Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (11 page)

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on Jules, that’s crap.” Kevin peered at me intently. “Trouble in paradise with Martinez?”

“Some. I doubt you want to hear about it.”

“Try me.” Kevin’s expression remained neutral.

In the past I’d usually regaled him with tales of my sexual exploits, but what I shared with Martinez was too intimate to joke about. So my frustrations poured out like poison.

After I fi nished venting, Kevin sighed. “Not to be a dick, but why is this a problem? You’ve been, ‘give me an orgasm then get the hell away from me’ with every other man who’s bounced in your bed in the last few years.

Th

is sounds like your ideal set up.”

I broke eye contact.

Th

e silence between us made my ears ring.

“You gotta be kidding. You want more from Martinez than just sex?”

112

“Sounds crazy, huh? It’s like we . . . fi t, you know?”

No response.

“What?”

Kevin twirled the striped straw in his McDonald’s cup.

“I’m not sure how to say this without pissing you off .”

“Th

en just say it.”

He looked straight at me. “You wouldn’t put up with this shit from anyone else, relationship, perfect fi t, or not.”

Bingo. “So now you know why I’m so wigged out about why I’m willing to settle for the little he’s willing to give me.”

Rather than face more questions—his or my own—

I escaped to my offi

ce.

113

The phone rang for about the millionth time.

Damn sledgehammer was never around when I needed it.

“Wells/Collins Investigations. Th

is is Julie.”

“Ooh. You sound so offi

cial, that’s so totally cool.

Oh, umm, this is Brittney.”

Why was my father’s eleven-year old daughter calling me? “I knew it was you, smarty-pants. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, except I was wondering if I could ask you if you’d do me a favor?”

What was it with people asking me for favors? “Depends on what it is.”

“Well, our class is having career day and I hoped maybe you’d come in and talk about being a private eye.”

“Really?” Not what I’d expected. “When?”

“In a couple of weeks. Mostly you’d tell us what you 114

like about your job.”

Today my answer would be
nothing
, after being emotionally beat to shit by grief and half-truths.

Sensing my hesitation, sweet little Brittney initiated the hard sell. “I already made up a list of questions, so you really don’t have to do anything but show up. I can even drop them by your house. It’ll be easy cheesy, I swear.”

Strangely enough, I was fl attered. “Okay, kiddo, I’ll do it.”

“Really?” She squealed. “I can’t wait to tell my friends my big sister is coming for career day!”

Th

e other offi

ce line rang. “Look, Britt, I’ve got an-

other call coming in. Keep me posted.”

“Sure thing. Bye.”

I clicked over to dead air. I hoped it wasn’t important.

M M M

Although it was late afternoon, I called the number in White Plain for the NAGRA tribal liaison offi ce.

“Assistant Director’s offi

ce.”

“I’d like to speak with Darrell Pretty Horses.”

“Is he expecting your call?”

“No.” I didn’t elaborate.

Her tone turned frosty. “If you’ll give me your name and number, he’ll—”

115

“Th

is is Julie Collins from Wells/Collins Investigations in Rapid City, regarding an artifact recovered from a potential burial ground theft. I’m sure Mr. Pretty Horses is a busy man, but why don’t you tell him I’m on the line? I’ll wait.”

Sure enough, about a minute later Darrell’s voice cut off the snappy saxophone/clarinet version of
Livin’

La Vida Loca
.

“Is this
the
Julie Collins?”

“Th

e one and only, baby cakes.”

He chuckled. “And to what do I owe this honor?”

“To a couple of really bizarre things that have showed up in my life recently.”

“My secretary said something about a burial ground theft?”

“Th

at’s the fi rst thing. Th

e other day I found this

long braided object, with beads on one end. It looks like an Indian artifact, a rope of some kind.”

“Where’d you fi nd it?”

“About fi fty yards from where someone had recently dug a hole, fi lled the hole, then dug it out again.”

“Private or public land?”

“Private.”

He paused. “I don’t mean to be condescending, but why would NAGRA be interested in this situation?”

