A Stolen Chance (9 page)

“On my bedside table this morning.” She threw up her hands and sighed. “You probably think I’m crazy, but I swear it’s not mine.” Hands steepled atop the table, she added, “Not that I wouldn’t love to own it, but for some reason I think it must be valuable.”

He’d listened to her describe her heat problem during the night. Leona and Buck had never mentioned complaints from former guests about the heat. Their gripes involved thumps, scraping chairs, and the smell of tobacco. Could his great-grandfather’s ghost really be haunting cabin number one? Or not just Shannon’s cabin but possibly the entire motel? After all, he’d had a guest, too.

He cleared his throat. “I received a fetish the night I arrived. Aunt Leona swore it was part of Grandpop’s collection, which hasn’t been seen since before his death.”

“Really?” Her blue eyes widened. “Then I’m not crazy?” She leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath of air. “Whew. I was worried I’d gone nuts.”

He set the fetish on the table.

With a finger, she moved it around to face her. “It’s a porcupine, right?”

“Yes. It represents faith and trust.” He touched the turquoise arrowhead attached with sinew wrapped around the porcupine’s body. “Was there anything else on the table?”

“Just some kind of gold powder. I raked it into the trash can.” Her eyes rounded. “It wasn’t gold dust, was it?”

He chuckled. “No, it was cornmeal, food for the fetish’s journey. Actually, true fetishes are carvings that have been blessed. Otherwise it would just be a piece of art.”

“How do you know so much about these little figures?”

“When I was ten years old, Gramps took me to a museum in Albuquerque that held a large display of both Zuni and Navajo fetishes. I was fascinated, so much so that I spent a month’s allowance on a book about them. Gramps and I pored over the book many a night.” Now Carson knew why the older man was so interested. He wondered why Gramps had never mentioned Grandpop’s fetish collection. Did he know where it was hidden? If so, why hadn’t he told someone?

She smiled, the expression easing the worry lines around her mouth. As if remembering last night’s visitor, her smile wilted. “Do you believe in ghosts, spirits?”

“Yes, I do. It’s part of my Laguna heritage, plus I accept as true all phenomena in this world until it’s disproven.”

“So, you think your relative is sending me a message?”

“Who knows? It’s possible. If there really is a treasure hidden somewhere, he’s leaving us clues—the raven for mystery and the porcupine for trust and faith. Not much to go on.”

“Why on earth would he leave me hints? I’m not part of the family. He doesn’t know me.”

Carson wondered the same thing. Who knew how these things worked? “I don’t know. Maybe he feels connected to you somehow, senses he can communicate with you.”
Or perhaps he feels her insecurity and is offering assurance.

Eyes round, her mouth dropped open. “Me... Uh, I can’t imagine why.” She snapped her mouth closed and worried her bottom lip.

“Are you sure? Have you never seen or felt anything supernatural before?”

She picked up the fetish, placed it in her hand, and ran a finger across the rough edges. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

****

After breakfast, Susan found herself in the front seat of Carson’s truck, Hans in the back seat. Carson had insisted she make the trip to Zuni Pueblo with him. Though the Navajo and Hopi also made fetishes, Carson believed the ones carefully packed in cotton in her purse were Zuni. His knowledge about the tiny pieces of artwork fascinated her. She admired his interest in his heritage, and his knowledge. All she knew about herself was that her distant ancestors hailed from Europe.

“How were you able to get away from the café today?” She’d been telling him about her ghost experience, and before she knew it, they were headed west on I-40.

“Called Aunt Leona and explained the situation. She told me to leave and not worry about the café.”

“I thought they’d leave on their vacation today.”

“Nope, not until next week.” He turned toward her, a big grin on his face. “Uncle Buck wants to vacation at home. Aunt Leona’s not having it. She said she’s going to Nashville next week whether he goes or not.”

