Part 10 (1/2)

The answer didn't surprise Chee. His people had adopted many ways of the belagana, belagana, but most of them had retained the Dinee tradition of personal modesty. Roosevelt Bistie would have kept his s.h.i.+rt on in the presence of his daughter. but most of them had retained the Dinee tradition of personal modesty. Roosevelt Bistie would have kept his s.h.i.+rt on in the presence of his daughter.

”Did he ever say anything about Endocheeney?”

”No.”

”Was Endocheeney a friend?”

”I don't think so. I never heard of him before.” Chee clicked his tongue. Another door closed.

”I guess the policemen asked you if you know who came here to see your fath- to see him tonight?”

”I didn't know he was home. I was away since yesterday. In Gallup to visit my sister. To buy things. I didn't know he was back from being in jail.”

”After we arrested him, did you go and get the lawyer to get him out?”

Bistie's Daughter looked puzzled. ”I don't know anything about that,” she said.

”You didn't call a lawyer? Did you ask anyone else to call one?”

”I don't know anything about lawyers. I just heard that lawyers will get all your money.”

”Do you know a woman named Janet Pete?”

Bistie's Daughter shook her head.

”Do you have any idea who it might have been who came here and shot him? Any idea at all?”

Bistie's Daughter was no longer crying, but she wiped her hand across her eyes again, looked down, and released a long, shuddering sigh.

”I think he was trying to kill a skinwalker,” she said. ”The skinwalker came and killed him.”

And now, as Jim Chee finished the last slice of peach and mopped the residue of juice from the can with the bread crust, he remembered exactly how Bistie's Daughter had looked as she'd said that. He thought she was probably exactly correct. The Mystery of Roosevelt Bistie neatly solved in a sentence. All that remained was another question. Who was the skinwalker who came and shot Bistie? Behind that, how did the witch know Bistie would be home instead of safely jailed in Farmington?

In other words, who called Janet Pete?

He would find out. Right now. The very next step. As soon as he finished breakfast.

He unplugged his coffeepot, filled his coffee cup with water, swirled it gently, and drank it down.

(”I never saw anybody do that before,” Mary Landon had said.

”What?”

”That with the water you rinsed your cup with.” Empty-handed, she had mimicked the swirling and the drinking.

It still had taken him a moment to understand. ”Oh,” he had said. ”If you grow up hauling water, you don't ever learn to pour it out. You don't waste it, even if it tastes a little bit like coffee.”

”Odd,” Mary Landon said. ”What the old prof in Sociology 101 would call a cultural anomaly.”

It had seemed odd to Chee that not wasting water had seemed odd to Mary Landon. It still seemed odd.) He put the pot under the sink. ”Look out, Cat,” he said. And the cat, instead of diving for the exit flap as it normally did when he came anywhere near this close, moved down the trailer. It sat under his bunk, looking at him nervously.

It took a millisecond for Jim Chee to register the meaning of this.

Something out there.

He sucked in his breath, reached for his belt, extracted his pistol. He could see nothing out the door except his pickup and the empty slope. He checked out of each of the windows. Nothing moved. He went through the door in a crouched run, holding the pistol in front of him. He stopped in the cover of the pickup.

Absolutely nothing moved. Chee felt the tension seep away. But something had driven in the cat. He walked to its den, eyes on the ground. In the softer earth around the juniper there were paw prints. A dog? Chee squatted, studying them. Coyote tracks.

Back in the trailer, the cat was sitting on his bedroll. They looked at each other. Chee noticed something new. The cat was pregnant.

”Coyote's after you, I guess,” Chee said. ”That right?”

The cat looked at him.

”Dry weather,” Chee said. ”No rain. Water holes dry up. Prairie dogs, kangaroo rats, all that, they die off. Coyotes come to town and eat cats.”

The cat got up from the bedroll, edged toward the doorway. Chee got a better look at it. Not very pregnant yet. That would come later. It looked gaunt and had a new scar beside its mouth.

”Maybe I can fix something up for you,” Chee said. But what? Fixing something that would be proof against a hungry coyote would take some thought. Meanwhile he looked through the refrigerator. Orange juice, two cans of Dr. Pepper, limp celery, two jars of jelly, a half-consumed box of Velveeta: nothing palatable for a cat. On the shelf above the stove, he found a can of pork and beans, opened it, and left it on a copy of the Farmington Times Times beside the screen door. When he got back from finding out who called Janet Pete, he'd think of something to do about the coyote. He backed his pickup away from the trailer. In the rearview mirror he noticed that the cat was gulping down the beans. Maybe Janet Pete would have an idea about the cat. Sometimes women were smarter about such things. beside the screen door. When he got back from finding out who called Janet Pete, he'd think of something to do about the coyote. He backed his pickup away from the trailer. In the rearview mirror he noticed that the cat was gulping down the beans. Maybe Janet Pete would have an idea about the cat. Sometimes women were smarter about such things.

But Janet Pete was not at the s.h.i.+prock DNA office, a circ.u.mstance that seemed to give some satisfaction to the young man in the white s.h.i.+rt and the necktie who answered Jim Chee's inquiry.

”When do you expect her?” Chee asked.

”Who knows?” the young man said.

”This afternoon? Or has she left town or something?”

”Maybe,” the man said. He shrugged.

”I'll leave her a message,” Chee said. He took out his notebook and his pen and wrote: ”Ms. Pete-I need to know who called you to come and get Roosevelt Bistie out of jail. Important. If I'm not in, please leave message.” He signed it and left the tribal police telephone number.

But on the way out, he saw Janet Pete pulling into the parking area. She was driving a white Chevy, newly washed, with the Navajo Nation's seal newly painted on its door. She watched him walk up, her face neutral.

”Ya-tah-hey,” Chee said. Chee said.

Janet Pete nodded.

”If you have just a minute or two, I need to talk to you,” Chee said.

”Why?”

”Because Roosevelt Bistie's daughter told me she didn't call a lawyer for her father. I need to know who called you.”

And I need to know absolutely everything else you know about Roosevelt Bistie, Chee thought, but first things first.

Janet Pete's expression had s.h.i.+fted from approximately neutral to slightly hostile.

”It doesn't matter who called,” she said. ”We don't have to have a request for representation from the next of kin. It can be anybody.” She opened the car door and swung her legs out. ”Or it can be n.o.body, for that matter. If someone needs to have his legal rights protected, we don't have to be asked.”