“You’re making me nervous.” Bernie muted the game on TV—the Arizona Cardinals playing some team on the football field. “You told the clerk at the desk to call you when Palmer shows up. You left a message in his hotel room. We drove around looking for him. What else can you do? Stop beating yourself up. What happens next is up to Palmer.”
He saw her eyeing his untouched half of the burger.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”
“You sure?”
He marveled at Bernie. She could live on Cokes and burgers, with an occasional break for her mom’s mutton stew and fry bread. She’d eat corn, squash, and green beans when he cooked them, but left to her own devices, she’d live vegetable-free. She was slim, he decided, because she had the same metabolism as her mother. Mama and the hummingbirds.
She took a bite of his dinner. “Don’t worry about Palmer. You’ve done all you could.”
“I’m not sure about that.” I’m longing for the day when I never have to think of Palmer again. Did you hear anything from the Lieutenant about the dead guy?”
“No. I sent him an e-mail, but he hasn’t responded yet. I hope that means he’s busy working on the case.” Bernie moved closer to Chee. “What would the Lieutenant do in a situation like yours?”
“He would have told Largo to find somebody else for bodyguard duty. Unlike me—the guy who gets the chump assignments.”
“Stop it. You’re a first-class cop. People take advantage of your good nature sometimes, but you don’t come in second to anyone. Largo appreciates you.”
“Yeah, because I’m easy to manipulate.”
“No, because you’re a kind man and a great officer.” She put down the burger. “You’ve had a long day with lots of stress and you’ve hardly slept since you started this assignment. Give yourself a break.”
He stared at the silent television, then sat up and slipped off his boots and stretched out on the bed next to her again.
“You’re right. Palmer manages to push all my buttons. To rattle my cage.”
“He’s a burr under your saddle.”
He grinned. “Yeah. A fly in the ointment.”
“An itch that needs scratching.”
“A thorn in my side.”
“An ant at the picnic.”
“A weed in the corn patch.”
“A sandstorm at a powwow.”
“A coyote in the sheep pen.”
“A bug in your ear.”
“He bursts my bubble.”
She laughed. “I can’t think of any more. You win.”
“So, do I get a prize?” He snuggled closer to her.
“Hmmmm. We’ll have to see about that.”
They heard a noise. A chime. Then again. Palmer’s phone.
Chee padded over to the desk, disgruntled. The screen said the call was from “UNKNOWN.” If it had been his own phone, he would have turned it off.
“Hello?”
He heard Palmer’s voice. “Chee, why are you answering my phone?”
“You left it in my motel room. Where are you? Bernie and I drove all over looking for you. We’ve been worried sick.”
“Calm down. I’m out in the parking lot. I thought I must have dropped my phone out here.”
“Come inside and I’ll meet you in the lobby. I’ve got a message for you, too.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Palmer said. “I just have to give my companion back his phone.”
Chee put his boots back on. Then he slid Palmer’s phone into his pants pocket.
“Want me to go with you?”
“No. This jerk is my personal headache.”
Bernie turned the television sound on. “You might want your jacket. You never know what will happen.”
“Right.”
He grabbed his gun from the dresser as he left.
Palmer wasn’t in the lobby, of course, so Chee went outside to look for him. The clouds, which could have kept the temperature at the frigid average for November in northern Arizona, were gone. What little heat the day had stored had disappeared into the pool of blackness. He zipped his jacket. The stars shone with exceptional brilliance and the cold air invigorated him.
Chee spotted Palmer standing against the building. He seemed to be studying the orange camper van.
Palmer glanced up. “I didn’t think you’d be so quick. Want one?”
He noticed Palmer’s half-consumed cigarette. “No.”
Palmer breathed out a cloud of smoke. “So you had a message for me?”
“Yeah. Your son called. He said it was urgent, and that was a while ago.”
“He ignores me for years and now everything is urgent. Anything else?”
“Yeah, I’ve got another message for you. Grow up. Get over yourself. No more of this cat-and-mouse stuff. I’m doing my best to do my job, which is to keep you alive for the mediation.”
Palmer took a long drag and stared at his cigarette. “I’ve quit dozens of times, but the old habit comes back. These things are more dangerous than anybody out there.” He stared out into the parking lot. “Chee, I know this started when Katie dropped me off at the station, but it should end now. The police presence at the mediation sends the wrong message—not just you but the whole posse. I’m calling the captain first thing in the morning to get him to call off the dogs. What’s his name?”
Chee told him. “You should call the chief, too. This was his idea.”
“I will.”
“Where did you go, anyway, without a car?”
Palmer took another drag on the cigarette. “A headman of the San Juan Paiutes picked me up. He came by in his pickup, said he had to show me something important. So I went with him. I explained that you had the bodyguard assignment, but he said you weren’t welcome.”
“Was he the one who called you?”
Palmer affirmed it with a nod. “Denny Duke. He took me to his mother’s house, and they showed me something beautiful they thought was relevant to the mediation. Then he brought me back here, no harm done. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Did you really think it was a good idea to go off in secret with some guy who has something at stake in the outcome of the meeting?”
Before Palmer could respond, Chee heard a noise across the parking lot. He noticed the lights blazing inside the VW camper and Bebe Durango standing by the open door.
Durango noticed him noticing.
“Hey, Sarge, come here for a second.”
Chee didn’t like being shouted at. He waved at him, meaning, When I’m done here. He turned back to Palmer. “So you disappear with the guy who threatens you over the phone. Did Mr. Duke make any more threats?”