“She’s something else.” Susan admired the older woman. Leona had spunk. What would it be like to have such a secure relationship that you could make a comment like that to your spouse and not fear retribution? Would she ever know? She knew many marriages were happy and not abusive. Dewayne hadn’t always been explosive. His personality change occurred slowly. The drugs and then his greed had made him crazy.

She shuddered. Stop thinking about the past, Susan. “Do you think he’ll go?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will.” He snickered. “Actually, Buck’s resistance is only to aggravate her. He wouldn’t even let her drive to Albuquerque without him.”

“You mean he’s possessive?”

“No, not at all. They’ve been together so long he wouldn’t know what to do without her around.”

That was nice. Her parents were pretty much the same way. Oh, Mom went on day trips with girl friends, and her dad went on a weekend hunting trip once a year, but that was pretty much the only time they were apart. Nostalgia welled up inside her. She longed to see her parents, to lean into her mother’s embrace and weep against her shoulder. She missed talking to Lauren. Tears threatened, and she breathed deep to keep them at bay.

“We’re about to turn off the interstate. How about a restroom break?”

She coughed into her hand to ease the congestion in her voice. “Sounds good.” A diversion was just what she needed to take her mind off her maudlin thoughts.

Inside, the truck stop resembled a small city. It housed a restaurant, small deli, shower facilities, and cubicle-sized rooms for sleeping. Everything a trucker might need lined the walls and shelves of the store—even children’s toys and bouquets of flowers for the wife or sweetheart.

When Susan exited the ladies’ room, Carson looked up from a newspaper and dropped it back onto the stack. “How about we go ahead and eat? There won’t be many places to stop from here on.”

Susan let her eyes drop to the exposed front page—the
Chicago Tribune Herald
—her heart in her throat. She quickly scanned the headlines she could read while standing, and then released the air she’d held in her lungs.

Carson studied her, brow furrowed. “Would you like a newspaper?”

“No. Why do you ask?”
Liar.
She did want one but couldn’t find an excuse to buy one.

“The way you stared, I thought you wanted to read the Chicago news. Do you have family there?”

She shook her head and hoped he didn’t think her nuts. She waved her hand. “I just had one of those déjà vu...whatever... moments. You ever had one of those?”

“Uh, as a matter of fact, I have.” Hand at her back, he steered her in the direction of the restaurant. “Now, it’s time for food. I’m starved.”

****

A bell tinkled above the door as they stepped into the showroom of Paul Zeekya’s shop. A few customers bent over glass showcases, waited on by an older man and a young woman. The two shopkeepers smiled in welcome before returning to their patrons. Carson and Shannon peered into cases, admiring Mr. Zeekya’s work.

“You are Carson, Leona’s nephew?”

Carson looked up and shook the older man’s hand, shocked the man knew his name.

“Yes I am. How’d you know?”

The ancient artisan chortled. The expression emphasized the wrinkles in the weathered skin of his face. Though he was dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, his shoulder-length hair was held in place with a wide woven headband. “Your aunt called to tell me to expect you.”

Carson turned to Shannon. “This is Shannon Langley.”

“Hello, Miss Langley.”

“Mr. Zeekya.”

“I’m pleased to meet you both.”

Aunt Leona hadn’t mentioned she knew this Mr. Zeekya, had just given Carson the name and address of his shop. He’d ask her how she knew the man as soon as he had the chance.

“Thank you for seeing us today on such short notice.”

“I’m pleased you’ve come. Follow me.” Using a cane for support, his back bent, he shuffled toward a room behind the showroom. It was a large area, the same size as the shop in the front. Tools lined three walls, and a large workbench dominated the area in the center. Small hand tools covered one end, a large lamp on the other. “I’m always anxious to see exciting Native American pieces, especially fetishes.”

The temperature inside the room was considerably cooler. Was it not heated? Carson glanced at Shannon to see if she felt the change. Hands in her coat pockets, neck tucked down, she shivered. He stifled the urge to put his arm around her and pull her close.

Mr. Zeekya waved at the two chairs next to the wall in the crowded room. “Pull those up and have a seat.”

