The Shaman Laughs (18 page)

Daisy Perika stumbled and slipped and grunted and tripped, but she did not pause. When she finally reached the cliff overhang, it seemed that her pounding heart might stop. The shaman fell on her side by the old brush shelter that she had used for long meditations and special visions. Now that she was safe, the lightning struck once, then twice, along the talus slope, exploding a juniper into splinters. "Thank you,
tona-pagay
," the shaman gasped, "thank you for giving me time."

When she could breathe easily, Daisy crawled inside the willow structure and carefully emptied the contents of the plastic shopping bag on the sandy floor. Kitchen matches in a waxed box, a wool blanket, canned peaches, stale lard biscuits—it was all there, and remarkably dry. There was an armload of firewood remaining from her last sojourn in the cliff hideaway; she scraped dry bark from a juniper branch with her thumbnail and lit this tinder with a wooden match. The flames sprinkled her face with dancing flashes of amber light, the warmth on her hands and knees was wonderful. Gradually, Daisy began to feel better and to consider her predicament. If she had stopped after Arlo Night-bird fell off the porch, she would have been safe from the law. But once the crowbar left her hand, everything had changed. When the police came, there would be indisputable evidence of her crime. There would be no way out. She would be sent to jail, never again to see her sweet home at the mouth of
Canon del Espiritu
.

The shaman bowed her head and pressed her palms against closed eyes. Nothing good would come of this day's work. Daisy pulled the blanket over her tired body; she immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. A sleep that not even the booming thunder would disturb.

Jojo Tonompicket paused on the deer path and nodded toward his brother. "Archie… you hear that?"

The other young Ute leaned on his antique Springfield 30.06 and listened. "Yeah. I bet it's Uncle Homer. He finds us out here with these rifles, there'll be hell to pay and then some." Archie was a born worrier. "He'll take our guns and throw us in jail."

JoJo nodded. "Yeah, he'd do that sure enough." Homer Tonompicket took his job very seriously. Just a couple of years ago, the tribal game warden had caused comment when he arrested his brother-in-law for keeping two cutthroats over the limit. But then Homer wasn't too fond of his brother-in-law. "Don't sound like Homer's truck," Jojo whispered. He moved behind a juniper and waited until he could see the battered GMC pickup lurching along the rutted lane.

Archie dropped to one knee and watched. "Comin' out of
Canon del Espiritu
. Movin' right along, too."

JoJo grinned. "Faster'n first-class mail." It was five hundred yards, but he recognized the old pickup with the loose tail pipe. "Wonder why old Gorman's haulin' ass in such a big hurry?"

Scott Parris was drifting through a strange dream. Daisy Perika, who was much younger in this fantasy orchestrated by stressed neurons, had prepared a picnic lunch and packed it in a basket. They walked together, hand in hand, deep into
Canon del Espiritu
. He spread a red and white checkered oilcloth onto a flat spot under a large cotton-wood by the stream bed. Fat speckled trout darted through the rolling green waters. Daisy opened the basket and displayed its contents with pride; it was rilled with acorns. "Eat one," she said urgently, "and you'll be given the Answer, eat two and you'll understand the Question." Parris desperately wanted to understand these mysteries. He bit into the soft pulp of a plum-sized acorn. It was terribly bitter. "That didn't help," he told Daisy, "I don't understand anything. I don't understand why my wife had to die, why Anne must be so far away." The young version of Daisy laughed and blew him a kiss.

Parris awoke to the sound of thunder and blinked into the half-light. It took him a moment to realize that this was not his familiar bedroom in Granite Creek. He was in Ignacio, the tricultural city in the center of the patchwork Southern Ute Reservation. On the ground floor of the Sky Ute Motel.

