Looking Through Darkness (12 page)

Trapped, she tried to figure out what to do next. She could try to run one of them over, but even if she did, she'd never get around their vehicle and through the trees fast enough to get away. Her only chance was to jump out and run before they got any closer.

Leigh Ann threw open her door and raced across the road, slipping between two trees heavy with low branches, then into the thick undergrowth beyond. Thank goodness she was wearing loafers instead of western boots, slacks, and her Outpost knit shirt.

Though the brush scratched her arms, she forced her way through until she broke into a clearing to the west. Ahead were four houses in a row, flanked by empty concrete pads where other buildings might have sat years ago.

Maybe she could find someplace to hide in one of the empty homes. Then, once it was completely dark, she'd made a run for the highway.

Leigh Ann dialed 911 as she raced toward the closest building. It was clearly unoccupied, judging by the broken windows.

She glanced back and realized no one had come after her, but she still wasn't about to slow down. Maybe they'd gone back to their vehicles and planned to chase her down that way. Or maybe they were trading their weapons for something with more range, like a rifle.

Hearing a voice, she brought the phone to her ear.

“911, what is the nature of your emergency?” a woman said calmly.

“My name is Leigh Ann Vance, and two men wearing ski masks and carrying clubs came after me. I had to leave my Jeep and make a run for it. I'm in the old housing area west of the gas road turnoff in Kirtland.”

Leigh Ann stopped to catch her breath. She looked back, but still couldn't locate either man. Yet, peering through the trees, she could see all three vehicles still on the road.

“Where are your assailants now, Leigh Ann?”

“I don't know. They might be hiding where I left my Jeep, waiting for me to come back.”

“Keep moving away from the vehicles, Leigh Ann. Can you see anyone else?”

“No. Maybe they wanted to steal my Jeep. Hell, they can have it.”

“Help's on the way, Leigh Ann. Keep moving and stay on the line. Can you see the main highway?”

“Yes, it's about a quarter mile away, to the south.”

“Head there. There's going to be traffic and that'll work in your favor.”

“Okay.”

“You're doing fine. Stay calm and keep moving. A patrolman's heading your way now.”

“Tell him to hurry,” she managed, breathing hard as she ran.

*   *   *

Five minutes later, Leigh Ann was standing beside a sheriff's department cruiser, breathing normally again, almost relaxed now as she tried to recall all that had happened the past quarter hour. The deputy, a slightly overweight man in his late forties with a bald patch, was on the radio, directing other patrol units that were searching for the two men who had threatened her.

Her description of the attackers wasn't very detailed. “I'm sorry, but the two things I noticed most were their masks and their clubs. All I could think about after that was running away as fast as I could.”

“Under the circumstances, that was the right thing to do,” the officer said. “We've put out a BOLO for their vehicles, but without license plates or a better description…”

“You're right. What does ‘BOLO' stand for, anyway? I hear it on TV a lot.”

“It's law enforcement jargon: ‘be on the lookout for,' ma'am.”

“Makes sense.”

“Come on. I'll take you back to your Jeep. I want you to check and see if anything's missing.”

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of her Jeep, and in the glow of the vehicle's dome light, she could see that both doors were open. “This makes no sense, Officer. As far as I know, they never even chased me. So why the trap? Look at my old Jeep. Did they want to steal it, then change their minds once they got a closer look?”

“From your statement, I'd say you were the target, but after you got away, they decided to see if you had anything of value in the Jeep.”

“Like my purse,” she said. She hadn't taken it with her. She'd bolted instantly, knowing her cell phone was in her shirt pocket.

She stood by the driver's side of the Jeep and looked inside, her anxiety returning as she accessed her losses. The box with Melvin's clay figures had been opened but she could see that the figures were still hidden in tissue paper, which hopefully meant that they were intact. The glove box was open, too, and her owner's manual and insurance card were on the floorboard, along with the tire gauge and a credit card receipt for gas.

