Wild Sorrow (22 page)

“I can certainly see why you said it looks bad to have it around at the present time,” I said. “Someone could easily misinterpret its meaning.”

“Yes.” He gestured for me to drink my coffee.

Using my good hand, I took a sip. “I presume you know about the death at the old Indian school?”

Abeyta looked right into my eyes. “I heard the old matron was killed, if that's what you mean.”

I held his gaze, but he did not flinch or look away. “Do you know how she died?”

“They said she was shot, I think.”

I nodded. I was not going to challenge this bit of misinformation since the crime was still under investigation. “I understand you gather wood in one of those all-terrain vehicles,” I said.

“My brother and I do. We got it for Christmas, just got it a couple weeks ago.”

“Do you go out by the old school on that thing?”

Abeyta put the monito back on the mantel. He turned his back to me as he did so. “You won't catch me out there.”

 

After we had drunk our coffee, I rose to leave. “Thank you for the coffee. I have to go find Anna,” I said, “and my wolf.”

Sica struggled to her feet as well. “I go now, too. My nephew Eloy coming for supper. I make rabbit stew today, bake bread.”

When we stepped out the door of Rule's abode, the three of us saw Anna Santana walking by the río with Mountain, encouraging him to get into the river to drink. He waded into the icy water and lapped at the surface; then he became rambunctious. He began to romp and splash and gallop in circles. Rule took Sica's arm to help her along, and the three of us walked over to watch the wolf play.

I greeted my medicine teacher with a nod.

She looked at me, studying my neck and the Ace bandage on my wrist. “You bang up. What you do?”

“I . . . I fell,” I said.

My medicine teacher appraised me with a concerned look. “You take care,” she said. “Get rest. Maybe you take next other day off.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” I said. As sore and worn out as I felt, several days off sounded like a better idea.

“That wolf all happy now,” Momma Anna said. At this, Mountain noticed me, and bounded toward us, plowing up short and shaking himself vigorously, spraying water on everyone.

“Eeeee!” Sica said, pulling her blanket over her face to block the spray.

“Mountain, stop!” I said, but the wolf gamboled over to me and rubbed his wet coat against my legs, overjoyed to see me. The muscles around my knees were tight and tender, and now my jeans were wet and cold. I pushed the wolf away, but he smiled at me and raced in a hoop around us, ecstatic with joy. “I'm sorry to be in such a hurry, but I've got to go,” I said. “Thank you for keeping Mountain. I need to take him and head home now. I still have to stop by the market and pick up some candles, and hopefully I can get home before dark.”

Momma Anna looked at me out of one eye. “You keeping old way this holy time?”

“What? Oh, you mean the candles. No, my electricity is off. It has been for days. I've been unable to get someone from the power company to come out to make whatever repair is needed on the line.”

Rule spoke up. “My brother Oriando works for the power company as a lineman. I know if I ask him that he will help.”

I wasn't quite sure that I trusted Rule Abeyta enough to want his help, but before I could reply, he pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number. He turned away, talking in Tiwa.

“Tst-tst.
You got bad hurt, that neck,” Momma Anna said.

“I do.” I nodded. “I got hurt everything. I'm really tired. I need to get home before I drop. I've had a bad day.”

My medicine teacher studied me in silence.

Sica did not speak either. She was waving enthusiastically at someone across the río on the far side of the plaza. I followed her gaze. A man was walking toward us, his face indistinguishable in the shadow cast by the massive and venerable four-story adobe structure that was the hallmark of Tanoah Pueblo.

“There Eloy!” Sica called as her nephew crossed the little footbridge and came to join us on the riverbank.

Before we could exchange greetings, Rule Abeyta stepped toward me and held out the cell phone. “My brother said he will help. Tell him where you live.”

I hesitated.

Abeyta pushed the phone toward me. “Go on. Talk to him. He said he will get you going before he clocks out today.”

