Rock with Wings Page 25

She parked in the restaurant lot, noticing that it was nearly full, and picked up her backpack, double-checking to make sure her notes were there. She put on a bit of lipstick, squared her shoulders, and walked into the room where the meeting would be. She felt almost as unsettled as when she’d met Chee’s relatives for the first time.

  The sixty-something woman at the door in the gray business suit introduced herself as the program director and the person Bernie had talked to on the phone. “We’re so glad you could join us. You’re younger than I expected. Have you met our president?”

  “No, ma’am.” Younger than expected? That didn’t sound like a good thing.

  The woman ushered Bernie to a round table, where a man in a business suit and well-polished cowboy boots was talking to a small group of people. The man in the boots extended his hand. “Clayton Sanchez, president of this bunch of rowdies, at least for a few more months. We’re pleased you could come today.” He introduced the other men at the table: a Farmington banker, a gentleman who owned a drilling company, and an insurance broker. Only the banker wore a suit, and he had a bolo with a piece of coral in place of a necktie.

  Bernie nodded, wishing she had Chee’s gift for remembering names. Clayton reminded her of clay, and she pictured his boots encased in claylike mud. Maybe she could use sandy clay, whatever that might be, for the Sanchez part. She felt the men watching her while Sanchez spoke.

  “Captain Largo and I got to know each other pretty well when I was with the Farmington Police Department. He’s a good cop.” Sanchez talked about a meth case he and Largo had worked together. The man knew his way around a story.

  The room had nearly filled. A flock of waiters and waitresses in black pants and white shirts began delivering plates of salad to the tables.

  Sanchez interrupted himself. “We better sit so the young lady can eat before she has to talk.”

  The salad looked good. So far, being in this room with the Rotary group wasn’t the heart-stopping experience Bernie’d imagined, but the hard job was still to come.

  A tall man wearing a white shirt open at the neck and a sport coat approached. Bernie thought he looked familiar, and struggled to place him. He introduced himself to the group just as Bernie’s brain had churned up his name: David Oster.

  “I’m the guy working on that big solar project. You all may have heard our radio ads: ‘Harnessing the power of the sun to provide electricity to our families and the rest of America.’”

  “The rest of America? That sounds great. Ambitious.” Sanchez winked at him. “Join us here? We’ve got an empty seat.” Sanchez turned toward Bernie. “This is Officer Bernadette Manuelito. She’s our guest speaker today.”

  Oster smiled. “We’ve met. Officer Manuelito was the one who had to give me the sad news that the town of Shiprock didn’t have a Starbucks.”

  Sanchez chuckled. “We’ve got three here in Farmington. Did she tell you that?”

  “No, she didn’t. Your secret is safe with Officer Manuelito.” He sat across the table from her. “It’s nice to see you here.”

  “So you’re a Rotary member?”

  “I’m with Rotary in San Francisco, and as part of our membership, we have a standing invitation to visit other clubs when we’re in the area.”

  “How’s your project coming?”

  “Fine. Except for the wind, the weather has cooperated. Once we smooth out a few bumps in the road, we’ll have the perfect site for a large installation.”

  “We’ve got plenty of sun out here, that’s for sure. What kind of bumps?”

  “Oh, nothing too serious. There seem to be some people who still don’t understand the value of solar power. My contractor and I are working to change some minds, open the naysayers to the possibilities of nonpolluting, renewable energy. Where would we be without the sun?”

  “Good question. And good luck with your project.”

  “I don’t need luck. It’s a natural, you know—the wave of the future, the way the world is moving.”

  Bernie looked at her salad, carefully pushing the strawberries to one side and the pecans to the other. She tried a bite of the lettuce and a little red tomato and found them acceptable. Chee would have appreciated this fancy dish, she thought, but give her iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing any time.

  Bernie heard Sanchez pushing his chair back, and she took a breath. Show time on the horizon. She felt her chest tighten.

