The Bone Man (18 page)

“How far to the trading post?” I said.

“Not long.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

He smiled.

“So what’s our plan?”

“The old man, he’ll know about the Bone Man. All we have to do is get him to tell us about him. Here,” he said. “Hold out your hand.”

I did, and he dropped a turquoise petit-point-style ring onto my palm.

“We’re here to buy pawn,” he said.

“Jewelry pawned by your people?”

“And Navajo and Hopi and others. Yes. But it’s mostly all fake by now. Not fake Indian made, but fake pawn. Keep an eye out. See if he has anything that might relate to the Bone Man.”

“Why would he sell something like that to strangers?”

“Because he wants to get rid of it. Evidence. Maybe.” He raised his hand. “Or maybe we’ll have to trick him. So put on your domestic face, Tally Whyte.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m domestic! I do stuff at home.”

He smiled. “Just stop looking like city girl.”

“Easy.” All I had to do was remember life in Maine. As I scraped my hair into a scrunchie, my heart squeezed.

We pulled into a parking lot in much need of refurbishing. Dust billowed around the truck as we backed up to the single red gas pump. Not another vehicle was in sight.

“This is it,” Aric said. “Do a good job now.”

My retort was lost in the slam of his door. Aric hauled over the nozzle and began filling up.

“Hurry up,” he said. “This is a busy place. The only joint around. No shopping.”

I almost laughed. What did he think I was going to do, dawdle in the aisles looking for trinkets? “Yes, sir.”

He notched his head toward the shop/trading post/coffeehouse housed in the red adobe structure with an arch above the front door and turquoise slatted shutters in need of paint.

I slid out and flattened my broom skirt that billowed in the wind. I pulled on a ball cap and sunglasses.

“Don’t,” mouthed Aric.

He was right. Too sharp-looking for my character. I tossed them on the seat, groped in back for the straw hat I’d purchased in Gallup and headed for the front door.

I looked back once. Aric was watching me as he held the nozzle to the gas tank. The Bone Man. Okay.
Here goes
.

I reached for the screen door. The wind gusted and door flapped in the breeze. I stilled. Wrong. That was wrong.

With all the sand and wind out here, even the shabbiest establishment would at least have some latch to keep the screen door from flapping. Something was out of whack. I chewed my lower lip. I might be being watched. I should go inside, not hesitate. Turning back to Aric would signal a problem to a watcher.

But if I went inside, the “people” behind all of this could be waiting for me.

I turned back to Aric. “Honey, I’m going to look around back. I need the bathroom. It might be out here.”

“Sure,” was all he said.

I walked around the building. No cars. No tracks. A
small brown lizard scooted out of my way. A window facing east had a cracked pane. I stood on tiptoe, shielded my eyes and peered in.

I couldn’t see much. Dark. Wood floor. Shelves. This wasn’t working.

The wind stilled, and as I walked around the building, the sand crunched beneath my feet and the hot sun warmed my cheek. All desert here and a ring of mountains to the west. So beautiful, so austere.

The back door was locked.

I continued walking, and soon I again faced the front door. I didn’t feel much safer, but I’d done what I could not to play the fool. I wondered why the hell Aric wasn’t coming inside with me.

I checked my cell phone. I had a signal. Not a great one, but it was there.

I pulled open the screen door, held my breath as I stepped into the cool darkness.

No one had switched on the lights for the day. No fans, either, which I found unusual. At least no one had jumped out at me and gone “boo!” I exhaled and . . .

Hell.

The unmistakable smell of dead flesh and feces and other odors of death mingled like a noxious perfume. There was a something “other,” too. Something unfamiliar.

Happy I was wearing sneakers—so aptly named—I sidestepped behind a shelf of canned green beans, peas, and corn. I opened my cell phone, switched it to camera, and peered around the grocery. Nothing out of the way appeared on the small screen, but I snapped off some shots.

For the millionth time, my foster mother’s words about getting a gun rang in my brain.

I sucked in a breath, almost choked on the stench, and stepped from behind the shelf. I crept forward. Where the hell was Aric?

Another step, where packages of pasta and tacos and
Oreo cookies towered over me. No one in the aisles. Not so far.

Dammit
, Aric.

Lights blazed, and I stumbled, grabbed what turned out to be canned jalapeños, and furiously blinked.

