He said something else she couldn’t decipher, but his laugh came through clearly. Then he said, “Have you talked to the Lieutenant?”
“No. Should I?”
“He called this morning about coming to the station . . .” His voice turned to garble and then “. . . the rookie can’t drive with one eye.” The reception was getting worse. “. . . so hot out here even the rocks are sweating . . .”
“Tell Dashee ‘Hey’ for me. I can’t understand you, so I’m signing off.”
“What? I’m losing . . . sweetheart.”
She drove out to investigate a person walking unsteadily on the highway. As she cruised along, she called Mama on speaker. It took a while for her mother to answer.
“So, are you and Cheeseburger coming to see me today?”
“I’m working, but I might stop by later.”
“I thought this was your day off.”
“It was. Now I’m on until five or so, but you know how that can go.”
“You work too hard. I worry about you. When will you ever have time to weave?”
They’d had that conversation many times before. Bernie didn’t want to go there.
“Mama, did Sister talk to you about helping find a little space in a booth at the flea to sell drawings?”
“No. Come to the house today. We can talk to her about getting a job and . . .”
As Mama talked, Bernie noticed a convertible ahead of her driving on the shoulder. As she approached, it came to a stop. She glanced at the California license plate and then saw a camera sticking out the window. Visitors taking photos. Nothing she had to worry about.
Mama’s story continued to include an unexpected conversation with an old neighbor.
“It was good to have time to talk to Mr. Natachi. His granddaughter brought him over and he stayed until just now.”
“Were they going back to Chinle today?”
“His granddaughter has to work, so if they stay, they will drive back early.” Mama made a clicking sound. “I told her they should leave now so she can sleep in her own bed before tomorrow. She doesn’t listen. She reminds me of your sister.”
Bernie flashed her lights at a car that passed in the opposite direction considerably above the speed limit. She watched as it failed to brake and swerved across the center line. “I’ve got to go check on a bad driver, Mama. We’ll talk later.”
She disconnected before her mother could protest and headed after the vehicle. As it turned out, issuing that ticket for speeding and distracted driving was the big event of her shift. The man walking in the road had strolled away by the time she reached the place he’d been spotted.
She drove northwest toward the Carrizo Mountains to check on a missing elder, but the man returned unharmed while she was there and wondered why a police car had parked outside his house. His wife and daughter told her about a neighbor who, they said, was neglecting his horses. Bernie drove over to check and discovered that the father had been in the hospital. The son worked during the week but was there now and had arranged for his adult daughter to stay at the house and care for the livestock. Problem solved without her help. Something to celebrate.
She had finished her shift, except for the paperwork, called the station, and then drove to Mama’s house. What was going on with Darleen now that they needed to discuss?
Mama, absorbed in a television show, greeted her with a nod. “Sit here with me. I like this program. It’s funny.” The show featured home videos of cats falling into fish tanks and riding robotic vacuums, kids attempting daredevil stunts on bikes and the like. The fans were still on, and the house, while not exactly cool, was cooler than Bernie’s car.
Mama commented on the program and the ads with equal enthusiasm. When a pitch for new cars came around a second time, she pushed the mute button. “You can bring me a cookie, daughter. Have one, too.”
Bernie found the cookies on the counter. She brought two to Mama and one for herself along with napkins. They looked homemade.
“That’s right. The neighbor lady brought them when she asked your sister if she would go over there and watch the baby.”
“Is Mrs. Darkwater sick?” Bernie knew the neighbor doted on this grandchild.
“She’s fine. She and her son went to a movie in Farmington, and then for groceries. They would be home too late for the little guy.”
Bernie had seen the grandson. A cute kid. “Why didn’t the boy just come over here?”
Mama shrugged. “That’s what I said, but his dad has his own ideas. He doesn’t want the boy watching TV.”
Mama turned on the sound so they could listen to a commercial for perfume that featured only music and a very thin blond woman. Bernie thought about another blonde, Agent Johnson, and how Johnson had ignored her question about knowing the dead man. Few things made Bernie more curious than being denied information. Johnson hadn’t refused her request to help with the investigation, and Bernie planned to reinterview her witnesses, especially the folks who were on the trail when she had arrived.
Mama ate the first cookie and hit the mute button.
“When you start weaving again, you have to do it every day. Your hands can lose their place, lose the rhythm. Weaving keeps your mind from flitting around like, like . . .” Mama paused. “Like those little k’aalógii. You have to sit still. Then your hands and your brain can work together.”
“I’m like one of those butterflies now, moving from spot to spot. I enjoy being busy.”
Mama frowned. “Don’t let the loom sit alone too long.” She shifted on the couch and changed topics. “Now, we have to talk about something else. Your sister. That girl disappoints me. She’s not looking for a job. She found an idea on the computer about making money at home. She had to pay for something, a kit that tells how it works. It sounds bad to me, to have to pay to have a job. But you know how your sister is. You explain this to her.”
Mama fiddled with the remote, turning up the sound for a spot about cruise ships. When she said she was ready for bed, Bernie told her good night and went next door to Mrs. Darkwater’s house. The dog started to bark as she approached, and Darleen came to the door. She shooed the animal away with a wave of her hand and smiled at Bernie. “Hey, you! Come on in. I want to show you something.”
They sat at the table, and Bernie noticed her sister’s sketchbook.
“What are you drawing?”
Darleen smiled. “It’s the little guy who is in bed. I did it this afternoon to give to his dad and Mrs. Darkwater when they get back. What do you think?”
Darleen usually didn’t show anyone her work until she had revised it many times. The picture was Spider-Man with a child’s physique and a sweet little Navajo face.
“It’s wonderful. Really good, Sister.” She passed the pad back. “Why Spider-Man?”
“The kid loves Spider-Man. I don’t have the chin quite right, but it mostly looks like him.” She put the pad down. “Hey, do you want some water? It’s warm in here.”
“It’s cooler here than at Mama’s. Do you think Mrs. Darkwater would mind if I took a Coke?”
“She doesn’t have any. Just tea, water, and juice boxes for the young one. It’s cooler because Mrs. Darkwater keeps the curtains closed during the day. Our mother likes to let the sun in even when it’s a thousand degrees outside.”