The Ties That Bind (24 page)

"Haven't seen her. But if you see Dr. K.C. Fontero, I'm looking for her. Medium height, cute, logical. Sometimes she researches strange shit, though."

"Touché," I said and Chris laughed.

"Kase, you of all people should know the power of belief when it comes to human cultures. Your mom's an anthropologist, your dad does religious studies. And you're Ms. Sociology. Belief makes people do
loco
shit. It makes people see what they want to see, not necessarily what's actually there. I'm not saying strange things don't happen. I am saying that what people interpret as strange might not be so strange, but when there are beliefs in play, then stuff that isn't weird becomes weird because people want their beliefs validated. They want there to be weird shit because it's a cultural legend and it makes them feel part of something."

"Damn, Chris. You want my job? Since when did you start graduate work in cultural studies?"

"Since I've been hanging out with you. And I
was
a psychology major," she said with a "duh" tone.

"Thanks for the reality check," I said with a laugh. "But that doesn't mean weird stuff doesn't exist."

"I'm not saying it doesn't. I'm just saying keep a foot on the ground. So how'd the reading of the will go?" She changed the topic, much to my relief.

I got her caught up on what had transpired at the attorney's office and then at Purcell's house. When I finished, I took another swig of coffee, now lukewarm, and waited for Chris's take.

"Wow. Bill isn't the man we thought he was."

"I know. The go-to guy at work. The protective partner. And the guy who took it on the chin several times for his coworkers while he faced down the man."

"Has Simmons interviewed Purcell?"

"I didn't get that impression. She wasn't forthcoming, though." Neither was he, for that matter.

Chris didn't say anything for a moment and I knew what was coming. I braced for it.

"
Esa
, you know how I feel about this."

I kept quiet.

"You're poking around in a murder investigation."

"We're trying to find out more about Sage's father's death," I corrected, a little petulantly.

"And he may have been murdered. You need to bring Simmons in on this."

"Chris, this is investigative journalism we're doing. I'm going to call Simmons with my information after we talk to Bodie. If she comes with us, he won't tell us anything. You know how this is. People will talk to me, they'll talk to family members of dead people, and they might even talk to a journalist. But they will not talk to cops, especially if there's freaky shit going on with safety at Ridge Star."

"Dammit, this is bullshit, Kase. Simmons has to be there. You have to make sure this shit is admissible in court. Goddamn, this is going to be a clusterfuck of monumental proportions. And I am going to have to kick your stubborn ass." She swore in Spanish-- something she did with me when she was frustrated.

Great. Now my best friend is pissed at me.
"Chris," I started.

"What the fuck is
wrong
with you? First paranormal shit and now you're screwing around in a murder investigation. Where the hell is your head? Where the hell
is
it?"

Ouch
. "Dammit, I don't know!" I retorted, irritation and frustration welling in my throat. "I don't know anything anymore. My girlfriend's father is fucking dead and it's causing all kinds of crap between us. I'm trying not to lose my shit and run away from this whole fucking mess, trying not to be a patronizing logical asshole with her while she and River sort through the remnants of their messed-up childhoods, and I'm trying to balance all of this along with a legitimate inquiry into a death." I wanted to cry and scream and throw the phone against the closest car. Instead I kicked the rear tire on mine. Hard. Pain shot up my foot. "Fuck!" I yelled.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Tears stung my eyes and my foot hurt like hell.

"Kase," came Chris's voice.

"Goddammit," I said, choking on tears. "I'm fucking stressed out and I don't know what to do."
And I probably broke my fucking toes. Fucking idiot.
At least I was wearing my hikers.

"Kase, listen to me."

"And my fucking sister is bi and dating a woman that came on to me a week ago," I added for good measure. "Shit." I wiped at my eyes.

"I'm sorry," Chris said, and for some reason that made the tears come faster.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered. "I don't know."

"I'm really sorry, Kase," she said in a tone so gentle that it started a fresh round of tears. "I wasn't thinking about the stress you're under. You know how I get with cop stuff. When are you coming home?"

