Blackening Song (29 page)

“I’ll help you rebuild,” Wilson said, staring down the dirt road, an angry expression on his face.

Ella knew he’d noted there was
still no sign of a fire truck. “What do you think happened to them?” she asked softly. “I know it’s volunteer and all that—”

“You said it yourself. Volunteer. No one wants to come out here,” Wilson spat out. “They’ll probably say they didn’t get the message, or the truck wouldn’t start, or some excuse like that.”

In the kitchen, Rose retrieved the flashlight she kept hanging from a hook there.
“Fear is keeping them away, but they’re not to blame. The ones who are guilty are those who are taking our beliefs, twisting them, and using them for their own purposes.” With her back ramrod straight, she walked down the hall, the mutt by her side.

Wilson stared pensively at the smoke-damaged walls. “She’s right. What really angers me is that what happened here will play right into their hands.”

“What are you talking about? This wasn’t arson, not according to what my mom said.”

Wilson met Ella’s gaze. “Don’t you get it? If anything had happened to your mother,
you
could have been blamed.”

“How could I be blamed for an electrical fire—” Comprehension dawned slowly, filling her with horror. “You mean people would have thought I sacrificed my mother so I could become a skinwalker?”

Rose
came out into the living room. “That’s how they drove people away from your brother after your father’s death and the death of your newborn nephew. It could happen to you too.”

Ella glanced at her mother, then at Wilson. “I think we need to have the wiring checked. This may not have been an accident after all.”

“There’s something you’re not taking into account: their powers may be great, but
this is
my
home. They cannot enter here, nor touch me. My son and I have both seen to that.”

Ella walked along the hall, checking out the damage with Wilson’s flashlight. “It does seem like luck is on their side, doesn’t it?” But she didn’t believe in such coincidences. She stood by the soot-covered door of what had once been her room. Smoke, fire, and water had blackened everything, ruining
all her mementos of childhood. The quilted throws, the high school pennants, even her yearbooks were covered in black, oily water, or singed and charred. At least the interior of the closet on the far side of the room had been spared, along with her clothes and extra ammunition.

Rose came and stood beside her. “I’d say we proved that things are finally turning around for us. No one was hurt,
the fire was checked in time, and the damage, considering how bad it might have been, is slight. By the time we’re through redoing your room, it will fit the person you are now. The master bedroom will also be changed. The fire cleansed us of the past. Now it’s time to move forward.”

Ella hugged her mother tightly.

Wilson came down the hall holding a brightly lit gas lantern, two mops, and a
bucket. “No time like the present to start.”

*   *   *

Mercifully, it didn’t rain that night. Wilson had patched the roof, where the shingles were burned away, with boards and plastic, but it wouldn’t have held up against a driving summer rain. Ella and her mother slept in the living room, Ella in a sleeping bag that had once belonged to Clifford, Rose on the sofa. Ella was sure she’d never
be able to relax enough in the smoky room to get even a wink of sleep, but exhaustion made its own demands. She shut her eyes and knew nothing more until daylight.

The next morning, Wilson and Herman Cloud arrived with supplies and began the job of properly repairing the roof while Ella and Rose worked inside. The women started by removing the fire-damaged curtains, mattresses, and furniture.
As each treasured piece of her past was stacked in a pile, Ella felt as if a part of her heart was being discarded.

Ella untacked the Shiprock Chieftains banner and pulled it away from the charred surface of the wall. The felt disintegrated beneath her fingers, dropping to the floor in shreds.

She picked up the water-swollen remains of a high school photo and tossed it into the trash. She’d
spent so many years trying to disassociate herself from the past; why was she mourning it now? To her, the future had always been far more exciting and important.

Rose glanced around the room. “It’s looking so much better already! I think once the roof is patched and we get the room painted, it’ll be almost as good as new. Then we redecorate. Do you know what you want to do with the place?”

“You’ve always wanted a sewing room, Mom,” Ella said. “Maybe we should make my room over that way.”

“No, this is your room. That’s what it’ll always be, until you marry again.”

Ella laughed. “Plan on this being my room for a long time, then.”

