Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries (15 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,W. Michael Gear

BOOK: Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries
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Catkin braced her legs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you won’t tell me when you’re leaving, I’ll go to Browser.”
Catkin picked up her war club and ran her fingers down the use-polished wood. Obsidian seemed to understand. She adopted a slight crouch, and Catkin felt the hairs on her neck prickle. She said, “The War Chief needs his sleep, Obsidian. Ask him tomorrow.”
“Beware, Catkin. He is
my
War Chief, too. I will speak with him when and if I wish to,” she said, and ducked beneath the door hanging.
Every muscle in Catkin’s body tensed. She knotted her gray blanket around her shoulders, hung her club on her belt, and walked out into the night after Obsidian.
She didn’t see her, which struck Catkin as odd. She looked down the third story toward Browser’s chamber. Obsidian couldn’t be inside. Browser would have deliberately kept her outside for a time while he dressed. Had she run back to her own chamber?
Catkin walked five rooms down the line and ripped the leather hanging to one side. “Obsidian?”
Obsidian raised herself from her blankets and blinked into the faint light cast by the embers in the
warming bowl. Tangled hair hung around her face. “What?” Her voice sounded sleepy.
Three other women, widows from Longtail village, slept in the same chamber with Obsidian. They lifted their heads, muttered something confused, and stared at Catkin.
Catkin whirled to look down at the stair-stepped roofs to her left, then beyond them into the plaza far below. What room had she ducked into?
Whose
room?
“Catkin?” Obsidian sounded disoriented. “What’s wrong?”
A cold lump settled in her gut. “May I speak with you?”
Obsidian nodded and rose. She wore only a cotton tunic against the cold. Obsidian fumbled for a rabbit-hide blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, before following Catkin out into the cold.
“Let’s go to my chamber where we may speak in private.”
They walked in silence, Catkin leading the way. She held the hanging to one side and gestured for Obsidian to go inside. She ducked through. Catkin followed her, studying the woman’s face in the better light cast by her warming bowl. The fabric in Obsidian’s shirt had been bunched under her smooth cheek; the impression of it could still be seen.
“Who is she?” Catkin asked. “The woman who was just here, pretending she was you.”
Obsidian shifted her bare feet against the cold floor. “I don’t understand.”
“A woman, I would have sworn it was you, was just here. She wanted to know the War Chief’s plans. Who is she?”
“I don’t—”
“Gods
curse
you!” Catkin thrust her club under Obsidian’s nose and shook it. “She looks exactly like you, but harder, something dangerous in her eyes. She was just in here, her hair washed, draped in turquoise.
You’ll tell me, Obsidian, or I’ll beat it out of you.”
Obsidian swallowed hard. “Catkin, truly, I don’t—”
Catkin’s hand shot out and clamped around Obsidian’s throat. She pushed the woman back against the plastered wall, tightening her grip as she leaned close to stare into those frightened eyes. “You do know, Obsidian. And you
will
tell me.”
“Browser … knows!” Obsidian choked and squirmed in panic as Catkin tightened her grip.
Finally, gasping and slamming her fists into Catkin, she nodded, and croaked, “Let go!”
Catkin released her.
Obsidian slumped against the wall, coughing and rubbing her throat. Tears leaked down her cheek as she sucked in relieved breaths. “Must have been … Shadow.”
Catkin straightened. Browser knew that Obsidian had a—a what? A twin sister? And didn’t tell her!
Obsidian saw the look on Catkin’s face and laughed, the sound hollow, mocking. “Be glad you thought she was me. She can sense things about people. If you’d reached for your club, she would have killed you.”
Catkin
had
reached for her club. “Killed me? With what? One of her turquoise necklaces?”
Obsidian watched her through glistening eyes. “You’re as good as dead and in her stew pot.”
Catkin brought up her club and briefly considered smacking the woman with the handle to beat some respect into her. “Why did she come to me?”
“She can’t go to Browser anymore. He knows.” Obsidian closed her eyes and just breathed for several instants. “Take care, Catkin. Everything you think about her is wrong.”
