Blackening Song (20 page)

It was impossible for her to tell at this distance if it was the same truck, but she couldn’t banish the thought, and
her uneasiness increased. Blalock
might
have hedged his bet and arranged for a two-car tail, yet some intuition warned her that whoever was following her had far more deadly intentions than FB-Eyes.

Ella stopped and quickly jumped out of her truck. Before the dust settled, she was standing in the bed of the vehicle, looking back. Wishing she had a pair of binoculars, Ella strained her eyes toward
the black pickup, hoping to determine the make and model. But it had stopped as soon as the driver realized she was no longer moving.

For several minutes they played a waiting game, then Ella broke the stalemate, resuming her journey. She increased speed slightly. The pickup stayed well behind, maintaining the distance between them, never completely out of sight. After several minutes, she began
to suspect the driver was only trying to rattle her.

She turned, heading directly for the bluffs. The sand would be hard-packed there, and the mesas and slopes would make it easier for her to hide or shake off the vehicle behind her.

Ella spent twenty minutes using every trick she’d ever learned, but no matter what she tried, the truck remained with her. He was second-guessing her with unerring
accuracy. Panic rose inside her, but she quickly squelched it with anger. If he’d really wanted to do anything more than scare her, he could have easily gone on the offensive.

Still, as the cat-and-mouse game continued, Ella’s confidence began to wane. She was going to miss her meeting with Paul unless she headed in the right direction again soon. She turned north, heading toward a canyon she
was certain she recognized. As she drove through the narrow gap, she realized she’d made a deadly mistake—it was a box canyon, with no escape ahead. She slammed on the brakes, spinning the car around, certain she’d just trapped herself, but the pickup had hung well back, perhaps suspecting she’d been laying a trap for him. Without hesitation, she sped back out to open ground. She couldn’t ditch him;
whoever was following her knew the land better than she did.

Ella decided to head for the highway. She’d taken courses in pursuit driving. Maybe on a flat stretch she’d be able to use those skills to outsmart him.

Ella sped across the uneven ground, taking the closest and most direct route to the main highway, though the truck pitched and bounced viciously. The moment she reached the paved roadway,
she pressed down on the accelerator, widening the gap between her and the dark pickup. She had no intention of losing him now, however. This was her chance to turn the tables, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

In her side mirror, she saw the truck hit the asphalt. He followed at a moderate pace, letting the distance between them grow. Ella let up on the gas pedal, hoping he’d catch
up, but the truck took the turnoff leading to Four Corners.

Now it was her turn to give chase, something she was very good at. She turned her vehicle sharply and pressed hard on the gas pedal. Ella had a good chance of catching up to him, and when she did, she’d get some answers, one way or another.

She took the turnoff curve at sixty miles per hour. All those hours of combat driving, plus a
few harrowing ones running down fugitives, were paying off. As she reached the summit of a long hill, she studied the area below and ahead. The pickup had disappeared!

Ella chided herself for her overconfidence. The driver of the pickup had once again anticipated her move, and had undoubtedly pulled off the road into a ditch or arroyo.

He’d had only a few minutes’ lead, at most. He had to be
nearby. She slowed the truck to a crawl, unholstered her pistol, and laid it on the seat beside her. She’d find him. He was around; she had no doubt about it. Slowly Ella drove a half mile farther, searching the shoulders of the road meticulously. There were no tracks, no evidence that he’d even been by here. She reversed directions and backtracked for a mile, looking for tire marks or likely hiding
places.

Finally she gave up. He’d vanished, just like before, only this time he’d done it in broad daylight.

There was a possibility that the pickup had a souped-up engine. Then he might have outdistanced her in so short a time.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. To make matters worse, it was now far too late for her to meet Paul at the chapter house. For a moment she contemplated going there
anyway, in case he was running late, but she couldn’t risk it. She wasn’t sure where the dark pickup had gone. If it had managed to hide rather than outrun her, she’d lead the driver straight to Paul and put him in danger.