Wilson knocked on the open door and came in. “The tar covered well, and should hold even if it rains this afternoon. We’ve repaired the windows and fixed
the door frames. Although the fire destroyed most of the wiring in your mother’s room, the rest wasn’t quite so bad. I’ve shut down the damaged circuits at the fuse box, so you can use the generator again. Herman had to leave, but he said he and his son-in-law could come back tomorrow if you needed him.”

Hearing a car approaching, Ella walked to the window. She shook her head in disgust. “
Now
we get an official presence,” she muttered. “It’s a tribal police unit.”

Wilson gave Ella a worried look. “More trouble, you think?”

“Probably more questions about what happened at the dance.”

The vehicle stopped out front. Peterson Yazzie climbed out and waited beside the car.

Ella walked to the porch and waved him inside. “What can I do for you?”

Peterson looked around, his eyes wide. “What
the heck happened here?”

Ella explained about the fire. “We called the fire department. No one showed up,” she said, leaving all emotion out of her words.

Peterson stared at her. “How could that…” His voice trailed off. “I’m going to make a few calls on my radio. I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

He returned to his unit and picked up the mike. Watching, Ella saw flashes of anger cross Peterson’s
features. At the moment, siding with her was a risky proposition, even for a tribal cop, yet he’d never hesitated. Peterson had turned out to be a staunch and loyal friend, more than she had a right to expect. Then again, maybe sharing a career in law enforcement—in addition to their tribal and family ties—
had
made a bond between them.

He returned several minutes later. “There’s no record of
your mother’s call. In fact, there were
no
calls to the fire station last night.”

Rose stood behind Ella. “When I called, I got the answering machine. I didn’t worry because I know it also rings at Harvey Ute’s home or Charley Kodaseet’s.”

Peterson shook his head. “I’m sorry. They claim they have no record of the call. The tape is blank.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Ella snapped. “Someone
erased the message.”

“Maybe,” Peterson answered, “but I can’t prove it, and neither can you. Without that, my hands are tied.”

She exhaled softly. “Well, everything’s under control now.”

Peterson glanced at Rose. “If there ever is a next time, or any emergency, ask for me. The dispatcher will pass along the message.”

“I’ll remember that,” Rose answered.

Wilson gave Peterson a long, pensive
look. “What brought you out here today?”

“Business,” Peterson said brusquely, then glanced at Ella. “Can I see you outside?”

“Sure.”

Peterson glanced at Wilson. “I may need to ask you a few questions later too.”

Wilson nodded. “I’ll be around.”

Ella watched the men. There was an animosity between them that she couldn’t quite understand, but it obviously went deep. She would have to ask about
it later.

Ella took Peterson into the shade of the tall old elm tree at the front of the house. “What’s on your mind?” she asked when they were alone.

“There’s lots of gossip going on about the dance last night,” he said succinctly, “but not when a cop shows up. People are even more afraid, now that a
hataalii
has been killed.”

“I figured as much.”

“Anything you saw, or would like to tell
me about?”

“Without a look at the medical examiner’s report, I don’t have an opinion. I only got close enough to see the blood on his chest.”

“Did you talk to him, either before the ceremony or during the dance?”

“No. The only person I spoke to was Herman Cloud. I actually only got there a few minutes before the shooting.”

Peterson kicked at a pebble by his boot. “In some ways that’s even
worse.”

“Yeah, I know. They’ll say our family brings only trouble.”

“Word of the fire here will get out too. Things are going to become very difficult for you, particularly since there have been some new developments in the case.”

“Like what?” she asked, struggling for a cool, professional detachment to mask her feelings. Finally she was going to get some answers, but from Peterson’s expression,
she wasn’t going to like what she heard. The tension in Peterson’s tone of voice made her want to shudder.

“This is difficult,” he admitted, “but I thought you should know.”

“I’m listening.” She wished she could shake him, make him stop drawing it out. Had something happened to Clifford?

“We found three bodies by the river, south of the old high school. Two were mutilated like your father’s
had been. The third died of gunshot wounds, a .30-.30 perhaps. Your brother owns a rifle of that caliber, doesn’t he?”

