Blackening song Read online

  Ella watched the two men standing at the far side of the room. Clah's voice was too soft for her to hear, but his eyes flashed with cold fire. Ella puzzled for a moment about her mother's comment to Blalock. What did she know about him? Earlier, Peterson had alluded to something involving the agent. Navajos were slow to anger, but remembered their enemies forever. Ella made a mental note to ask about Blalock at the first opportunity.

  As Ella seated herself beside her mother, her gaze settled on the framed snapshot on the coffee table. It showed her father in a T-shirt, basketball under one arm. It had been taken during a Fourth of July picnic. Good times like that were elusive memories now. The ghastly image of her father's corpse remained in her mind, obliterating everything else.

  As she tried to banish it, something niggled at her memory, a vague impression of a conversation she'd had with Clifford a long time ago, like a name that hung at the tip of your tongue. He'd mentioned skinwalkers, Navajo witches, but she couldn't remember the specifics. Navajos never discussed the subject openly, and at the time she'd wanted nothing more than to forget what he'd said.

  When Blalock turned back toward them, his manner

  was less abrasive. "Mrs. Destea, I know both you and your husband are well thought of in this community. But Clifford must turn himself in; it's the best chance he's got. If you see or hear from him, will you call us?"

  "If it's the right thing to do at the time."

  Ella had to give him credit; Blalock was good enough at his job to know when he was being stonewalled. He glanced at Ella and cocked his head, motioning for her to follow him outside.

  She went out to the porch with him. "You're using the wrong approach, Blalock, and you've apparently had that problem for some time. Change your attitude, or you'll get so lost you won't be able to find your butt with both hands and a full-length mirror."

  "I don't need your advice, or your bullshit. What I want is information. Is your brother into witchcraft?"

  It took all her willpower not to punch him for that. "My brother is a hataalii, a medicine man. What you're suggesting is unspeakably obscene."

  "All I know is that he's acquired quite a following, and that he's reputed to have some vague supernatural powers. I heard one of the tribal cops on the case muttering about witchcraft, but he wouldn't elaborate. I don't believe in that crock, and I know you don't either. I've looked into your background. You're a no-nonsense, show-me-results agent. So let's cut the mysticism crap and get down to basics. A —Reverend Destea is killed in some ritualistic fashion. B —your brother ran from the cops. C—coincidentally your brother is a self-styled mystic who opposes everything your father stood for. That all adds up to D—Clifford is our most likely suspect. Now where is he?"

  "I have no idea."

  "When you find out, and I have no doubt you will, I

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  want you to call me. If he's innocent, he's jeopardizing our chances of catching the real murderer."

  "As you've pointed out to me, I'm not here as an agent. Now it seems you want me to do some investigating for you. Does this mean you've changed your mind about having me involved?"

  "And countermand my supervisors? Forget it, lady. I have my career to think about. If I can solve this case, I might finally get transferred out of this wasteland. If you block me in any way, I'll see you spend the next decade sharpening pencils in some jurisdiction even worse than this one."

  "Don't threaten me, Blalock. Ever. You don't outrank me, and it's extremely unlikely you ever will."

  He held her gaze. "Don't stand in my way. Ever."

  He strode off and joined Clah by the Jeep. Ella waited until they were out of sight, then stepped back inside.

  Her mother was absently tracing the pattern of the fabric on the arm of the sofa with her index finger. "They just don't understand. Clifford and your father have been arguing for years. If your father said the grass was green, Clifford claimed he was color blind. It meant nothing. Although their beliefs were radically different, both of them saw violence as repugnant. Murder—unspeakable."

  "Don't let Blalock upset you. He doesn't know enough about our culture or our family. But he's going after Clifford, so I have to find him first, Mom. Help me, please. Tell me what you know."

  "Where do your loyalties lie?" Rose watched her daughter carefully.

  "With those of us who've been robbed of someone we love. Whoever killed dad will pay for it."

  ''And will you believe all that that Anglo tells you? He'd have you arrest your own brother."

  "I know Clifford isn't guilty of murder, but he must have knowledge of the crime or he wouldn't be hiding. Maybe he can give me some leads." She paused, searching for a way to make her mother understand. "What scares me is that I think he's going to try to handle this on his own. That'll be a big mistake."