She slowed considerably, almost inviting the dark pickup to reappear, but it didn’t. Once in Shiprock, she drove past the chapter house. The parking lot was empty—Paul had
gone home.

Ella glanced at Shiprock High School as she went by, then turned left and drove across the new San Juan River bridge. The old silver-painted steel truss-style bridge on the north carried traffic the other direction. During her childhood, it had been the only crossing, and Ella remembered standing on the southern walkway and dropping pebbles down into the river.

The new bridge was
sleek, modern, and concrete. She hated it.

A half mile east, on the south side of the highway, was the old tribal-operated café. Pulling into the parking lot, she saw that only a few cars were parked there. It was still a bit early for dinner. As she went inside, she spotted Peterson sitting at a counter stool.

She eased up onto the seat beside him. “Hi. I didn’t expect to run into you here,
but I’m glad I did.”

“Hey, this is still our generation’s favorite haunt. It’s too crowded around dinner, so I always come in a bit early.” He studied her face, then picked up his hamburger platter and carried it to one of the booths, motioning her to join him. When they were seated, he asked her, “What happened?”

“How do you know anything did?” she countered.

“Your face is flushed, and you’ve
got that spark in your eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’ve been up to something.”

Ella filled him in, her voice low. When she was done, Peterson nodded slowly, then pushed his side order of french fries to the center of the table for her to share. “I could talk to Paul for you. He and I have known each other all our lives. He trusts me.”

“That would be great—only please
don’t talk to him about this in front of Loretta. She’s got enough to worry about right now.”

“Is there any specific message you’d like me to give him?”

“No, just tell him that I tried to come see him, but I had a tail on me and couldn’t shake him. If he’ll say, find out what he wanted, and how I can help him.”

“Paul will talk to me.”

“Did you manage to get a look at those files, the ones
my father-in-law had in his office?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s suddenly started locking his office every time he leaves it. I’ve checked the knob twice now, and almost got caught when the dispatcher walked by. It’s like the chief read our minds.” Peterson apologized in a whisper, his eyes darting around to see if anyone else was listening.

“Don’t get caught, but keep your eyes open for an opportunity.
If he’s just changed his habit, he’s likely to forget at least once.” Ella hoped she was right.

“Will do.”

“What about the hand? Anything from forensics?”

“There haven’t been any reports of grave-robbing; I’ve checked that. Forensics is another matter. I have to go through the back door on that, so to speak, but I have a cousin who works in that department, and he owes me a favor.”

“Sounds
like you’ve got things covered.”

Peterson laid several bills on the table, waved to the half-asleep waitress, and stood, picking up what was left of his burger. “I’ll go over to Paul’s house right now and catch up with you later.”

As he walked out, Ella glanced at the clock across the restaurant. She wanted to call police headquarters and find out if Blalock had returned or called in. If he
hadn’t, she’d have to go back for him.

Ella used the phone in the lobby, and spoke to the woman at the information desk. She smiled when she heard that Blalock had called to say he’d been delayed, but expected to be in shortly. She decided against leaving a message. His pride stung, he was probably in no mood to hear from her.

Ella ordered a soft drink and a burger to go, now anxious to get
back home. She didn’t think her mother was in great danger. Those who were after Clifford had no need to terrorize his mother. Still uneasy, however, she drove home via a circuitous route, eating her dinner on the way.

From now on, she’d make sure to vary her patterns. She carefully maintained a route that allowed her a clear view in any direction. It would be impossible for anyone to either
ambush or tail her without her spotting them.

Rose came out onto the porch as soon as Ella pulled into the driveway. “Wilson called. He said he’d call again this evening, and for you not to worry.” Rose smiled.

“What’s that smile all about, Mother?” Ella asked, her eyes narrowed.

Rose shrugged, the smile still in her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Mom, don’t start seeing things that aren’t there,” Ella
cautioned as they went inside the house.

“I never do,” Rose answered with a Cheshire cat smile.

