Ghost Medicine (33 page)

Tache met her in the hall, nodded with the trace of a smile, and walked with her to her office. Once there, he waited for her to go behind her desk before sitting down.

“What’s going on, Ralph? Does it have something to do with the fact that you’re not wearing your badge?” she asked, taking a seat.

“I knew that wouldn’t escape you,” he said, then paused for a moment. “It’s like this. Natani, the new chief, suggested I take my retirement now. The new benefits package coming out in January will have more restrictive health coverage and reduced retirement benefits. There’s no grandfathering in, so if I stay on past December, I’ll be switched over to the new plan. That’s a big cut for me.”

“So basically they’ve found a way to force you out, too,” Ella said, shaking her head slowly.

“You’re still in the game, Ella. Word is that they want you in Window Rock.” Ralph stood. “Good luck. It’s been a pleasure working alongside you all these years.”

“Walk in beauty, Officer Tache.” Ella stood there for a moment, awkwardly, then reached out. They hugged each other for about a minute, neither
saying a word, then let go.

Ralph nodded, gave her a big smile, then turned and left.

They’d all served the tribe, and now it was time for her to move on, too. Ella took a deep breath, then with a heavy heart began loading her personal items into an empty printer paper box.

As she removed a framed photo of her original team from where it hung on the wall for years, she stared at each face,
one at a time. Harry’s smile was broad and his eyes sparkled. Justine looked even younger than Ella remembered, as did Joe Neskahi. Jimmy Frank had died of cancer years back, but in the photo, he looked ready to tackle the world. Ralph had changed the most, the bomb blast that almost took his life had aged him beyond his years. But his spirit was still strong, and his recovery complete.

She placed
the photo into the box. Time had slipped by, bringing with it too many unwelcome changes. Although a part of her hated saying good-bye to the department, she no longer wanted to be a tribal officer.

After she’d gathered her things, Ella sat in front of her computer and finished the resignation letter she’d written in her head late last night. It was short and to the point. There was no reason
to belabor things.

She signed below the single paragraph, placed it in an envelope, and strode down the hall to what had been Big Ed’s office. To her surprise, the name on the door had already been changed.

She took a moment to prepare herself, knocked on the open door, and went inside as soon as Natani waved an invitation.

He stood and smiled as she came in. “Just the person I wanted to see,
Investigator Clah. Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” he said, then regarded her from behind the massive desk. “As you’ve undoubtedly heard by now, I’m here to move the department forward, to modernize the way we’ve been doing things. That means a brand-new opportunity for you, Ella. The tribe needs an officer with your experience and expertise to train a new generation of officers. Director
Bidtah has instructed me to offer you a well-deserved promotion. Your new package will include a twenty percent pay raise, transportation to and from Window Rock, and a generous housing allowance.”

She listened carefully, then placed the envelope before him. “I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s time for the department to greet the future unencumbered by the past. I resign.”

His eyebrows
shot up. “You sure about this? The department needs your experience.”

“You’ve got some good people here. Treat them right, and they won’t let you down.”

“No way I can change your mind?” Natani replied.

She shook her head and placed her badge on his desk.

“Well, then … good luck, Ella,” he said.

Ella turned and walked out of his office. There was no sense in looking back, because it was the
path ahead that called to her now, and it was one filled with endless possibilities.

Justine, who was coming out of her lab, stopped, then looked down at Ella’s waist. “You turned in your badge,” she whispered.

It wasn’t a question. “Yeah, but I’ll be around, and you always know where to find me. We’re family.”

“I don’t know what to say…,” Justine said, her voice trailing off. “I’m not sure
I can even talk right now.”

Ella didn’t want her cousin to cry, that would only make things more difficult, and a hug right now would lead to that, for sure. They were that close. Ella needed to leave the station free of doubt and with her head held high. “It’s not the end, Justine.” She smiled. “Just a new beginning.”

A few minutes later, Ella walked out the department doors carrying the cardboard
box that held mementos of her seventeen years as a tribal officer. She stopped on the front step, turned to look at Ship Rock, forever a reminder of her past and her future, and took a breath of fresh air.

Life never closed a door without opening another. What lay ahead was still unknown to her, but that’s exactly what would make it the best of all adventures.

“With the strong voice of the Southwest, Aimée and David Thurlo bring their winning mix of suspense, romance, and Navajo Nation lore to their new series.
A Time of Change,
the first in the Trading Post series, is a must read.”

—B. J. Daniels,
USA Today
bestselling author

“Combines taut suspense with a dash of romance and wraps it all up in riveting and authentic details of Navajo culture.”

—Teresa Medeiros,
New York Times
bestselling author

“In
A Time of Change,
Aimée and David Thurlo serve up a rich mix of engaging characters, nail-biting suspense, complex mystery, and tantalizing romance.”

—Rebecca York,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Filled with loving details of Navajo culture, heart-pounding suspense, and the promise of lovers reunited.”

—Caridad Piñeiro,
New York
Times
bestselling author

ONE

Josephine Buck walked in beauty. She attended school two nights a week at San Juan College in Farmington, New Mexico, and held a part-time job at The Outpost, a trading post adjacent to the Navajo Nation. At age twenty-six, she was also the youngest apprentice to one of the tribe’s most revered
hataaliis,
medicine men. Though it would take years, someday she hoped to become a Navajo medicine
woman—a rare profession for women of her tribe.

Her schedule was impossibly demanding, but through the traditions of the
Diné,
the Navajo People, she’d found the strength to honor all her commitments. She started each morning by offering her Prayers to Dawn, a ritual as old as the sacred mountains.

