She stopped talking as soon as she saw him more closely. His face was scraped and his uniform dirty. He limped up the steps to the deck and spoke before she could ask. “I’m fine. It’s a long story. I’m going to clean up and then I need to get back to work.”
“And I should see the other guy?”
When he didn’t respond to her quip, she put her book down and followed him inside, worry shadowing her like a bad dream.
He was in the bathroom and she heard the shower running.
“Tell me what happened.”
“A combination of terrible luck and worse judgment. I should have known better.”
“So . . .”
“Wait till I’m done here and I’ll give you the long version.”
He looked better after he had washed the sand out of his hair and the blood from his face and hands. He smelled good, too, when he joined her on the deck.
“Well, it wasn’t the finest moment of my career. But I take back what I told you before. There was some good luck involved. I’m lucky I’m not dead. We’d had complaints about a guy selling rotten hay and then not giving people their money back. So I sent the rookie out there. He grew up working on a ranch and knows more about hay than I do. He talked to the guy and at the time the man admitted it and offered to give the customer who complained a good bale. Problem solved, right?”
Bernie waited for the punch line.
“Not exactly. When the rookie had the seller call the jilted buyer, the buyer said he would come right over. He showed up, but he didn’t just want the hay, he wanted the seller to pay the vet bill for his horse who got sick from it.” Chee stopped. “Don’t give me that look, sweetheart. I’m getting there.
“The man who sold the bad hay said no deal, and the buyer swung at him. The rookie stepped in between them and took one in the face. He called for backup and that was me.”
“So you got in the middle of a fist fight? How did you—”
Chee interrupted. “I smell something burning.”
She rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel, and removed the pie. The edges of the crust were the color of dark chocolate, and the juice that had bubbled out was smoking at the bottom of the oven. She turned off the heat.
“I’m glad your nose is so sharp.”
“Too bad we can’t say the same for the rookie now. His nose got flattened. The guy swung hard. By the time I got there, Sam was sitting up with a paper towel to stop the bleeding. The men were both apologetic. Then the guy who got the bad hay asked us to climb up on the truck to make sure that the replacement bale wasn’t moldy, and the other guy agreed. The rookie was out of it, so I jumped up there. The hay was OK as far as I could tell, but the baler had picked up a snake and sliced it in two, and the back half with the rattles was moving in the truck bed. It startled me, and I lost my balance and fell out the back of the truck, you know, the open gate. Nothing seriously damaged but my pride.”
“How’s the rookie?”
“He’s hurting. And our plan for a lazy weekend took a hit. I told Largo I’d finish the shift so Sam could take his busted nose home. I’ve got to get back to work.” Chee paused. “The rookie is having trouble breathing, and it looks like someone will have to fill in for him tomorrow, too.”
“If Largo asks, I’ll work. That’s only fair since you’re taking the rest of his shift today.”
“Let Bigman handle it.”
“He and his wife have to go to birthing class.”
“Really?”
“Yes, the baby’s due any time now.”
Chee ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. “I didn’t even know they were expecting.”
“You haven’t seen Mrs. Bigman for a while, have you? I might need to work tomorrow anyway.” She mentioned the incident of the bolo tie and the call from the granddaughter. “I need to file a report. Since Mr. Natachi is from Chinle, I wonder if this could be tied to the burglary ring you’ve been checking into.”
“You’ve got a knack for being where the action is, even on your day off.”
“Well, yeah. That’s how I met you, remember?”
“You were the best new recruit I ever worked with.”
Bernie smiled. “That’s not what you told me when you arrived in that big truck after my unit got stuck in the mud.”
He grinned at her. “I was playing hard to get. I’m glad it worked.”
After Chee left, she typed her conversation with Mr. Natachi about the bolo and her follow-up effort, with special attention to his identification of the man who was trying to sell the tie. She would be happy to find the vendor and figure out why he had stolen property for sale.
She enjoyed her job, the variety that came with each day on patrol. She liked driving, being in the field instead of the office, dealing with people one-on-one. She appreciated the fact that most days, she could look back at her shift and see somewhere that she’d made a difference in someone’s life.
She glanced at the loom Chee had built for her. She’d taken pleasure in weaving as a beginner, years ago. She treasured the family legacy, the memory of her grandmother at the loom, and the skill and joy Mama brought to the art.
Someday, she thought. But not today.
Bernie was glad that Mama and she had gone to the flea market early. She had time for a run on her favorite trail along the river, her regular weekend afternoon routine. Running earlier would have been cooler, but she liked the midday break, the opportunity to shake off whatever she’d dealt with earlier and get reinvigorated for the evening. She changed into her shorts and tank top and put on her running shoes and the nylon pouch that held her phone and ID. She grabbed a water bottle and a hat and jogged off, finding her stride within a few minutes.
She wouldn’t have noticed the body if it hadn’t been for the dog.
3
The name of the postal inspector that had eluded Leaphorn popped into his head when he awoke, early as usual, on Saturday. Jim Bean, that was it, and recalling it made him smile. His memory was a little slower than at his prime, but still working. It was a good way to start the day.
He rose, greeted by that familiar, wonderful scent that told him Louisa had started the coffee. He dressed quickly and headed into his office to get the address book, where he knew he had Bean’s information. He found an office number in San Diego and realized that his dealings with Bean dated back to the day when not everyone and his grandchild had a cell phone. He jotted it down along with some other notes and headed to the kitchen.
After the first sip of coffee, he asked Louisa for the favor.
“Sure, Joe. But we may just get an answering machine. It is Saturday, you know.”
“Try.”
She called, and he watched her punch in another number, probably Bean’s extension. He heard her explain that she was calling on behalf of Joe Leaphorn. She left a message with their home number and his cell. He could tell by the unbroken cadence of her voice that she spoke to a machine. As he listened to her speak, he thought of something else.
“One mo?”
“Of course. But let’s eat first. The oatmeal is ready.”
Oatmeal was Louisa’s go-to breakfast. He made the best of it, sometimes imagining he was chomping on bacon or fried Spam. He’d complained once, and she had explained the value of whole grains as an antidote to the evils of a modern lifestyle, and then suggested that if he didn’t want oatmeal he could visit the restaurant of his choice and enjoy the heart attack special. He thought he might come to enjoy oatmeal, and he had evolved enough to find it tolerable. And he’d learned not to whine about a housemate who fixed a hot breakfast for him.