Carson held the chair for Shannon until she settled, then sat in the one beside her. Shannon handed him the cotton, and he carefully unrolled the bundle and placed the two fetishes on Mr. Zeekya’s work table.

Mr. Zeekya flipped on the lamp, then sat and adjusted a pair of magnifying glasses over his regular lenses. He bent over the fetish he held and twisted it to different positions. After he’d examined both animals, he placed each in a tiny Ziploc bag and layered them with cotton in a small decorative box that snapped closed.

He tapped the package. “These are very fine examples of Zuni fetishes. From the way they were cut, I believe they were made before power tools were commonly used for cutting and polishing—possibly between 1900 and 1930. To verify this, they’d need to be examined by a team of experts. Very few examples remain today. Keep them safe.”

Carson could only sit in stunned silence. He’d known they were valuable, but not their historical significance.

“I’d like to hear how they came to be in your possession.”

Ten minutes later, after Carson and Shannon had related their ghostly experiences, the older man looked at Shannon. “He actually spoke to you?”

Shannon nodded.

He stroked his chin. “Hmmm. I’ll want to hear more about this in a minute, but first...” He turned his attention to Carson. “Do you have any idea how your great-grandfather obtained his collection of fetishes?”

“Aunt Leona believes they were his wife’s. Her name was Lily, but I don’t know her last name. We’ve a bunch of boxes in the storeroom to go through, so I hope to know more soon. I do know she was from the Zuni Pueblo. My great-grandfather was from the Laguna.”

“Ahh.” Mr. Zeekya nodded. “I see. I hope you will examine the contents of your great-grandfather’s things soon and let me know what you find, especially if you discover the last name of your great-grandmother.”

“I will.” Carson took Shannon’s hand and squeezed. “Maybe you’ll help me. You said you were interested in the Native American history around here. It’d be a great opportunity to delve into and maybe rediscover some important facts.”

Her blue eyes flashed with interest. “I’d love to.”

“With your permission, Mr. Rhodes, I could study our records and perhaps learn your great-grandmother’s name. As you know, tribal records are important and well-documented. If they married here, there will be an entry recorded.”

“Yes, I’d appreciate any help you can give me.”

Mr. Zeekya nodded his approval. “Good.”

Carson shook his head. “What a shame I’ve waited all these years to learn about my ancestry. I think my grandfather would be disappointed in me, but now that I think about it, why didn’t he share his knowledge about his family with me and his two daughters?”

“Do not blame yourself. Perhaps there is a reason your grandfather didn’t want you delving into his or your great-grandfather’s past, some secret that had to remain hidden until a certain time.”

Carson’s stomach knotted. Surely there wasn’t something shameful Gramps wanted to hide or cover up? Gramps was a strict man, honest and hard-working. He shook his head. No, Gramps wouldn’t do anything dishonest or immoral.

“Now, Miss Langley, let’s get back to your experience. Have you ever seen or felt the presence of a spirit before?”

She glanced at Carson. “Well, uh, I did often as a child, but the sightings stopped when I was around twelve.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why. Then, while camping in Chaco Canyon a month ago, I saw something in my campfire.” Twisting her hands, she related the events of that night. Carson could only stare as the words tumbled from her mouth. Why hadn’t she told him?

“You say a spirit stepped from the flames of your fire and spoke to you?” The furrows in Mr. Zeekya’s wrinkled face deepened.

“Yes. The warrior shook a spear at me and said, ‘Have faith. Trust.’”

Mr. Zeekya’s shrewd eyes assessed her. “The spirit sensed your distress, Miss Langley. Perhaps that is why your ability to see beyond the natural has returned.” He waved a finger like a windshield wiper. “Don’t deny it. Anyone who looks closely can see you’re hiding your emotions.” He turned to Carson. “Isn’t that right, young man?”

Her gaze moved from Mr. Zeekya to Carson.

Carson nodded. “I recognized it right away.”

Elbow propped on the armrest of the chair, she dropped her head to her hand. “Is it evident to everyone?”