A Stolen Chance (14 page)

“Right.” Susan hopped out at the vehicle’s side door and waved. “See you at breakfast.”

She strode to her cabin to get ready for bed. Hans waited at the door. He chuffed in welcome, and she scratched his ears. “I kinda like having a roomie, boy.” She unlocked the door, then turned and surveyed the vast expanse stretching behind the cottages. It’d be so easy for someone to be hiding there, but the dog hadn’t alerted on anything. Her gaze returned to Hans. “Have you taken care of business, boy?” He yipped and scratched once on the door. She guessed that was a yes.

Inside, Hans scoured every corner of the room, checking for intruders. Satisfied the area was secure, he went to his bowls to see if she’d added a treat since he’d last checked. Carson had warned her Hans would con her into extra food if he could, but assured her a dog bone on occasion wouldn’t hurt him. Hans cocked his head, looking at her in question.

“Oh, all right. After all, you are working. Protecting me, aren’t you, boy?”

A yip answered her. She lifted a dog biscuit from the box Carson had brought over and tossed it to Hans. He caught it in midair and wolfed it down in seconds before trotting over to the rug beside the door.

She and Carson had returned from Albuquerque two days ago. No one figured Dewayne would make a move immediately if her location leaked, so Captain Farley had time to find someone to visit Siesta and help Carson. Even the best snitch system took a couple of hours, possibly a day or two, to spread the word. Plus Dewayne would need travel time. Of course, if he was in the neighborhood, that didn’t bode well for her, but she doubted he had a clue she’d escaped to the west.

Her new cell phone sat on her makeshift desk beside her computer. She glanced at the time on the clock radio beside the bed. Ten p.m. Even considering the different time zone, her folks might still be up, but she didn’t want to chance waking them. It’d been wonderful to talk to them again. Who’d have thought stodgy old Detective Haney could be so thoughtful as to help her connect with her parents. Susan bet her mother would keep the man supplied with baked goodies for a year.

As soon as Dewayne was caught, the elder Lawtons would be visiting Siesta to personally thank Carson, Leona, and Buck for taking their daughter under their wing. Susan settled into bed, imagining what her mother’s reaction would be when she met Carson. Would she notice the attraction between them? Without a doubt she would. Her mother had already asked probing questions, most of which Shannon did her best to avoid answering. Shannon would like to have the answers herself. The appeal was there, but neither she nor Carson knew where it would lead.

Before she knew it, the week was over. Dewayne hadn’t shown himself, so Captain Farley felt confident neither his department in Albuquerque nor the one in Chicago had leaked Shannon’s whereabouts. He called the two officers back to Albuquerque.

Her days settled into a routine of jogging before breakfast, with Carson at her side and Hans loping ahead to blaze a trail. Then Hans would circle around behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed. The dog’s ability to understand Carson’s commands fascinated her. She knew animals were smart, but she’d had no idea of their full potential.

After breakfast, and Carson’s early shift at the café, they drove to a field outside of town where the locals had set up a shooting range. Bulldozed earth made a berm to stop stray bullets. Distances were paced off, a big board set up where patrons could staple their targets, and covered pavilions protected participants from the weather.

Carson put her through a series of exercises to increase her response time. His praise was hard won. She had to admit she’d never make a good cop, but her skills grew little by little. Hopefully she’d be prepared if she ever came face-to-face with Dewayne.

****

Frustration gnawed at Dewayne. His sources at the Chicago PD hadn’t been able to ferret out any information on Susan’s location from the detectives on the case. They’d learned the two had flown to Albuquerque and talked to a Captain Farley, but nothing else. Tight-lipped bastards. When he’d asked how they’d gotten his DNA at Leo’s mansion, his contact had actually laughed. “You fool. Don’t you know you can be traced by most body fluids?” Dewayne still heated at the memory. At least he didn’t still suspect Leo for ratting him out.

