The first time Bernie ran past the spot on the trail that afternoon, she noticed the dog. It sniffed at the ground, totally uninterested in her. Good, she thought. She’d been chased by, growled at, and threatened with sharp dog teeth enough already to last a lifetime. She ran until she came to the place where the fallen cottonwood tree blocked the trail. She stopped, sipped some water, felt the good fatigue in her muscles. Time to turn back.
The dog was still there, sitting now. She slowed from a jog to a walk, her basic distrust of canines struggling with her intuition as a police officer. She stopped in front of the animal, a brown-and-black mixed breed of some sort, about forty pounds. It wore a green collar. The dog trotted off toward the river, then came back. Slowly, as though it wanted to trust her.
“Easy, fella. I’m not going to hurt you, and you aren’t going to hurt me.” She spoke calmly, as she had been trained, even though her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s. She followed it, curious as to what the animal found so intriguing. The grasses and snakeweed grew thick here along the river, but the red athletic shoe stood out. Her eyes followed the shoe to a black pant leg. The man who wore them lay facedown. The dog paced around the body and whined.
Her first thought was a heart attack.
“Hey, sir, are you OK?”
If the awkward posture hadn’t already yelled crime scene, the man’s hands secured behind his back with white plastic ties confirmed her suspicions. She squatted close to feel for a pulse, pressing her fingers firmly against the gray skin of his neck. Nothing. He had holes in his ears for earrings but wore no jewelry. Bernie stood and pulled her phone from the nylon pouch, hoping to find cell service. Not here. If she could change one thing about being a police officer, it would be to end encounters with the dead and the evil chindiis they left behind, but she knew it came with the job.
She retraced her steps, following the path she’d taken as she approached the body, this time focusing on anything else out of the ordinary that could be a clue to what had happened here. When she reached the trail, she looked at her phone again and walked until she finally saw a single bar. She dialed the substation. Sandra answered.
“I found a male body off the river trail, about halfway in. I’ll wait for backup.”
“Yikes.”
“That’s what I thought.” A man on a mountain bike pedaled by, focused on the trail. She made a mental note of his appearance. “I need you to call the Feds, too. This guy is a homicide.”
“You heard that the rookie had to go home?” Sandra didn’t wait for confirmation. “Backup could take a while. Hang in there.” Bernie typed the description of the bike person into her phone. Unlikely that he had any connection with anything, but the trail was now a crime scene. She kept the phone handy and returned to the spot on the trail closest to the body. The dog waited there. She glanced at its collar for an ID tag, but it didn’t have one, just the simple strap fastened around its neck.
She walked back toward the body, moving carefully and taking pictures of anything that seemed relevant. She looked for a dropped cigarette butt, a discarded water bottle, a footprint where the vegetation wasn’t so thick, a thread snagged on the weeds, any clue that could have been left by whoever was responsible for the dead man. She saw places where someone might have stepped close to the body but no sign that it had been dragged in from the trail. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—except for the corpse in the red shoes and torn black pants and the dog. She found no signs of struggle and no blood other than what looked like a cut on one of the victim’s hands. The dog paced and panted, walking to the body and then circling back toward her.
Bernie returned to the trail, looking for more clues as she waited for backup to arrive. She concentrated now on keeping anyone else whom the dog made curious from disturbing the scene.
A middle-aged man wearing sunglasses approached. He slowed from jogging to walking when she moved to the center of the trail. He was breathing hard.
“Sir, I’m a Navajo police officer, and this trail is closed. You need to go back to the parking lot.”
“You don’t look like a police person.” He took off his hat and glasses, wiped his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “You’re kidding. Are you serious?”
Bernie pulled out her ID as the man spoke and held it for him to see.
“Whoa. What happened?” He used the hat as a fan. “Why close the trail unless someone died out here of heatstroke or something?” The man glanced toward the river, but Bernie knew he could not see the body from where he stood.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Fred Martinez.”
“Did you see anything unusual out here today?”
“No.”
“Have you seen this dog before, Mr. Martinez?”
“Nope. I thought it was yours. Do you need any help, with anyone . . . or anything?”
“No, sir. Please go back to the parking lot.”
Martinez jogged away. The conversation with him foreshadowed the rest of the people she encountered on the trail.
