was almost finished, and that would be the last of it. The smell of fresh paint seemed
a victory over those who were persecuting her family. Her mother reached the phone first. Holding the receiver, Rose staggered back into the easy chair, her face ashen. “Have you called the police?”

Ella’s heart began to race. “What’s wrong?” she mouthed.

Rose looked at her daughter. “Thanks for calling,” she said, and hung up.

Images of Clifford in trouble raced through Ella’s mind, each more
frightening than the last. She jammed her hands inside her jeans pockets to keep them from shaking. “Tell me what has happened.”

“That was the church’s construction foreman. They set up their trailers today, getting the site ready for on-site work. About thirty minutes ago, someone called in a bomb threat. The police advised them to evacuate, The foreman was calling from the construction office
back in town.”

“This bomb threat sounds like another way to scare people off. I’m going over there to take a look. The bomb squad’s been alerted?”

Rose nodded and stood. “I’m going with you.”

Ella didn’t like the idea of her mother being anywhere near a bomb, but she disliked the idea of leaving her alone at the house even more, especially since it seemed no one would come to help if she called.
No one but Wilson, Peterson, and Herman Cloud, she reminded herself. But guarding Rose was
her
job, not theirs.

“This is also my business,” Rose continued softly. “It’s your father’s church. I’ll go, either alone or with you. That choice is yours.”

Ella sighed. “All right. Let’s go, but please, if there’s any trouble, promise me you’ll stay back and let me handle things.”

Rose nodded her acquiescence.

As they drove quickly to the site, Ella’s thoughts were centered on Clifford.

“Where is your brother hiding?” Rose asked.

“Near the new church site,” she answered, momentarily unnerved by her mother’s perceptive question.

Rose closed her eyes and remained very still for several long seconds. Finally she glanced at Ella. “They don’t know where he is,” Rose said calmly. “They’re just hoping to
draw him out. You have to warn him.”

“I will.”

The dry countryside passed by quickly; the telephone poles looked like fenceposts at the speed she was going. Her mother glanced over to the speedometer once, adjusted her seat belt, and didn’t look again.

When they passed through Shiprock, Ella whipped through traffic like she was on a Los Angeles freeway. Fortunately, there were no police cars
around.

Something odd was lying by the side of the road near the turnoff for the church construction site. The smell reached them about the same time as they realized that it was the bloated corpse of a cow. Very dead, the distorted beast lay on its side, eyes open, staring at nothing.

Minutes later, Ella parked a few hundred yards from the newly set-up construction foreman’s trailer and made
a visual search. “The police aren’t here yet, but it looks like the area’s been completely evacuated.”

Ella opened her car door, but remained inside. Suddenly the cry of a child pierced the stillness. The sound made her heart lodge in her throat. “Stay here.”

“No, don’t go. Wait for the police.” Rose’s expression was one of wariness.

“I have to go. You heard that. There’s a little kid in there.
I’ll watch my step, don’t worry.”

“It’s more than that. Something feels very wrong.” Rose looked around the site cautiously.

Ella stayed still, her gaze darting around the area. There was danger close by; her mother was right. A familiar, unmistakable sensation washed over her. It made her skin prickle, like the electricity that charged the air before a lightning strike or a big bust. Something
was going to happen, but she wasn’t sure what that something would be.

“Stay here,” Rose repeated sternly.

“I can’t.” Ella left the truck, weapon in hand.

As she approached, Ella listened carefully for the child, or for anything that would indicate a trap. She wouldn’t linger. She’d check out the place fast, grab the kid, then get the heck out.

Ella crept steadily toward the trailer. The opened
door creaked in the breeze. It looked like the crew had left in a hurry. The all-enveloping silence around the place was unnatural and set her nerves on edge.

She stood still for a long moment, considering turning back, then heard crying. The sobs were soft, somehow muffled.

“Who’s there?” The crying stopped abruptly. “Don’t be afraid.”

She took another step forward—then threw herself to the
ground as she heard a sharp crack. The trailer exploded with a vicious, ear-shattering thump, sending a million particles of steel and metal into the air. The blast rocked the earth beneath her, expanding air buffeted her. Bits of searing-hot metal rained down on her. She held her arms over her head and rolled desperately away from what was left of the trailer, trying to protect herself from the
merciless steel rain and incendiary heat.

Through the ringing in her ears, Ella thought she heard a child’s singsong voice ring out, then mean, childish laughter.

EIGHTEEN

Ella stared at the gutted trailer. What was left of the metal building looked as if it had been ripped apart with a jagged can opener. Black smoke curled from inside, but there were no open flames.

Standing, she brushed off her clothing while checking herself for injuries. She had a few tiny lacerations, nothing more. She’d been lucky. Hearing running footsteps, she turned her head.
“Mom, get back. I’ve still got to go inside; there was a kid playing in there.”

“There’s no child. Don’t you understand? It was only a trick to draw you closer.”

“A trick?” Her thoughts cleared. It had all been a ruse. “A tape recording,” she muttered to herself.

“We have to talk to the construction foreman and his crew,” Rose said adamantly. “This”—she gestured at what was left of the trailer—“is
going to scare them all. We have to find a way to reassure them, so that their work will continue. This is what my husband would want.”

“That isn’t going to be easy,” Ella answered.

Hearing sirens wailing in the distance, Ella turned to see flashing lights approaching on the gravel road. Two minutes later, three squad cars came to a screeching stop about twenty yards from them.

Peterson Yazzie
was first to emerge from the units. Staring at Ella in surprise, he jogged over to her. “What are you doing here?”

She briefed him quickly, omitting nothing.

“A
child?
” he asked skeptically.

“Or a trick. Your guess.”

“What’s yours?”

“A trick.”

He ran to the other tribal police officers, who were fastening on flak vests. Ella saw the wary look on the men’s faces as he spoke to them. Well,
at least they’d search carefully for more bombs, just in case any were still hidden or unexploded.

Peterson returned. Ella said, “If you don’t need me here, I’ve got other things to deal with. My mom’s worried about how this will affect construction. She wants to talk to the foreman.”

“Before you go, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Did you ever find any of the threatening notes your
father was supposed to have received?”

“They were thrown out. Sorry about that.”

Peterson nodded. “That’s what I figured.” He escorted her to where Rose waited. “What will you tell the construction people?” he asked. “I doubt they’ll be real eager to start work tomorrow.”

“I’ll ask them to hire more security guards,” Rose said flatly, “and I’ll talk to the church committee. I didn’t want to
get involved in this, but construction on the church must continue, according to my husband’s wishes.”

“Be careful, both of you,” Peterson said.

Ella nodded, then returned to the pickup with her mother.

They drove home quickly. Rose telephoned the construction company and several members of her husband’s church committee. The construction foreman agreed that security guards were needed and
said he would make the arrangements. He also told Rose that work on the church would not stop.

Later that afternoon, Wilson arrived with word that Clifford was fine. He and Ella stepped onto the porch. “Your brother hinted that he’s getting closer to finding the places the skinwalkers are using for their ceremonies. He refused to say anything specific. He’s convinced that the explosion was meant
to force him into the open,” Wilson confided.

“Mom agrees.”

“And you?”

“I think the bomb was meant to serve more than one purpose, and it did.” Ella knew that with all the recent deaths, and the fire, tension had to be growing in the community.

Thankfully, the rest of the day was quiet, though Ella felt worried about something she couldn’t quite define. The dog stayed within sight of her or
Rose, as if he were watching over them.

The following morning, Rose walked back slowly from the mailbox, sharp lines of anger and worry framing her eyes. Wordlessly she handed Ella three letters, envelopes still in her hand.