Her purse had been dumped out on the passenger seat, but her wallet, two credit cards, and the photos of Melvin's sculptures were all still there. The little bit of cash she'd carried, however, was gone. “All this for ten bucks?”

The deputy shook his head. “That's doubtful. Based on what I see, I think their intent was to scare you off, then take the opportunity to search your vehicle for something specific.” His laser sharp gaze remained on her.

“Like what? Drugs? All I've got is a few aspirins.”

“You tell me, ma'am. According to what I read on my MDT, the computer terminal in my cruiser, you were involved in another incident on the Navajo Nation just yesterday. Someone in a big black sedan ran your Jeep off the road. So this is no coincidence, is it? What are these people after, Mrs. Vance?”

“All I'm sure about is that it wasn't my Jeep either time. This old thing is held together by duct tape, wishes, and a prayer. Not exactly the ride of a rich woman.”

Even as she answered, she realized that there was something else she hadn't taken with her before rushing off. She looked at the ignition where one set of keys had hung, then looked at the scattered contents of her purse for the other set. “Crap! They took my keys!”

“What were they to?”

“The Jeep, my house, a friend's home, my sister's car key—and the trading post,” she said, her eyes widening. “See the logo on my shirt? I work at The Outpost.”

“Targeting a business makes a little more sense,” the officer said. “You need to tell the owner to change the locks. You should do the same thing at your home, and warn your friend and sister, too.”

“None of the keys were labeled, but I'll tell everyone. Am I free to go?”

“Do you have an extra set of keys to the Jeep or should I call a tow?”

“I'm fine,” she said. There was a magnetic key holder inside the wheel well.

Minutes later, she was on her way. Her hands were shaking even as she gripped the steering wheel. What the heck was happening to her life? Two attacks in two days … Kurt—this had to be connected to him. He'd never been anything but trouble, and now he was having the last laugh from his grave.

“You mangy old toad,” Leigh Ann muttered under her breath. “I'll straighten out your mess, and after that I'm going back to my maiden name. I don't want anything more to do with you. I'm going to bury the memories, just like I buried you.”

*   *   *

Jo arrived at the trading post early as usual the next day, still thinking about yesterday's brief conversation with Ben. Months ago Ben had told her that she'd get a visit from an area army officer if anything ever happened to him. At times like these her gaze continually searched the parking lot for a government motor pool car.

Jo walked up the steps leading to the back door, fumbling in her purse for her keys. Leigh Ann had called last night to let her know what had happened and warn her to rekey the locks as soon as possible. Since none of Leigh Ann's keys had been labeled, Jo figured it wasn't an emergency. She'd get to it later today, or early tomorrow. After all, unless the person coming in quickly turned off the alarm, the security service and police would respond almost immediately.

As Jo stepped up, key in hand, she suddenly froze. Hanging from the doorknob was a medicine bag made from the skin of a horned toad—clearly a gift from a skinwalker.

She placed her hand over the deerskin
jish
Rudy had made for her. The little bag was fastened to her belt and contained Talking Rock medicine, scrapings from a rock found in a cave with a pronounced echo. That, along with other items in the bundle, protected Jo against Navajo witchery.

Jo circled the trading post, entering though the front entrance and quickly turning off the alarm. After cleaning her hands using a lotion made from a Game Way plant, she pulled on a pair of work gloves and opened the back door from the inside.

She removed the toad-skin pouch, then built a small fire in the gravel of the parking area and burned the artifact, being careful not to inhale the fumes. Holding an arrow point in her left hand, she carefully recited a prayer and concluded by throwing tiny bits of turquoise into the air.

Neither the Modernist police nor most of the trading post employees would really understand this kind of danger—but she did. It would be up to her to keep them safe, and that's precisely what she intended to do.

*   *   *

Leigh Ann made it to work just in time, apologized to Jo once again for losing her store keys, and made the changes in the display showcasing Melvin's work. By nine, she was finished. After studying the result for several seconds, she turned to her boss, subtly straightening her long, lavender broomstick skirt, which nearly reached the tops of her western boots. Today, with a Western-style blouse and a tooled leather belt, she was dressing the part of a trading post employee. She even wore a ponytail.