Bernie knew that when backup arrived she’d still be here, either as the officer who would close the trail or as the one to keep an eye on the body and bar access to the crime scene from the river. She expected the backup person to be Chee, but she didn’t know where he might be in the sprawling district their substation covered, what call he was currently handling, or how long it would take him to arrive.
After she had done as much as she could to record the crime scene exactly as she’d found it, she sat on a tree stump that offered a view of anyone on the trail and of the weeds that concealed the victim. She turned back a bicycle rider, two teen girls ready for a run, and some other disappointed walkers and joggers. She collected their names and contact information. She also spoke to half a dozen exercisers returning to the parking lot, people who had passed the place on the trail where a detour led to the body. Even though each of them said they had seen nothing unusual, she typed in their information and suggested that someone might want to interview them in detail.
When no one intruded, she watched the dog pace as she considered the crime, wondering if it would sniff at something else and lead her to a clue, but it didn’t. She heard it barking and noticed how it worked to keep a few persistent crows away from the place the body lay. Too bad it couldn’t tell her what had happened to the man in the torn black pants.
Bernie had finished her water by the time Officer Harold Bigman arrived. His exhaustion showed itself in the way he walked, his arms swinging limply and his head down.
“Hey, Bernie. What have you got?”
“Over there in the weeds.” She pointed with her chin. “A male, maybe forty-something, hands bound behind his back. Down the slope a few yards. You can’t see the body from here.”
He glanced toward the place and turned back to her. “I’ll take your word for it.”
She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t want to hike over to look at the dead man. Dealing with the dead could bring trouble with their chindiis, and even less traditional Navajos had heard enough stories of the evil associated with these spirits to try to limit contact. And homicide investigations on the reservation fell to the FBI.
“I didn’t notice your car.”
“No, I ran from the house.”
“When did you get a dog?” She saw Bigman’s gaze shift toward the weeds where the dog stood panting. “He looks hot.”
“It’s not mine. I saw it here, and that’s why I left the trail to investigate. It was acting suspicious, pacing into the weeds and then back to the trail. It has that green collar but no tags.”
“Hmmm. Questionable dog with no ID. It’s actually a male, by the way. Do you think he’s a suspect?” Bigman grinned, then turned serious. “It’s good you came by before some civilian stumbled across the body and freaked out.”
“Yeah, and we’re lucky that this trail doesn’t have another entrance. People start at the parking lot like you did. We need to shut it down in case there’s any evidence left along the route.”
“If you do that, I’ll stay here with the body and the mutt until the Feds send us home.” Bigman gave her the keys to his unit. “There’s some cold water in the trunk. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks. There’s an advantage to the heat. It keeps down the foot traffic.”
“You have a way of looking on the bright side, Sister.”
But as he spoke, she saw a woman in black shorts jogging toward them. “I’ll stop that one and then wait at the trailhead. If you see anyone headed back to the parking lot, be sure to get their contact info and find out what they saw.”
Bernie told the woman the trail was closed because of an incident the police were investigating. The jogger, a Navajo in her twenties, looked startled and turned around without argument. Bernie followed the woman to the trailhead, encountering no one else. She found the water in an insulated cooler along with a rope in Bigman’s car that would help secure the dog.
In the next half hour, she turned away two gray-haired ladies and a young male jogger.
Then came a person who wanted to argue with her. He was a bilagáana with disturbingly blue eyes and a deep tan. He ignored her when she called to him. She saw his earbuds and moved to block his path, noticing that his skin glistened with sweat. “Sorry, sir, this trail is closed for now. A police incident.”
He removed his headphones. “What did you say?”
She repeated the message. “No one can use the trail right now.”
“Oh, come on, missy. Why should I believe you are a cop?”
“I’m Officer Bernadette Manuelito.” She stood a bit straighter and pulled out her identification.
He studied it. “OK. I can tell by looking that you’re a runner. I’m training for the ultra-marathon at Canyon de Chelly, and this trail has those sandy places where you have to work harder. I’ve already run it once and I need my second lap. I won’t bother anything. What’s the harm?”
“You train here often?”
“Every day.” He grinned at her. “You know how it is when you’re anticipating an event. You don’t want to break your rhythm.”
“Have you seen anything unusual?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, something different. An altercation? A stranger hanging out near here?” Bernie waited. She could tell from the change in his expression that he had thought of something.
“I don’t know anything, but what if I did?”
