Looking Through Darkness (23 page)

“For the record, he's right,” Ambrose said.

“I wasn't thrilled with the prospect either, so Melvin and I made new plans. John's dropping him off here in a while. I'll give him a ride to one of the tribal offices so he can deliver a sculpture, and afterwards he and I will go over to my place so I can pick up a few things. I'll be staying at his house until Rachel's back,” she said.

“You all know where he lives. There's nothing around for miles except critters. Melvin's hearing is super sharp, so he'll know if anything out of the ordinary is going on. I'll stay on the lookout, too, and if there's trouble, I have my .38. No one's going to hurt me or Melvin.”

“Don't underestimate Melvin's ability to protect you,” Ambrose said. “I taught him a few fighting moves a while back, and he's quick and strong as a bear. If he gets his hands on anyone trying to hurt you…”

*   *   *

Melvin walked slowly across the wooden porch of The Outpost carrying the heavy box containing an antelope sculpture. The work had been commissioned by the Navajo Nation Parks and Recreation Department and was going to be placed on exhibit at the Antelope Canyon Visitor's Center.

Antelope Canyon Park was way over at the northwestern tip of the Navajo Nation, south of Lake Powell. He remembered the canyon as if he'd been there yesterday, though the last time he'd visited the narrow, twisting passages and rainbow-colored sandstone, he'd been in his teens. He'd have to go again someday, with a guide, and run his hands along the curved walls, and measure nature's wonders using his remaining senses. Tribal treasures like Antelope Canyon were among the things he'd missed most after losing his sight.

Reaching out with the tip of his boot after taking exactly ten steps, he felt for the door, needing to know exactly where he was before setting down the box to reach for the handle.

“I'm here, Melvin,” Leigh Ann called out. She waited until he was clear before opening the door. “Saw John dropping you off.”

He felt the rush of cool air from inside the trading post. “Am I early?” he said, stepping back to his right.

“No, I'm ready to go. My Jeep is already around front. Want me to take that for you until we get down the steps?”

He knew she meant well, but if he started depending on others for the small things, he might as well give up and use a cane or a service dog. “No, just put your hand on my right shoulder and lead the way to the Jeep.”

There was a slight stumble going down the steps, but Melvin hung on and didn't drop the box. Five minutes later, they were on their way, heading west on Highway 64 onto the Rez and Shiprock, their destination.

“Will I be able to see the antelope?” Leigh Ann asked in her slight twang.

He loved her West Texas accent, it had a charm and cadence all its own.

“It's going to be transported this evening by courier to the Visitor's Center at Antelope Canyon, so I'm reluctant to take it out of the packing material. But there's a photograph in my shirt pocket. Take it.”

He leaned to the side and felt her fingers reaching into the pocket. She had to grope in order to keep her eyes on the road, but the brief touch felt nice and he smiled.

“Did I tickle you?” she asked, glancing over for a second.

“Nah, I'm not ticklish.”

“Maybe someday I'll find out if you're lying, sugar.”

She checked traffic, saw there were no vehicles within a half mile, so she brought the photo up by the steering wheel for a quick glance. After confirming it was still safe down the road, she took a second look.

After a beat, she sat the photo on her lap. “It's beautiful. The figure's graceful, but it's powerful, too. I like the way its head is cocked to the side, like it's curious. Down in Texas, we'd call this a pronghorn.”

“That's another name for it. According to the experts, it's the closest any Native American animal is to the African antelope.”

“Thank you, Mr. Science.”

“You're welcome,” he said, laughing. Leigh Ann was easy to talk to, particularly in contrast to John, who often had a beef with someone or was cranky about work.

Fifteen minutes later, as Leigh Ann slowed to a crawl and made several slow, sharp turns, he knew they were getting close to their destination.

“Hang on to the box, speed bump ahead,” she said.

He reached out and held on, but she'd slowed so much the bump was almost an afterthought.

“We're here—tribal offices,” she announced. “I'll come around.”