“Like what?”
Obsidian chuckled hoarsely. “Just like that night on the trail outside Aspen village. Do you know why she let you live? It was a simple convenience to her. She needed you to let Browser out of the kiva, that, and
they didn’t want to take a chance of alienating Browser before they could recruit him. If she’d murdered the woman Browser loves—”
“That’s what Springbank meant when he asked Browser to join them.” Catkin’s throat tightened. “How do they plan to recruit him?”
A flash of anger lit Obsidian’s eyes. “I don’t know! I think Shadow believes she can bring Browser to her bed, and once he’s there, he’ll never leave.”
“Then she’s a fool.”
“No, Catkin. She just doesn’t know Browser, and that’s the danger. If she really comes to know him, she will kill him.”
“Why do you care what happens to Browser?”
Obsidian stared up at her. “If you knew what he is, who he is, you could answer that yourself.”
Catkin’s eyes narrowed. She did know. In her dreams, she still heard Two Hearts shouting,
“For the sake of the gods, Browser! We shouldn’t be fighting! You are one of us. Join us and we will let your Made People friends live!”
Two Hearts was one of the First People. That meant Browser must be, as well, though he’d never told her so.
Catkin said, “You are one of the First People, aren’t you, Obsidian? That’s why you care about him? There are so few of you left. Why are you still here sullying yourself among the Made People. You could have run away with the White Moccasins.”
Obsidian lowered her hands and let them dangle at her sides. “I have my reasons.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do. Someone has to tell the White Moccasins what we’re doing, where we’re going, what our weaknesses are.”
Obsidian looked physically ill. “Gods, it was bad enough when you came trouping into our village. I had to see him every day. Why do you think I spent so much time locked away in my room? Why do you
think that no one suspected when
she
walked through the village dressed in
my
clothes?”
“He?”
Obsidian shook her head miserably. “If I tell you, I want your silence. If they find out, they’ll kill me.”
“Tell me what?”
She clenched her fists. “I can keep you alive, Catkin. Let me help you!”
“How can you help me?”
“I—I know things. I saw Shadow earlier today. Two Hearts told her to come to me. He wants me. He has ordered Shadow to bring me to him.” She sank against the door frame and started shivering. But was it cold, or fear?
“Is that why you looked so frightened in the kiva this morning?”
“I know that you and Browser are going after him. What if … what if I could take you to him?”
Catkin stepped back and eyed the woman. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it might be the only way I can stay alive! If I don’t go. to him, he’ll have me killed here, or wherever I run to. It won’t matter. There’s no place I can hide.”
“Why would Two Hearts want to kill you? You’re one of the First People. One of his own.”
Obsidian wet her lips, and inhaled a halting breath. “He wants my heart, Catkin. Now do you understand?”
From the window of his twenty-second-floor room, Dusty could see his office. The parking lot was empty, but less than eight hours ago, he’d been ten feet from Dale’s murderer. Ten feet. He couldn’t get that out of his mind.
He turned and the afternoon sunlight cast his shadow across Agent Nichols, where he sat at the table examining
his notebook. The man’s horn-rimmed glasses sat low on his nose, as though he needed to peer over them when he read.
The only time Dusty got to stay in hotels this nice was at professional meetings when they gave him the conference rate. Tonight the federal government was buying the room. Agent Nichols didn’t want him loose to roam the streets. Which was probably a wise choice, given that Dusty kept swinging between murderous rage and a sincere longing to crawl into a hole and fall to pieces. A good imagination was crucial for a competent field archaeologist, and Dusty kept imagining how Dale felt as the drill cut into his scalp and skull. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the vibrations and pain buzzing through Dale’s head. But how did he comprehend the actual horror of having that happen?