  Sanchez went to the microphone, and everyone stood for an invocation and then faced the flag for the Pledge of Allegiance. When he invited them all to sit and began to read extensive announcements, Bernie moved her plate to the side and took out her notes. One more quick review.

  He introduced her, and she walked to the podium, suddenly regretting the salad she’d eaten. She adjusted the microphone, lowering it to pick up her voice. She felt her knees wobble.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, yá’át’ééh. Good afternoon. Thank you for inviting me here today. And for the free lunch.”

  A few of the attendees chuckled.

  “This is the first time I’ve been asked to speak on behalf of our department.” She looked up from her notes. “I thought I would start by explaining that if you want to be on patrol with the Navajo Nation police, you have to enjoy driving. Each officer who works on our force is responsible for about seventy square miles of reservation land. That’s about twice the area of Grand Rapids, Michigan. Or think of it this way: the whole country of Liechtenstein is only sixty-two square miles.”

  People in the audience smiled. She relaxed a little, looked at her notes for the next point she wanted to make, and kept talking. “In the rest of rural America, there are about three officers for a thousand civilians. Out here, when our department is fully staffed, there might be two of us for that same population. But I’m not complaining. I love my job, and I like to stay busy.”

  Most of her nervousness had evaporated, amazingly. She moved on to the next point and the next. It was over before she knew it.

  By the time she sat down again, the rest of her table had finished eating. The waiter brought her a large white plate filled with noodles shaped like ridged tubes covered with a mysterious sauce. She recognized mushrooms, green peas, and circles of sausage. If Chee were there, he’d probably figure out how to make it and experiment on her.

  She finished the salad, eating the strawberries and pecans separately, and followed it with her bread and butter. The noodles scared her.

  Then the waiter brought something delightful to the table. Chocolate cake beneath white frosting dotted with pastel sugar sprinkles sitting next to a big serving of whipped cream. He came back with hot coffee, filling cups carefully, and offering decaf to those who declined. Being a speaker wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined, especially when it included cake. She’d have to thank Largo for the assignment.

  At the podium, Sanchez asked for any final business, reminded the group of the speaker for the next meeting, and then, with a bang of the gavel, adjourned the meeting until next month.

  Oster stood to tell her goodbye.

  “I ran into Mrs. Benally at Teec Nos Pos,” Bernie said. “She told me the two of you had done some business.”

  “Lovely woman,” Oster said. “I wish everyone out here were as easy to deal with.”

  Bernie went back to the office to get her assignments for the rest of the day and to tell Largo about the talk. Sandra got her attention.

  “Hey, your sister has been trying to reach you. She wants you to call her.”

  She wondered if Darleen had an emergency, the rationale for calling her at work instead of at home or on her cell. Bernie called Mama’s phone. Busy. She called Darleen’s cell and left a message.

  Then she logged into the database to do a quick search on Aaron Torino and, while she was at it, tossed in the name of the mysterious Michael Miller. The system chugged, and then her monitor locked up. She tried every trick she knew with no luck, finally finding Sandra, the closest thing they had to tech services.
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  She’d go outside to call Darleen again while the computers were down, she decided. She took a deep breath, looked at her phone for a moment, and then pushed in Mama’s number. Sometimes she wished she’d had a big brother instead of a little sister.

  Darleen sounded happy. “I wanted to talk to you about going to Santa Fe tomorrow. Remember? Mama wanted to check out the school? I called you at work because I thought you might need to get the day off or something. Hope I didn’t freak you out.”

  “I was just in Farmington, and a sheriff’s deputy told me you’re being considered for the alcohol and drug diversion program.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Bernie had expected Darleen to be embarrassed, or at least surprised. “Cool? So you got arrested for drunken driving? Not just drinking a beer and mouthing off, like you told Mama and me?”

  “Well, not really. It’s a long—”

  “You lied to us.”

  “I didn’t exactly lie. I just—”

  “Grow up. I can’t deal with this.”