He heard the
click click
of her heels as she walked around the front of the Jeep, then the door opened. “Hand me the box, Melvin, and once you're out, I'll give it back to you.”

Three minutes later, they entered the cool lobby of the Navajo Nation Shiprock Agency and Leigh Ann led him to the receptionist's desk.

“Here comes a guy in a suit,” she whispered as the snap of boots on tile came from his right.

“
Y
á
at'
éé
h
,
Hosteen
Littlewater,” a young man welcomed, coming up to Melvin. “Is this the antelope sculpture I've heard Director Nez talking about?”

“It sure is, Mr.…”

“Benally. I'm Thomas Benally, Director Sorrelhorse's assistant. Mrs. Peshlakai is away from her desk at the moment. Can I lead you to Director Nez's office?”

Melvin turned toward Leigh Ann, whose outline was just to his left. “Find a comfortable seat and wait for me. I'll be back soon,” he said.

“Take your time, Melvin,” she answered.

A few seconds later, he felt a hand touch him briefly on his right shoulder and a gray shape appeared. “Would you like some help?” Benally asked, hesitation in his tone.

“If you'll stay close, I'll be able to follow and that'll be enough.” Most Navajos disliked touching a stranger. Despite his disability, he was no different in that respect. He'd learned to shake hands a long time ago, but even that didn't come as easily to him as it did to an Anglo.

The hall was carpeted, based on the near silence of their footsteps, but Benally moved slowly. Maybe he was a little uncertain about his role as guide.

As they passed an open door Melvin overheard a man he assumed to be Navajo, judging from his accent and tone. “Cut to the chase: How much is the contract worth to you?”

Curious, Melvin slowed down.

Benally picked up the pace instantly, however, forcing Melvin to speed up. A few seconds later Melvin heard a door slam behind them.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later he was back in the Jeep and Leigh Ann was navigating the side streets, heading back toward the highway.

“If the others like your sculpture as much as Mr. Benally did, you're going to have some very happy customers,” she said, stopping at a traffic light.

“Director Nez unpacked the sculpture so he could see it for himself. He was so happy, he had Benally take a photo of us with the sculpture.”

“Once we get out of heavy traffic remind me to return your photo,” she said, stopping at the red light leading onto the main highway.

“Naw, keep it. John took several and he can print more.”

“Thanks.”

The light changed, and as she started to make the turn the Jeep lurched and the engine died. Hearing the car behind them honking, she looked in the rearview mirror. It was Wayne Hurley, of all people, in his big pickup. He waved and honked again, pointing to the green light.

She waved back. “Keep your shirt on,” she muttered.

Leigh Ann put the stick in neutral, switched the ignition off, then turned the key again and touched the gas lightly. The engine turned over this time, so she put it in gear, and made the turn onto the highway. As she speeded up, she gave Hurley, who was following, one last wave.

“On the road again, no sweat,” she said, relief in her voice.

“Has this happened before—the engine dying when you stop in traffic?” he asked.

“Sometimes on hot days. Fortunately, it always restarts. Maybe the idle is set too low, or something.”

“Have you ever considered trading in this ride for a new one, or maybe a good used model?”

“I'm barely getting by now, Melvin. Business has never gone back to where it was when Tom Stuart was alive, and expenses continue to rise. The trading post will survive this, I'm sure, but it's still in transition. I'm concerned that we all might have to take a cut in hours so nobody has to be let go.”

“I had no idea. I guess things are tight for everyone right now.”

“Including you?”

“I get by okay. Sometimes the unexpected comes up, like my swamp cooler breaking down, but this check will take care of those repairs and then some,” he said. “One way or another, I always manage.”

Hearing a familiar electronic tune, she fished her cell phone out of her shirt pocket and put it on speaker. “Hi, Rache. Are you still in town? I thought you'd be on your way to Albuquerque by now.”

