Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (23 page)

She’d neatly sidestepped another question. Why?

Every so often I’d glance in the rearview mirror and 258

watch Jericho’s sweet face, deep in sleep, and wonder if he was just another male who’d eventually break my heart.

259

With multiple projects pulling me different directions, after Abita and Jericho left, I headed into the offi

ce to catch up on cases that paid the bills. After a couple of hours, I took a short break and popped in Kim’s hair salon on the bottom level to wish her luck with the evening’s conversation with Murray.

When I returned, a woman waited in the reception area. Her back was to me.

“May I help you?”

She spun around.

Leticia Standing Elk. Her usual superior expression distorted her blocky, hatchet face.

“Tell me, what gives you the right to call my mother a cold-hearted bitch?”

Did the Standing Elk family use smoke signals? Be-260

cause barely three hours had passed since Abita and I parted ways with Yvette.

“Correction. I didn’t call her a cold-hearted bitch, Leticia. I called
you
a cold-hearted bitch. Big diff erence.”

My response jarred her. I hadn’t been the fawning teenage girl who craved a connection with her for a long damn time.

“Did I clear that up for you, or was there some other reason you’re here?”

“You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? Big difference between being smart and a smart ass.”

“You would know.” I purposely glanced at the clock.

“Nothing else? Show yourself out. I’ve got things to do.”

I turned on my bootheel and made tracks for my offi ce.

My hands trembled as I lit a cigarette. By the third drag, Leticia had wandered in.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but no one talks to me that way.”

“Pity,” I said. “Continual reverence seems to have given you an over-infl ated sense of self-worth.” I indicated the chair with a quick thrust of my chin. “Either sit down or get out.”

Her thin upper lip curled. “And if I don’t? You going to call security?”

“No, I’ll throw your ass out myself.” I angled across my desk. “I’ve looked forward to this moment for years, 261

Letty, so give me a goddamned reason, because I’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.”

No snappy come back from her as she seethed.

Leticia resembled her mother, not the beautiful, glowing fi ctional version of an Indian woman like Poca-hontas or Sacajewa. She was stout as a whiskey barrel.

Her small black eyes were deeply set in her chubby face, her reddish-brown skin pock-marked from acne. A mass of thick, unruly black hair curled past her shoulders. Expensive clothes hid her fi gure fl aws. Nothing hid her disdain for me, not that she’d tried.

Her mannish fi ngers pinched the creases in her navy suit pants before she perched her big butt on the chair edge.

“What brings you by?”

“As if you don’t know.”

“Let’s pretend I don’t.” I smiled, blew smoke in her face.

“What did you hope to accomplish by bringing that Hopi tramp here?”

I didn’t rise to the bait. “Unlike some members of the Standing Elk family, I didn’t know about Abita until she and Jericho showed up on my doorstep last week.”

An ugly frown fl ared her nostrils. “You’re lying. No members of my family knew about her.”

Well, well, wasn’t this interesting. Mommy Dear-est kept the information from the princess too. “Gosh, 262

Letty, I wish I was. But when we met with Yvette today, she already knew about Abita. Evidently Ben had told her years ago.” I let an expression of shock cross my face.

“It was news to me, but your mother didn’t tell
you
?

Wow. Th

at’s harsh.”

“Regardless. Ask yourself what this girl has to gain by coming forward now?”

I shrugged. “Maybe nothing more than knowing her son’s heritage.”

Leticia sneered. “I think the word you’re searching for is
inheritance
, not heritage.”

“We both know the Standing Elk family has more pride and prejudice than cash. Same can be said for me, so I’m thinking there’s another reason she’s here.”

“Th

e great detective has a theory? Need a magnify-ing glass, a pipe, and a trench coat?”

“Just a notebook.” I reached for the legal pad on the corner of my desk. Ashes from my ashtray fl oated over her plus-size Ann Taylor suit. “Sorry. Okay. Now, where were we? Oh, right, my brilliant theory. I’m actually beginning to think you’re right. Th ere has to be

another reason Abita showed up after . . . what? Four years since she’d seen Ben? I think she knows something about who killed him.”