“Tally,” Aric said.

“Yes?”

“It’s okay. Come out.”

I peeked around a corner, then walked down the wooden-floored center aisle until I neared the front counter.

Except it wasn’t okay. Not one bit. Aric was bent over a supine body encased in jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowboy boots that lay behind the counter. Beside the body, a gray furry mutt that looked half coyote oozed blood from his shoulder.

The mutt was breathing. The human wasn’t.

Above them loomed the scarred wood counter with its ancient cash register. The drawer was closed. Other than the corpse and the dog, nothing else was out of place.

I ran over. The body belonged to an old man. Oh, dear.

The dog whimpered.

I found a clean dishrag and kneeled by the dog.

“Don’t,” Aric said. “You’ll lose your hand.”

“I might.” I talked to the pup, tried to soothe him, but each time my hands moved near his wound, he growled. Understandable. I’d growl too.

“Can you hold him, Aric? Just until I get this bandage on.”

“You’re loco. Swear to God.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Most likely, but he’s stood by his master until he’s too weak to move. If we stop the bleeding, we can take him to a vet and . . .”

Aric snorted, jumped up, and returned with a pack of Handiwipes, several of which he tied around the dog’s snout. He then took Coyote into his arms, and I sprayed the wound with some Bactine from the shelves, then bound the wound. Oh, Coyote did not like that one bit.

I retrieved a clean bowl from a shelf in aisle three, snared a bottle of spring water, and used the latter to fill the bowl. I opened some food and put it in another bowl.

“Ready?” Aric said.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Aric released Coyote and jumped back.

“What?” I said. “Are you expecting an attack? He’s half dead.”

Coyote’s wiry muzzle twitched. He managed to get his two back legs under him, but he was too weak to stand, and he collapsed. I moved the water bowl closer, and his tongue slithered out. He began to lap.

“Good pup,” I said.

“Can we get to the problem at hand, Tally?” Aric said.

“Yes, yes, sure. Of course.”

I took my first serious look at the old man. Poor soul. Two bullet holes marked his chest. His face was gray, his cheeks sunken, and stubble covered his chin and upper lip. Flied buzzed around his head.

He’d deserved better.
I’m so sorry, old man
. I crouched down. Hard to tell if he was Anglo or Indian or both. He looked like, well, like an overcooked . . . Geesh. “Awful.”

I reached to touch Old Man’s face. Such a sad, lonely way to die. Coyote growled, and I smiled. At least Old Man hadn’t died alone. No.

Inside my purse, I found my phone. I felt naked without my camera, long lost in the accident, but the phone would do. I snapped off half a dozen shots of Old Man and Coyote, and then I walked around the trading post taking photos of shelves and goods and pawn and pottery and anything else I could think of.

The dust made me sneeze, and I purloined a box of tissues.

“You done?” Aric said.

“Almost.” I walked behind the counter, and took photos there, too. I hoped the camera would capture what I wasn’t seeing. The fluorescent light sputtered above my
head. Time to change the bulbs. I guess it didn’t matter much now, at least not to Old Man.

Aric was pacing in front of the corpse. I sat on the dusty floor and crossed my legs.

“See anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You?”

I shrugged. “Nothing that strikes me. Is he the Bone Man?”

“I don’t believe so. Natalie was a cautious kid. I doubt the Bone Man would be the operator of a trading post. Too obvious. Too—”

“Public? So who
is
the Bone Man? Or
what
, maybe? I wish I could see how this old man’s death connects to a twenty-first-century woman’s skull found in an ancient pot.”

I began to dial 911. I punched out the nine, and Aric put his hand over mine.

I stood. “What?”

“Are you nuts?” His lips had thinned in anger. “Do you forget what’s happened? The accident? The man who tried to kidnap you?”

“Yes, but . . . we have to call this in. He shouldn’t be left here.”

“We have to leave him, Tally.”

“But . . .”

“We must.”

I bent again to Old Man and apologized, and for the first time noticed the burn marks surrounding one of the bullet holes. And Old Man’s face . . . I sat back, tried to see with my gut. Huh. His expression was one of . . . surprise. Yes, surprise.

“I think he knew his killer,” I said. “Nothing’s out of place. Burn marks on his shirt. The killer got awfully close to him to leave those marks. And he’s got a look of surprise on his face, too.”

