Among Plains Indians, it was customary for a man approaching another’s lodge to announce himself if the front flap was closed. Stranahan had just secured the flap of his eighteen-pole, Sioux-design tipi when headlights veered into his drive. For a brief moment, the interior of the lodge was illuminated, the way countryside is brilliantly lit by a bolt of lightning. Near his head the shadow of a daddy longlegs was thrown as big as a Halloween spider against the canvas, then the lights swept past and the engine shut off. As the son of a mechanic, Sean was tuned in to the distinctive grumblings of the cars driven by his friends, but this one he couldn’t place. He pumped up the Coleman and began to split sticks to build a fire. He knelt down to splash water onto his face from the basin beside the fire ring.
“Hello, the tipi,” a woman’s voice called. “May I come in?”
“Asena? Asena Martinelli?”
“I’m very sorry for the intrusion, but I really must speak to you.”
Sean brought the forester’s ax he’d been splitting kindling with up to his face. The polished blade was the closest thing he had to a mirror. He peered at the distorted image staring back at him and pushed back the comma of hair that had fallen over his left eye.
“If you’re busy—”
“I’m not.”
She ducked in when he removed the sticks, placing a hand on the crown of her hat to keep it from falling. Stranahan took his place behind the fire ring and sat cross-legged. As the head of the household, he faced the front of the lodge. He indicated that she enter to the left and sit to his right on a folded buffalo blanket. This also was in accordance with custom. Had it been a man entering, he would have sat to Stranahan’s left.
“Are you Native American?” she asked. “You look it a little.”
“No, but my friend who gave me this tipi taught me lodge etiquette. I’ve found I enjoy the formality. It’s respectful without being arrogant. Would you like a biscuit or coffee?” He reached for the enamelware pot sitting next to the makings for his fire. “I’ll have it hot in a minute.”
“No thank you.”
She arranged herself on the blanket.
“Now if we were adhering strictly to tradition, you’d sit with your legs folded to the side, not crossed.”
When she began to move he waved a hand for her to stop. “We’re not that formal in my lodge.” I’ve preened and now I’m rattling on, Stranahan thought. Men were such predictable animals in the company of attractive women.
“How did you find me?”
“I talked to Sam Meslik. The sheriff said he was close to my sister.”
“You know about his fight with the wrangler?”
She nodded. “He’s a bit of a brute.”
“He told me he was in love with her. I believe he was.”
“I’ll come right to the point, Mr. Stranahan. I think my sister was kidnapped. I’d like to hire you to find her.”
Stranahan struck a match and held it to a bird’s nest of tinder tucked under the kindling.
“Why didn’t you mention that this morning?” He watched sparks zigzag toward the vent and let the silence stretch.
“It’s . . . not for certain. But your sheriff, frankly, I got the impression she was tolerating me, despite her little speech. I thought you might have . . . better energy. Sam said you were a man who stepped in shit even if there was only one cow in the pasture.”
Stranahan had to smile.
“Did he? Well, you’re wrong about Ettinger. The search is winding down because the odds of finding a person missing in the wilderness, alive, is dwindling. The possibility that she was kidnapped is completely different, and the sheriff would pursue it, I guarantee you. Give her a lead and she’ll start digging.”
“I would rather have you pursue this . . . line of enquiry. How much do you charge?” Her voice had become businesslike.
He told her and watched her head move reflexively back from the fire.
“That’s a lot of money,” she said.
Stranahan had no intention of taking her money, but was curious to see how far she’d go. The more she was willing to part with, the more credible her suspicions. Money was a very accurate measure of confidence.
“That is acceptable,” she said at length.
“Asena, I take what you are telling me very seriously. But I can’t work for you because it would be a conflict of interest. I’m already being paid to find your sister. My obligation is to the county.”
“For how much longer?”
The promptness of her response told Stranahan that she’d thought this aspect through. It was a damned good question. Once the county search ground to a halt, Ettinger would have a hard time justifying his continued involvement.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
Asena’s shoulders visibly dropped. Stranahan found that he wanted to help her, but more than that, to help her sister, if she was alive. He noticed the way the flames patterned the tipi walls and came to a decision.
“I said I can’t take your case because I’m already contractually obligated. I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” He removed the boiling kettle from the fire. “Why don’t you tell me what you came to say, and we can go from there.”
“Will you have to report anything I . . . divulge?”
“This is an active investigation. I’d be lying if I told you I wouldn’t talk to the sheriff if something you told me sounded relevant.”
“I need to think about this.”
“If there’s a chance your sister’s alive, we need to act quickly.”
“I don’t mean sleep on it. I mean just walk around. I’m not like Nicki. Nicki does what she feels in the moment, and I’m afraid that has cost her. I have to think things through. I’ve spent a great deal of my life thinking things through. For both of us.”
Stranahan undid the flap and stepped outside with her, noting that the motor he’d heard belonged to a boxy SUV with a short wheel base, an old Bronco.
“I’d rather be by myself. I won’t be long.”
Ever since he’d heard her voice, he’d known that his life was about to turn. It had happened before, when a Mississippi riverboat siren knocked on the door of his art studio and hired him to do a little innocent fishing for her, which turned out to be not so innocent. And it had happened last year when a search dog found bodies buried on Sphinx Mountain. Life went along—he guided, he mixed paints on his palette, he shot pool with Sam—and then it turned. Turned in a way that made you feel your heart beat. It was turning now, as he heard Asena’s footsteps approach.
“You’re back soon.”
She stood inside the entrance. The flames between them licked up the length of her legs so that it appeared she’d caught fire. It was an extraordinary image.
“How much do you know about wolves?” she said.
“It’s hard to live here without knowing about wolves . . . Asena.” Stranahan emphasized the name. When she didn’t speak, he said, “I know enough about wolves to know Asena is a wolf in Turkish mythology.”
“Yes, well, I told you, it isn’t my real name. My sister got it from a book. She was into all that stuff—myths, spirit animals. I’m like my father, more practical minded, but Nicki was subject to flights of fancy. A cloud chaser. When I asked you if you knew about wolves, I meant the politics.”
“It’s a volatile issue,” Stranahan said. “Most of the state was against the reintroduction. They believe the feds rammed it down their throats. Ranchers hate them. A lot of hunters think wolves are taking a lion’s share of elk they want for their freezers.”
“What about the other side, not the environmentalists who want them on the endangered species list but the fringe element, people who regard wolves as spirit brothers or hold them up as gods?”
“Harold Little Feather, the Blackfeet Indian who gave me the tipi, in his culture wolves are brothers who travel with the tribe. But you mean white people. I know demonstrators have protested wolf hunting at the capitol. They’ve hacked into computer lists of hunters who bought wolf tags and sent threatening e-mails, hassled them over the phone. Trap lines have been sabotaged. There are people willing to stand in front of a gun barrel to save a wolf from being shot.”
Asena sat down on the blanket and faced him. “What you need to know about my sister is, she’s one of those people who would take the bullet.”
“And you believe that has something to do with her disappearance?”
“In a way. It’s a story that is hard for me to tell. Could you make some of that coffee, please?”