Desert Wind (6 page)

“It’s good for you.”

“I’m healthy enough.”

His scowl disappeared into a grin that softened even my own crusty heart. “You are so self-destructive.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Listen, there’s nothing going on here that I can’t handle myself, so why don’t you drive back to Scottsdale and take care of business.”

“Murder
is
my business.” The minute I said it, I realized how melodramatic it sounded, so I added, “And so is bailing my partner out of the pokey.”

“That’s all well and good, but who’s taking care of the office?”

Now
he worries. “You know as well as I do that nothing much happens this time of year. But the calls are being transferred over to Jean Begay. As for walk-ins, we never get them.”

“We did one time.”

“Remember how that turned out?”

His grin widened. “That lawsuit was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Not to mention the money we wound up collecting.”

“Bought me a new truck.”

“Bought me a new wardrobe.”

He laughed out loud, making heads turn again. “Oh, yeah. More black jeans, black tee shirts, and two pair of black Reeboks. You’re some fashion plate, Lena.”

From the counter, the redhead threw him a flirtatious look. The girl’s clear eyes and perky step hinted that she wasn’t dysfunctional enough for him, so I resisted the urge to play Cupid and plunged back into business.

“I’m not going away, Jimmy, so you might as well fill me in on what you’ve learned so far.”

“Outside.” With a sigh, he stood up and tossed his empty cup into the trash container. I took a final chug at my smoothie and did the same. The thing had been too sweet for me, anyway.

As we left the shop, two customers I recognized from the restaurant last night exited several paces behind us. Mr. and Mrs. Tosches. He sported an especially vulgar Rolex and his child bride’s diamond ear studs had to be at least a carat each. They moved down the sidewalk a few paces, where the man pretended to be fascinated by a display in the hardware store window next door, and the woman kept batting her eyelashes at Jimmy.

“Let’s go someplace less crowded,” I murmured to Jimmy. “We’ve got an hour to go before we can see Ted.”

After a pause long enough to make me nervous, he finally said, “You staying at the Covered Wagons?”

At my nod, he told me he’d meet me there.

Ten minutes later we were sitting at the card table in my motel room, where it was considerably more private. From Jimmy’s body language, he didn’t think much of the decor, especially not the framed photographs of Paiute Indians. Their faces bore a trapped look, as if they’d knew their life had irrevocably changed, and not for the better.

To get his mind off racial memories that had to be humiliating, I said, “That couple who followed us outside seemed pretty interested in our conversation. Mr. and Mrs. Tosches, right?”

He turned away from the photographs. “Apparently you’ve already been busy snooping around, but yeah, Ike Donohue—the man Ted’s accused of killing—he worked for Tosches.”

“Could there have been some sort of disagreement between them?”

“Anything’s possible except Ted’s guilt.”

From past experience, I knew that given the right motivation, anyone was capable of killing. Mothers killed to protect their children, husbands to protect their families. Even children killed. When I was nine, I’d tried to kill the foster father who raped me. Unfortunately, my knife hadn’t gone deep enough.

Skipping the pop psychology lecture, I said, “We both know that this ‘material witness’ thing is a precursor to an arrest. The authorities must have a strong suspicion that Ted killed Donohue, but haven’t collected enough evidence yet. Why are you so certain he didn’t do it?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Because he told me he didn’t.”

“Oh, well, that proves it.”

He glared at me, but said nothing.

“You’re going on your feelings, is that it?”

The glare didn’t go away.

“Okay, then, Jimmy. Maybe you can tell me what Ted said he was doing at the time of the murder. That’s if he told you anything at all, other than protest his innocence.”

Grudgingly, he said, “He said he was driving around, thinking.”

“About what?”

“Things.”

“Is there any chance someone saw his car? With him in it?”

“Truck, not car. A blue half-ton Silverado. If anyone saw him, they haven’t come forward.”

“What a great alibi.” The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back. My partner didn’t need wisecracks, he needed help. “Sorry. I’m still cranky from the drive up here. But if we’re going to get Ted out of jail, we need to come up with something more concrete than a ‘just driving around’ kind of story.”

His glare finally faded, replaced by a look of despair. Whoever said Indians didn’t show emotion never knew an Indian. “I know, Lena, I know. I tried to get him to say more, but he’s not talking. He won’t even talk to Dad. Dad tried to get him to open up, and when Dad tries to…”

Jimmy had seldom discussed his adoptive family other than to say his parents were good people who had given him and his likewise adopted siblings every opportunity, including college educations. I knew he and his adoptive mother had been close, but she’d died some years earlier. I also knew Jimmy and his father didn’t get along.

“Speaking of your father, what’s the deal with staying at the Desert View Motel instead of the guest ranch? Even though you two are estranged, surely he’d be more than happy to let you bunk there so you can spend time with your brothers and sisters. They must be upset about Ted’s situation, too.”

Jimmy didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked up at the largest of the framed photographs on the motel room wall. It showed a large Paiute family, the mother wrapped in a shawl, the father holding a bow. One of the half-dozen children clutched a puppy. Instead of smiling for the birdie, they looked guarded. Perhaps they already knew that soon their children would be taken from them and shipped off to boarding schools, and that for the rest of their lives, they would be treated like aliens in their own land. Did I detect a gleam of sympathy in my partner’s eyes? Or was it anger?

When he turned back to me, he’d wiped all emotion away and his voice was level. “No point in staying at the ranch. Besides the disabled kids, Leilani’s the only one still living there, and even she’s headed back to college in a couple of weeks. As for the others, time marches on, right? Some started their own businesses; some are married and busy with their own families. As for Dad, the less said about him the better.”