  "I agree with you. I suspect the same thing. But I still can't help you. Clifford didn't say where he was going, probably because he was afraid I might tell you."

  "Mom, none of this makes sense. My brother fears no one. He's never run away from a confrontation in his life." She shook her head slowly. "He knows his influence here on the Rez is considerable. They couldn't railroad him even if they wanted to."

  "Clifford may not be thinking right," Rose answered slowly. "He's still unsettled by the loss of his son."

  Ella nodded. She had heard the news a month ago, and had called to comfort Clifford. The child, his first, had been stillborn.

  "That very nearly broke him, and his wife hasn't been the same since. In a way, I think Loretta blames him, but he did everything he could. He used all the knowledge he possessed as a hataalii to ensure the safety of his child." Her mother stared out the window at the mesa as if answers could be found there. "It wasn't enough."

  "How good was the clinic where Loretta delivered?" Ella asked pointedly.

  Rose's gaze turned hard. "Pride would not have kept Clifford from seeking the best medical help for his child. You should know that. But the last few months of preg-

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  nancy were hard on Loretta. Nobody was able to do anything/'

  Ella leaned back in the chair, trying to focus her thinking. Clifford had used all his beliefs and prayers to help his wife and unborn child, yet still he had failed. That blow struck at the very roots of everything he was. "I thought he had put the hurt aside by now."

  "No one blamed Clifford at first. He'd done what the progressives believed was necessary, taking Loretta to the hospital for prenatal checks. He'd also used our ceremonies and done all that the traditionalists expected. He was very careful not to make any mistakes in our rituals. But then, some very ugly rumors began to spread about him." Her mother's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Do you remember anything about skinwalkers?"

  Ella blinked, taken by surprise to hear her mother broach the subject. "They're evil witches. They wear the hide of a coyote or wolf and they're supposed to be able to transform themselves into the animal. That's how they got their name. But what's this got to do with Clifford?"

  "One way for a person to become a skinwalker is to sacrifice a relative."

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  flood in a narrow arroyo, and she took several deep breaths.

  "A good tactic on their part," Ella admitted. "Who had the most to gain by undermining him?"

  "These skinwalkers have covered themselves well. I can't even guess." Rose covered her face with one hand. "Clifford is a strong man. He kept his hurt inside him, but the baby's death almost finished Loretta. She lost her son, then began to hear that her husband had caused the tragedy." Overwhelmed by emotion, Rose fell silent, clasping her hands together tightly.

  "Is that why Clifford is hiding? Have others become so afraid of him that they are threatening his life?" Ella started sorting through possible motives.

  Rose shook her head. "Your brother is afraid of no man. He has many friends and followers. They believe him. He knows that."

 
; Ella turned from the window and joined her mother on the sofa. "Then something else must have frightened hirn." She lapsed into a thoughtful silence. "Could it be somehow linked to the death of his child?"

  "Possibly, but that's one connection you may never be able to see."

  "Why not?"

  "You never paid attention to what I taught you of our people's beliefs, so even if it stares you in the face, you may not know, or believe enough, to realize it."

  "You'd be surprised how much I remember. I may not believe in it, like Clifford and you, but what counts is knowing the way he thinks, and what actions he'll take because of it."

  "Spoken like a bilagdana." Her mother smiled, her eyes eagle sharp as they rested on Ella. "Daughter, you may be fooling others, but not me. You're afraid of exactly the same

  things Clifford is: evils that resist control. In the world you've chosen to live in, those evils are easily defined. Here, that's not always so. But in your own ways, both you and your brother are committed to restoring harmony. And neither of you would ever betray the trust others place in you. You have more in common with your brother than you think. ,,

  Ella bit back her response, but denied the accusation hotly in her mind. Her brother certainly had abilities, some would say gifts. He would walk into a room and instantly become the center of attention. Like a master politician and a magician rolled into one, he could become anything to the people around him. Many thought he possessed real magic. Ella knew it was just insight and charisma, and craftiness. She'd seen it all before, especially in con men and charismatic preachers, but it was a striking talent nevertheless.

  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.

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  "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 re-

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  suits 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 pinon.

  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 impo
ssible. 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

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  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 skinwalk-ers. The animal probably belonged to the man in the pickup, at worst set loose just to unnerve her.