“It looks like a serious crime may have been committed. If you have any information that would help us, you should share it. You know who I am. You are?”
The man took a step back. “I’m Ed Summersly. I encounter the same runners out here a lot. It’s not like we’re a club or anything. I spotted a rez dog here a while ago. I thought it was odd because it was just hanging out over there where the trail curves a little, maybe a mile before the cottonwoods. It wasn’t with anybody as far as I could tell.”
“Did you stop?”
“No. I’m not a dog person.”
She asked for his phone number and the spelling of his name, and he reluctantly complied. She put them in her phone.
“Since I’ve been a good guy, can I run?”
“Sure. Go ahead but not here. Not today.”
Summersly gave her a dark look, shook his head, and jogged back to his car.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed, and it was Chee. She filled him in. “I’m waiting at the trailhead by the parking lot, keeping people away until the Feds get here. Bigman is with the body.”
“Did you get your run in before all this?”
“Yeah. Highlight of the day. How are you?”
“My knee hurts from that dumb fall. I got some ice for it. Things are slow out here. A car break-in at the casino, that’s the big news so far.”
“Be safe.”
“You, too. Is there any shade?”
“A little.”
A car with a pair of bicycles on the roof pulled into the lot, parking next to a black Honda, and she ended Chee’s call to intercept the would-be cyclists.
A few clouds had scooted over the sun, and the afternoon, while not cool, had not grown any warmer by the time the gray sedan pulled up. Bernie recognized the car and felt her anxiety rise. She hadn’t expected to see FBI Agent Sage Johnson on duty on a summer weekend.
The first time they had worked together involved a hostage situation in which Johnson got the name of a crucial person in the scenario wrong. That and other mistakes led to the injury of a key witness. The FBI woman had suggested coffee for what Bernie interpreted as a fence-mending session, but they never got around to it.
The agent lowered the window. Jazz and cool air flowed out.
“Manuelito.” Johnson wore a white blouse. Her dark ball cap said “FBI.” “What’s up?”
Bernie explained what she’d found. “Officer Bigman arrived about ninety minutes ago. He’s with the body. I came up here to close the trail.”
“Do you know this place?”
“I do. It’s a five-mile loop that starts and ends here. I run here often.”
“A hot day for running, isn’t it?”
Bernie didn’t respond.
“Tell me what’s waiting for me up there.”
Bernie explained. “When I realized what I’d come across, I was careful to retrace my steps. I have photos and information on the people who came by after I found the body.”
“You don’t need to defend yourself. It’s good for the investigation that you discovered the victim rather than some kid on a bike. Everything I hear about you is exemplary. You being here is lucky.”
The compliment made Bernie uneasy. “You know, I’ve had better luck. Next time, I’d like to find a winning lottery ticket, not a dead guy.”
Johnson climbed out of the sedan and locked it. “I’m going to the site. Stay here to keep the trail closed until Agent Berke and the ERT arrive.”
Bernie knew ERT was the Evidence Response Team. “Will do.”
Two more vehicles, a white coupe with a smashed front end and a relatively new dark blue SUV, pulled up to the parking area. Johnson studied them, then turned her attention back to Bernie.
“How far is the body?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.” Bernie picked up the rope and a water bottle and handed them to Johnson. “You or Bigman might want these for the dog.”
“I’ll be in touch for a follow-up interview, probably tomorrow. I’d like to get this investigation moving.”
The sight of a white woman in jeans walking up a closed trail made it harder for Bernie to persuade the newcomer Navajo runners climbing out of their vehicles that the area was, indeed, off-limits, but she did it. FBI agents from the ERT arrived within half an hour, and one took her place as trail and parking lot monitor.
Bernie grabbed another bottle of water from Bigman’s unit and left his keys with the FBI parking lot man. Picturing the red shoes and the torn black pants, Bernie started the jog back to their trailer.
Questions swirled as she ran. Who was the man? Why was he dead? Why was he there? Where had he been killed? Had the dog followed him?
She was halfway home when Chee’s truck pulled up next to her. “Hey, beautiful. Want a ride?”
“I don’t know. Are you trustworthy?”
“I may have ulterior motives, but I brought you a Coke.” He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door.
The truck’s air-conditioning felt great, almost too cool on her sweating arms. He handed her the cold can, and she rubbed it on the back of her hot neck before opening it and taking a sip.
