Blackening Song (6 page)

The thought of going up against whatever or whoever had forced her brother to run terrified her. But he was her brother, and she had to help, and that meant first she had to find him. She tried
to put herself in his place. He must have told someone what his plans were. “I have to talk to Loretta.”

“She’s at the hogan Clifford built for her just before the baby. Her relatives are with her. It’s about three miles from here, on the other side of the mesa. But you’ll have a hard time driving there—the road is washed out again.”

“Good. That’ll slow Blalock down. I guarantee he’ll want to
question her, and I’d like to talk to her before he does. I can walk.”

“You don’t trust Blalock, I see.” Rose’s tone showed rare approval.

“What do you know about him?” Ella asked, eager for her mother’s perceptions.

“He’s been assigned to this area for a long time and he hates it. He wants us to conform to his ways and doesn’t seem to understand that he has to do the adapting. He’s not a very
likable man, and he makes enemies far more easily than friends.” Rose shrugged. “From what you’ve said, I gather you don’t have much faith in him either.”

“I just don’t think he’ll get anywhere on this case. He may not realize it, but he’s in over his head.” Ella sighed. “Now tell me again. How do I find the hogan?”

“Do you remember the cliff face the kids spray-painted one year?”

“Yeah.”

“Your brother’s hogan is a little south of that place, near a stand of junipers. Runoff from the summer rains will have deepened some of the arroyos, so walking will be slow. Still, it’ll be faster than driving.”

“I better get started; it’ll be dark before long.”

The lines on her mother’s face sharpened and fear swept over her features. “Wait. Go tomorrow instead.”

“I can’t. By then Blalock
might have spoken to her. I need to do this tonight.” She knew instinctively that it wasn’t the terrain her mother feared. “Do you think our family’s enemies will come after me?” she asked, realizing that in a way she hoped they would. They’d learn she was no one’s easy prey.

“Nights are dangerous here. Now more than ever.”

She exhaled softly. There was so much her mother would never say openly
to her. Ella’s refusal to accept the old ways stood as an unbridgeable chasm between them at times. She needed facts, but her mother’s facts were often rooted in beliefs that Rose didn’t want to expose to Ella’s coldly logical viewpoint. “I’ll take my pistol, don’t worry. It should be in the trunk I shipped ahead.”

She went down the hall to what had once been her room. Her childhood books still
filled the shelves. A maroon and silver Shiprock Chieftains banner was proudly displayed on the whitewashed walls, along with a watercolor painting of Shiprock she’d done back in the eighth grade. That her mother had chosen to keep all of her treasures warmed Ella’s spirits. As her gaze drifted to the far wall, she saw the crucifix that hung over the bed.

Ella stared at it. She’d never quite
believed in the Christian god, but then again, she wasn’t certain about the Navajo gods either. She could understand Clifford’s aversion to the religion the missionaries had brought into the Southwest. Navajo fear of the
chindi
was strong, and the stories she’d heard as a child made it difficult for her to imagine the apostles feeling anything but stark terror when Jesus visited them after the
crucifixion.

“I put your trunk in the closet,” Rose said from close behind Ella.

Ella retrieved it by the leather handle and unlocked the lid. Grabbing her windbreaker, she rummaged among the clothing and retrieved her pistol, ammunition, and running shoes. “I’ll be back,” she said, taking off her street shoes and lacing up the sneakers. She slipped the pancake holster through her belt and adjusted
it. “Please don’t worry.”

Her mother said nothing, but concern was evident in her stiff, disapproving stance.

Ella headed down the dirt track. It was easier to go this way until the track dead-ended. Although she was in good physical shape, hiking across the uneven desert terrain was always tiring.

It had been a wet summer; the desert received almost all its rain in July and August, and afternoon
thunderstorms were very common. Ella glanced around her, seeing the results of those rains. Water had carried away tons of sediment, leaving large furrows that would be extremely jarring to passengers in a car or truck riding over them. She picked her path carefully from among the natural ditches that bordered the dirt track. Hearing a loud rumble of thunder, she looked up at the gathering
clouds. It was likely to rain again soon.

