Leaphorn knew he meant Jim Chee.
“Kay. Merry.”
“Married? Well, they say there’s someone for everyone. I tried some of that online dating stuff.” Bean picked up a piece of crisp bacon with his fingers. “I met some stinkers, and then I struck gold.”
If Bean expected him to share details of his private life, he’d have to wait a long time. Leaphorn tried the fried potatoes mixed with onions and green peppers. He could see Louisa frowning at him as he added salt. Delicious.
“Yes, sir. Finally, I met a keeper. Smart, beautiful, kind, and sweet. Her name is Wanda. I’ll introduce you next time you come to Phoenix.”
Leaphorn nodded. “Ya workin some inerstin cases?” Working, he thought. Interesting.
“Lately, it’s been employment fraud. You know, make money at home, pyramid schemes, mystery-shopper scams. These crooks are amazingly clever, and most of the people ripped off are too ashamed to complain, so the scams keep on rollin’.” Bean paused. “You remember the anthrax attack, the one that lady referred to, when some creep sent poison through the mail?”
“Ya.”
“We worked that case by tracking down who would have had access to the poison. You might try working backwards on the mystery-gift problem, you know, puzzling out the origin of the missing piece or some of the rarer items that actually arrived. Moving from that angle to track the shipper.”
Leaphorn nodded.
“You already thought of that, didn’t you?”
Leaphorn smiled.
The men ate in silence for a while; then Bean looked again at the paper Leaphorn had given him. “That gunshot didn’t hurt the part of your brain in charge of planning, did it?” He folded the sheet. “I ought to know something in a few days, if luck is with me. I’ll be in touch.”
“Tanks.” Leaphorn reached for the bill, but Bean put his hand out to stop him.
“This is on me, or rather, on the government. I have an expense account for this trip, and I need to keep my network strong.”
They walked out of the restaurant together into the warm Arizona afternoon. Summer clouds were building, but Leaphorn knew from experience that they would not bring moisture, except perhaps a brief, light sprinkle. The monsoons that briefly drenched the Arizona desert had yet to arrive.
“I’ll work on your problem tomorrow. If you think of some details that might help, here’s my email.” Bean handed him a card. “That’s the best way to contact me. I can be hard to reach on the phone.”
Leaphorn recognized the lie. Bean’s consideration for his disability touched him.
Back home, he found Louisa at the dining room table with a large picture book.
“How was your meeting?”
“Fye.” He thought of the easiest way to explain what Bean would do. “Wade a mint.” Leaphorn went to his office for his computer, then moved Giddi from the chair the cat had claimed and sat next to Louisa. He opened his laptop, typed out a summary, and turned the screen toward her. They had done this before.
Louisa read the note. “Did he think he could help you?”
Leaphorn shrugged. “Maybe.” Then he typed a rehash of Bean’s advice about tracking the outstanding pieces as clues to the collector donor.
“That’s the same idea you had. That’s what I’ve been working on. Look at this.” She turned to a page in the book she had marked with a Post-it. “Do you see the similarities between the description Daisy Pinto gave you of the bracelet and this?”
“Course.”
“Indeed. They are from the same artist. This one received best of show at one of the first Heard Museum Indian Markets, so besides its workmanship, the artist’s acclaim adds to the value. I didn’t realize I had such good taste.” She tapped the photo. “And so did whoever wanted to give it to the museum. And so did the thief. If there was a thief.”
Leaphorn looked at the photo and the caption, which included the name of Robert Peshlakai, a Navajo silversmith from Fort Defiance, Arizona. He hadn’t heard of the artist, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant that the man probably hadn’t caused serious trouble.
Louisa closed the book. “I’m going to do a little internet search for Mr. Peshlakai.”
“Guh.”
Louisa pulled out her cell phone and typed in something, studied it, typed in something else, read whatever came up on the screen, and frowned. She put her phone down. “There are a lot of Peshlakais in the jewelry world, but Robert Peshlakai isn’t much of a marketer. No website. No Facebook. The only place I could find that carries his work is the Hubbell Trading Post.”
Leaphorn remembered the phone number and called. When someone answered, he spoke in Navajo.
“Hold on, sir. I’ll get someone to help you.”
Leaphorn identified himself to the next speaker.
“Yá’át’ééh. I’m Gene Willie, trading post manager. You’re that detective lieutenant from Tségháhoodzání, right?”
“Retired lieutenant but still in Window Rock.” He thought about the best way to approach the topic. “I’m doing some work as an investigator now for a client who has a question about something she thinks the jeweler Robert Peshlakai may have made.”
“Can you hold on?”
“Sure.” Leaphorn heard a muted conversation and realized that Willie was dealing with a customer.
Willie returned after a few moments.
“Well, Lieutenant, things may be going your way. If you’d like, you can meet Mr. Peshlakai. He told us last month he would be coming in today to pick up a check.”
“When do you expect him?”
Willie chuckled. “Hard to say. He usually gets here just before closing time, or maybe just after.”
“And when is that?”
“We’re on summer hours, so six p.m., more or less.”
“I’m interested in talking to him, so if he gets there before I do, could you ask him to wait?”
“I’ll ask him. But he’s a feisty one. I can’t promise he’ll stay. Is he in trouble?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. My friend, who will be with me, has a beautiful bracelet she bought at your trading post a while back. She thinks Mr. Peshlakai made it, but I’m not sure. I’d like him to take a look.” He was glad Louisa didn’t speak enough Navajo to understand that he questioned the authenticity of her precious bracelet.
“That’s interesting. Artists don’t like someone stealing their designs.”
Right, Leaphorn thought, and the suspicion of plagiarism gave Peshlakai another reason to meet a couple of strangers. “I have some photos of baskets and pots I could use help identifying. Would you be willing to take a look?”
“Why not, as long as I have time.”
He told Louisa his idea and invited her to join him on the trip. Neither of them had been to the historic trading post for years. They planned to arrive about five p.m. to look around and to be there when the jeweler arrived. Unlike many places he’d visited on the Navajo Nation in his line of work, the Hubbell post was an easy drive on paved roads and only about half an hour away. Louisa wore the bracelet, and he took some of the photographs Mrs. Pinto had given him.