“Because in addition to the artifact, there were also 116

bones nearby. Human bones that have since disappeared.”

Utter silence. “Now you’ve got my attention.”

“Good. Because there’s a slight glitch. I told the landowner I wouldn’t give the information about the bones to the sheriff ’s department for a day or two. But I’m curious to know what this thing is. So, if you can only get involved in an offi

cial capacity, then I’ll move on

to the second reason I called.”

Darrell sighed. “I have some leeway with offi cial

agencies, but not much. But it’d be no problem for me just to take a look at it.”

“Good enough for me.”

“Where is the artifact now?”

“In my hot little hand.”

Papers rustled in the background. I smoked and tried to imagine Darrell as a pencil pusher. Didn’t work.

He’d always been the hotshot stud with the fast car and faster hands.

“I can be in Rapid City day after tomorrow. Soon enough?”

“Yep.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask about the second thing.”

I extinguished my cigarette and swallowed a big drink of Diet Pepsi to moisten my dry mouth. “It’s about Ben.”

I sensed his exasperation through the phone lines.

“Julie, how many times are we going to go through this?”

117

“Did you know Ben had a child?”

Dead air. Th

en, “
What
?”

“Ben left a pregnant girlfriend behind in Arizona.”

“I-I had no idea. When did you fi nd this out?”

“A couple of days ago. Th

is woman showed up on

my doorstep with a three-year-old boy.”

He sighed. “I’m just going to say this straight out, Julie, so don’t get mad. I know you’d do anything to have a little part of Ben back. But this is just too . . . un-real. Coincidental.”

Coincidence is fate in disguise.

Th

at weird
woo woo
shiver worked through me again.

“Why did she come forward now?” Darrell asked.

“I don’t know. She’s here taking a class.”

“Did she ask you for money?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure it’s Ben’s child?”

I closed my eyes. “Because he looks exactly like Ben.

Not a little bit,
exactly
.”

Quiet on Darrell’s end.

“Th

e other thing is, Abita fi lled in some of the blanks on what Ben had been doing the last few months before he died. She claims Ben had been working for a tribal agency back here, but she wasn’t sure which one. Th at

came as a total shock, because in all the years I’ve been trying to fi nd out anything, there wasn’t a damn hint 118

that he’d been sent to Arizona on offi

cial business. You

don’t know anything about that, do you?”

Silence.

A sickening realization pervaded every inch of my body.

“Goddamn you, Darrell.”

“Julie, listen—”

“No. His murder eats at me every fucking day.

Every.
Fucking.
Day. I was stonewalled at every turn by every goddamn offi

cial agency on the planet. I went to

you for help because you were his friend and I thought at least
you
would care that somebody slit his fucking throat. And you were holding out on me?”

“Julie. Calm down. It’s not what you think.”

My blood pounded furiously in my heart, my head, yet my soul was peculiarly empty.

“You know what I think, Darrell?”

He waited.

“I think you’re lucky you’re not in the room with me right now.” Unconsciously my voice had taken on that low, dangerous tone Martinez used.

“Give me a chance to explain. I can’t talk about this now. Especially not here. When I see you I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Without another word I quietly hung up the phone.

Scars I’d believed long healed opened up and began 119

to bleed anew. I was breathless. Numb. Enraged.

In the background I heard Kevin conferring with our new clients in the conference room. Th ere’d be no

breakdown for me. No tears or rants. No throwing cups and glasses or beating my head and hands and heart into the wall.

On the outside I suff ered in silence. But inside?

Inside, I was screaming.

120

I drove home on autopilot. In my housing development, the Dubrowski’s house and mine were the only ones completely dark and unwelcoming.

I hadn’t spoken to my neighbor girl Kiyah since last spring. Once in a while I’d fi nd a token from her on my porch. A bundle of dandelions. A Dixie cup bursting with sun-ripened chokecherries. A green willow stick with my initials carved in it. But nothing lately.