  “You don’t have to deal with anything.” Darleen sounded angry now. “You never listen. You always know what I should do. I didn’t tell you every little thing that happened because I didn’t want another lecture. I felt bad enough without you nagging on me. I made a mistake. Who hasn’t?”

  She stopped talking, and Bernie let the silence sit.

  When Darleen spoke again, she’d stopped shouting. “Come over to Mama’s tonight so we can talk. It’s not as bad as you think. Seriously.”

  Bigman appeared at the station door, waving to Bernie to come in.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “When do you think you’ll be here?”

  “I don’t know. Before dark. I have to take something to the old man who lives near that burned car.”

  “This isn’t as bad as you think,” Darleen said again.

  “Yeah, right.” Bernie hung up, furious. She walked inside the building to find Largo looking for her.

  “Manuelito, what have you done to the computers?” He sounded more annoyed than usual.

  “I was doing a search, seeing what I could find out about Tso’s grandson.”

  “Sandra’s having trouble getting things back to working again. We may have to talk to Window Rock.”

  Largo seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

  “Sir, lunch went well. People seemed to like the talk.”

  “Good. I owe you for that.”

  It seemed like a good time to ask for the next day off, explaining that she had an unexpected situation to deal with concerning her mother. Largo gave it to her without asking questions, and she spent an uneventful afternoon placing unreturned calls to Aaron and catching up on paperwork. The highlight was a residential burglary report. The thieves had absconded with the victim’s jewelry, cash, and meat from the freezer. The woman held her brother’s drinking buddies responsible.

  After work, Bernie went home to change clothes, then stopped at City Market to buy Mr. Tso a can of coffee and some plums, which she rinsed at the store. When someone hauled water, every drop was precious. She put everything in her backpack, then added Mr. Tso’s thrift-store belt. His house wasn’t that out of the way to the turnoff for Mama’s place. Maybe his view of Ship Rock would offer some inspiration.

  She stopped on the way and parked her well-used Toyota close to the burned shell of the Malibu. She wanted another look at the ridge to see if there were any more of those little cacti or any strange tracks she’d missed. She remembered the animal she’d seen in the road the evening she got lost. The thought made her uneasy, but she convinced herself it was a dog, or maybe one of those big wolf hybrids.

  An assembly of clouds hung in the late afternoon’s huge, brilliant sky, a hint at the undelivered promise of rain. She stood on the sandy earth and took in the sight of Ship Rock, more rugged than it looked from the angle at which she saw it most often. She had met people who found this landscape unsettling, people from elsewhere who felt uncomfortable without a green canopy of trees overhead. She liked trees well enough, as long as she could still look out and see the sky. She considered the piñons and junipers that lived in coexistence on much of the Navajo Nation’s land to be nature’s best tree creations. It took the piñons a hundred years to grow twelve feet, and they provided tasty nuts. Juniper was used in ceremonies and as medicine. She’d grown up drinking juniper tea when her stomach felt uneasy, and as a girl she had used the little brown seeds inside its blue berries to make bracelets and necklaces. Good trees, and they didn’t usually block the view.

  Her eye caught a flash of motion near the ridgetop. She focused. Saw it a second time. In addition to coyotes and dogs, there were horses out here, although an animal that large seemed unlikely on the rocky slope. She kept her gaze on the ridge, but she didn’t see it again.

  The vibration of her phone in the backpack surprised her. She fished it out of the front pocket. Chee!

  “Hey, there.” His voice sounded as strong as if he’d been standing beside her. “I talked to Bahe, and I can head back to Shiprock.”

  “It seems like you’ve been gone forever.”

  “Sounds like you’re standing in a tunnel, sweetheart. Where are you?”

  “I’m getting ready to visit Hosteen Tso. You know, the man who lives near Ship Rock. When I leave, I’m spending the night at Mama’s. Darleen and Mama and I have a lot to talk about.” She’d save the bad news for when she saw him, after she’d interrogated Darleen. “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “I can barely hear you, honey. Call me when you get to Mama’s, OK?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She ended the call, wondering not for the first time if the aggravation caused by all the times cell phones didn’t work was offset by their convenience when they did. She still voted in favor, but the margin was slim.