“I just passed through Farmington, but I thought you might want a heads-up. I stopped by the drugstore for hair spray and ran into Pierre Boone. He told me they just received the squirrel trap you ordered and he offered to bring it by. I told him you usually don't get off work until after six and I was going to be out of town for a few days,” she said. “He said okay, but to let you know it had come in.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads-up,” Leigh Ann said. “Have fun,” she said, ending the call.

They rode in silence for several more minutes before Melvin spoke again. “I'm glad you'll be staying with me.”

“So you can continue working on your new sculpture?” she asked hopefully.

He smiled. “I've never stopped working on it, but it'll help to have you at home, talking to me.”

“How soon will I be able to see it?”

“Not for a while. It has a ways to go before it's finished,” he said, and, smiling, added, “I never realized how curious you are.”

“I'm not always, but this time, yes.”

They arrived at Leigh Ann's a short time later. The sky was gray, covered with a thick layer of clouds. It was getting dark fast, too, with the sun low in the sky.

“It feels cooler than it should for this time of day. It must be cloudy.”

“Yeah, but I doubt we'll get any rain. It'll evaporate before it hits the ground—at least that's what the weatherman said.” She went around and took his arm. “Come on in. I'll get you something to drink while I pack up a few things.”

“A drink's not necessary. Just get your clothes and whatever else you'll need.”

“You don't want to hang around here any longer than we have to, do you?” she said, leading him up the sidewalk.

“I'll feel safer at my place where I know my way around.”

She opened the door and flicked on the lights, but nothing happened. “The power's off,” she said after a beat.

“Does that happen often?”

“Maybe three or four times a year. The entire neighborhood has the same problem. The power goes off for no discernible reason, and comes back whenever it feels like it. I think it's because our area was developed without much planning, at least when it comes to utilities. Yet here we are, with the two biggest generating stations in the state within, what, fifteen miles?”

She led him to the chair in the living room, but before she could move away, he grasped her arm and placed one finger over his lips.

He pointed upstairs.

Leigh Ann heard nothing at first, then after several seconds heard what sounded like padded footsteps.

“I've got a gun, and I know how to use it,” she yelled, retrieving the .38 from her purse. “Get out of my house
now
!”

There was silence for a moment, then she heard a window open upstairs.

Leigh Ann stepped in front of Melvin and pointed the gun toward the stairs. If the burglar wanted to climb out a window, that was just fine with her, but if he came down here, she'd blow him to kingdom come.

A heartbeat later, she heard running footsteps across the roof, then the rustling of bushes out back and a thump. That was followed by the sound of a squealing hinge, and a slam. After that, all she heard was the pounding of her heart.

Melvin reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

“That last noise was the back gate,” she managed.

“Hopefully he's long gone,” Melvin replied.

She stepped to the front door and pulled it open, holding the pistol barrel up.

“Wait another minute,” Melvin said. “Listen. There, an engine revving.”

Leigh Ann looked down the street and saw the taillights of a vehicle speeding away. “I'm going out back to check the breakers. Stay here.”

“We need to stick together in case he wasn't alone. I'm going with you,” Melvin said.

She took his arm, and, using the flashlight app on her phone, walked out the French patio doors to the panel at the back of the house beside the electrical mast. “Someone switched off the master breaker.”

“Switch it back on, then let's go inside,” he said. “After you call the police, take a look around, and see what's missing—if anything.”

“You don't think this was an ordinary break-in?”

“Do you?” he countered.

“No, not really,” she admitted after a beat.

“Tell me something. Are you carrying that revolver around with you full time now?”

“I keep it in my purse.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“I don't think I've got a choice, Melvin. The gun … well, it equalizes the odds against me.”

“A .38 revolver has no safety.”

“Yeah, that's true enough, but you have to squeeze the trigger to shoot. If I don't—it won't. I'm familiar with guns, Melvin, remember?”

“The real danger is that you'll hesitate to shoot another person. If that happens, it'll only take a second for your enemy to rip the gun out of your hand and use it against you.”