Loaded down with his few grocery items, beer and sandwich makings, he stood in line, growing more impatient by the minute. Ahead of him, a little old lady, squeezed into a floral stretchy pantsuit, fumbled around in her change purse for three damn pennies. “I know they’re in there.” She poured the contents of the faded and cracked pocketbook onto the counter.

Dewayne rolled his eyes and turned to see if another checker was free. His eyes lit briefly on a “rag” magazine. He snorted in disgust at the headline—
Cop is a Child Murderer
. Every fool knew cops were as guilty of crimes as ordinary folks. The accompanying picture showed a dark-haired man, apron tied around his waist, hand raised in anger. A woman sat alone at a table behind him, her eyes round, mouth dropped with what he supposed was shock. Something about her... He grabbed the magazine off the rack.
Well, I’ll be dammed.

“You ready, mister?” The clerk jerked back at his grin. It was all Dewayne could do not to jump into the air, click his heels, and yell.

He straightened his face and laid his items on the counter, the rag on top. “Sure am.”

After paying, he rushed to his vehicle and scanned the front page, flipped to page eight for the full story. Siesta Motel and Café in New Mexico. She might be long gone, but maybe someone would remember what she’d been driving. Hell, maybe she blabbed to one of the locals about her next destination. Not likely, but who knew? Susan would make a mistake, and he’d be there to show his love.

His belly jumped when he blurted out a hearty laugh. For some reason his body’s response tickled him, and he roared with laughter. He chuckled all the way to his motel. Tomorrow he’d be on his way to Siesta. Might even take a room there and let folks become comfortable with his presence.

****

Shannon sat on the sofa in Carson’s warm cabin, feet curled up beneath her, reading a book on Zuni fetishes. His cottage was slightly bigger than hers, but hers was more attractive, in her opinion. It might be due to the dark paneling that lined the walls, a decorating trend of the 1970s. Carson carried a box in and placed it on the coffee table, then sat down beside her.

He threw an arm over her shoulders, cuddled her close, and leaned in to peer at the book. He tilted the book to see the cover. “I haven’t seen this in ages. Where’d you find it?”

“On the bookshelf in your bedroom.” She tapped a page. “It says here that fetishes are usually not signed, as it violates their communal purpose. So how on earth do you know who carved them?” Many were so small it would be hard to etch a name on them without disturbing their artistic image.

“Most artists believe their work is unique enough to be easily identifiable. Signing them is a modern trend initiated by tourism. Until tourism became a big part of the Zuni economy, there were very few fetish artists. Now there are close to three hundred or so.”

She remembered from their earlier discussion that he’d said a carving had to be blessed before it was really a fetish. “How are they blessed?”

“The Zuni are a very religious people. The pueblos come together during the winter solstice. There, during a Zuni medicine ceremony, the fetishes are sanctified. Then they are sacred.”

“Do they has less value as just carvings?”

“As pieces of art, they’re of importance to their owner, but if blessed, then they’re imbued with spiritual influence.” Yeah, she understood that, but the idea of a little object having power boggled her mind. It was hard for her to swallow.

“I know it’s hard for individuals who didn’t grow up with Native American traditions to understand, but we believe fetishes aid us in a number of ways.”

He flipped the pages of the book back to the beginning, where several examples of primitive carvings were displayed. “Tribal possession carvings handed down hundreds of years ago were believed to have been real animals that were petrified into stone beings.”

“That’s hard for the average person to believe.” At least it was for her, anyway.

“Of course, but not for the Zuni. Remember, I’m talking about the ancient fetishes, those that were rectangular pieces of stone shaped into animal forms, not the commercial ones you see so many of in shops today.” He tapped a picture of an early carving. If not for their names below the pictures, she wouldn’t be able to identify the animals. She fingered the bear at her breasts and lifted it to study. It was easy to recognize as a white bear.

“Many blessed fetish owners have seen marvels occur in their lives—cures for cancer and other miracles that have been attributed to the spirit within the carving. And because the owner believed in the fetish’s ability.”

