She ducked her head, her hand fishing in her purse, until she came up with her room key. Hefting the straps of her purse over her shoulder, she reached out and plucked the glasses from his hand, settling them on her nose. “No. I told you, I didn’t mix in Oree’s business. He didn’t mix in mine. Now I got appointments and you’re holding me up.”
“What kind of business you in, Mary?”
“I’m a masseuse. Got my license and everything.”
“What’s your phone number?”
Suspicion registered in her expression. “Why?”
“Maybe I’ll call for a massage someday. What’s your number?” When the cell phone forensics came back on Quintero’s, he wanted to be able to identify as many of the phone numbers as possible.
After she told him and he wrote it down, she unlocked her room door and stepped inside. “I’ve told you everything I know. I don’t want you bothering me again.”
Joe didn’t respond, just stood and watched as she slammed the door. He heard the dead bolt snap into place on the other side. The only truths she’d revealed had all been nonverbal. Her heavily made-up eyes had been red and swollen. Perhaps her grief over Oree’s death was genuine. As genuine as the emotion that had flashed across her face when he’d mentioned Graywolf’s name.
Fear.
Chapter 7
When she heard the knock on her front door that morning, Delaney froze, certain for a moment it was Joe. Which didn’t explain the crazy little spiral of heat that traversed from her belly to her chest, because she had her hormones, all her emotions, firmly under control now. A couple nights’ sleep had done wonders for reestablishing the emotional distance that had served her well the last two years. And the fact that she hadn’t seen or heard from Joe Youngblood since she’d given him those pictures hadn’t hurt, either.
The knock sounded again, and something inside her eased. It was hard to imagine Joe knocking when her Jeep was parked out front. Up to this point, he hadn’t exactly proved to be a staunch observer of etiquette.
“Miss Carson?”
It was also hard to imagine Joe ever addressing her in that openly flirtatious manner. The face of the man on the other side of her screen door was split in a wide grin. “Yes.”
“I’m Edison Bahe. You can call me Eddie. The Tribal Council hired me as your guide.”
Eddie Bahe was tall, whipcord lean, with strong white teeth that flashed in a perpetual smile. He also had a steady stream of patter that was nearly impossible to interrupt. “I know it’s rather early in the morning but I was in the area and thought I’d stop and say hello. Just to introduce myself and maybe get an idea of your plans. What you want to see first. Where you want to go. President Taos put me at your disposal, ma’am.”
When he paused to take a breath, Delaney unlatched the door and joined him on the porch. “I recognize your name.” Charley had mentioned it at dinner the other night. “I thought we were scheduled to meet Saturday, but the details were left vague. Where do you suggest I start?”
“Well…” Eddie tipped his cowboy hat back, appeared deep in thought. “We’re just fifty miles east of the Grand Canyon, eighty miles southwest of Monument Valley and seventy miles north of the San Francisco Peaks. You’ll have to see Canyon de Chelly, of course, but you’ll want to devote more time to it. It’s about three hours from here. You might want to consider getting a camping permit before going there.”
“I believe President Taos included one in the papers he sent along for me.”
“The thing I’d recommend-” Eddie leaned a hand against the porch post “-is to start tomorrow instead of Saturday. We could go to Monument Valley real early and be back in time to hit the flea market in town. It’d be a touristy sort of thing, but would also be a great way for you to see lots of Navajo crafts and taste some home-cooked dishes.”
Beneath Eddie’s polished veneer, Delaney realized, beat a cash register for a heart. She smiled. “I didn’t realize I needed a guide to get to the flea market.”
His perpetual grin turned sheepish. “’Course you don’t. But I do know which vendors have the best turquoise for the best value. And who sells the best-tasting corn cake.”
It wouldn’t hurt, she supposed, to take Eddie along that first time. She’d already learned that Navajos, through their clan system, had extensive family connections. Her first several weeks on the reservation would be spent making acquaintances and connections of her own. He might be able to facilitate that.
“All right, we’ll start tomorrow,” she decided. “But we’ll do the flea market first, then if there’s still time we’ll head to Monument Valley.”
His face lit up at the words. “That’s fine with me. I’ll pick you up at-”
“How about I pick you up,” she interrupted him. With the equipment she’d be bringing, it’d be easier to pack her own vehicle.
He gave her a slow wink. “Never let it be said that Eddie Bahe turned down a ride from a beautiful lady.” He gave her directions to his house, which was located in one of the new housing developments just inside the city limits.
“Tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m. sharp,” she called after him, as he headed back toward his older model black Chevy pickup. “If you’re not ready, you walk.” He was in the truck, backing away from the house when she thought to add, “Rocky Mountain Time.” She thought she saw his teeth flash one more time before he turned onto the road headed back to town.
Time was one thing she struggled with on Navajo Nation lands. The Navajo language had no word for it. And to make things more confusing, Tuba City was in two time zones, with half going by Rocky Mountain daylight saving time, sometimes called Navajo time, and the other half going by Rocky Mountain standard time. Meeting up with Eddie tomorrow morning could prove interesting.
She headed back into the house to shower and dress. She was scheduled to meet with Charley again that afternoon, as she had for the last few days. Mindful of Joe’s warning, she had been careful to not stay for more than three or four hours at a time. It meant more frequent trips but Charley seemed to welcome the company and she certainly didn’t mind. He was one of the most fascinating men she’d ever met, and completely irresistible.
Stripping off her clothes, she turned on the shower and stepped inside. But not before it occurred to her that the only man she’d met in years that she trusted absolutely was an eighty-year-old Navajo elder.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
Joe was finishing the report, compiling the conversations he’d had with Quintero’s acquaintances that day. Balefully, he glared at the computer monitor as another phrase was underlined by the software program, indicating a problem with his spelling, sentence structure, or both. He was a cop, not a novelist. Arnie and he had a system. He could usually coax the other man into writing the reports, if he also let him drive when they were in the Jeep. It was tough to sit in the passenger seat day after day, especially given Arnie’s driving ability, but it was far worse to type the endless reports at day’s end.
He was still pecking away at the computer when he heard Vicki Smith, the office specialist, behind him. “Visitor for you, Joe.”
Turning, he saw a slight, bespectacled man with fading blond hair and blue eyes. Bruce Glenn, his former father-in-law.
Warily he stood, shot a glance at Vicki, who merely raised her eyebrows and moved away. “Bruce.”