After being in June’s fi lthy house, I yielded to the rare urge to disinfect my crappy sanctuary. I changed clothes, dug out the cleaning supplies, and cranked up my CD

player. Audioslave thumped through the speakers.

By the time I fi nished the mindless chores of scrubbing and vacuuming, the day’s distressing events had faded somewhat. I admired my sparkling bathroom and 121

dust free coff ee table before I slid between freshly laun-dered sheets.

M M M

After my third cup of coff ee the next morning, I wandered into Kevin’s offi

ce. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“I’ll write up the fi nal report on the Lang Everett case and send it off . Th

en I’m meeting with National

Loan Centers to pitch our services.” Kevin shuffl ed

through a stack of papers. “Did you call that Rosette guy and give him the weekend rates for us shadowing his wife for two days?”

“Yeah. He muttered something about highway rob-bery and hung up on me.”

With no fault divorce laws, tailing an alleged cheat-ing spouse was an expensive process, not much fun, and a bit risky for us. Contrary to my past experiences investigating in the fi eld, I’d rather sit on my butt for nine mind-numbing hours than spend nine seconds with a gun shoved in my face.

“You want me to come along to National?”

“No, I can handle it.” His loafers hit the fl oor.

“Until we get the rest of the names from Dakota Gaming, there’s not much for you to do.”

“Th

at mean I can go home?”

122

“You wish.”

After he’d left the offi

ce, I forced myself to fi le back

cases. I hated fi ling. It was gonna be a long-ass day.

Th

at evening Martinez didn’t bother to call or stop by. I went to bed alone for the second night in a row. I was beginning to get used to it.

M M M

My phone rang at 5:30 the next morning.

I fumbled for the receiver and barked, “What? Th is

had better be goddamn good.”

“Julie?”

“Who’s this?”

“Darrell Pretty Horses. Sorry about the early morning call, but I had a last minute schedule change and wondered if we could meet today?”

I scooted upright. “What time?”

He hesitated and then cleared his throat. “In about an hour?”

I groaned.

“Come on. A hot babe like you doesn’t need much time to get ready. Bet you roll out of bed lookin’ like a million bucks, eh?”

“Charm will get you nowhere at 5:30 in the morning, Darrell.”

123

“What will?”

“Chocolate covered pastries and a gallon of coff ee.”

“Consider it done.”

I yawned and rattled off my address.

“Will you still be in bed when I get there?”

Th

e man was a shameless fl irt. “You wish.”

“
Shee
. You used to be more fun. See you in a bit.”

M M M

I fretted in front of my mirror, feeling ridiculous fussing over my appearance. But Darrell was an old lover. After I applied makeup to hide the luggage under my eyes, I dressed in my favorite pair of Levis and a black cashmere sweater. I threaded a jaunty leopard print scarf through my belt loops and tugged on my Justin boots.

I drifted into the spare bedroom and pushed aside my bow and portable targets. I popped the latches on the plastic gun case and lifted the Browning from the foam cutout. It fi t my hand perfectly. Th e oily scent of

Tri-Flo teased my lungs. God. I loved this gun.

Kevin and I deluded ourselves that our regularly scheduled target practice sessions were to keep our re-fl exes fresh. In actuality, we were competitive as hell.

I’ve shot a bow for over twenty years; my hand/eye coor-dination is damn good. Kevin spent his formative years 124

hunting and eight years in the military; his is better.

I never let that deter me from trash talking and whipping his ass a time or two. I eyed my holster. Damn.

So much for my sassy belt. I looped the scarf around my neck instead and attached the holster. A Browning Hi Power made a much bigger fashion statement anyway.

Two solid raps echoed from my living room.

I opened the front door to a white bakery box.

“Chocolate-covered goodies as per milady’s request.”

I stepped aside and let him in, then shifted the box so I could check him out.

Darrell Pretty Horses was a pretty man; there was no other way to describe him. His facial features were sharply defi ned, yet ruggedly masculine. High cheekbones, a square jawline, full lips. Not a strand of gray tarnished his coal black ponytail. Th