In a matter of minutes, I had made arrangements for Oriando Abeyta to meet me in an hour at the intersection of the Forest Service road and the highway a few miles from my cabin so that I could lead him to my place. And in only a few minutes more, Mountain and I were in my Jeep heading west, the wolf snoring in the back while I daydreamed in Technicolor about the soothing comfort of a long, hot shower and going early to bed.

The Smell of Vanilla

I got to the intersection where I had agreed to meet Oriando Abeyta and pulled off on the side of the gravel road. I was more than fifteen minutes early. It was bitterly cold outside, and yet I dared not sit in the Jeep and wait. I felt so beaten down by all the physical trauma I had suffered over the past week that I feared that if I allowed myself to sit idle for more than a few minutes, I would pass out right there beside the road and not come to for days. I forced myself to get out of the car. My body had stiffened and I had to work to straighten up and stand erect. I opened the hatch and—with some effort due to the sprained wrist—I finally managed to put Mountain on his lead.

We walked down the roadside about fifty yards in the softening frost-light of dusk. Mountain sniffed the white grassy clumps alongside a tall growth of pines. He marked tree and scrub, straining at the lead, galloping from one tree to another. As we ambled along, my shoulders felt stiff and sore, especially with the wolf tugging at the long leash. I rotated my neck and heard a loud snap as my neck vertebrae realigned. An unexpected onslaught of olfactory information bombarded me and I realized that my sense of smell—which had vanished without my realizing it—had suddenly returned full force for the first time since the explosion at Diane's house. I drew in a deep breath and reveled in the rich array of aromas. I smelled moisture in the air, and I looked up into the twilight sky to see a low deck of clouds promising snow. I closed my eyes to isolate and identify more scents: pine needles, dry winter grass, gravel dust, wet wolf. I raised my eyelids and looked around for more ways to exercise this newly reclaimed faculty. A few yards into the woods, I saw a large, old-growth ponderosa. I stepped inside the tree line, aiming to sniff the bark of the big pine to see if it smelled like vanilla. The wolf was delighted that we'd left the road, and he bounded past me, pulling at his long lead and brushing hard against my leg, where still-tender bruises sang with pain.

The roar of an engine cut through the air, rapidly growing louder and closer. I turned and peered through the trees, looking back down the road toward the sound of the approaching machine. I watched as a big truck veered off the highway at high velocity, its front end armored with a welded steel deer guard. Like an enraged animal, the monstrous machine sped forward and crashed full-on into the back of my Jeep, sending it hurtling down the road a hundred yards as if it were a cracked cue ball. Before I could react, the truck geared up and rammed the Jeep again, creating a deafening slam of pile-driving metal and shattering glass. At this, Mountain lunged and bolted deeper into the woods. His leash whipped and tightened and I moved to grip the end with both hands, but instantly let go of it for fear my sprained wrist would snap. As the wolf fled into the forest trailing a red ribbon of nylon webbing, I stood stunned, insensible, my mouth hanging open, my brain unable to engage. The Attila truck fast-backed to the highway, swerved around, and roared out of sight, leaving a cloud of petroleum fumes.

“Mountain!” I shouted into the darkening woods. “Mountain, come back!”

It took a few minutes of calling and then waiting before I heard the sound of twigs snapping in the direction the wolf had fled. I began to talk softly to Mountain, even though I could not yet see him. “It's okay now, buddy. It's okay. Come on. It will be all right.”

After minutes of my reassuring monologue, the wolf finally crept toward me, dragging his leash, his ears down with fear. Two small branches were entangled in the leash and I stooped to unravel the mess. A bolt of pain in my back radiated out to both hips and through my legs. I realized as I compromised with a bent-over half squat that I was so sore that I felt about the same as I might have if I had just stayed in my Jeep.