*   *   *

Later that evening, in the living room, Rose knitted a sweater for Clifford while Ella tried to read the morning paper. Somewhere an owl called, and everything became very still for a moment. Ella glanced up surreptitiously to see if her mother had noticed, then realized that Rose too was
pretending not to have heard.

Soon the steady drone of night insects picked up momentum, and inactivity, coupled with that sound, began grating on Ella’s nerves. She set down the newspaper she’d been scanning and walked to the bookshelf. Her father had been addicted to action-adventure novels, and the shelves were filled with them. At the moment though, she wanted some light fiction. She found
a shelf that contained a stack of her mother’s favorite nighttime reading,
Time
and
Life
magazines dating back to the 1940s. Rose had collected them for years, picking them up at garage sales and fundraisers. Picking out one that featured moviemaking in the Southwest, Ella sat in the chair nearest the window—after discreetly but carefully checking that she wouldn’t be visible from outside. A cool
breeze wafted through the curtain.

She began reading about westerns filmed in Monument Valley, Arizona, but the insect chorus outside continued to draw her mind away from the printed page. A vague feeling of disquiet increased her restlessness.

Ella finally closed the magazine and stared through a corner of the window. She couldn’t shake the prickly, nerve-tingling sensation that the house was
being watched. She surveyed the surrounding desert with eagle-sharp thoroughness. The moon was full and bright, bathing everything in a silvery glow. She could see no one moving around out there.

Still, the feeling persisted. She fought it for as long as she could, telling herself that it was just nerves. Finally, unable to remain seated, Ella stood up.

“Mom, I’m going out for a walk. I won’t
go far, but I need some fresh air to clear my thoughts.”

Rose shook her head. “You really shouldn’t wander around outside at night. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll stay within sight of the house, I promise. But if I don’t get some exercise, I’m going to go stir-crazy.”

“Just like your father!” Rose muttered.

Ella smiled, then kissed her mother. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Switching off the
kitchen light, Ella waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then stepped out the back door. She stood rock still, her gaze taking in everything. She could feel a watcher’s eyes on her. When her instincts were this strong, they were seldom wrong. It suddenly occurred to her that the dog was nowhere to be seen. Even at night, he seldom ventured far from the house.

Ella walked a little farther,
passing a stand of junipers that blocked one side of the house. As she did, she caught a brief glimpse of a figure on the other side of the belt of trees.

Setting aside any pretense of stealth, Ella charged forward, reaching for her gun. The figure stepped back quickly, moving behind some of the boulders that littered the canyon floor. Seconds later she reached the spot, but no one was in sight.
However, in the bright moonlight, she could make out vague footprints, and determined from their size, and the depth and length of stride, that they’d been made by a man.

As she stood up she heard brush rustling ahead. The sage and tumbleweeds swayed slightly. She surged forward and caught a brief glimpse of a running figure. She shouted, “I’m a federal agent. Stop where you are.”

The person
ran into a thicket. She raced after him, but he soon became lost in the shadows and the bramble. Ella increased her pace, oblivious to the scratches the brush was leaving on her skin.

By the time she broke through to the other side, the man had disappeared. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her senses alive. He was somewhere close. She could almost smell him.

Remembering the skinwalker and
his vast array of tricks, she ducked down and waited. If he couldn’t see her, maybe he’d come toward her. As she waited, she sensed danger surrounding her, pressing in on her like a tangible presence. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

After what seemed an eternity, she heard sniffing sounds, like those made by a dog or a coyote, coming closer with each passing second, searching for prey. She
held her gun steady, peering through the bushes. Ella’s trigger finger itched, and she held her breath, body poised for confrontation. A heartbeat later, her mother’s mutt came into plain view.

She lowered her pistol, exhaling loudly. “Dog, you almost got yourself shot,” she scolded, then stopped, giving him a wary look. Her father’s enemies and illusions; in this investigation, the two went
hand in hand. Was this her mother’s dog, or something sent to get her out into the open?