“Why not just ask the guy who sent it?” Peshlakai laughed. “I guess I could be an investigator.”
“She would have asked, but the box arrived anonymously.”
“He’s probably her old boyfriend. Maybe even the ex-husband.”
Leaphorn realized he hadn’t asked Mrs. Pinto about any personal relationships with collectors or friends that might have generated the gift. But the package was addressed to the museum, not to her. “It wasn’t that kind of a present. Nothing romantic about it.”
“Oh.” Peshlakai drew his lips together in a thin line. “Did the things come from someone who died?”
“Not as far as I know. The bracelet was part of a set that included earrings and a necklace. She gave me a photo of those. If you’d be willing to look, I’ll show you.”
Leaphorn shifted his weight. His back complained about too much standing, and both knees joined the chorus. He waited for the man to agree to or reject his request, or ask a question.
Peshlakai exhaled. “I want to make sure that nothing I made got involved with the dark side, you know? Murder, suicide, or something like that. Could you tell from the picture?”
Leaphorn considered the question. “The photos show the earrings and the necklace and the table they sat on. Nothing more.”
“Do you figure this lady’s friend who sent the box was involved in a heist or something?”
“I don’t think so.”
“OK. Let me see.”
Leaphorn put the envelope on the jewelry case and pulled out the stack of photos. He had arranged the pictures of jewelry together with the earrings identified as Peshlakai’s work on the top. Next came the necklace.
The jeweler held the first picture close to his eyes. “Do you have another photo of these?”
“No.”
“Well, they might be part of a group I did way back when. Or maybe not.” Peshlakai picked up the necklace picture and examined it. “I can’t tell because I can’t see details on it well enough. Sorry, man. I like these. Even if they aren’t mine, they’re good work.”
“Let’s assume they are yours.” Leaphorn took a step closer to the jeweler. “Would you have made a bracelet to go with them?”
“Sure, I could have. Back in those days, someone convinced me that ladies liked things that went together. I used to say, ‘If you buy the bracelet, I’ll give you a deal on the earrings.’ Or I’d put it the other way if someone wanted to buy just the earrings.”
“Did you keep track of who bought your jewelry?”
“Sort of. Just the expensive stuff, or things on consignment to galleries and such.” He handed the photos back to Leaphorn. “I used to tell the men who came with their wives, ‘You know you’ll probably do something to get her riled up. Better to have a nice gift on hand so you don’t end up at Walmart in the middle of the night.’”
Peshlakai motioned toward the photo. “I made earrings like that to go with the bracelets a long time ago. They sold pretty well.”
Leaphorn saw Louisa heading toward them. He hoped she wouldn’t interrupt the interview. She did. “So, are you two about done?”
Peshlakai switched to English. “Talking about this brings back memories from those days when I could see real good.”
Louisa pointed to the glasses that hung around her neck. “I have to wear these now for anything up close. Crossword puzzles, reading a book, instructions on a prescription bottle.”
“You’re lucky. My eyes have the kind of problem that can’t be fixed with glasses. They named it macular degeneration. My wife used to say I was a degenerate, back in the days when beer was my buddy, so I guess it fits.” He chuckled. “She tells me I shouldn’t be driving, so she does most of it. It makes me feel bad, but there’s not much I can do.”
Leaphorn understood the situation. In a remote, rural world where public transportation was hard to come by, separating a man from his wheels condemned him to begging for rides or a living in isolation.
Louisa took a step toward the door. “Let’s talk outside. Mr. Willie has to close up. It’s already past six.” She glanced at the door and then back at them. Neither man moved. Louisa frowned. “When Joe was hurt, I did the driving. It made him nervous when I was behind the wheel. He’s a terrible passenger. Right?”
Leaphorn winced.
Peshlakai winked at him.
“Did Joe show you the pictures?”
“Yes. I looked at the earrings and the necklace. They’re real nice. I hope I made them.”
“My friend Daisy told Joe they should have been in a box with other items, some interesting things, actually, that came without a return address. Can you imagine that?”
Leaphorn scowled at her, but Louisa kept talking.
“If you’re heading back to Fort Defiance now, we’re on your way. I can call Daisy. You and your wife could stop at our house and then we could—”
Leaphorn put a hand on her arm, and she grew quiet. He felt her body tense. The woman gave him a dark look. He removed his hand and switched back to Navajo. Louisa went outside.
“Daisy is the woman who hired me. She’s a friend of Louisa.”
“If Daisy, that woman you’re working for, could let me see the real earrings and the necklace, instead of looking at the picture, I would know for sure if I made them. I’d love to hold these again.”
“That might be possible. How can I reach you?”
“No problem.” He slipped a slim black phone from his pants pocket. “My wife got this for me so she can keep tabs.” He gave Leaphorn his number. “I’ll put yours in here, too, so I can call you when I need to talk to a gray-haired investigator.”
Leaphorn hesitated, then watched the man input his cell number. Peshlakai’s screen had type several times larger than that on Leaphorn’s phone.
Willie came up to them with some papers in hand. “Did this guy tell you some of his best stuff is in museum collections, places like that? Once he got famous, I didn’t think we’d see him again. But here he is.” He handed Peshlakai a check and a form to sign.
The men moved to the porch. Peshlakai made his good-byes and climbed into the blue truck. He knew the trader was ready to go home, too, but he had a final request. “Can you quickly look at those photos I mentioned?”
Willie motioned to the wooden bench on the porch. “Sit.”
Leaphorn extracted the pictures. Willie perched next to him and motioned to Louisa, who was coming back from the now-closed bookstore, to join them.
“No thanks. I need to walk a little.” Leaphorn heard the edge to her voice.
He explained to Willie that his client wanted to thank whoever had sent the items in the pictures. “Some of these things look old and interesting. I wonder if any of these pieces might have come from here.” He hoped he’d said enough to capture the man’s interest.
Willie glanced at each picture and set a few aside. He handed the larger pile to Leaphorn. “These are nothing special, as far as I can tell. Some of them might be from known artists, or have some value because they are old, but if I were you, I wouldn’t waste time on them.” Willie picked up the smaller pile. “These are worth following up.”