“Okay, honey.” Sam wiped the tears from Dillon’s face. “Look what Mommy has.” Sam held her son’s hands as she placed the tip of the banana popsicle in his mouth. Dillon clamped down on the cold treat, unable to break it off. Tears puddled in his soft brown eyes. It tugged at Sam’s heart and she wished she could take away every pain and discomfort. Dillon was six months old and already had two front teeth. The third one appeared to be more troublesome than the first two.
“That should numb his gums a bit.” Abby’s colorful skirt brushed against the tops of her moccasins. Even though she no longer lived on the Eagle Ridge Reservation, Abby still dressed in traditional clothing. Her squash necklace had been made with great skill by Alex Red Cloud, a friend and protector, as were the turquoise bracelet and rings she wore.
Dillon’s chubby hands and feet pumped as he reached for the popsicle Sam held. “Go ahead and let him hold it,” Abby said. “We’ll just dump him in the tub afterwards.”
Sam winced at the thought of sticky fingers on the high chair tray. Every day was a new set of changes she had to get used to. Marriage, baby, new job, although more like partial retirement, something she had no problem getting used to.
“How long does Jake’s golf game last?” Abby grabbed a mist bottle and proceeded to mist the plants in the window box behind the sink. The kitchen was Abby’s favorite place in the house. It was bright and airy with an island counter and stools. Counter space was plentiful since Abby loved to cook most meals from scratch.
“I’m not sure. It’s really a stupid game, chasing a little white ball around the grass. Last time I think it was four hours to golf and six hours to eat and rehash every shot each of the guys made. I’m sure Alex will be happy when golf season is over with.”
Abby glanced out of the window where Alex was trimming back the perennials. He had appeared on their doorstep over ten years ago, claiming that the spirits had sent him to protect wicasa wakan—Abby, who was believed to be a medicine woman. Jake felt Alex was a bit smitten with Abby, but he would never tell him that. Alex still practiced Native American customs, preferring to keep his gray hair in either a ponytail or pigtails. Weather permitting he slept in the tipi he had erected in the back acres of the estate near a sweat lodge which he also built.
“I thought Alex was going to have a heart attack when he saw Jake and Frank chipping golf balls into the bird bath. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Jake taught Poco how to fetch the golf balls if he missed the bird bath.” Sam had to smile at the friendly barbs Alex and Jake tossed at each other. Alex had always felt Sam should marry someone from the reservation, but Abby had to remind him that Sam was only half Lakota and Sam had a hard enough time being accepted at the Eagle Ridge Reservation.
Dillon rubbed his eyes smearing popsicle juice on his face. He was the spitting image of Jake from the broad shoulders to his chiseled features. And thank God he had Jake’s hair and not hers. Although Sam had Abby’s cheekbones and olive complexion, she had her father’s blue eyes and his curly hair which looked more like a burlap rug if she didn’t lather it with conditioner. Only by keeping it long was she able to tame it. Even now she had to wear it up in a banana clip to keep Dillon’s tiny fingers from getting tangled in the curls.
“Nap time, sweetie?” Dillon whimpered and held his hands up. Sam backed away from the sticky fingers. “I think I’m going to need a shower after bathing him.”
“I’ll clean the high chair and floor,” Abby offered.
Alex slid open the screen door, kicked his moccasins off on the door mat outside, and stepped into the kitchen. Dillon held out a sticky hand in Alex’s direction. “Hau, little one.” Dillon made a gurgling sound that Alex took as “hi” in return. “Boy, what have you been eating?”
“Popsicles.” Sam held up the dripping yellow treat before returning it to Dillon’s mouth. “We are going to go jump in the shower.”
Alex’s dark eyes danced as he broke out in a wide grin. “Just heard on the radio that they found a body on the golf course where Jake is playing today.”
Sam had to laugh. “Of course. Frank is with him.”
<><>
“Talk to me.” Captain Robinson dropped a paper bag smelling like sauerkraut on his desk. He unscrewed a cap on a water bottle and motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk.
“Is that a Reuben sandwich from Eli’s Deli?” Frank asked.
Robinson inhaled deeply and smiled. “And it’s all mine.”
“We gotta go eat something.” Frank rubbed his stomach while eyeing his partner.
“Then you better talk quick.” Robinson tore open the bag and unwrapped the sandwich.
Jake filled the captain in on their conversation with Connor Revere, the owner of the golf course, and Manny, the grounds foreman. “We haven’t received Hank’s report yet nor has Benny started the autopsy, although he does estimate she’s been dead for at least a couple weeks.”
“So in other words, we’ve got zip,” Robinson said around a mouthful of corned beef.
“Not quite.” Frank followed the route of the sandwich from Robinson’s mouth down to the stained bag. “We are printing out a list of missing women who might fit her description. We’ll start with Chasen Heights and then expand the search if we don’t get any hits.”
“And crime techs are checking the cigarette butts for DNA. Benny will try to get a composite so we’ll have something to show to Revere’s employees.” Jake checked his phone for missed calls but there weren’t any.
“What’s your feeling about this Revere guy?” Robinson pulled on a string of sauerkraut and dangled it for a few seconds for Frank’s benefit.
“He was very cooperative.”
“Very rich,” Frank added. “Kinda the Donald Trump of the Midwest.”
“Oh he runs in an elite circle.” Robinson crunched on a kosher pickle, then pointed it at the detectives. “I do need to caution you that your Trump Light is a very close friend and contributor to our newly esteemed Mayor Jefferson Schuler.”
“I thought his name was Jeffery?” Frank said.
“Yeah, but that Tom Lukavich guy who ran his campaign is now his chief of staff. He thought Jefferson sounded more mayoral.”
“If Revere is a close friend of Schuler, does that mean we tread lightly?” Frank asked.
Robinson let out a deep, full-throated chuckle. “Hell, no. Lean and lean heavy.”