“You just earned about a million husband points. Are you done working for today?”
“Well, they say even crime takes a holiday. So, yeah, for the moment.”
“Who says that about crime?” Bernie put on her seat belt.
“Give me a minute.” Chee chuckled. “I think it’s the title of an old movie about a cop who sets up an elaborate scam to catch a crook.”
“I never heard of it.”
“That’s because you’re so young and cute.”
For the first time in hours, she began to relax. “Me?”
“You’re cute even when you’re hot and stinky. But if you’d like a shower, I’ll get dinner going while you’re in there. And then you can tell me more about what happened if you want to.”
As she felt the water against her skin, she flashed back to the trail and the body. Something bothered her about the crime scene, and it was more than being near the corpse.
Why make the effort to dump a body off a popular trail where it was likely to be discovered? Had the killer left the body as some sort of message? Who was the victim and how did he die?
She pulled back the thoughts and shampooed her hair. She turned off the water and grabbed for a towel. The FBI was in charge of homicides. She had plenty on her plate, but she’d talk to Largo and Johnson about helping with the case. There were plenty of Navajos who might recall more than they’d told her, and she had their names.
She walked out to the deck where Chee was cleaning the grill. He smiled when he saw her. “Your mother called while you were in the shower. I told her I’d let you know.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me that you look too thin and to make sure you eat. She told me not to let you work so hard. She said she wants to talk to you about your sister. That covers it.”
“I’ll call her later. Let’s take it easy for a while.”
Chee chuckled. “I know you. You want to make some notes about that crime scene.”
“Johnson said she needs to interview me again, probably tomorrow and—” The ringing of the house phone interrupted her. “And I bet that’s Mama.”
“I bet you’re right.”
Bernie looked at the caller ID before she answered. “Lieutenant! How good to hear from you.”
“Hello, Bernie. I hope you’re enjoying this beautiful day.” Joe Leaphorn’s voice sounded strong, and she loved the natural rhythm of his Navajo.
“Chee plans pork chops on the grill, and I made a pie to go with them. Come join us tonight.” As she said it, she cringed at a vision of the sweet blackened mess.
“I can’t. Speaking of Chee, is he free to come to the phone?”
“Yes, sir. Just a moment.”
Chee’s side of the conversation was brief, a string of “Yes, sirs,” one “I’m really not comfortable with that,” and then, “I’ll think about it.”
He said good-bye and put the phone on the table. She waited to hear what he’d share.
“Largo asked the Lieutenant if he’d mentor Wilson Sam.”
“Why?”
“After the hay-sale argument, the captain is seriously annoyed with the rookie. He wants to help Sam before he screws up again and gets fired or killed.”
“I meant why the Lieutenant. Sure, he’s smart and well respected, but he isn’t an active member of the department. He’ll have to figure out what’s going on with the rookie. Someone like you already knows the story.”
“Largo thinks highly of the Lieutenant, plus, he has experience as a mentor, and now that he’s retired he might have time to do it.”
“So, why the phone call?”
“He heard about Sam’s injury, and he wanted to check the story with me.”
She could tell from the way Chee ended the sentence that there was more to come.
“Leaphorn’s reluctant because he’s at the beginning of a new PI case, but he owes Largo a favor. He asked if I’d give him a hand. I said I’d consider it, but I feel uncomfortable, like a snitch or something.”
“I understand. But we’ll be even more slammed if the rookie gets fired. If you can help, that would be great.”
“The Lieutenant offered to meet with the rookie for an initial interview and then talk to Largo about his assessment. That might get me off the hook.”
Chee began dinner preparations, and she continued to work on her chronology of discovering the body. Compiling the notes heightened her recall. She revisualized what she’d seen as she approached the path, searching not only for the extraordinary but for something slightly askew that might have relevance in the murder. She wrote down everything she remembered, no matter how minor and boring.
She’d nearly finished when she felt Chee’s eyes on her.
She looked up, and he spoke. “Is something bothering you, sweetheart?”
“Why?”
“You’re scowling.”
She closed the notebook. “I can’t get the sight of that body out of my mind.”
“Dealing with the dead is part of the job, but it’s not something I ever get used to either. And it’s good that we don’t. It keeps us human.”
“I have more questions than answers.”
“I know you. They are good questions.”