As Ella walked, she sorted her thoughts and tried to come to terms with the world she’d reentered. Dusk settled over the Colorado Plateau, the ground becoming shrouded in increasingly deeper and darker shadows. The hum of night insects rose to a droning crescendo, and the air became sticky, almost humid.

Struggling mentally with the events of the past
two days, Ella reached the top of a rise, then started downhill. She was watching a large jackrabbit scamper away when some sixth sense compelled her to turn around. At the top of the little hill stood a large animal. She tried to make out some details, but the creature was indistinct against the purple and gray backdrop of the twilight sky.

It was too large to be her mother’s dog, or any dog
for that matter. A bear was a possibility, but it was the wrong shape. Cougars were rare in this area, so she ruled them out too. She took a step toward the creature to get a better look, and as she did her skin prickled uncomfortably. Ella stopped as the animal moved back into the shadows and vanished. She wondered if it might have been a wolf.

Abruptly an old black pickup appeared at the same
spot where the animal had been only seconds before. The truck started down the rutted incline, bouncing and sliding, the engine revving. Ella stared in disbelief as the vehicle careened directly toward her, ripping through the sagebrush and piñon.

She started running, as fast as she could, heading for the next rise. If she could get there with a few seconds to spare, she might be able to fire
off a few shots and either disable the truck or its driver.

Ella glanced behind her and realized the pickup was gaining ground too quickly. She’d never get away. She’d have to make her stand right where she was.

She whirled and pulled out her pistol, going quickly into a two-handed combat stance. In the semidarkness, hitting the driver of the jouncing truck would be nearly impossible. Her only
chance was to wait until it was almost upon her. She swallowed her fear and took careful aim.

As she started to squeeze the trigger, the pickup suddenly veered away to her right. A cloud of sand, gravel, and dirt rose in the air, all but obscuring it from her sight. Coughing, she fired twice, aiming at a rear tire. The vehicle continued to speed away. She’d missed.

The motor sound abruptly stopped
when the pickup disappeared over the hill. Suspecting a trick, Ella remained still, visually searching the area. After a few minutes, she moved cautiously in the direction the truck had gone, trying to avoid silhouetting herself on the hilltop. To her surprise, the pickup was nowhere to be seen. That was impossible; it couldn’t have simply vanished.

As she circled around, curiously looking for
tire tracks, a light drizzling rain began. She zipped up her windbreaker. It was futile to remain here searching for the truck. It would be completely dark soon. The truck had probably coasted down the hill and gone to ground in an arroyo, joyriders frightened away by her shots. They’d probably been just as scared as she was. Soldiers learned to hide tanks in the desert. Certainly an old truck could
be made to disappear. The best she could do now was stay alert and make it to Loretta’s as fast as she could.

Breaking into a cautious run, Ella looked toward the top of the next rise. Her heart suddenly lodged in her throat. The shadowy creature she’d seen before stood there, gazing down at her. She picked up speed, wanting to get a closer look, but before she drew near, it moved away, and dark
gray shadows closed in around it.

Ella’s heart was beating overtime. She was nearly certain that the creature was a coyote, or a wolf. She shook her head, forcing herself to become detached and analytical. It was just too dark. She hadn’t seen it clearly enough to be sure of more than a general shape. It was pointless to assume anything. She cursed her imagination. That’s what she got for listening
to her mother’s stories about skinwalkers. The animal probably belonged to the man in the pickup, at worst set loose just to unnerve her.

Ella looked back at the point where the truck had disappeared. Rain was already softening and obliterating the pickup’s tracks. Soon they’d be gone. She’d have no evidence and no witnesses.

Things just didn’t add up. How had the truck managed to hurtle those
arroyos? They were no more than two feet deep, but they should have been sufficient to stop any normal vehicle going that fast. And where had it gone so quickly?

She tried to make some sense of it. He knew which path to take. She was dealing with someone who knew the land like the back of his hand. The darkness and her own imagination had conspired against her. That was all. Checking her pistol
and gaining confidence from the feel of cold, dry steel, Ella continued toward Loretta’s hogan.