Standing on the sage-covered hillside behind her home on the Navajo Reservation, she waited for
the first rays of light to peer over the horizon. The moment Sun greeted her, Jo began to chant. “Dawn, beautiful dawn.” Her voice rose, each line reverberating with the power of conviction. The prayer was as much a part of her as the beating of her heart.

At long last, she finished. “
Hozhone nas clee,
now all is well,” she said, then took a pinch of pollen from her deerskin medicine bag and
threw it into the air. The tiny particles danced like yellow glitter in the early morning light, catching in a gentle breeze and dispersing before drifting down to Mother Earth.

Filled with energy, Jo hurried back downhill. She was going to work early to meet with Tom Stuart, the trading post’s Anglo owner. For the past two months, something had been bothering him, but the store was a busy place—she
worked thirty-five hours a week there now—and they hadn’t had time to talk about anything except business. Then he’d asked her to stop by his house before work this morning to discuss an important matter. His tone was so grim, he’d scared her a bit. She’d spent a long sleepless night speculating on the reason, each new scenario worse than the last.

Tom was more than her boss; he was the father
she wished she’d had, and her friend. When her own father became sick, the former marine turned storekeeper had been there for her. He’d allowed her to keep flexible hours and done everything in his power to help her through that difficult time.

As a good Navajo, Jo believed that balance was the way to harmony. Tom had helped her, and now she’d do the same for him. Jo hurried to her truck and
set out, wondering what lay ahead for them today. As she steered into the long curve around the south end of the Hogback formation, the ridge that ran north and south along the Navajo Nation’s eastern boundary, she could see the trading post off in the distance, just off the Rez.

A white van, probably a delivery vehicle, pulled out onto the highway from the turnoff and headed east toward Farmington.
The van reminded her of the vehicles used by bank and business couriers, or those extra rental vans used by FedEx around the holidays, except this one had no markings. The odd thing, though, was that it was awfully early for a shipment or food delivery to come in.

Tom’s trading post was a private operation, not affiliated with the tribe. It was modeled after early nineteenth-century businesses,
the kind most Navajos had often used to trade or purchase supplies. Painted in a light turquoise blue color, the building contrasted with the surrounding coal-rich countryside that supplied fuel to two major power plants.

Jo drove straight to the big metal gate that led to Tom’s home behind the trading post. His white Chevy pickup stood just inside, parked in its usual spot. Jo pulled up next
to the enclosure and walked to the gate. Tom had given her a key to the padlock months ago, but she didn’t have to use it this morning. The chain and lock were nowhere to be seen.

Tom was a man of settled habits, and this change in routine surprised her. Jo strode quickly up the flagstone walk and knocked hard on his front door. Tom was an early riser. A widower, he’d turned what was once his
wife’s sewing room into a gym, and worked out every morning. She figured that he’d probably be there now.

Her knock went unanswered. Maybe he’d finished and stepped into the shower. She went to the front window, open about eight inches, and listened for the sound of running water.

“Morning, Tom. It’s me, Jo,” she called out. She expected to catch a whiff of the eye-opening pitch black brew Tom
called coffee, but an entirely different scent came wafting out to meet her.

It wasn’t strong, but it was distinctive. For a moment, she struggled to identify it. Then memories of family gatherings and freshly butchered sheep came rushing back. Blood—that was the scent. Maybe he’d been butchering a side of beef someone gave him last night, or possibly a freezer had broken down. If meat had spoiled,
he would have arranged to get an early delivery from a butcher shop.

She shivered, not from the cold, but from the thought that niggled at the back of her mind. Something felt … off.

Jo brushed away the big blowflies that had gathered on the window screen, but they came right back. Uneasy, she circled around to the front door. As she reached into her shoulder bag for the emergency key he’d given
her, she noticed that the door wasn’t completely shut. She pushed it with the tip of her boot and it swung open without a sound.

“It’s me. I’m coming in,” Jo called, her skin prickling.

There had been a time people around here didn’t bother to lock their doors, but modern life had ushered in many changes. With thieves and drug crimes more prevalent now, caution had become a fact of life. Yet
she’d seen no signs of a break-in, just a door that shouldn’t be open and a missing lock and chain. And there was that white delivery van.…

Though she hated the thought of intruding on anyone’s privacy, Jo forced herself to go inside. As she stepped into the living room, the scent of blood grew stronger.

Her entire body began to tremble as she took the room in at a glance. The shelf on the
wall that had held antique salt and pepper shakers had been rearranged. The pair of brightly colored parrots she’d often admired were no longer there. Everything else appeared to be in order. But that scent … Maybe he’d fallen and bumped his head, or cut himself while slicing meat or chicken.

Jo poked her head around the corner into the kitchen. Nobody was there, and the place was immaculate,
as usual. No coffee was brewing either. Strange.

“Where are you?” Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded in her ears as she crossed the living room and went down the hall.

A sudden heart attack wouldn’t explain the heavy scent of blood. She took another whiff, trying to pinpoint its location. Maybe he’d slipped in the shower, or cut himself shaving … badly.

Seeing the light was on in Tom’s
study, Jo hurried toward it and looked inside. Her body turned to ice and for a moment horror kept her frozen to the spot. Tom was slumped across his desk, his forehead resting in a pool of dark blood. All that was left of his temple was a mass of red, gray, and black tissue. His face was turned toward the door, toward her, and his open eyes, opaque and totally lifeless, stared into eternity. With
a strangled cry, she looked away. On the floor on Tom’s right side was a revolver. His lifeless hand dangled a foot above the weapon.