Ella remembered the shoot-out near the hogan. There was no doubt in her mind that their enemies had carried their dead to the river and dumped them there—after carving up the bodies. “Yeah, I’m sure my brother has a rifle of that caliber. So do three-fourths of the men on the
reservation!”

“Yeah, but only a handful know about mutilation specific to a medicine bundle.”

She tried to lead their conversation back to ground more familiar to her. “Have the bodies been identified?”

Peterson nodded. “That’s another piece of circumstantial evidence that also points to your brother. One of the men was Gene Sorrelhorse. Remember, I told you about him? He’s bad news, a self-styled
vigilante.”

She nodded. “He was one of the volunteers looking for my brother?”

“Once the news got around that Clifford was involved with witchcraft, Sorrelhorse decided to go after him. He’s been asking questions, searching for your brother, and driving around with a rifle. And now he’s dead.”

“You think they met, and my brother shot him?” She saw Peterson nod. “From the way you described Sorrelhorse,
what makes you think it wouldn’t have been self-defense?”

“I won’t know that, not until we find Clifford and ask him some questions.”

“Do
you
believe my brother is guilty of all they accuse him of doing?”

“No,” he answered slowly. “I’ve known your family a long time. But that’s not going to help. Blalock plans to get your brother—that’s no surprise. Although he alienates everyone he comes in
contact with, he also has good police instincts. He had us searching along the river. That’s how we found the bodies.”

She wanted to tell Peterson to look further north, near the mesas, until he found the hogan. Maybe, if he saw evidence of the assault on Clifford’s hiding place, he’d understand why her brother had to remain on the run. Yet she couldn’t say anything without revealing her own
complicity.

“I’m on your side. Remember that,” Peterson said. “But play it straight with me. If you learn where Clifford is, come to me first. I can make sure he’s safe, and that his rights aren’t trampled over. FB-Eyes is starting to get impatient, and I’m afraid he’ll start cutting corners soon.”

“How so? Any ideas?”

“No, not really, but I can’t see him sitting back, waiting for the case
to break.”

“No,” she admitted grudgingly, “neither can I.”

“Just be careful around Wilson Joe. I know you’re relying on him quite a bit.”

“Not as much as you might think,” she answered, deliberately being vague. “I keep hearing about his violent streak, but I haven’t seen any evidence of it.”

“It’s there, believe me. A few years ago, I came across him really beating up some guy in a parking
lot.”

“I heard. A relative?”

“His cousin.” Peterson shook his head. “And at the chapter house the other day, I understand he threw a boy out a door.” He grimaced, then shrugged. “Just watch out for yourself, okay?”

For a moment, Ella was uncertain how to respond, but she quickly recovered. Just yesterday, she’d warned Clifford to be cautious in trusting Wilson. Now Peterson was saying essentially
the same thing to her.

“I’ll be careful around him. Thanks,” she said. “On a different subject—have you received any reports about grave-robbing?”

“Sorry. We’ve been so busy with Blalock. I’ll try to ask around when I get back to the station.” Peterson checked his watch. “Tell your friend I may need to talk to him about last night. Right now I have to go to a meeting.”

Before she could say
good-bye, Peterson turned and left. Ella stood on the porch and watched Peterson walk to his car and drive away. A cloud of dust rose in the air behind him, and lingered there.

Rose came to stand beside her. “What did he have to say?”

“Peterson’s keeping me current on the investigation. He’s turned out to be a good friend to our family, Mom.”

Rose remained silent. “I don’t think Wilson would
agree.”

Ella nodded pensively. “There seems to be some bad blood between them. What do you think’s behind it?”

“You.” Rose chuckled softly at the surprised look on Ella’s face. “Wilson’s jealous.”

“No, you’re misinterpreting it. I’m sure of it.” Before she could argue the point further, Wilson came down from the roof and joined them.

“I bought some paint when I was in town. Do you want me
to give you a hand inside?”

“You’ve already done too much,” Rose said. “If my son had been here…”

“Look at it this way,” Wilson answered with a grin. “Back in high school, when I was caught writing on the wall with a marker, I had to repaint practically the whole school in punishment. Clifford helped me. Without him, I would have been at that all year. It’s a debt I never had a chance to repay
until now.”