*   *   *

By the time she arrived, she was thoroughly cold, wet, and tired. The hogan, illuminated from within by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp, looked inviting, and more to the point, safe. Except for the dark pickup parked near the door. Warily, Ella edged closer, trying to make sure it
wasn’t the same vehicle that had tried to run her over.

A tall man stepped down out of the truck. Ella recognized Blalock’s bulky shape and stiff-backed stance. She cursed the jerk in the truck, cursed herself for being distracted by stories of skinwalkers. He had beaten her to the punch. Then she smiled. He hadn’t been invited in yet. She still had a chance to speak to Loretta first. Ella went
up to Blalock. “How did you find this place?”

“Good investigating,” he answered. “But it took hours to drive here.” He gave her a speculative look. “Jeez, Clah, you look like something the cat barfed up.”

Ella glanced down at herself. From her knees down, she was covered with mud and plant debris. In contrast, Blalock looked like a recruiting poster despite the rain: water beaded up and rolled
off his coat. Probably waterproofed. His hair seemed to curl rather than plaster itself down on his scalp as the heavy drizzle continued.

“You’re annoying,” she answered at last.

He grinned. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before.”

“How come you’re waiting out here? You didn’t do that at my mother’s place.”

“Your mother lives in a regular house, not something traditional like this hogan,” he said,
then paused. “I have learned a
few
things since I took up this post. Besides, the police chief warned me that if I kept walking up to doors around here, someone was likely to shoot me with a deer rifle.”

Ella bit her lip to keep from smiling. It sounded like her father-in-law had managed to penetrate Blalock’s devotion to procedure with a new idea. “He’s right. You have to honor our customs,
particularly during times like these.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been waiting for forty minutes.”

“They know you’re here. If they haven’t come out, they don’t want to talk to you.”

“
That
I figured. How about a trade, Ella?”

“I know you want me to get you in,” she said, “but what are you willing to give me in exchange?”

“What do you want?”

“A look at the M.E.’s report.”

He considered it. “It’ll have
to stay between us.”

“Okay by me.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Stay here. I’ll signal you in a few minutes.” She walked around the car and stood in plain view of the eastern-facing doorway to the hogan. An old, heavy-set woman wearing a long red skirt and a tan, long-sleeved blouse appeared at the entrance, pushing aside the heavy blanket that served as a door. She waved at Ella, gesturing
for her to come in.

Ella accepted the invitation briskly, glad to get out of the cold rain. It was warm inside the hogan, and food had been set out on a blanket. A small, damp circle of ground directly below the smoke hole was the only place moisture had penetrated the sturdy log and mud structure.

She remembered to head to the left. The south end of a hogan traditionally “belong” to the women,
and Loretta and her grandmother were seated there. Loretta’s brother, the only other person in the hogan, nodded silently to Ella but didn’t move from where he was seated, just north of the entrance.

Loretta spoke first. “We’ve finished eating, but there’s still some of the fry bread and stew grandmother brought. Help yourself to whatever you like.” Loretta was young, perhaps twenty years old,
and had pretty, almost Asian features. Her hair was arranged in one large braid down her back and she was dressed in a traditionally styled burgundy velveteen dress and deerskin boots.

Ella nodded in thanks, then spooned a small helping of mutton stew onto a plate. It would help take the chill out of her. She sat down on the dirt floor and looked at her sister-in-law and her family. Loretta was
by nature outgoing and friendly, but even to Ella it was clear that tonight she was just going through the motions. She had the haggard look of a deer among wolves.

Ella studied everything, from prayer sticks she felt certain her brother had made to the sacred pollen scattered about for protection. A Winchester thirty-thirty rested across Loretta’s brother’s jeans-clad hip.

“Is FB-
Eyes
still
out there?” Loretta asked, explaining the emphasis with a slow blink.

Ella nodded. Strangers and friends, Navajo or non-Navajo, were often given nicknames by the Dineh. “He would like a chance to ask you some questions.”

“My husband, your brother, is not the man the police should be looking for.” Loretta’s voice held a hard edge. Ella knew at once that her sister-in-law stood firm in her belief
that Clifford was innocent.