“What do you think, Jo?” she asked, anxious to show off her work.

“It's perfect,” Jo said. “Take a photo of it with your cell phone and send it to Sam. She asked me to collect images of all the displays and events at the store for our Web site.”

Leigh Ann did as she asked, then took up her station at the cash register. It was a slow morning and time dragged, with the only interruption being the coming and going of the locksmith, who was smooth and efficient during his half-hour visit.

Regina, across the big room, was lucky. She'd elected to straighten out the dairy cases and could, at least, keep moving.

She was surprised when the door opened to admit John, with Melvin right behind, holding his arm. Leigh Ann's heart quickened. As usual, Melvin turned slowly and smiled directly at her.

“Hi there,” she said, stepping up to him and taking his hand just as he was about to bump into a wire rack filled with cookie packets. “Let me lead you to your display. Everything's been carefully staged on a Burntwater Navajo rug woven in sand, gold, and white. It's very eye-catching. Your maquettes are on the center of the table on top of small wooden boxes of various heights.”

She guided his hand over them. “Photos of the finished pieces are placed next to each,” she added.

His touch was so light that nothing was displaced. As she watched him, her thoughts wandered, imagining his fingers touching her that gently, and her skin prickled. She stiffened. This was neither the time nor place to revisit any fantasy.

Leigh Ann mentally pulled herself together, adjusting her blouse, adding silent emphasis to her resolve. She saw a knowing smile on Jo's face and realized she'd given herself away.

“This was well thought out. Thanks for the care you took,” Melvin said, his voice softening just a little, but not too much.

Remembering what John had said about Melvin's cash-flow problem, she said, “This is going to give business a boost, for you and for us.”

“No rush. I have a special project in hand now and since it's very different from what I usually do, I'd like a little bit of time to settle into it.”

“Did I hear right?” Jo asked. “You're doing a new kind of sculpture?”

Melvin nodded. “I needed the challenge.”

“So what's your new project?” Jo asked.

He shook his head. “I don't want to talk about it yet. I need time to get a better feel for what it is I'm trying to create and what I want the sculpture to say.”

“Fair enough, but you'll bring it here first?”

He nodded. “You're the only retailer I deal with these days.”

“I know it's halfway to lunch now, Melvin, but have you had breakfast yet?” Leigh Ann asked.

“If you call a Coke and Hershey bar breakfast. We nearly ran out of gas and had to find a station in a hurry,” he said, and laughed.

“It wasn't a dire emergency, but I figured I better play it safe and not push it,” John said quickly.

“I don't know how you define ‘emergency' but I heard you curse the orange gas pump symbol, and that's a sign the truck's almost out of gas,” Melvin said, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Memory like an elephant,” John grumbled. “Yeah, that's true enough. But I can usually make it another fifteen or twenty miles. I … tested it once.”

Melvin burst out laughing. “That means you've run out of gas before. Where did that happen?”

“On that highway west of Morgan Lake. I had to hike six miles to the Chapter House to catch a ride,” he admitted grudgingly, then glanced up at the clock. “I'd better hurry. I'm meeting a man about a horse and I'm late. I'm sorry that I have to drop you off so early at the doctor's, Melvin, but they've got a comfortable waiting room so you'll be fine.”

“Melvin, if you'd like you could have a late breakfast here and we'll find someone to give you a ride later,” Jo said. “After all, you're one of our most talented artists. You're also welcome to pick up a breakfast burrito on the way out, John. They're fresh. My treat.”

“I'll take breakfast and the ride,” Melvin said.

“I'll be on my way then,” John said. “Thanks for the breakfast offer, Jo, but I'm good.” He nodded to Leigh Ann and hurried out.

Melvin chuckled as he heard the bell over the door. “I think I've pissed him off.”