Read Death Along the Spirit Road Online
Authors: C. M. Wendelboe
Death Along the Spirit Road (21 page)
Willie nodded and wrote in his notebook before he looked in the car. He grabbed a small SureFire from his duty belt and shined the light onto the floorboard. “What do you make of that?”
Manny followed the beam of light to a piece of leather under the brake pedal. He bent and grabbed it. “A piece of leather thong,” he said as he held it to the light. “Could be from anything. A moccasin thong. A choker. Maybe a jacket pull. Could be used for most anything.”
Manny shined Willie’s flashlight on the floorboard. He lifted the mat and picked up a small, dried stem and held it to the light. “What’s this?”
Willie studied the foliage. “
Peji wacanga
. Sweetgrass. Same as we found at the murder scene. This significant?”
Peji wacanga
. Sweetgrass. Same as we found at the murder scene. This significant?”
“You tell me.” Manny used the car door to help him stand. He knew he’d have to lose a few more pounds. “You’ve been studying with Margaret Catches: What do you use sweetgrass for?” Like an attorney asking a witness questions that he already knew, Manny wanted Willie to think on his own. He had asked Willie that question at the murder scene, and now he wanted to know if Willie had been thinking about it since then.
Willie faced Manny with that deer-in-the-headlights look, until finally his own bulb came on. “Ceremonies. Sings. Just like Reuben said he was doing the night Jason was murdered.”
“But Reuben isn’t the only holy man on the reservation. Or holy woman. Sweetgrass can be picked up most places a person walks in these parts. Someone could have walked through sweetgrass before climbing back in the car.”
“But Reuben lives only a half mile from here.”
“Whoa.” Manny held up his hands. “We don’t even know that this car was involved with Jason’s murder. George has other neighbors that live close besides Reuben. Call for a wrecker. Your evidence tech needs to process it.”
“Just wait a minute.” Crazy George stepped between them. “You’re telling me my car’s been stole. But I got it back. Only now you tell me the police are going to steal it again.”
“We’ll release it as soon as we can,” Manny said. “Until then, maybe you can ride that mare of yours around.”
If you can find a sidesaddle
, he thought as he admired George’s dress flapping in the breeze. Then he told himself he’d better be good to George: with his own age and paunch going against him, this might be the closest Manny got to a skirt anytime soon.
If you can find a sidesaddle
, he thought as he admired George’s dress flapping in the breeze. Then he told himself he’d better be good to George: with his own age and paunch going against him, this might be the closest Manny got to a skirt anytime soon.
CHAPTER 12
Manny ran through the slosh and the mud and jumped into Willie’s truck. He brushed the rain from his shirt and trousers before he took the cup of coffee and breakfast burrito from Willie.
“This hits the spot.”
“The rain or the coffee?”
“Both. It’s long overdue. The rain, that is.” Manny sipped the coffee. “You going to a cowboy funeral or cowboy wedding?”
Willie’s powder blue, double-breasted Western shirt fit tight against his chest. Faux pearl buttons secured the shirt, except for the top one, which Willie left unbuttoned to make the shirt lay open at a sharp angle near his neck. His Wranglers were creased at least as sharp as Lumpy’s jeans the other night, and they hung bunched at the bottom against a pair of Justin ropers that looked a size too small for such a large man. A tan 5X beaver Stetson poised at a self-assured slant completed his dress, and he only needed a matched pair of pearl-handled Colts to look the spitting image of a Lakota Tom Mix.
Great. I’m working with Hopalong Lumpy and Willie Mix.
“You don’t have to go,” Manny said as they turned onto Route 18. “Lumpy’d have a cow if he found out you came along.”
“You don’t have to go,” Manny said as they turned onto Route 18. “Lumpy’d have a cow if he found out you came along.”
“This is my day off. Besides, one more minute lying to the lieutenant about where you are and I’ll break down and tell him.”
Willie had called this morning to warn Manny that Lumpy was on his trail. Niles had talked to Lumpy and demanded he find Manny. Lumpy wanted to find him so he could tell Niles, and so he could jump him about the thief powder, which office rumor had it that Lumpy had proof Manny was the perp.
“Maybe you should call him.”
“Piss on Ben Niles. Maybe he should catch the next flight here and see what the hell I’ve been putting up with, see if he has any better luck than we’re having. The one thing I’m certain of is if Lumpy finds out you spent the day with me in Rapid City, he’ll assign you to animal control for the duration of your career.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Willie said, but he scooted lower in the seat until they left the town limits. “I’m sure I won’t be in as much trouble as you are.”
“How’s that?”
“Here. Front page.” Willie handed Manny the latest
Lakota Country Times
. The front photo showed Manny and Sonja Myers cozying outside the bistro in Rapid City.
Lakota Country Times
. The front photo showed Manny and Sonja Myers cozying outside the bistro in Rapid City.
“What the hell did Yellow Horse do, follow me?”
“Must have, but it gets better. Read it.”
Nathan Yellow Horse quoted Sonja Myer’s recent follow-up article in the
Rapid City Journal
. Manny had told her information he refused to share with other journalists. Native journalists. Yellow Horse said Manny had given Sonja the name of the murder suspect, and told her that Jason might have squandered the tribe’s money.
Rapid City Journal
. Manny had told her information he refused to share with other journalists. Native journalists. Yellow Horse said Manny had given Sonja the name of the murder suspect, and told her that Jason might have squandered the tribe’s money.
“You read the
Journal
today?”
Journal
today?”
