“I’d like to talk face-to-face. Where are you now?”
Bernie told her. “I don’t have my notes on what I saw out there. I can be back at the substation in about half an hour, pick up my notes, and meet you somewhere. I know Largo sees this as a priority.”
Johnson surprised her. “It sounds like you’ve already done a lot of driving today and I haven’t been out of the office. Let’s talk about this on your turf. I’ll let Largo know.”
“That will work. Do you know who the victim was?”
“Yes. See you in a bit.”
Bernie steered over the familiar roads and into the outskirts of Shiprock, noticing that the clouds had started building up earlier in the day and towered to look more like those that could bring rain. Their shade kept the heat in check. She thought about stumbling upon the dead person and the rest of the scene, sifting through her memories to see what she might have missed. She pictured the sweaty man she’d encountered before she found the body. Perhaps Johnson’s team had found him.
Chee used the computer at the Chinle station to try to learn more about Ryana. He discovered that the senior center had honored her as employee of the month back in January. The announcement in the newsletter, along with her smiling photo, noted that she had been on staff for a year. He remembered Ryana’s comment that Elsie would give her a ride to work and noticed that Elsie Bitsóí, food services assistant director for the senior meal program, had presented the award.
Then Chee called the hospital and talked to nurse Lucinda. “You won’t believe it, but Mr. Natachi is down in X-ray. The portable machine wasn’t working right the first time. They fiddled with it for an hour.”
“How is he?”
“No worse.”
“Has Ryana been by?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
He drove to the senior center and made his way to the multipurpose room. A few women were clearing the tables and directed him to Elsie. The room smelled of pinto beans and corn bread, and reverberated with the sounds of organized old age: the lucky letter-number combinations of bingo and a television on too loud in counterpoint to the clatter of dishes in the industrial kitchen.
Elsie Bitsóí greeted him like a friend. She looked to be forty-something, give or take five years. Chee noticed her strong hands and the blunt unvarnished nails of a woman who worked hard at the kind of job that sent a person home tired. Her white blouse had darker semicircles at the armpits.
“I’ve been worried about the girl and her grandfather. I knew something was wrong when she called me to tell me not to pick her up today. She said she needed some time off. She just called again and she said her grandfather had been shot. What’s going on?”
Chee leveled with her.
“No! That poor old man. He would never harm anyone.” She shook her head before Chee could cobble together a response. “What a shame.”
“Do you know where Ryana is now?”
“No. I told her to go ahead, take today off, do what she had to. That girl is a good worker. She never complains about overtime—she even requests it. When her boyfriend left, she asked me for a ride until she figured out what to do. I didn’t mind. Like I said, Ryana works hard.”
“Did she ever talk to you about being in the movies?”
Elsie gave him a wink. “I’m too old and fat to be a movie star.”
“I mean, did Ryana ever talk about her work in the movies, you know, the films she made while she was living in Phoenix?”
“That girl was in the movies?”
“That’s what I heard.”
Elsie laughed. “She never talked about that, but she’s so pretty, she could be a movie star. I’ll have to ask her.”
“I heard that Ryana had a BMW. What happened to it?”
“She sold that car. They drove her boyfriend’s car, a little sedan. She told me he had one of those computer jobs you can do from home, from anywhere, you know what I mean? He came here out of California. She told me Nicky knew a lot about security, you know, about how to keep someone from stealing your identity, stuff like that.”
Chee nodded. It was easy to get information from a woman who liked to talk.
“Ryana said he wanted to offer a safety program here, you know, talk to the elderlies. Most of these old ones don’t have computers, but after she said he would talk about other things, too—good lighting, grab bars, rugs that don’t slip, stuff like that. I said OK. Nicky did a good job.”
“What other tips did he have?”
“Oh, he said, ‘I bet I can tell you where you keep your jewelry.’ And he asked people to raise their hands if he got it right. His first guess was in a box on your dresser. Most people raised their hands. Then on a shelf in the closet. Then in the top drawer in the bathroom. Then under the bed. Only three people hadn’t raised their hands, and two of them said they didn’t have any expensive jewelry. The other lady said it was none of his business.”
“That’s interesting.” Smart woman, Chee thought. “What was that lady’s name?”
“Mrs. Youngman.”
Her name was not on any of the reports he had just read.
Elsie talked on. “His program was interesting. I’d show it to you if I could. We always ask to video those presentations, but Nicky said no, no video. I don’t know why. He’s handsome for a white man. Shiny black hair, tall, kinda slim. He wore two gold earrings.”
“What did Mr. Natachi think about Nicky?”
Elsie frowned. “You should ask him that.”
“So, he didn’t like him?”
“I think one trouble was that Nicky’s older than her. He might be forty-five.”
As she spoke, Chee began to construct a scenario that made sense of the burglaries and Mr. Natachi’s shooting. “Do you know Nicky’s last name?”
“No. You could ask Ryana, but he’s old news. He left her.”
“What happened?”
“Well, sometime last week he just went away, no argument or nothin’. At least, that’s her story. He took his computers out of the house but left his car. That was strange, but I told her it was his going-away present because he felt guilty. I think he has another girlfriend who came by for him, and that’s why he’s avoiding Ryana. He’s too chicken to even say good-bye.” Elsie sighed. “I gotta get back to work. When you see Ryana, let her know I’m thinking of her. Want a cold drink to take with you?”
“No, thank you. I appreciate your time.”
“Tell Mr. Natachi to get better. Tell him I’ll give him an extra cookie when he comes in for lunch.”
Chee answered Bernie’s call from the comfort of the senior center lobby, enjoying the air-conditioning.
“Hey, where are you?” She sounded good. “At the movies?”
“You’re right, sweetheart. It’s Blazing Saddles.”
“So the heat’s gotten to you.”
“I’m at the senior center at Chinle learning more about Ryana.” He explained, “The film is down the hall.”
“Speaking of movies, what did you think about Darleen’s information?”
“What do you mean?”