"I don't even know that." I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my T-shirt. We're talking to Nestor Bodie today and maybe swinging by Bill and Tonya's afterward. Sage has to be back by Thursday afternoon because she has a workshop to do. I guess when Sage is ready, we'll come back." I sighed. "This is so fucked. This whole thing." I started pacing, and flexed my toes to see if I had broken them. A little sore, but I could bend them. Not broken, then. Thank God. How would I explain that to the others?

"All right, when you're done with Bodie and you finish with Tonya, come home," Chris said after another uncomfortable silence. I knew she wanted to tell me again to bring Simmons in on the Bodie interview, but she kept it to herself. "You need to regroup."

That was the damn truth. I inhaled deeply then exhaled. "You're right. I'm sorry I lost my shit a little," I finished, contrite.

"If you can't lose it like that with me, then who
can
you lose it with? Do you want me to come up?"

I knew Chris would do whatever she had to do if she thought I was going to fly off the handle or if she thought I was in some kind of danger. "No, but thanks. I just needed to vent. I'll call you tonight to tell you about the interview." I scuffed the toe of my good foot on the asphalt, wishing Bill Crandall hadn't been so fucked up, wishing he hadn't been anywhere near Farmington or Ridge Star, and wishing none of this weird paranormal shit was clouding my rationality.

"Okay," she said but she didn't sound convinced. "You know how to find me. Watch yourself."

"I will. Thanks, Chris."

"
De nada
. Hope things go well. Later."

"Bye." I hung up and stared at the street, thinking.

"Hey."

I turned at Kara's voice.

"I talked to--what's wrong?" She regarded me in that way that sisters do, when they've caught you in a vulnerable moment.

"Nothing."

Kara shook her head in a way that said "you are such a liar." She crossed her arms and for a second, it was like we were in high school again, arguing about something that neither of us would remember even a week later. "Kase."

I sighed and managed a smile. "I'm a little stressed, is all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I just did with Chris."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'll tell you later. How's that?"

"Y'know, you're not doing this sister shit very well."

"Kare, please. I need to spend some time with it. I'll tell you later, okay? Promise."

She relaxed and uncrossed her arms. "And I'll make sure you do. If you don't, I'll sic Chris on you."

I groaned.

"And Sage."

"Oh, God. I'm doomed." I shoulder-bumped her. "For real. We'll talk later. Just let me get through the day."

She opened her mouth to say something more but I interrupted her.

"So who'd you talk to?"

"The PR woman at Ridge Star here in Farmington," she said, triumphant. "We have an appointment tomorrow morning to chat with someone at the office about gas drilling."

"So who's going?" I looked past Kara at River and Sage, who had exited the back door of the Super 8 and were approaching us, River in his customary jeans, cowboy boots, and T-shirt and Sage in a light skirt the color of cornflowers and a plain tan tee. I gaped at her.

"Down, girl," Kara said, teasing me as Sage and River joined us.

I flushed. "Sorry. So who's going?"

"I am, because I've got the non-profit information-gathering lingo angle."

Sage slid her arms around my waist. "K.C. should go. She's good at information gathering, too." She kissed me on the cheek and I almost felt as if everything was right with the world.

"River?" I asked, but I had a feeling he'd say no.

"Not sure that's a good idea. I look like the old man." He didn't say it with any animosity and he had a point. He did look like his father. More than Sage did, though the similarities between them were obvious enough that most people would guess correctly that

they were siblings. Sage caught my eye and her expression confirmed what I suspected. River didn't want anything to do with Ridge Star, and though he did look a lot like Bill, he wasn't going with me and Kara tomorrow not because he was afraid he'd be recognized. He wasn't here to find any pieces of himself. He was here for Sage. I almost saw the discomfort emanating from him, like heat waves on a highway, and I hoped this trip didn't add to the baggage he lugged through the Montana wilderness.

"Tonya can't meet with us today," Sage said. "She's working. But tomorrow, she can. So while you and Kara go charm Ridge Star, River and I will go over to Tonya's and look through some of Dad's stuff. See if there's anything there we need to know about."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan." I hugged her tighter and kissed her forehead. "Ready?"

"Shiprock, here we come," River muttered as he got into Sage's car.

