The reinforcements had arrived a little before sundown. First came two big Federal Bureau of
Investigation copters, hovering a while to find a place to put down among the hummocks of Mormon tea, the Special Agents swarming out, looking warlike in their official bulletproof costumes, pointing their automatic weapons at Leaphorn and looking miffed when Leaphorn ignored them. Then the business of trying to explain what had happened there. Explaining Gershwin to the Special Agent in Charge, who wanted to question everything, who wanted answers which would prove the Bureau was right in its Everett Jorie suicide/gang-leader conclusion, and who looked downright thunderstruck when he learned that the fellow instructing otherwise was just a civilian.
Chee grinned, remembering that. Leaphorn had cut off the SAC’s arguments by suggesting he could end his doubts by sending a few of his troops over to Gershwin’s truck and having them unpack some of the bundles, in which Leaphorn was confident they would find about one hundred seven pounds and eleven ounces of the paper money taken from the casino. The SAC did, and they did; some of the money was neatly double-sacked in eight of those Earth-Smart white-plastic kitchen trash bags stacked under Gershwin’s luggage, and a bunch of the bigger bills was layered into the suitcases with his clothing. While that was happening the ground troops arrived—two sheriff’s cars, a Utah State Police car and a BIA law-enforcement unit bringing an assortment of cops—including Border Patrol trackers with their dogs. The trackers nervously eyed the cumulus clouds, their tops backlit by the setting sun and their black bottoms producing lightning and promising the long-overdue rain. Trackers prefer daylight and dry ground and were making their preference obvious. Finally, the explaining stopped, an ambulance arrived to take away the much-photographed bodies, and now here Chee was, dry and comfortable, on his way home and an interested listener to the Legendary Lieutenant revealing a human side.
“I’ve only met her recently,” Bernie was saying. “But she seemed very nice.”
“An interesting person,” Leaphorn said. “A real friend, I think." He chuckled. “At least she’s willing to listen to me when I talk. When you’re an old widower, and you haven’t gotten used to living alone yet, that’s something you need.”
Which is why, Chee was thinking, Leaphorn has been chattering like this. He’d always thought of him as taciturn, hard to talk to. A silent man. But then Bernie was Bernie. He liked to talk to her, too. Or, come to think of it, he liked to talk while Bernie listened. He skipped backward into memories of conversations with Janet Pete. No problem there. Then came another memory, another comparison. Bernie putting ice on his swollen ankle, leaning over him, her soft hair brushing past his face. Janet kissing him. Janet’s hair carried the perfume of flowers, Bernie’s the scent of juniper and the wind.
“You don’t seem old to me,” Bernie was saying. “No older than my father, and he’s still young.”
“It’s more than age,” Leaphorn said. “Emma and I were married longer than you’ve been alive. One of those love-at-first-sight things when we were students at Arizona State. And when she died -" He didn’t finish that.
The rain stopped. Bernie switched off the wipers. “I’ll bet you she wouldn’t have approved of you living alone, like a hermit. I’ll bet she would want you to get married again.”
Wow, Chee thought. That took nerve. How will Lieutenant Leaphorn react to that?
Leaphorn laughed. “Exactly. She did. But not Professor Bourebonette. At the hospital before her surgery she told me if anything went wrong, I should remember Navajo tradition.”
“Marry her sister?” Bernie said. “You have a single sister-in-law.?”
“Yep,” Leaphorn said. “Emma almost always gave good advice, but her sister didn’t like that idea any better than I did.”
“I’ll bet your wife would have approved of Professor Bourebonette,” Bernie said. “I mean as your wife.”
If Chee hadn’t been watching while Bernie refused to surrender her sidearm to Leaphorn a few hours ago, he wouldn’t have believed he was hearing this. He waited. Silence. Then Leaphorn said, “You know, Bernie, now you mention it, I’m sure she would.”
What a woman, this Officer Bemadette Manuelito. Chee remembered the sort of subconscious uneasiness he’d felt when Bernie showed up at his trailer and asked him to help her wounded boyfriend. It was jealousy, of course, though he didn’t want to admit it then. And he was feeling it again now.
“Bernie,” Chee said, "what’s the condition report on Teddy Bai?”
“Much better,” Bernie said.
“Did you talk to him?”
“Rosemary did,” she said. “She said he’s going to be well enough so they won’t have to postpone their wedding.”
“Well, now,” Chee said. “Wow. That’s really good news." And he meant it.
—«»—«»—«»—
[scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]
[** 2003—v1 html proofed and formatted by AphaPsi for the 3S group]