“So you two are still having problems.”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

In other words, his relationship with his father was none of my business. “Then I’m glad to hear the situation isn’t all that dire. If I’m going to be of any use to Ted, I need to find out as much about his situation as possible, so why don’t the both of us visit him at the jail, then drive over to the ranch together. Maybe one of the wranglers knows something.”

“No!” As if shocked by his reaction, he cleared his throat and modulated his voice. “What I mean to say is, morning’s are bad because everyone’s busy with the guests. There’s no need for you to go out there at all, it’d be a waste of your time.”

“But…”

“I’ve already interviewed everyone at the ranch, wranglers included. There’s nothing left for you to find out.”

Here again is an area where trained investigators have skills the average person doesn’t. We can tell when someone’s being evasive.

I tried to remember what Jimmy had told me about his early childhood in Salt Lake City. He’d described a veritable Garden of Eden, with happy school days, camping excursions in summer, ski weekends in winter, all the happy-happy any child could wish for. His adoptive parents had been non-drinking, non-smoking church-goers, but a healthy lifestyle didn’t always guarantee a long life. Five years after the family bought the guest ranch and moved to Walapai Flats from Salt Lake, Jimmy’s mother died from a sudden heart attack.

There is no Eden, no matter how much we long for one.

Given Jimmy’s evasive behavior, I fleetingly wondered if all those old tales of good times were merely attempts to cover up a family secret, then immediately hated myself for thinking it. Still, the possibility sent my thoughts scurrying along an interesting path.

I studied the photograph of the Indian family. Jimmy’s skin was almost as dark as theirs. Born red, raised by Whites. If push came to shove, which side would he choose? Nature or nurture, that was the question. We aren’t only ourselves, we are our ancestors—our grandfather’s grandfather and our grandmother’s grandmother, back through countless generations until ancient genes rumbled underneath modern mindsets. If a crisis arose and Jimmy felt he had to sacrifice one side of his family to save the other, which side he would wind up on?

I leaned forward over the card table and took his hand. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Nothing’s going on.” He wouldn’t look at me.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re holding back? Look, I’m worried about you, and I’m worried about Ted, but I can’t help either of you if I don’t have all the facts.” When he still wouldn’t meet my eyes, I added, “Oh, well. You’re probably right about the time. Later would be better. I’ll drive out to the ranch by myself after lunch. Who knows? Maybe I’ll discover something you missed.”

“Stay away from the ranch!” He grabbed my wrist hard enough to leave a red mark.

“Have you lost your mind?” I snapped, twisting out of his grip.

Horrified by his own actions, he looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “I…I…Oh, God, Lena. I’m so sorry!”

He stood up from the table so quickly it toppled over. Then, before I could stop him, he rushed out the door.

***

As I was mounting the steps to the Walapai Flats government complex, Jimmy’s pickup rolled into the parking space behind mine. The morning sun was in his eyes as he approached, so he didn’t see me until the last moment. When he did, he halted and made a half turn back toward his truck. I’d seen more cheerful faces on men about to be executed.

“Jimmy!” I called. “Don’t walk away. Please!”

Shoulders hunched, he stopped mid-turn. Was he still angry, or just embarrassed by his outburst at the motel?

I held out my hand. “Are we still friends, Almost Brother?”

He came toward me slowly, his face a study in pain. When he took my hand, he held it longer than he would a mere handshake. “For life, Almost Sister.”

The lobby was noisier than the night before, only partially because of a loudspeaker reeling off names. Against the wall, a long row of benches held groupings of men, women, and crying children, each adult clutching either a blue, yellow, or green slip of paper. To our right, a line of people were handing yellow slips to an armed deputy before making their way through the security checkpoint that led to the jail annex. The longest line was in front of the reception desk, which I now realized was the complex’s clearing station. A female deputy manning the station was handing out yellow paper for jail business, blue for the sheriff’s offices, and green for admission to the courthouse. She looked bored, as if she’d rather be tracking down serial killers.

“Sheriff’s offices, courthouse, or jail?” she asked, when our turn finally came. Her eyes were too dulled over to focus on us.

“Jail,” Jimmy said. “We’re here to see Ted Olmstead.”

Upon hearing his voice, her eyes cleared and a smile transformed her dour face. “Ah, Mr. James Sisiwan in the flesh. How nice to see you again. It’s not all that common to have a former prisoner voluntarily return a couple of days later. Miss us?”

He smiled back. Jimmy had never met a woman he didn’t like, even when they were cops. “Just visiting my brother, Terry.”

“And the lady with you is?”

“My partner.”

“Partner?” Deputy Terry frowned at me.

Aware that with my long blond hair and less than stocky build I didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a private investigator, I handed over my state ID card. “Lena Jones, Desert Investigations.”

She studied my ID as if hoping to find an error.

I tried not to let my irritation show. “It’s all in order. If you have questions, you can call the state licensing board. Need the phone number?”

Jimmy’s voice was more soothing than mine. “Lena’s good people, Terry.”

The deputy handed my ID back. “If Jimmy says you’re good people, then you’re good people.” She wrote something down on one of the yellow slips and handed it to Jimmy. “Take your seats, if any are left. I’d get you taken care of right away, but first I need to call over and see if your brother is allowed to see anyone who’s out on bond. I’m not sure how that works.”

Jimmy and I dutifully sat down on one of the long benches. The building, being relatively new, hadn’t yet accumulated the worst odors that could permeate such places: vomit, urine, fear. The only smell I noticed, besides a blending of deodorants, was the tea rose cologne emanating from a woman sitting across from us. One of her eyes was bruised and a long scab marred her jaw. It looked like someone had worked her over. The toddler on her lap, a little girl, wore a cast on her left arm. On the bench next to them was a large metal lunchbox, nothing a woman or child would use. Maybe she was dropping it off for someone at the complex. I wondered who the thug was.