He ran a hand through his blond hair. He could see Dale’s soft brown eyes looking at him over the years. Dusty had never told Dale that he loved him. It had been forbidden to speak of love in their male bond of an adoptive father-and-son relationship. Another of the odious bits of baggage he owed Ruth Ann Sullivan. When she left Samuel Stewart and sent him on the one-way road to the mental ward and the final desperate act of killing himself, she hadn’t even said good-bye to Dusty. For years, his little boy brain had been certain she still loved him and would come back for him someday. When she hadn’t, the word “love” became synonymous with “betrayal.”
I’ll never be able to tell you, Dale, how lucky I was to have you for a father.
When he looked up, Agent Nichols was watching him with a guarded expression.
The card with
el basilisco
on it had been FedExed to the FBI lab in Virginia. Technicians would be poring over it first thing in the morning.
“You really are going to stay here, right?” Nichols asked.
Dusty glanced at the door to Maureen’s adjoining room. “Are you absolutely positive this is necessary?”
Nichols shrugged. “You tell me. You insist that you don’t have a clue who this Wolf Witch is? Fine, maybe you don’t. But maybe the Wolf Witch doesn’t want to take that chance. Maybe he’s waiting for you up in Santa Fe with his battery-operated drill.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll sleep better knowing that.”
“Good. I just want you to wake up alive. Look, if everything checks out, we’ll get you out of here tomorrow. Okay?”
“Sure,” Dusty said as he sat down in the opposite chair. “Nichols, I really need to know exactly where Dale’s body was found. Can you tell me that?”
“Chaco Culture National—”
“I mean
where
in Chaco?”
“I don’t know. Some ruins. Why? Is that important?”
Dusty replied, “It might be.”
“Well, I could take the time to look that up, but I think it’s more important to get our profilers to work on the murderer. We need to know what type of personality we’re dealing with here.”
Dusty shook his head. “You’re thinking Western, Nichols. You have to think Indian. Dale went to the Casa Rinconada parking lot for a reason, and he was buried near that ruin—I suppose in one of the Small House sites—for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“I won’t have a clue until you tell me which site.” Dusty crossed his arms over his aching chest. “Do you have a number for the site?”
“All right, I’ll play along. According to the crime scene report Dr. Robertson was found in a site called Bc60. Does that mean anything to you?”
“One of the old UNM sites?” Dusty looked at Nichols, confused. “What was Dale doing up there? Nobody’s touched those sites since 1942. Him going up there, that just doesn’t make sense.”
Nichols was still giving him that evaluative look. “Mr. Stewart, who is Dr. Robertson’s beneficiary?”
Dusty looked at him blankly, trying to shift mental gears. “I have no idea. I guess I am. I think there’s a will in his records. I know that Dale has a sister still living back East. They used to talk occasionally.” He cocked his head quizzically. “It just never came up. Why?”
“Did he have insurance?”
“I think so, I remember … wait a minute. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just asking.” Nichols lowered his voice. “You knew Dale better than anyone alive. Who could have hated him enough to do this to him? Think about it.”
For no apparent reason, tears tightened Dusty’s s throat, and he hated it. He had to swallow hard before he could speak. “I
have
been thinking! Nobody hated Dale enough to do this.”
“Prominent men generally have enemies, and Dr. Robertson was one of the most prominent men in his field.”
Dusty just shook his head. “This isn’t about academics, Agent Nichols. I’ve racked my brain but I can’t come up with anyone in the field who’d murder Dale in this way. This is something else.”
Nichols picked up his notebook and rose to his feet. “Please, don’t leave the room without letting us know. Lock the door after I leave. I’m one door down. If anyone knocks on your door, even if you order room service”—he pointed to the phone—“you call me ASAP. You don’t open that door until you see me through the peephole. Understand?”
“Right. Yeah.”
Nichols gave him a cold stare. “The person who left the basilisk note on your Bronco knew you’d be there. He did that specifically to send you a message. You know why he did that?”
“Why?”
Nichols peered at him over his glasses. “He’s thinking maybe you know who he is, and he wants you to know he can find you anytime he wants to. Get it?”
Dusty drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I get it”
“Good,” Nichols said softly. “Have a nice night.” He closed the door behind him.

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