As soon as he said it, she remembered Johnson’s compliment and mentioned it to Chee. “I think she was just making nice with me.”
“My philosophy is that when someone gives me a pat on the back, I accept it. It balances those times someone said something mean.”
She smiled. “I better wrap up these notes.” As she wrote the final observations, she felt the tension drain away, as though putting what she’d seen on paper allowed her to leave it behind. At least for tonight.
They finished dinner, and because Chee had cooked, Bernie was cleaning up before she served what she could salvage from the charred pie. Baking and crime solving clearly didn’t mix.
Chee enjoyed the evening’s quiet. The rosy afterglow of sunset and the shift in temperature from hot to pleasantly warm added to his sense of well-being. He listened as crickets chirped their songs of longing, and then he heard something out of tune, a car turning onto his road. Officer Bigman, wearing khakis and a plaid short-sleeved shirt, climbed out of the white SUV. He hugged a round green watermelon to his chest. Chee respected Bigman as a fellow officer and liked him, too, but it was unusual for Bernie’s clan brother to come for a visit.
Chee called to him. “Hey there. You taking your watermelon out for a ride?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, bring it on over.”
Bigman walked up the steps to the deck and placed the melon at the center of the table. It rolled to position itself onto a flat spot with a quiet thud.
Chee used a knuckle to thump it. “Sounds ripe. Early for watermelon, too.”
Bigman chuckled. “And as I see it, it’s never too early for chʼééhjiyáán. I can eat watermelon at six a.m. or at midnight. Breakfast, lunch, and suppertime.”
“Speaking of supper, we’ve got some salad and a pork chop if you’re hungry.”
“I ate at home with the mother-to-be. She can’t have much at one sitting anymore, so she’s snacking all the time. So am I.” He patted his belly.
Bernie joined them. “At least have dessert with us. I made a pie.”
“Is there coffee to go with that invitation?”
“Sure.” But she hesitated a moment too long.
Bigman shook his head. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
Chee chimed in. “But I’d have some, too, if you make it.”
“Sure, but try not to say anything exciting until I get back.” Bernie went inside.
Chee motioned Bigman to a seat. “I haven’t seen your wife for a while. I didn’t realize you were about to become a dad.”
Bigman focused on the watermelon. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a father. Melody tells me not to worry, but I mean, it’s scary, bro. Scarier than facing a drunk with a broken bottle and a bad attitude. What do I know about being a dad?”
“Man, you’ll do just fine. You know how to solve problems. Think of it that way.”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been around many babies. They’re little and vulnerable. How can you figure out what they want?”
“Well, if you get stuck, you can always ask Bernie’s mom. She has advice on everything. Or watch a video on the internet. That always works, right?”
Bigman laughed. “You ever think about having a kid?”
“I do. Being a dad would be great. You have a chance to help a new person learn all about the world.” Chee thumped the melon again. “Relax. It will all work out.”
Bigman stretched his legs under the table. “I guess you heard what happened when Bernie went for a jog. It was an exciting Saturday for the Shiprock substation.”
“She told me you were the backup.”
“Yeah, until the Feds came.”
One of the things Chee liked about his Navajo friends was that they knew how to be quiet. They listened to Bernie run the water and to some birds along the river. A few moments later, the familiar aroma of coffee drifted through the kitchen window. Chee heard the click of the cabinet opening and pictured Bernie moving the cups to the counter.
She rejoined them with napkins, sugar, and the three cups of coffee on a tray. She set that all on the table. “I’ll get the pie.”
“Sit with us first. I want your ideas on something, Sister.” Bigman helped himself to coffee. “I was telling him about our adventures along the trail. Did you hear what happened after you left?”
“Did the dog confess?”
“Not yet. I know you think it was up to something.”
“Usually they are, even Chihuahuas. So what happened?”
Bigman grew serious. “Well, Agent Johnson walked up there to take a look at what you found, all confident and everything. I told her the scene was as secure as possible and motioned toward the red shoes. She went to the body through the weeds. I noticed that she took the same path you did. She squatted down by the guy’s face, and I heard her swearing. Then she straightened up all of a sudden and put her hands on her chest. She said, ‘Michael, Michael. You stupid jerk. I told you to be careful.’ Then she started swearing again and walked away from the body, toward the river.”
Bernie moved a cup of coffee toward Chee. “Wow. What else did she say?”