“I think so, too.” Aric slapped his thighs. “C’mon.” He pulled at my arm.

I tugged it away. “Not a chance without Coyote.”

He slapped his hands on his hips. “I thought you had dead friends. That you wanted to find out who did them in.”

I shook my head. “He’s alive, Aric. Coyote’s alive. He’s wearing a collar. I’ll get a leash and . . .”

“He’ll bite your sorry ass.”

“Screw off. He’ll die if we don’t take him with us.” I found the tiny pet section and took a leash. I also saw one of those bright blue cloth muzzles. I pulled off the tags and took that, too. Found a box of dog treats and ripped open the plastic top with my teeth.

I realized I was hungry. Funny.

A phone rang, and I jumped. I scanned the lowceilinged room. There, a pay phone. Ringing.

“Answer it, why don’t you?” I said to Aric.

He cocked his head. “Finally, a good idea out of you.”

I crouched before Coyote. He growled, but didn’t make a move for me. I talked to him softly in what I hoped sounded soothing to his ears, about how we had to leave his master, that it would be okay, that we would take care of him. His growls subsided.

I glanced up as Aric lifted the pay phone receiver off its cradle. “Yeah,” was all he said.

He listened, nodded. “I’ll check. Hold on.”

He was handling the call, and I turned back to Coyote. He let me scratch beneath his chin and between his ears, a favorite spot of Penny’s. “All right, boy, I’m going to snap this leash on, okay?”

His golden eyes regarded me with a mixture of distrust and pain and hope. I fed him a soft treat and snapped on the leash. Okay. That went well.

“This is not going to be fun, but I’ve got to do it, Coyote.” I sighed, began slipping the muzzle over his snout. He moved—lightning—and bit down on my hand.

“Shit!”

“Shut up!” Aric hissed, his hand over the receiver.

Coyote whined, looked guilty, and licked my hand. Remorse. Didn’t help the pain. Crap. Crapcrapcrap. I shouldn’t have done anything until Aric was with me. Whatever. My own fault.

I sat there, talking softly to Coyote, watching blood ooze from my hand, and waiting for Aric to hang up. I cursed my own stupidity. I imagined tetanus and rabies and other nasty stuff.

“Oh, Coyote, we’re screwed.”

Aric gently replaced the receiver on the wall pay phone.

“Aric, I, um . . .”

He didn’t see me as he approached. He sure didn’t hear me, either. Aric was all inside now, thinking about whatever he’d learned from the person on the other end of the phone.

My hand throbbed, but he needed time to process the call. I sighed. Aric would shoot me once he saw what had happened to my hand. I could take it. The dog wasn’t at fault.

I waited. Long minutes passed. Aric walked right by me and rounded the counter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like latex gloves. How
handy
. And how interesting. I sure wasn’t seeing the whole picture here.

“Be right back,” I said as I headed for the sign that pointed with a metal arrow and said
BATHROOM
.

Aric mumbled something, and I made my escape.

The large bathroom-cum-storage room was piled with boxes to the ceiling. It appeared semi-clean, and its one stall seemed usable. I checked, used the facilities, then
found soap and turned on the water. A few drops piddled out. That was it. Damn. I retrieved another bottle of spring water, lathered up, and rinsed. The whole process hurt like hell. Using the soap, I managed to tug off the ring Veda had given me from my pinkie finger and slip it onto my left hand. I wasn’t thrilled about the swelling.

“Shitshitshit.” My hand hurt like the dickens. I rinsed again, toweled dry with a new Handi Wipe, sprayed on a ton of Bactine, and Band-Aided the site of the tooth marks. Who knew where Coyote’s mouth had been. I sure didn’t need an infection right then. Rabies? Tetanus? Absurd. I knew I was up on my tetanus shots. And how many people got rabies nowadays?

What had Aric found out? And why would a Zuni be carrying a pair of latex gloves in his pocket? Oh, there were lots of mysteries here.

I punched out Hank’s number on my phone. It went directly to voicemail. I left him my new cell number, told him where I was and who I was with, and then I dialed Carmen at the restaurant.

The phone bleeped once, twice . . .

BLAM!
Right here. A gunshot. Like thunder.

I found my pepper spray, started to run.