Silence. Th

en Leticia cackled. “Th

at ought to be

fascinating, since she was about twelve? When Ben 263

knocked her up. Maybe she thinks it was Santa Claus.

Sorry to burst your little bubble, but I wouldn’t believe a word she said.”

I smiled, though seething inside. “It’d take a lot more than that to destroy my hope.”

“What has she said to you?”

“Nothing concrete. Not yet anyway.” I crushed out my cigarette. “You don’t believe Jericho is Ben’s son?”

“My mother is convinced this boy is Ben’s child. I’m reserving judgment. Especially if she wants to enroll Jericho in the Sihasapa tribe.”

“Why would she want to? Jericho has more Hopi blood than Lakota.” Here was the opening I’d been waiting for.

“Speaking of the Sihasapa tribe, I was surprised to fi nd out the tribe had hired Ben at your urging to schmooze the tribal members about getting behind the proposed gambling compact a year before he was murdered.”

Leticia was utterly fl abbergasted.

“Is there a reason you didn’t tell me? Mainly, just to be contrary, I’m sure. But I don’t know if the cops and the FBI would see it that way. I’m assuming you didn’t give them the truth either when the authorities deigned to sniff around?”

Her eyes became mean slits. “How did you get that information?”

“I can’t divulge my source, as it would violate client con-264

fi dentiality laws. As a lawyer, you know how that goes.”

She fumed.

I pressed on. “I really don’t understand why you kept it from me. What’s the big deal? Ben only worked for them for a couple of months. Owen took all the cred-it, despite the fact Roland Hawk and Marlon Blue Legs initially helped. You got the initiative passed, Owen got a seat on the Sihasapa Tribal Council.” I frowned.

“What did Roland get again?”

“He got paid,” she snapped.

“What is Roland up to these days?”

“Do I look like his social secretary?”

“Temper, temper. I was just wondering. Since he and Ben had always been friendly . . . then again, I heard
you
and Roland were particularly cozy for a while.”

“You have a sick, perverted mind.”

“Better than a small mind.”

Leticia’s laugh hung in the air like sour milk. “Let’s get this straight; I’ve
never
liked Roland. He has a history of violence and aggressive behavior dating back to juvenile. Not just simple childhood bullying; he’s a nasty piece of work.”

“Why did you hire him?” I knew she hadn’t, but I wanted to see if I could catch her in a lie.

“I didn’t. Th

e tribal council did. I knew it was a

mistake, and when we tried to rectify that mistake, Ben 265

became livid and threatened to quit.”

Ben? Livid? Th

at didn’t sound like him. But it was

easy to blame a dead guy.

“Despite his lineage, rumors have fl oated around the reservation for years that Roland killed people who crossed him. None of it could be proven, but a few people just disappeared.”

Like Maria Dove?

If Roland had such a bad reputation, wouldn’t the cops and FBI have checked him out as a potential suspect? From memorizing Ben’s case fi le I knew he’d never been interviewed.

“Why didn’t they investigate Roland for Ben’s murder?”

“I don’t know. Th

ey did a half-assed job on every

aspect of his case.”

It almost sounded like she cared.
Not
. “You going to get to the reason you’re here?”

“Yes.” She fussed with the slim band on her gold Timex before she glowered at me. “Stay away from my family. It’s bad enough we’ve all had to suff er through your obsession with Ben’s case. He’s dead. He’s a dead
Indian
. Th

e bottom line is no one cares. No one has
ever
cared. My family has tried to move on from the tragedy, but you won’t let it go.”

Th

at sinking sensation tickled my stomach again.

“Personally, I fi nd you beyond pathetic. Ben made 266

no bones about the fact you’ve never had a relationship with your father. Why do you keep punishing my family? Because you don’t have a family of your own to destroy with your bitterness? Spending your life mourning and glorifying the dead is pitiful. Ben certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be on the pedestal you’ve created for him.”

She gestured to the paintings on my walls, the vibrant watercolors and sedate charcoals, created by local Native American artists. “You aren’t Indian. You’ll never be Indian. Doesn’t matter how much artwork you buy, or how many powwows you attend, or if you’ve got a dead half-brother who had Sioux blood. Nothing will make you like us. And nothing will bring him back.”