“Nothing. When she came back, I said, ‘So you recognize him?’ and she just turned toward the trail for a while and then asked me questions about what I’d seen. I wonder if the man was a former agent or a guy she investigated, or maybe an informant or something.”
“Maybe even an old boyfriend.” Bernie took a cup of coffee for herself. “I’ll see what she’ll tell me when we do our interview.”
Chee noticed Bigman fidgeting. Talking about the dead, even obliquely, wasn’t recommended for fathers-to-be. Time to change the subject. He gave the melon another final thump. “Sounds about perfect. Since you brought this lovely thing, I believe we should enjoy it.”
“Absolutely. This is your house. You do the honors.”
Bernie heard her cell phone buzz from where it was charging in the kitchen. She remembered that she had not called Mama.
“I’ve got to catch my phone, so I’ll bring plates and a knife. I’ll be right back.”
The call was Agent Johnson. She went right to business. “I’ve got some questions about the people you encountered on the trail. Can you meet me at the office tomorrow?”
“You’re working late.”
“Yeah. I don’t like the way that dead guy showed up here. Nine a.m. OK for you?”
“Yes.” As if I have a choice here, Bernie thought. “I have some questions for you, too.”
“I’ll tell Largo about the meeting.” Johnson ended the call.
She brought out the knife, plates, and more napkins. Chee sliced off the end of the watermelon and then a thick round that he cut into thirds. He put a wedge on each plate. Bigman picked up the melon and took a bite. “A good one.”
Chee tried his. “This is the taste of summer. I’m glad you brought it.”
Bernie’s was untouched, and he noticed the look on her face, one side of her mouth a bit higher than the other. “That was Johnson, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. We’re meeting tomorrow. I’m glad. It will be nice to share what I saw, even though it doesn’t seem like much. If she knows the dead guy, that should make the case easier to solve. I want to talk to her about staying involved in the investigation.”
They ate for a few minutes, and then Chee reached for her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “See that guy sitting there, the man who brought the watermelon, a cop who confronts gangbangers high on meth or a maniac with a knife on a regular basis?”
“I do.”
“Well, he needs some reassurance as he prepares to face his own little bundle of joy.”
Bigman cleared his throat. “The situation is totally different. I got training to become a cop, but what do I know about diaper rash, bottles, putting a Little Someone in a car seat? I’ve never been around a tiny new person. It makes me nervous, I admit it, to think this little soul will be dependent on me and his mom.”
Bernie said, “You’ll learn. Our parents did.”
“I hope so. I feel more comfortable at a traffic stop than in charge of a newborn.”
“You’ll be a fine father. Don’t worry.” She took a bite of the watermelon, juicy, delicious, and the color of a brilliant sunset. “Did you get this at the flea market?”
“No. My neighbor’s boy grew it at his grandmother’s place.”
“They had a few at the flea. Hey, do you remember Mr. Natachi?”
Bigman nodded. “He’s the gentleman who lived near your mother, right? I think he was kind of sweet on her.”
“That’s the one. I ran into him this morning at the market. He’s living in Chinle now with his granddaughter, Ryana. They came to visit his sister, and he found his stolen bolo tie here in somebody’s booth.”
“That was fortunate.”
Chee wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Not so much for the guy who had it for sale. Bernie got a description of him.”
Bernie said, “He left after he returned the old man’s bolo. A few hours later, Ryana called and implied that her grandfather didn’t remember things very well and that the bolo hadn’t been stolen. Mr. Natachi seemed sharp to me.”
Bigman pursed his lips. “That sure gets my attention. It makes me think someone in the family took it. Maybe a relative on drugs, something like that. Something to follow up.”
He finished his melon and put the rind down on the plate. “Sergeant, I, ah . . . this is awkward. I need to ask you a favor. I know I’m supposed to go to Chinle tomorrow to work with Lieutenant Black there on those stolen-property cases. But Melody believes that the baby will decide it wants to get born while I’m out, you know. Or while I’m driving where there’s no cell service for her to call me.”
They watched Bigman collecting his thoughts.
“You and Largo get along great. I was wondering if you could ask him if he’d send the rookie to Chinle? The experience would do him good.”
Chee said, “Did you hear what happened to him?”
“Don’t tell me.” Bigman smiled. “He tried to bust that tough gal from Newcomb who always has the weed in the back of her car.”