Willie nodded. “Sonja Myers said you told her Ricky Bell was your prime suspect, and she quoted you saying Jason’s resort project was going belly-up.”
Manny sipped his coffee as he followed the story to the next page, with Yellow Horse accusing Manny of giving inside information to a sexy White woman that he wouldn’t share with a Lakota reporter. “That’s bullshit. She turned my ‘no comments’ into affirmatives. She’s got it all wrong. And so does Yellow Horse.”
“It’s your boss you’ll have to convince, not me.”
“Great. All I need is that prick on my ass.” Manny’s cell phone rang. He checked the number. “This asshole got Psychic Friends on retainer? How the hell would he know we were talking about him?”
“You going to answer it?”
Manny put his cell phone back in his belt holder. “Naw. Like you said, there’s not very good reception here on the rez.”
Manny dropped Willie off at the
Rapid City Journal
office. “Humor me,” Manny said.
Rapid City Journal
office. “Humor me,” Manny said.
“But that was twenty-some years ago.”
“The Red Clouds died twenty-eight years ago in that car wreck, to be exact. See what you can find. I’ll call you on my cell when I’m done.”
“But my truck.”
“What about your truck?”
“You have a pretty crappy track record in the driving department.”
“It’s not that bad.”
Willie grimaced. “If I believe half of what the lieutenant says, you’re such a bad driver that you’d have to go a long ways to upgrade to being called shitty behind the wheel. No offense, but he said when he worked with you, you wrecked more squad cars driving normal speed than all the rest put together running code.”
“I’ve improved since then.”
“Not by the looks of your rental. I just don’t want my truck dinged up.”
Manny hoped his laugh would convince Willie his pickup would be safe. “Relax. If anything happens to your truck, you have the full backing of the FBI. Fair enough?”
Willie nodded. He stroked the hood affectionately, and dramatically. Manny shook his head at Willie’s lack of faith, then pulled out into traffic and nearly hit a passing car.
Manny drove past the Jack First Gun Shop and Coke Plant to the Red Cloud Development Corporation building. The front of the three-story structure would have looked more at home in Old Deadwood than in Rapid City. The first-floor false front depicted bawdy scenes: soiled doves waved kerchiefs out windows to attract passing cowboys while they leaned ample breasts over a railing. The second floor’s gunfighter mural pit Wild Bill against a hapless victim in a street showdown. Bill had just touched off a round and watched through black-powder smoke as the fallen fighter bled in the street. On the top floor, Lakota and Cheyenne warriors armed with only bows and lances fought Crow and Pawnee braves shooting Henry repeaters.
Manny stepped inside the building Jason had designed six years ago.
Parade
magazine had done a spread on it, and they had shown off his talents well. The lobby was decorated in Old Western motif with a scarred hardwood bar that ran the width of the room. A mirror reflected the backside of the receptionist behind the bar, and Manny felt his face flush. She smoothed her ruffled lace dress, which showed off her shapely figure inside a skintight bodice. Her hair was up in a bun, and her makeup was so heavy you couldn’t tell if she blushed, like saloon girls of old. She leaned forward and revealed more cleavage than a woman had a right to show a stranger.
Parade
magazine had done a spread on it, and they had shown off his talents well. The lobby was decorated in Old Western motif with a scarred hardwood bar that ran the width of the room. A mirror reflected the backside of the receptionist behind the bar, and Manny felt his face flush. She smoothed her ruffled lace dress, which showed off her shapely figure inside a skintight bodice. Her hair was up in a bun, and her makeup was so heavy you couldn’t tell if she blushed, like saloon girls of old. She leaned forward and revealed more cleavage than a woman had a right to show a stranger.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” She batted her eyes, reminding him of Sonja Myers yesterday.
“Jason Red Cloud’s office, please.”
Her smile faded and she pointed to the elevator. “Third floor.”
The
Parade
article said Jason had rescued the manual elevator from the old Biltmore in New York. The elevator operator played with his white handlebar mustache as he waited for a fare to take upstairs. The building’s legend posted beside the elevator showed the Red Cloud Corporation consumed the entire third floor. Manny bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs to work off the breakfast sandwich. By the time he reached the third floor, a bead of sweat had formed on his forehead and he dabbed at it with his handkerchief. He sucked air, winded, but not as winded as he was last month taking stairs in D.C.
Parade
article said Jason had rescued the manual elevator from the old Biltmore in New York. The elevator operator played with his white handlebar mustache as he waited for a fare to take upstairs. The building’s legend posted beside the elevator showed the Red Cloud Corporation consumed the entire third floor. Manny bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs to work off the breakfast sandwich. By the time he reached the third floor, a bead of sweat had formed on his forehead and he dabbed at it with his handkerchief. He sucked air, winded, but not as winded as he was last month taking stairs in D.C.
At last Manny’s heart rate slowed, and he stepped into the Red Cloud office. The receptionist faced the elevator so she could greet anyone coming off that floor. She was a Lakota half his age, and sat jotting on a memo pad as she cradled a phone on her neck.
Manny waited, thankful for the time to look around the office. Large photos framed in rustic, graying barn wood hung every few feet, some aerial shots and others close-ups. He put on his reading glasses and looked at the captions. He recognized the Salt Lake City Celestial, the tallest hotel on the Great Salt Lake when it was built. The before-and-after photos showed Jason had transformed a barren hillside into a flourishing resort.
Manny admired more pictures showing how efficiently—almost magically—the Red Cloud Corporation had developed land that other developers had passed up as useless. The most recent date of any picture was six years ago.
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