“Jeans, a red T-shirt with cigarettes in the front pocket, sneakers.” Mr. Natachi tapped the middle finger on his left hand. “A big ring here. It looked like Sleeping Beauty turquoise.”
Bernie knew that flea markets could be places where people came to sell stolen property. She’d seen reports of a rash of break-ins in the Chinle area. If a thief wanted to dispose of hot items, moving away from the neighborhood where they had been stolen made sense. “I want to talk to this man.”
“He was over that way,” Mr. Natachi pointed with his lips. “Next to the woman with the sage smudge sticks.”
“I’ll take you,” Mama said. “I know right where that is.”
Mr. Natachi shook his head. “That man is gone. I scared him away. He’s probably in Farmington by now. Or just set up along the road somewhere.” He put his hand up to his neck. “I am happy to have it.”
“Please wait here, Mama. I’ll be right back.” Bernie trotted off in the direction Mr. Natachi indicated and found the herb lady and, next to her, an empty vending space. She talked to the woman and to the vendors on either side, and they confirmed that their flea market neighbor had packed up quickly. One said she thought his name was Eric; the other vendor referred to him as Steven.
Bernie did a quick cruise of the market and saw no one who matched Straw Hat Man’s description. When she returned, Mr. Natachi was talking about his daughter and her husband, who were driving around the US in a truck with a camper shell. When his story was done, Mama turned to her. “You want to make a pie from those peaches. We should go before it gets too hot to turn on the oven.”
Mr. Natachi said good-bye. “I hope you police find the man who had my bolo and the man who sold it to him. I think he told the truth about that.”
Mama and Bernie stopped at a lemonade booth and took cups of it to the car. Mama seemed immune to the heat; Bernie wished, not for the first time, that the air-conditioning worked in her old Toyota. Usually when she opened the windows in New Mexico’s Four Corners country, the flow of air provided relief from the heat, especially in the morning. But not today. The summer rains were slow in coming this year, and the clouds that made afternoon shade had not yet arrived.
Bernie drove Mama home to Toadlena. Her sister had turned on both fans and placed them strategically so that it was noticeably cooler in the house than outside. Darleen was barefoot, in shorts and a tank top, and had piled her long black hair in a makeshift bun on the top of her head. Bernie took the fruit to the kitchen while Mama told Darleen of their adventure. She gently emptied the peaches into a dishpan in the sink. Juice from the squashed fruit on the bottom filled the room with the sweet smell of summer. She washed them, then found a well-used cookie sheet in the cabinet and moved them there to dry and sort.
Her sister came in to watch. “How was the flea market?”
“Hot. Mama knew half the people she saw shopping.”
“And you knew the rest. Did anything interesting happen?”
“Yeah.” She told Darleen about Mr. Natachi and the bolo.
“I thought he must be here. I saw the auntie drive by yesterday with an older gentleman next to her and someone who looked a lot like Ryana in the back seat. I’ll have to go down and say hello. I haven’t seen that girl for years.” Darleen smiled. “You think she’s still pretty, or did she get fat?”
“I think she’d be gorgeous fat or thin. Just like you, Sister.”
Darleen laughed. “Right. And especially in this outfit.”
Bernie began to select the peaches she’d use for the pie, putting them back in the bag. She talked as she worked.
“I wish you had come with us. There was a man selling photographs. It made me think that you could sell your drawings there. And you could do portraits, too.”
“Did you actually see anyone buy a photo?” She didn’t wait for Bernie’s response. “Who wants photos when everyone who has a phone can take their own?”
“I just mentioned it because I know you need to make some money. Don’t be negative.”
“I could sit there in the heat all day watching people walk by looking for cheap socks and T-shirts. I’d rather sit here.” Darleen filled a glass with cold water. “You want some?”
Bernie shook her head. “Do we have a Coke?”
“You drank the last one a couple days ago. Those things aren’t good for you. Too sweet.” Her little sister looked at the peaches and grabbed one. “But that doesn’t apply to peaches, of course. All natural.”
“I’ve left some here for you and Mama. I’m making a pie. Speaking of sweet, my husband is cooking dinner. I volunteered for dessert.”
“How is the Cheeseburger?”
“Fine. He’s off work today.”
Now that Mama didn’t require her walker, she moved so quietly her daughters didn’t realize she was there. She went to the refrigerator, took out a jug of sun tea, filled two glasses, added several spoonfuls of sugar to one, and handed it to Bernie. “No Cokes, but you try this. You still look hot.” She took the other one. “I’m going to rest a minute before I go next door. Mrs. Darkwater wants me to help her sort through some clothes for her son.”
Bernie took the cool glass and joined Darleen on the couch. “Mama seems good today.”
Darleen agreed. “Ever since the doctor took her off that medicine, she feels fine. Even her memory has improved. She still moves slowly, but she’s so much stronger. If I had a job, I could go to work and not even worry about her. Now that she’s better, she doesn’t need me much except to drive and lift the heavy stuff. And to have someone to boss around.”
“What’s new with your job hunt?” Darleen had been looking for paid work all summer, or so she said.
“Nothing. It stinks.”
“I can let you know if I hear of anything.”
Darleen hesitated. “Sure, but nothing to do with cops.”
“Why not?”
“You and the Cheeseburger have that covered. It’s probably too late to get a job anyway if I’m going to quit to go back to school. But how can I go to school if I don’t have any money?”
Bernie had already talked to her sister about scholarships, grants, special programs to help students like Darleen. None of her suggestions or advice resonated enough to get her sister moving. Darleen excelled in procrastination. “You could offer to give people rides, pick up groceries for them, things like that. Try my idea about selling some of your drawings at the flea market. Or doing quick portraits, you know, caricatures.”
“I don’t know how to get a booth and I couldn’t afford it anyway.”
“I’m sure Mama has ties to someone who would let you share a space. Or you could explore that ride idea.”
“Right. The rez Uber. I can see it now.” Darleen lowered the pitch of her voice. “‘Good afternoon, customer. I’m your driver, but you have to roll down the window to open the passenger door. And leave it down because there’s no air-conditioning. Or I’ll get out and you can scoot in under the steering wheel. If you want to put something in the trunk, just let me know so I can take off the wire that’s holding it shut.’”