“No, no.” Chee exhaled. “He placed himself in the middle of an argument about some rotten hay and got a broken nose and a puffy eye for his troubles.”
“How bad is he?”
“He has to breathe through his mouth. His eye has swollen into a tiny slit.” Chee narrowed his own in sympathy.
“That explains why I got the call to back up Bernie even though I was out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I was glad to see you. When is the baby due?”
Bigman made a tent with his fingers. “Any day. Next week? Tomorrow? The official arrival date is ten days from now, but Melody doesn’t think she’ll last that long. It’s my fault she’s anxious. I told her I’d attend the classes with her about labor and delivery and all that, but I got called in to work those nights.”
Bernie wrinkled her forehead. “Every week?”
“Actually, I volunteered for duty so I could miss the classes. I didn’t want to be there for that female stuff. Now, this is the last week, and Melody told me there’s a film about the whole birth process tomorrow night and then intensive coaching for both of us the next three nights. She said she really needs me to go with her. She never said that before. Then she started to cry.” Bigman turned his hands palms up. “I’d rather go to Chinle, but I might get stuck working where I couldn’t get back in time for the movie or the last three classes. You know that a case can get dicey, even one that seems simple like this burglary stuff.”
They knew. Drug use and burglaries went together like weft and warp, and they’d heard rumors of mafia types hanging around Chinle. Bernie and Chee had both been on more than one call where something that should have been simple grew complicated and violent, and took a long time to resolve.
Bernie wiped the watermelon juice off her hands with a napkin. “I’ll go to Chinle for you. Chee can get Largo to OK that.”
“No, I’ll handle the Chinle burglary stuff.” Chee saw Bernie frown. “You have to stay here to deal with Johnson and the body, and to figure out if the Shiprock guy selling Mr. Natachi’s bolo has ties to Chinle and the rest of the crimes there. I’ve worked well with the Chinle commander before, so that ought to make things go a little smoother. It’s all up to the captain, of course, but I think he’ll agree.”
“Thanks.” Bigman sighed. “I appreciate whatever you can do for me, man. Melody is really on my case about this darn movie. I hope the rookie gets back to full steam soon.”
“We all do. He’ll need to pull his weight so you can be with the new mom and help with that little one when it gets here. Your wife will need a break and some extra attention, too.”
Bernie nudged him with her elbow. “Sergeant Chee, how did you get so smart about family dynamics?”
“Oh, it’s another of my superpowers.”
Country music that sounded like Loretta Lynn on a bad day intruded on the night. Bigman looked startled, then pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s my wife. Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.” They listened to him say “Yes” and “Of course” and “It’s all set” and then “Don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”
He turned to them both. “She has bad leg cramps. I’ve got to go. Thanks for talking to Largo about this, Sergeant.”
“That movie might come in handy when you’re on patrol and a baby is about to get born. Think of it that way.”
Bernie smiled. “I get any calls involving pregnant women, I’m referring them to you. You’ll be the department’s specialist.”
Bigman winced. He gazed at the watermelon. “I want you guys to keep that, but could I take a piece home for the missus?”
“Sure.” Chee cut a big slice.
“Bring it in the kitchen, and we’ll put it in a bag.” Bernie walked inside, and Bigman followed. “You want some pie, too?”
When she removed the tea towel covering it, the fragrance of fresh peaches, cinnamon, and sugar competed with the char of burned crust. The smell reminded her of how the mystery of the bolo had absorbed her. Now the murder had added to the problems to solve. She could hardly wait to talk to Johnson tomorrow.
“You keep the pie. I forgot that Melody is supposed to watch her sugar.”
“Let us know about the baby.”
After she walked him to the door, she cut a piece of pie for Chee and one for herself, using a fork to break off the burned parts. She took dessert back to the deck. They watched the stars begin to show themselves in the dark distance.
“I’m looking forward to working the local connection in the burglaries. I want to find the man who tried to sell that bolo.”
“Mr. Natachi was fortunate that you came along when you did.” Chee put his arm around her. “I’ve never seen Bigman like that. He’s so uptight, you’d think this was the world’s first kid. Do you picture me that way when I’m about to become a dad? All nervous and worried?”
“No, you’d just call on another of your superpowers. I know I’m not ready for parenthood yet. Are you?”
He kissed her in answer. Then he reached for the pie.