I coaxed Mountain carefully between the trees, and he balked, but came along, staying close to me. We walked down the road to the car and studied the damage. Most of the glass was gone. The Jeep's body was crumpled in the back and all along the driver's side, and it looked like the frame was bent. I tried the rear hatch, but it was smashed in and wouldn't budge. I led Mountain around to the passenger door and pulled on the handle. It opened with a loud metallic squawk. I folded the seat down and loaded the wolf in, and he climbed eagerly into the safe and familiar cargo area in the back. I crawled over the gearshift in the center console and threaded one leg and then the other down beneath the steering wheel, crying out as I bent and bumped various body parts, finally easing carefully into the seat behind the wheel. I checked the Screech Owl but there was no cell phone service available there. I had left the key in the ignition, and I grasped it and closed my eyes for a moment and silently prayed. I sat up tall, took a big breath and blew it out, and then I turned the key.

The motor started right up! I drove away with the wheel pulling hard to the right, and—sprained wrist notwithstanding—I steered that Jeep like a ship in strong current and headed back to Taos and the BLM.

Remote Chance

It was dark by the time I got to the BLM, and everyone had gone home. I called Diane first.

“Rule Abeyta was at the top of our suspect list,” she said. “I'm having him and his brother Oriando picked up immediately.”

“But why are they out to get me?” I said. “They must know we would have brought them in by now if I had them on Cassie Morgan's murder.”

“You must have gotten too close to something or someone, and they figure you'll put it together eventually. That's what I would guess. Anyway, we'll know soon enough, because we're bringing them in and I'm going to make sure they talk.”

“I still don't get it,” I said. “It just doesn't quite square up somehow.”

“You're making it too complicated. The Silver Bullet says that's what trips up most investigators. He says almost all murders are fairly simple. And this one is obviously all about revenge. If I can wrap this case up with no loose ends, the Silver Bullet has assured me a transfer. I'm going to get these guys.”

I made two more phone calls:

“What? Dammit to hell!” Roy growled into the phone. “I'll be right there.”

“No, don't. I know you've got family visiting this week for the holidays. I'm all right, I'm leaving now anyway. I wouldn't even be here by the time you could get to the office.”

“You're sure you're all right? You don't need to go to the ER or anything?”

“I'm fine, Roy, really.”

The next call was to Kerry, who said four words: “I'm on my way.” He hung up before I could reply.

I grabbed the keys to an old, four-door Chevy Blazer that was used by the river rangers at the BLM during the summer. I went out to the parking lot and began transferring all the things from my wrecked car to the Blazer as Mountain paced back and forth, not permitting more than a foot of space to open between us. After I'd secured my rifle on the floor behind the driver's seat, I folded down the bench seat in the back to create the same large, flat cargo area for transporting the wolf that he was accustomed to in my regular work vehicle. I lifted the hatch, then stretched Mountain's thick fleece blanket, still wet from his earlier river romp, across the flat, carpeted back area. “Come on, buddy,” I said, patting the blanket.

The wolf stood at the rear of the strange new automobile and sniffed at the carpet, but he didn't move.

I patted the blanket again, careful to use my good hand, as the other had swollen up like a pink pork roast above the Ace bandage, which now strained painfully tight across the palm, between the thumb and fingers, and around the wrist. “Come on, Mountain, get in,” I said, losing my patience.

Mountain sat down and lowered his head. This was not an unusual gesture for the wolf. A new vehicle, an unfamiliar object, or a strange surface often made him cautious at best, and sometimes even frightened him into wild, erratic behavior. I climbed into the back of the Chevy and drew my stiff legs up and folded them in front of me. “See?” I said to the wolf. “I'm in here. It's okay. Now, come on.” I patted the fleece again.

Mountain raised his head and sniffed the carpeting once more. Then, without any further hesitation, he jumped into the cargo area with me and sat upright, his head pressed down and forward against the top of the car. He gave me a pleading look and whimpered. He dropped to his belly and put his chin on my leg and whimpered again, then began panting in spite of the deepening chill of oncoming night. He was clearly afraid and anxious. With each breath out, he made a soft, high-pitched whine.

I began to stroke his head, the tufted fur around his ears, the long mane at his neck, and I felt like I might cry, too. Every part of me ached; I was tired. Even sitting in the back of the vehicle in the cold hurt my back, my legs. My wrist throbbed.