Willie mentioned spirit lines, a technique weavers use to keep their creative gift from being trapped within the rug’s borders. He discussed how the term chief blanket confused history because the Navajo had no chiefs.
He draped a blanket over his shoulders. “Worn this way, the blanket says that I am in the market for a wife.” The students chuckled appropriately.
Leaphorn looked for Peshlakai. He’d assumed that the man would have arrived by now. As a cop, Leaphorn figured, he had wasted at least a full year of his life waiting for people who came late or not at all. As an investigator, he had tried to change that pattern. He didn’t like finding himself in the same situation again.
When Willie finished, the students asked a few questions and filed out to tour the old Hubbell home. Willie and Louisa resumed their conversation about jewelry, and Leaphorn listened with half an ear until impatience got the better of him. He rose from his comfortable seat on the pile of rugs, noticing the stiffness in his knees, and spoke to Willie in Navajo. “Can you take a quick look at the pictures I mentioned?”
Willie moved his hand toward the other room. “Sure thing. Put the photos on top of the jewelry display case in there, spread them out. Peshlakai knows most of the silversmiths around here and all over Navajo. You can talk to him about any jewelry.”
“You think he’s still coming?” Louisa glanced at her watch. “It’s almost closing time.”
“I do.” Willie grinned. “But before we block your view with photos, is there something in the case I can show you, ma’am?”
Leaphorn winced. Louisa had already looked at the jewelry. Wasn’t that enough?
“Are any of these Robert Peshlakai’s pieces?”
Willie tapped the case. “See that brooch in the center with the greenish stone? That’s the only one I have left. He brought it in earlier this summer.” The trader walked behind the counter, opened the case, and reached in for the box with the pin. “The man did amazing work, didn’t he?”
Leaphorn heard a vehicle approach the building.
Louisa took the brooch and placed it in the palm of her hand. “It’s gorgeous. Look at the detail. He’s quite an artist.”
Leaphorn said, “You said did amazing work. Is he retired?”
They heard the front door open. “Anyone workin’ here?” The male voice calling from the front of the store had an accent. West Texas maybe, Leaphorn thought. Not Peshlakai.
“I’ll be right there, sir.”
Louisa gave Willie the pin, and he returned it to the locked case. They followed the trader into the big room.
A potbellied man in khaki shorts stood at the counter with two little girls, one on each side. They wore matching T-shirts that said “Regent Family Reunion, Sedona, Arizona.”
While Willie sold the man cold drinks, Louisa examined the books and boxes of herbal tea. “Joe, did you hear what Willie said about the origin of Ganado red? That’s not quite the same as the story I know. Interesting, isn’t it, how these legends develop and change over time?” Leaphorn watched the tourist take forever to pay and leave. Louisa paused her lecture when Willie came over to them and switched topics. “How long before you close?”
“Another fifteen minutes. If it were my call, we’d do this the traditional way, and I’d wait until Peshlakai got here. But since the store is part of a national system, we follow the rules.”
The time was nearly up when a vehicle that needed a muffler pulled onto the road. Leaphorn followed the noise to the front of the store and, through the screen door, saw the truck park. A short, round Navajo man climbed out on the passenger side. His thick gray hair swung against his shoulders as he walked to the door.
“Hey there. I made it.”
“Yá’át’ééh.” Willie introduced Louisa. Leaphorn switched to Navajo and did the traditional introduction with his clans. Peshlakai reciprocated. They were not related.
“I think I’ve heard of you. You used to work out of Window Rock and you were a cop or something?”
“That’s correct.” Leaphorn was accustomed to encounters like this. Usually the person then referred to a relative he had arrested.
But Peshlakai surprised him. “My son married into your late wife’s clan. I never had the privilege of meeting her, but I heard that she was a fine woman. And they speak well of you, too.”
Leaphorn nodded. Emma had been the love of his life. He thought of her less often now, but always with a pang of revisited grief and a longing for her sweet, calm presence.
Willie turned to Peshlakai and spoke in English. “This lady here wants to show you something.”
Louisa removed the bracelet. Without a word, she handed it to the artist.
He looked puzzled for a moment. Then he grinned. “I made this after I got out of the army. I gave it to my wife, but, well, we sold it here at this very store.” He ran his index finger inside the band. “You’ve worn this many times. I guess you like it.”
“It’s my favorite. Was it one of the first you created?”
“Sort of. I started making jewelry in high school, whenever I had a little money for silver and my uncle had the time to teach me. Silver didn’t cost as much back then, but back then I didn’t have any money. Same as now.” Peshlakai chuckled.
He returned the bracelet to her, and Louisa slid it on her wrist as she spoke. “I was admiring your pin in the display case. It’s lovely, modern. A bit simpler but more sophisticated than this and in the same spirit.”
“Thanks. Ahéhee’. I don’t see so good now, so I try to make it easier on myself.”
Willie focused on Louisa. “That bracelet of yours is a classic, museum quality, and I’m not just saying that because the artist is in the room. People hold on to them.”
Peshlakai grinned. “If you ever get tired of your old bracelet, I’ll take it off your hands.”
Leaphorn wondered what his lady friend would say, and she surprised him by saying nothing.
Peshlakai turned to Leaphorn. “So, now that you’re retired, are you thinking of becoming a silversmith and giving me some competition? Is that what you wanna talk about?”
“No.” Leaphorn looked at Louisa. “I hah trouble wid English.”
Louisa said, “I’m going to look at those lovely rugs again while you two talk.”
Peshlakai watched her walk away. “Nice lady. Good taste in jewelry. So what lies can I tell you?”
“I do some consulting for the department. They pay me to help with cold cases. When I have the time and interest, I take on some private clients.”
“I know about that from TV. You do missing-person stuff?”
“Well, a few years back a woman hired me to search for her daughter, a girl in her twenties who was working out here in Navajo and disappeared. I tracked her down.” It turned out the daughter was dead, but he didn’t tell Peshlakai that. “The person I’m working for now also asked me to find something that’s missing. She received a box that had gifts and a list of information on them. She asked me to see what I could learn about a bracelet that wasn’t included in the package. The description mentioned what sounds like your jeweler’s stamp. She’d like to track it down, and that’s why I came to talk to you.”