On a firm mattress, under a heavy orange quilt. He rolled off the bed and pushed the curtains away from the window. He blinked and gazed upward. The crystal blue was gone this morning; the sky was low, sodden, and uncharacteristically gray. Ominously gray. As he watched, a few drops of rains splattered on the cement walkway in the courtyard. The intermittent drops gradually multiplied into a light shower; within seconds a heavy gray rain was falling in vertical sheets. The drops stuck to the window like porridge and seemed to coagulate, as if the rain had turned to blood. This was a bizarre observation; he mustn't be fully awake. He ran his hand through his thinning hair and wondered whether it was raining in Bethesda, where Anne had her apartment. He glanced at his watch; it was two hours later in the District of Columbia; she would have been at work for some time by now. Probably interviewing Very Important People, people who made things happen. Senators. Handsome senators. Rich handsome senators. He wondered if Anne ever wondered about him. And cared about what he was doing. And with whom. As if in mocking answer, thunder rumbled a low, hearty laugh directly over the Sky Ute Motel. He didn't like the sound.

Parris was brushing his teeth when Moon pounded on the door and boomed out in a voice that reverberated between the walls. "Up and at 'em, partner. Time to do some police work!"

They were pulling into Angel's gravel parking lot when the dispatcher's voice crackled over the short-wave radio. "Car three-thirty-nine. Charlie?" She waited. "You there Charlie?"

Moon picked the microphone off the dashboard hook and pressed the key. "What's on your mind, Nancy?"

"Just had a call from Emily Nightbird. Wants you to come by and see her."

"Urgent?"

"Don't think so," Nancy replied. "She said to come over at eleven."

"I'll check it out." Moon hung the mike onto its hook.

"You must be happy," Parris said sarcastically, "this call won't interfere with your breakfast."

Moon's face wore a puzzled look. "Breakfast can wait. Let's go see what she wants."

Moon parked the Blazer under the branches of a huge elm and switched off the ignition. He nodded toward a black Honda parked in the broad asphalt driveway. "That belongs to Doc Anderson."

Parris raised an eyebrow. "He makes house calls?"

"For the Nightbirds," Moon muttered bitterly, "we all make house calls."

A uniformed maid opened the door and frowned at the policemen. Moon removed his hat; Parris followed suit. "Emily called," Moon said, "said she wanted to—"

"Mrs. Nightbird"—the maid emphasized the proper address for her employer—"doesn't expect you until eleven." She waited to see if they would leave. They would not. "Come have a seat in the parlor," she said through thin lips.

They followed the maid to a room filled with massive Spanish furniture. The couch looked like it would support a Buick. Moon sat; he seemed lost in thought. Parris wandered into the hall and glanced into the library just in time to see the physician withdraw a syringe from Emily's arm. He ducked back into the parlor. "Doctor just gave her a shot" The physician passed in the hall, noticed the policemen, then hurried through the front door without speaking. The maid appeared; with a subtle nod, she indicated that they should follow.

Emily blinked uncertainly at the policemen. The delicate woman was pressing a piece of cotton against her forearm. "My doctor…just gave me an injection to help me relax. I've not been sleeping well." She glanced at the mother-of-pearl face on the grandfather clock. "I didn't expect you until eleven." Visitors should arrive precisely on time. Early was worse than late.

Moon looked at the hat in his hands. "Well, we have some other things on our plate, have to stop by when we can." The Ute had no intention of being summoned like a servant.

Emily understood that this early arrival was his way of informing Mrs. Nightbird that her husband didn't own the tribal police. She smiled weakly at Parris. "I'm sorry Cecelia had so much trouble getting blood from your arm. It must have been rather painful, all that poking around with the needle."

Parris grinned foolishly. "Stuff like that don't bother me." This woman smelled wonderful, and her lovely brown eyes were so… so enormous!

Moon shuffled his big feet and nervously shifted his weight from one leg to another. "What can we do for you, Emily?"

"It is a rather personal matter," she said carefully.

"Look," Parris said, feeling more than ever like an outsider, "if you two would rather discuss this alone…"

"No," Emily said wearily, "that won't be necessary. It's nothing that will surprise this community." A moist hint of tears glistened in her soft brown eyes. She sat down. As her green silk skirt slipped well above her knees, Parris couldn't help but notice that she had attractive legs. Very attractive legs indeed. He averted his gaze to a bad painting of yellow aspens in a cherry frame. How long had Anne been away in Washington? A few days, or a few weeks?