Chapter Fourteen

SHIPROCK SITS ABOUT twenty-five miles west of Farmington, and it huddles against a dramatic backdrop of desert buttes, mesas, and sage-dotted expanses of landscape. South of the town proper juts the huge formation from which the place gets its name. The rock floats in a sea of sage and dirt, a pinnacle of volcanic stone that nineteenth-century whites thought looked like a clipper ship in some respects. Hence, its name.

I studied it through the windshield, then glanced over at Sage as she slowed down at the Shiprock city limits. She turned south onto Highway 491, which ended up in Gallup, some eighty-five miles south, through mostly undeveloped reservation land. Shiprock is a crossroads, both for traffic utilizing the two major highways that intersect in it on their way to and through the Four Corners Area, and for the contact that comes when cultures rub up against each other. A Rez town, Shiprock was still considered part of the Farmington area, but its underlying flavor echoed much older roots that I could only imagine preceded the small frame houses and scatterings of trailers joined by dirt side roads, dust, and tumbleweeds.

Sage turned left off 491 and slowed down for a dog trotting across the road. "Fifth house on the left," she said as she maneuvered around a mudhole along the right side of the road carved by the last monsoon storms. It'd be days before the sun baked the moisture out of it. The desert held onto that as long as it could.

"And...five." Sage pulled into a driveway that was little more than a hard-packed dirt area that served as a parking lot, front yard, and basketball court. A teenaged boy wearing baggy black mesh shorts and matching tank was engaged in that pursuit as we pulled in. The basketball hit the netless rim of the portable basket that sat near the house and he went to retrieve it, keeping a wary eye on us as he did so. He stood, passing the ball back and forth from hand to hand, as Sage parked and we all got out.

"Hi," Sage said to him. He nodded once, suspicion in his body language. "We're here to see Nestor. I'm Sage." She propped her sunglasses on top of her head.

The boy relaxed. "Hold on," he said and he walked over to the small deck just off the double-wide's front door. He took the three steps up, though I noticed a ramp on the other side of the deck. Probably for Nestor, if he was in a wheelchair or had to use a walker.

The boy opened the front door and leaned in, maybe saying something to whomever was inside. I looked around, uneasy. Two older model pickup trucks sat in the drive, one with the hood up. A faded yellow Ford Fiesta was parked a few yards from the pickups, listing to the right. Beyond that I saw a charred pile of dirt, where the family must have burned its trash.

Sage brushed my forearm with her fingertips. I looked over at her and managed a smile. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Everything and nothing."

"We'll talk after this," she said, and I saw worry in her eyes.

"It's okay. I'm just a little stressed."

"I know. Which is why we should talk about it. That way it doesn't pile up."

She was right. I nodded just as the boy turned from the front door and beckoned to us. Sage led the way up the stairs to the door and the boy stood aside, holding it open. A lingering odor of roasted chiles and cooked meat hung in the trailer as we entered. Rust-colored carpet covered the floor and a variety of mismatched furniture--a couch, three armchairs, and four kitchen chairs--stood in a semicircle. Nestor had family and friends over quite a bit, I guessed. The place seemed homey enough.

A little girl I estimated to be four or five stood looking up at us as we entered, a grave expression on her face until she saw River, at which point she smiled. I glanced over at him and he was smiling back at her. He gave her a little wave and she giggled and raced over to a man I presumed was Nestor Bodie because he was sitting in a wheelchair, his back to a television in the corner of this, the living room. He wore his glossy dark hair short, cut over his ears. Had he been able to stand, he would've been just over my height, broad across the shoulders and chest. He still had both legs, but from how he was sitting, I doubted they worked very well.

"Mr. Bodie?" Sage inquired.

He nodded once at her.

"I'm Sage Crandall. This is my brother River, my partner K.C. and her sister Kara."

I held my breath, wondering what he'd say, if anything, about Sage calling me her "partner." Best to get that whole relationship to Sage thing out in the open. Otherwise, people we needed information from might not want to talk to just some "friend of the family." But if Nestor Bodie was a big ol' homophobe, then I had just ruined the interview.