"Not a problem," he said. He went to her bedside, clasped her offered hand, and kissed her cheek. Her skin had always been the softest of anyone he had ever known, and that remained true. She wore a cotton nightgown containing all the colors of a desert sunset. "I'm sorry it's been so long, Ysabel."
"You've been busy fighting crime," Keith said. "We try to keep up with the news."
"How is that going?" Ysabel asked. Her voice rose at the end of the question, more than most peoples' would; it always made her sound as if she was singing.
"It's good," Ray admitted. "It's hard work, but I feel it's worthwhile."
"I'm sure it is," she said. "You're making the world a better place. Of course, you always did that."
Not as much as you, Ray thought. Her presence in the world was like a beacon of life, a message of joy. People who bought her baskets without meeting her acquired things of beauty, but those who had the chance to get to know her acquired a knowledge that true goodness really existed. Or so he had always believed.
"I would think your years dealing with college students would be good preparation for handling hardened criminals," Keith put in, smiling as he said it.
"Generally, the people I deal with are already deceased," Ray replied. "But I remember a few students that might have been true of as well, at least judging by their participation in the class."
He chatted with them both for a few minutes, until Keith suggested that Ysabel was getting tired. She denied it, but Ray allowed Keith to lead him out of her room and back through the entryway to the couple's living room. The furniture there was worn and comfortable, arranged for easy conversation. A bookcase held well-thumbed volumes, and posters advertising powwows and old rock concerts decorated the walls. They weren't prints, Ray knew, but originals. He had always been especially impressed by a Mouse and Kelly poster featuring a blue and red Day-Glo Native American holding a pipe, its colors almost as crisp and vibrant as the day it was printed. The Hyatts had hung it in a position of honor above the fireplace. The concert was an appearance by the Youngbloods, the Sparrows, and the Sons of Champlin at San Francisco's Avalon Ballroom in 1966.
"She's a great lady, Keith," Ray said, admiring the poster.
"She sure is. She has the energy of a racehorse. Honestly, I'm sure she would have wanted to visit with you for hours, but it would wear me out."
"You've been under a lot of stress, Keith."
"And not sleeping as well as I should, I'm afraid."
"That's hardly surprising."
"Tell her. She thinks I should be taking all this in stride. It's just another part of life, she says." Keith sat down in the chair that had been his as long as Ray could remember, dark brown leather, worn on the arms. Ray took a seat on a sofa opposite him.
"She's right, in a way. Not that it's easy, or should be. But it's as natural a part of life as anything else."
"So they tell me." Keith studied Ray for a long moment. "You didn't just come here to visit."
Ray met his gaze with a sheepish grin. "You're right. I do have an ulterior motive."
"What is it? Anything you need, man…"
"It's actually work-related, Keith. I don't know if you've heard yet, but the chairman of the Grey Rock Paiute tribe, Robert Domingo, was -"
"Yes," Keith interrupted. "I heard. It's a terrible thing. Are you working on that case? What can I do?"
"We've kept it out of the news so far, but there was a word painted on the wall near his body," Ray said. "Painted in blood, actually. 'Quantum.' Does that mean anything to you, in this context?"
Keith didn't even have to think about it. "Blood quantum? That's the formula that tribes use to determine their membership rolls."
Ray wished he had known that from the beginning. "Fascinating. Can you tell me how that works?"
"Well, every tribe can set its own standard. For the Grey Rock Paiutes, as of last fall, anyway, it's been fairly restrictive. Someone has to be able to show that they're at least half Grey Rock to be officially enrolled."
"That seems fair."
"It's a very controversial subject," Keith said. "Say someone marries outside the tribe, like Ysabel did, but for purposes of this discussion, let's say she married an Apache or a Cherokee and has kids. If Ysabel was three-quarters Grey Rock, then her kids are already out of the tribe. They might live on the reservation their whole lives, they're still native, but they're not half Grey Rock. Depending on what the other tribe's blood quantum is, they might not be Mescalero or Chiricahua or whatever, either. Then what are they? We're talking about peoples' identities, determined by the decision of a tribal membership board that might have financial motivations behind its standard."
"Financial motivations?"
Keith had clearly given the topic some thought. "Some of the poorest communities in the country are Indian reservations, Ray. But there are a few that are doing well – better than well, even. A successful casino or some energy leases can put a lot of money into a tribe's pockets. Some tribes are happy to share the wealth, but others get greedy, start cutting people out of the tribe so that the wealth doesn't have to be spread around so much."
"Is that what Grey Rock did?"
"The membership committee doesn't have to give a reason for its determination, but when they changed the standard last year, a lot of people thought that was why. The casino and spa have been making good money. With the recession, though, tourism is down, so the money they're used to pocketing has dropped some. People think they changed the blood-quantum standard as a response to the recession, so that those who make the most out of the tribal businesses can continue their standard of living, at the expense of those who are cut out."
"I can see why people would be upset about that."
"Also, some of the profits have been plowed back into the business. There's a new, higher-end casino hotel opening soon, and that's expected to be very profitable once the economy starts to come back. Most casino expansions in the city are on hold, but the tribe is cash-rich, and the project is self-financing. Whenever people start coming back to Vegas to gamble – which everybody in the city believes will happen – the Grey Rock rez will have the newest place in town. And with hotel rooms at cut rates, compared with the privately held places in the city. Which will mean yet more money divided up into fewer pieces. I don't even know that it's the money as much as the personal identity, though," Keith continued. "How finely do you want to chop yourself? Are you five-eighths Indian? Thirteen-sixteenths? Where does it end? As generations go by and there's more and more intermarrying, fewer and fewer people are left who can meet the most exacting standards. When the Grey Rock decision was made, a lot of people were ticked off. Some of them made a lot of noise, but the committee's decision is final."