By the mean glint in her eye I think she expected me to break down. Tearfully demand she leave my offi ce.

Leticia didn’t know me very well. She never had.

I took my time lighting a cigarette and let it bob in the corner of my mouth as I clapped four times. Slowly. Sarcastically. “Great performance, Leticia. Would’ve been better if you could’ve worked up a few tears.” I drew the cigarette from my lips and blew smoke at her. “But I highly doubt you even cried one fucking tear for Ben.”

“You have no right—”

“You’ve always craved the spotlight, but you’ve been forced into the shadows—Ben’s shadow. Must suck, to 267

have to prove yourself all the time, eh?”

“I don’t have to prove anything. To you or anyone else.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To prove I’m nothing? To prove Abita and Jericho are nothing?”

“No. I’m here to tell you my family, every single member, is off limits to you.”

“Good thing that’s a short list.” I cocked my head.

“Remind me again how many children you have?” I paused, fl icked an ash. “Oh, that’s right. None. Reese? Is he still pretending he’s not gay? Owen? Does he still have a thing for white girls? Interesting, don’t you think, that my dead half-
white
brother is the only one who’s contributed an heir to that all important Standing Elk
family
line?”

“Th

at’s enough,” the angry male voice intoned from the doorway.

I focused on the tall Indian glaring at me. “Owen.

Long time no see. Nice suit. You here to defend Leticia’s honor?”

He stalked in and squeezed the back of the buff alo skin chair with a slender hand. “Her honor doesn’t need defending. It’s yours that’s in question.”

“Right.”

Leticia hefted her girth upright.

“Leaving so soon? Does that mean I’m not invited to the ‘Welcome to the family’ celebration in honor of Jericho? Or are you expecting me to entertain Abita 268

since neither she nor I are
Mitakuye Oyasin
?”

Ticked them off I used the Lakota phrase for ‘All My Relations.’

“Not even close,” Leticia snarled.

“We’re here to demand you stay away from our mother.”

I granted Owen a once-over. He’d plumped out a bit, but it didn’t look bad on him. His black hair was crewcut short. Th

e wire rim glasses perched on his broad

nose added interest to an otherwise bland face.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Done,” I said. “Anything else?”

Confused by my quick agreement, they left without another word to me.

Pompous fuckers. I’d take Ben off that pedestal when I found out who killed him.

M M M

Slamming tequila shooters wasn’t an option for a distraction from my piss-poor mood. I propped my feet on my desk and sorted through the papers Sheriff Richards faxed over during my tête-à-tête with Leticia.

Page one was a missing persons report on Maria Dove, fi led in Pennington County. Th

e offi

cer noted no

foul play was suspected.

269

Th

e black-and-white picture of Maria verifi ed she’d been a knockout. An ethnic beauty with exotic almond-shaped eyes, prominent cheekbones, a regally thin nose, and a generous mouth curled into a come-hither smile.

I skimmed the information until I found the page with Maria’s last place of employment. Casa Del Rey.

Well, that idea was bust. Th

e restaurant had fi led for

bankruptcy and the building was bulldozed to make room for another Walgreen’s. I missed those tasty margaritas.

I fl ipped to the interview with Maria’s former co-worker, Jackie Ryland. I checked the local phone book.

No listing. Jackie could’ve gotten married and divorced a couple of times in fi ve years. I booted up my computer and ran a reverse trace.

Noises echoed from the street below. I brooded out the window about my shitty day. Wisps of white clouds were a stark contrast against a sky the color of smudged steel.

Th

e computer beeped, announcing the end of my search.

Jackie Ryland, now Jackie Moorcroft, lived in Sioux Falls. I checked the time. Most of eastern South Dakota was an hour ahead. It was the weekend. Maybe I’d get lucky and fi nd her at home. I dialed the number.

A female voice answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Jackie Ryland Moorcroft?”

“I ain’t buying whatever you’re selling so just—”

270

“Jackie, I’m not a telemarketer. I’m calling for information on a friend of yours from a few years ago.”