Shannon touched the bear again. “Do you think this one has been blessed?”

“Of course. Mr. Zeekya wouldn’t have given it to you otherwise.”

“Okay. Good.”

“But you must accept its power as true.”

Could she believe? No doubt she’d felt a tingle when she clasped it in her hand. She’d give it more thought. She sat up and pulled the box closer. “Let’s see what’s in this. Maybe today we’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Carson removed a pocket knife and carefully slit the packing tape. He lifted the contents—several shirt boxes, a photo album filled with newspaper clippings, and a cigar box. He tossed the empty box on the floor.

Shannon rubbed her hands in glee. “I think we’ve hit pay dirt. There has to be something of interest here.”

Thirty minutes later, they had a picture of Carson’s great-grandmother and great-grandfather on their wedding day, along with their marriage certificate. Odd, they’d not been married on one of the reservations but at a justice of the peace’s office in Gallup, New Mexico.

Carson held the photo. “So, Lily’s maiden name was Luna.”

****

Mr. Zeekya’s call the next day caught Carson by surprise as he stood at the grill flipping burgers. George handed him the phone and took the spatula from his hand. “Mr. Rhodes. I’ve discovered your great-grandmother’s name. The tribal elders would like to meet with you about your ancestor and the disappearance of a set of communal fetishes in 1930.”

Shocked, Carson didn’t know what to say other than, “I’ll be there tomorrow.” Zeekya’s words echoed in Carson’s mind.
The disappearance of a set of communal fetishes.
Items Carson knew were highly valued property of the tribe. No. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t believe any ancestor of his would steal anything, much less something of such important tribal value. There had to be another explanation. He’d try not to jump to conclusions until he heard the facts.

Shannon agreed to come with him to the Zuni reservation. For one thing, he didn’t want to leave her alone at the motel, in case Holt showed up. Plus, he enjoyed having her company. Due to lack of motels in the area, they would camp in her van at an RV park in Black Rock.

Shannon reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know it sounds bad, Carson, but there could be a simple, innocent explanation. Their missing set may not be the one your great-grandfather had.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but not likely. A set like they’re talking about is very rare. I doubt there would be two of them.”

“I guess. But, you had nothing to do with it.”

He knew that, but the knowledge didn’t ease his distress. And if the set disappeared in 1930, why were they just now hearing about it?

Mr. Zeekya met them at his shop and rode with them, giving directions to an elder’s home. Inside, a small group of men and women waited. Mr. Zeekya motioned for them to sit down and then introduced people in the room. “This is Mr. Peña. He will conduct the meeting.”

Carson nodded.

The older gentleman’s dark eyebrows contrasted starkly with his silver hair and deeply lined face. “Mr. Rhodes, we appreciate you coming today.” He turned to Shannon. “And you, Miss Langley. We look forward to hearing about your meeting with Mr. Riley.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Now, let’s get right to the point. We believe the set of fetishes you are trying to find are the ancient holy ceremonial collection that disappeared from here in 1930.”

He lifted the old pottery jug on the coffee table. “This is the container in which they were housed. You’re aware of why there is an opening here?” He pointed to the hole in the side of the jar.

Carson leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He resisted the urge to pop his knuckles. “Yes. So they can eat when nourishment is provided.”

“Ah, good. You are knowledgeable about our beliefs.”

“I’ve done some studying on the subject. My grandfather introduced me to Zuni fetishes when I was a boy.” He studied the somber faces around him. “What makes you think your set and mine are one and the same?”

The oldest woman in the room spoke up. “Because, Nephew, I saw my older sister, Lily Luna, take them before she ran away with your great-grandfather, John Riley.”

Chapter Fourteen

Carson snapped his gaping mouth shut. This woman was his great-aunt. “I am honored to meet you, Aunt...”

Her ancient face crinkled, her dark eyes glistening with what Carson feared might be moisture. “Nona.” She wiped a tear away from her face with the back of her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you at last.”