  She climbed the ridge, wishing the day were cooler and that she’d worn her hiking boots. She saw a lizard nicely camouflaged against the gray rocks, but no cactus plants, or yellow markers for them. No more tracks, either.

  The old man was sitting on the same wooden bench where she’d seen him last. He stood when she stopped her car and hobbled out to her, greeting her in Navajo and adding the word for “friend.” He motioned her to the side of the house. “Put your car there, where you saw my grandson’s truck. Get some shade from that tree by the corral.” She parked, grabbed her backpack, and walked to the porch.

  “I like your hair fixed like that, the old way. It keeps the wind from stealing your thoughts. I used to wear my hair like that, too, back when I was young.” She wasn’t surprised; the hairstyle was part of the Navajo tradition.

  She showed him the bag with the plums and the coffee. “These are for you, Mr. Tso. I thought you might enjoy them.”

  “Ahéhee. Thank you.”

  Then Bernie gave him the belt. He ran his hands over the fabric. “A nice one. Soft.” He started to hand it back to her, but she shook her head.

  “It’s for you. You can wear this when your daughter takes you to that big food corral.”

  He looked puzzled. “I don’t know about a place like that.”

  “It’s in Gallup. You mentioned that you liked the Jell-O there.”

  Mr. Tso shook his head. “Maybe the heat is bothering you. Come and sit with me.”

  Bernie didn’t press the point. She took her place in the chair next to Mr. Tso’s bench and shared the view. They watched a pair of ravens soar against the deep blue sky.

  “My grandson came earlier today to tell me he has a new job. The people who want to put up those mirrors hired him.” She sensed a grandfather’s pride, but something else in his voice as well. Concern?

  “The solar company? That’s wonderful for him. Maybe you will see more of him now.”

  But Mr. Tso shook his head. “They are the ones who gave me those lights down there.” He moved his head toward the side of the house where she had parked. “Go take a look. Then I will tell y
ou more.”

  She stepped off the porch and next to a chain saw and the red plastic gas can, she found a row of little lanterns mounted on long metal stakes with pointed ends. Each of the six had a flat dark rectangle on the top of a little box that was glass on all sides. They looked new.

  She returned to Mr. Tso. “Those are interesting. Do they work?”

  The old man frowned. “The one who wants to put those mirrors out there, he gave them to me. He and my grandson pushed them into the ground. When the sun went down, when the first stars could be seen, they turned themselves on.” He shifted on the bench. “No good. They make light when it should be dark.”

  Bernie pictured the scene. She thought solar lights were an excellent idea, especially for a house without electricity.

  “When I was a boy, we respected the darkness. We went to sleep when it got dark, got up when the sun rose. In the winter, the long nights gave us stories.”

  A coyote yipped in the distance, joined by another. Then came barking dogs. Mr. Tso began talking about a pack of dogs that had killed his goat when he was a boy, a story he had told her the first time she visited. An old shotgun was propped by the bend on the porch. It reminded her of the gun her uncle had kept for creatures who threatened the sheep.

  It was not uncommon on the Navajo reservation for feral dogs, perhaps interbred with coyotes, to attack livestock and even children. Perhaps, Bernie thought, even an old man. She understood why Mr. Tso’s daughter and grandson worried about him. “Those lights might help you see if a coyote or a dog pack is bothering your sheep. Maybe you should ask Aaron to put them by the corral.”

  “Those are my daughter’s sheep. With the lights, the sheep couldn’t sleep.” Mr. Tso chuckled. “They would have to start counting people. Not enough people out here to make them sleepy.”

  Bernie said, “Your daughter worries about you because of that burned car. I think that you know more about the burned car than you have told me. If you helped, maybe the police could find the one who burned the car, and your daughter wouldn’t worry so much.”

  Mr. Tso stared out at Ship Rock. Finally he said, “Some evil things the police cannot help us with.”