Palmer ground what was left of his cigarette into the asphalt. “He warned me that some of the other Paiutes think I’m stirring up trouble because I’m the mediator. That’s the extent of it.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “The only business we have left is for you to give me my phone.”
Chee extracted Palmer’s phone and handed it to him.
“I’ll call my son now about his urgent need to speak to me, and I’ll call your bosses in the morning. The signal is better out here.”
“It works fine in the lobby, too.” Chee said. “Go inside and I’ll be there in a minute.”
Palmer started to argue, then thought better of it, turned, and walked toward the motel’s entrance. Chee waited until he disappeared, then trotted to the camper van.
Durango opened the door before Chee could knock and started talking.
“I heard a rumor that the power will go out again tomorrow and every day of the mediation. A power failure, get it? It’s a symbolic statement about the failure of the power of the people to stop the development. You watch for this.” He rudely pointed a finger at Chee. “I’m giving you a heads-up so you can plan a little. You seem like a nice guy for a cop.”
“Anything else I should know?”
Durango eyed him cautiously. “You should know that this Palmer guy isn’t the straight shooter, goody two-shoes he says he is. He did a mediation in Redondo Beach that is still being sorted out. If you need something to do, check that out. And check out the Mormon Mafia around here, too. I heard they plan a lawsuit to keep alcohol and gambling out of the canyon.”
“Mormon Mafia?”
“If you don’t know what that is, well, you ought to. Good night.”
Chee walked back to the motel, wondering if Durango had inside information about the electricity and if some LDS representative would show up to speak tomorrow.
Palmer stood in the center of the lobby. He looked pale, stricken.
“What’s wrong?”
“I called my son—no answer, of course. Then, just as I was planning to go inside, a cop called me. He said Robert had been in a car wreck. An ambulance took him to the hospital in Flagstaff.”
Dramatic disaster clung to Palmer like a bad stench, Chee thought.
“The officer gave me the number of the hospital. I’m going to call and see if they can tell me how he’s doing. Rocket was alive when the ambulance got to him.”
“Rocket?
“Rocket—that’s what his mother and I used to call Robert. A nickname because he was such an active little kid. I haven’t used that name for him in years. We had our differences, but . . .”
Palmer raised his hand and spread his fingers, as if to signal defeat. Chee had a lot of questions, but he waited to see if the man wanted to tell him anything else first. The lights in the room seemed too bright, Chee thought, the space too big and public for this conversation.
Palmer said, “Robert’s mom always bragged about his driving. He’s never had a car accident as far as I know, not even a scraped fender. What happened out there?”
“Do you recall the name of the officer you talked to?”
“Breen, Green, Dean, something like that.” Palmer shrugged. “I was more focused on the message than the officer’s name.”
“I think I know who you mean. I’ll call him while you call the hospital.”
It took only two tries to reach Officer Clyde Skeen of the Arizona Department of Public Safety.
“I responded to a single-car roll over near Red Mesa. The driver went down an embankment. Clear road, no traffic. Maybe he fell asleep. Who knows? No signs of alcohol or drugs at the crash, but speed may have been a factor.” Skeen cleared his throat. “Lucky for him, a car came by headed the other way not too long after it happened and noticed the headlights.”
“How badly was he injured?”
“Bad, but he had on his seat belt, and that may save his life. That and the other driver calling 911. Why all the questions?”
“The injured man’s father is the mediator for the Grand Canyon summit, the guy whose car blew up. He’s here in Tuba with me now.”
“So what are you doing in Tuba? I thought you were assigned to the Shiprock district?”
Chee explained.
“You know, Chee, some guys get all the luck.” Skeen cleared his throat again. “I noticed some scrapes on the driver’s side of that car. Might be that someone forced him off the road.”
“Maybe.” It was an area worth investigating, Chee thought.
“Yep. Or maybe we’ve been watching too many car-chase movies.”
Palmer had settled himself onto the lobby couch. His head was in his hands.
Chee sat next to him. “What did the hospital say?”
“Not much. A nurse told me Robert is in intensive care, and she took my number. Intensive care? That’s not good.”
“It means he’s getting all kinds of help.” Chee remembered visiting the Lieutenant on that high-tech ICU floor at the hospital in Santa Fe. The staff, along with some prayers, brought him back from the threshold of death. “Do you want to me to drive you down to Flag?”
Palmer patted his shirt pocket where the cigarettes lived. “I’m no good in hospitals. Too much waiting. I never know what to say. The nurse gave me a direct number to the unit where Robert is so I can check on him. We’re not close anymore. And what could I do, anyway?”
Chee nodded. The few times he’d been a hospital patient, he just wanted to be left alone. “Does his mother know?”
“The officer said he called her first because Rocket had her as his emergency contact.”
“I’m sorry this happened. Let me know if I can do anything to help you.”
“Did the officer tell you about the wreck?”
Chee explained. “He said it looks like speed may have been a factor, but not alcohol. He noticed some scrape marks on the side of the car.”
Palmer said, “Do you think this has anything to do with the mediation or with me?”
“I don’t know.” After a moment, Chee said, “We need to go to bed. I’ll give you a ride to the Justice Center in the morning.”
They walked down the hall. Chee checked Palmer’s room and said good night.
“Hey, Chee?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for making that call.”
Chee slid his key card into his own room’s door slot and saw the green light flash. Bernie had fallen asleep, but she awoke when he gently eased himself into bed next to her.