"This," she continued hesitantly, "is somewhat embarrassing for me."

Moon nodded. And waited.

"It's Arlo," she said. "He didn't come home last night. Or," she added with a sigh, "the night before."

Moon looked at his boots and cleared his throat. It was his turn to be embarrassed. "I don't know quite how to say this, but…"

"I know," she said quickly, "my husband often vanishes for days. I know where he goes, the awful things he does, and I know everybody in Ignacio gossips about it behind my back." She jutted her chin defiantly. "I've learned to live with that. But this is different. He's been working very hard lately, on that proposal to use
Canon del Espiritu
for storage of nuclear waste. It's all he talks about, all that's on his mind."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Moon said confidently, "he'll show up in a couple of days. Always does." With his tubes all cleared out.

"My husband, despite the appearance of spontaneity, plans his 'disappearances' well in advance," Emily said stiffly. "His little flings never interfere with business. Not ever."

"And," Parris said, "he had some special business planned?"

"Indeed," Emily said, "early this morning, he was to meet with an official from the federal government's Commercial Nuclear Waste Agency. I'm certain that Arlo, no matter what he was up to, would show up at the Economic Development Board offices to greet this visitor. He didn't. She called here at nine-fifteen, wanted to know where he was. So you see, this is different. Nothing could have kept Arlo away from that meeting, unless… that's when I called your office. Your dispatcher… Nancy Beyal said she'd get in touch with you. I'm so happy you came—I don't know what to do."

"When," Parris asked, "was the last time you saw Mr. Nightbird?"

Emily patted her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Parris resisted an absurd fantasy of taking tüis delicate woman in his arms and comforting her. "Arlo left right after breakfast. Day before yesterday. We had dinner reservations at the Strater."

"That's a fancy watering hole," Parris said. "Special occasion?"

"Our wedding anniversary," Emily attempted, without success, to smile. "When he didn't show up, I called his EDB office but there wasn't any answer. Then, I called the insurance agency; Herb Ecker said Arlo had left."

Moon scribbled a few notes. "Wouldn't expect Arlo to miss his anniversary celebration." It was a polite lie. "Did Herb know where Arlo was?"

"Herb wouldn't… didn't tell me." Emily pressed little fingertips against her temples in a vain attempt to fight off the first waves of a migraine. Parris noticed that her nails were bitten off to the quick.

Moon pocketed his notebook. "We'll stop by and see Ecker. I'll be in touch soon as we learn something."

Moon was in the squad car, notifying the dispatcher about his plans to search for Arlo Nightbird, but Parris lagged behind. "I wouldn't worry. Nine out of every ten missing persons turn up perfectly safe, with a reasonable explanation for their disappearance." Well, maybe five out of ten.

Emily took his hand and squeezed it. Parris felt a sensation like an electric shock ripple along his arm. "You're so very kind," she said softly. She was still holding his hand when Moon poked his head in the doorway. "You done here yet, Chief?"

Parris blushed and made a hurried departure. He was certain that Emily Nightbird had hesitated, ever so slightly, to release his hand. Just a little. Maybe. He pretended not to notice the wide grin splitting Moon's face.

"Must be rough on you with Anne so far away," Moon observed with pretended compassion as they slogged through the rain toward the squad car. "I got this third cousin I could introduce you to. Never has had a boyfriend, and she's about your age. Only drawback," the Ute said, "is she's kind of muscular and has this little mustache. Best thing, though, she's not a
married
woman."

"No wonder," Parris said, "sounds like she's twice the man that you are."

Moon chuckled as he slid under the wheel. "Let me fix you up with a date, then you can tell me."

The big Ute was getting to be a sharp pain in the ass, but he was right. It was time to call Anne. First thing this eve-ning. To hell with this temporary job with the Ute cops. He'd grab the first plane to Washington.