Louisa said, “I know some fathers who would have objected, even grown angry.”
“Angry? He lost his temper once in a while, but only when we had it coming. Dad always told us how much we girls meant to him. He said he would miss me and that I was always welcome to come home, but that he knew I would be fine. The confidence he had in me gave me the courage to say yes. It was hard work, but it was fun, too.”
Mary smiled at the memory. “It was hot and exhausting, but I liked it. My sister went home. Then the lady got sick and it turned out to be cancer. I stayed and helped her and filled in at the gallery. By the time Barbara was done with her radiation and the chemo, well, it was like I was part of the family, or at least part of the business. They invited me to remain here and I did.”
“Was the gallery nearby?”
“Everything’s close here. It was a great location, right downtown. We were always busy during the tourist season, and we shipped a lot of art to buyers who came on those bus tours. I miss it.”
“When did the gallery close?”
“He shut down his art business about two years ago. Since then he’s been selling things online. I usually take a box or two to the post office each week.”
Louisa nodded. “It sounds like they really appreciate what you do for them.”
“They’re good people. They don’t have any kids, so they treat me like family.”
Leaphorn cleared his throat. “Can you tell me where the items in the box came from?”
She answered too quickly. “I don’t exactly know.” She repeated in English.
Leaphorn took another bite of meatloaf. Even though the meal was cold, it was still tasty, and like Mary, he had been trained never to waste food.
“I understand that you’re not sure. But what would you guess?”
She answered in English, and he interpreted that as a sign of stress. “Well, since the box went to the Navajo Museum, I’d guess that what he packed could have come from his private collection. It was either that or from the inventory he moved from the gallery to the house after the shop closed.”
Louisa shoved her plate to the side. “Mrs. Pinto noticed that also missing from the box was a bracelet. I have one that resembles it. This one.” She stretched her arm with Peshlakai’s storyteller artistry toward Mary. “Did you see anything like it when you worked in the shop?”
Mary cleared her throat and spoke faster. “We sold a lot of jewelry. The owner and his wife would buy direct from the jewelers or shop at fairs and markets.” She looked at the bracelet again. “That’s lovely. Wish I could help.”
Leaphorn knew she was lying.
The waitress asked about dessert. Leaphorn shook his head. Mary, who hadn’t eaten much of her sandwich, requested a piece of chocolate cake and a to-go container. Louisa ordered a dish of ice cream.
“I understand that your employer doesn’t want any credit. But what if some present arrived at his door?” Louisa flashed another smile at Mary. “You know, a tin of cookies, a bouquet, something like that? Anonymously, just like what he sent. What do you think?”
Mary shrugged.
Leaphorn could see her relax a bit more.
“You mentioned the lady’s cancer. I know some great herbal tinctures and infusions that make a good tea. Maybe something like that? Or a plant, or . . .”
Leaphorn finished his meal as the ladies chatted. He knew Louisa was fishing for details, but they’d moved out of his comfort zone with talk of tea and cookies. He’d rather discuss how to spot a gang member by studying his tattoos.
Louisa opened her purse, took out a piece of paper and a pen, and handed them to Mary. “Mrs. Pinto will need to know where to ship the gift. Could you write the name and number for her?”
Leaphorn cringed, and Mary ignored the ploy. “I have been thinking about what Mr. Leaphorn told me about Hwéeldi and the weaving. It touched my heart. The man who had the gallery mentioned that there were things he owned that he would like to give away when the gallery closed. Maybe he forgot to put the old dress in the box.”
Leaphorn said, “So you understand why we would like to talk to him to find out for sure.”
“And you understand why I can’t tell you any more than I have. A clever person like either of you can figure out how to find him from the information I’ve given you.”
Mary reached into her pocket and extracted a red wallet. “I have to get to work. The lady gets a massage to help with her pain. She will be ready to leave in twenty minutes, and it takes me fifteen to drive there. Then we stop at the grocery.”
Louisa put a hand on Mary’s arm. “Put your money away. This is on me. My friend Mrs. Pinto would want that.”
Leaphorn watched Mary pick up her box of food, leave the restaurant, and climb into a white Mercedes sedan. When he squinted, he could make out three characters on the car’s license plate, enough for Jessica to follow up if necessary. He turned back to Louisa to see her fiddling with her phone, typing. “I can figure this out. An Indian art gallery on Main Street that closed two years ago after twenty years in operation.”
“Rye. Rafferty.”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“Rafferty bought da bracelet.”
“That’s good. I’ll tease this out.”
Leaphorn grabbed the check, took it to the cashier, and came back.
Louisa grinned. “Lloyd and Barbara Rafferty. They own a place off Highway 87. I put the address in my GPS.”
“Les go.” He stood, keys in hand.
“Hold on. Mary left her sunglasses on the table. Let me grab them.” Louisa put the glasses in her purse.
He would have given the glasses to the woman at the front counter for Mary to pick up. But Louisa had a mind of her own, and he was learning when to roll along with it.
He lowered the windows before he turned on the air-conditioning. Louisa climbed in. “I imagine Mr. Rafferty’s instinct will be to slam the door on us, assuming he opens it to a couple of strangers in the first place. Talking to an aging lady college professor might make the situation smoother than dealing with a guy who, despite being retired, still looks and acts like a cop.”
Leaphorn focused on driving. After the second stop sign, he realized she had a point.
“You take da lead.”
“I’ll say this harmless-looking college professor needs a favor for a friend, who has a question about Indian art, his area of expertise. We would have gone to the gallery, but we realized it had closed. What do you think?”
He nodded.
“Once we’re in, I’ll tell him more of the truth, that the questions concern an item Daisy thought she was receiving as a gift, but the gift never arrived. I will say that Mrs. Pinto doesn’t know his identity and that we won’t tell her but that I’m wondering if he forgot to send it. And I’ll introduce you as my friend. How does this sound?”
“Kay.” If Louisa could build a bit of rapport with Rafferty, the plan could evolve. If he put the dress in the box, Rafferty would assume it had been stolen. Bad for the museum staff’s reputation, unless Rafferty blamed it on the post office or on Mary.
As he expected, they found the home in an older, well-kept part of Winslow where houses sat far apart overlooking the city, with views of the Little Painted Desert and the San Francisco Peaks. The home was perched at the end of a paved driveway. Beauty surrounded those who lived here. Louisa intertwined her fingers. “I’m nervous about this.” Then she pushed the round white button to the right of the carved wooden door. They heard a chime and then a voice. “Who is it?”