AS SOON AS THE PIECES FALL INTO PLACE, I BANG my hand against the counter hard enough to make the set of canisters dance.
Chael is here. I'd be willing to bet on it. And I'd also be willing to bet he has forged some kind of alliance with the skinwalkers. He might already have known I wouldn't be granted an audience with the shaman. Getting rid of me with the bone charm would have served his purpose just as well. When that didn't work, he had to fall back on the original plan. Keep me around and hope I'd try to make contact on my own.
He'd know I wouldn't leave a grieving Frey.
Did he arranhe accident? Or did he cause it? It would be easy for him to appear in the path of a speeding car. To startle Sarah into swerving off the road. Without seat belts, the two would have been helpless in the rolling truck.
Did he watch it happen?
Rage rises like bile, harsh and sour in my throat. Something else for Chael to answer for the next time we meet.
But how do I find him? I have no allies here except Frey. George made his feelings about me clear.
Unless Kayani would be willing to help.
I remember the dark intensity of his gaze. I have the feeling he would want to avenge Sarah's death almost as much as I do. But how do I get in touch with him?
And do I tell Frey what I suspect?
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. Telling Frey confirms that the blame for Sarah's death rests squarely with me. Do I have the courage to do that? I tried in a very lame way when we were at the corral, but I admit I was relieved when he changed the subject and instead suggested we go inside. Now that I suspect Chael is behind the accident, there's no dancing around the truth.
There's a murmur of soft voices from the living room followed by Frey's appearance at the kitchen. John-John is in his arms, his head resting on Frey's shoulder.
"I think John-John should have something to eat. Will you check the refrigerator?"
I do, afraid to open my mouth for fear of breaking down. There is such a look of sadness on that little boy's face, I can hardly bear it. Wordlessly, I extract the container of pudding I recognized from yesterday and spoon a portion into a bowl I find in a cupboard over the stove. I take it to the table and Frey seats himself, still holding John-John, and tries to coax the boy into taking a few bites.
John-John buries his head in Frey's shoulder, pushing the spoon away. He mumbles something in Navajo and Frey lowers the spoon, his arms tightening around his son.
I've poured a small glass of milk and hold it out to Frey. At least John-John accepts a few sips of milk before once more turning his face away.
Maybe if I left them alone?
I touch Frey's arm and motion toward the other room. He nods and I take my leave.
I start pacing. I wish now I'd taken a card from Kayani or asked how to contact him. If Chael is staying in the area, especially if he's staying on the reservation, there are not too many places that offer lodging. Chael with his dark Middle Eastern look would not have to worry about keeping a low profile. He'd blend in with the hundreds of tourists who flock to Monument Valley every summer. Perfect camouflage for a vampire intent on keeping an eye on me.
I wander from one end of the living room to another, absently taking in the pictures on the book case, the bits of rocks and feathers scattered here and there on end tables, John-John's toy horses and cars clustered under the coffee table. Touches that make a house a home.
Touches that made this house Sarah's home.
I return to the bookcase. Now I recognize some of the faces in the photos. Kayani with John-John on horseback. An older couple in full Native American garb. Sarah's parents ? George with Sarah and Mary standing in front of a Jeep with the name of a tour company on the side.
Maamothat's where I should start.
I look around for an address book or a computer. There is neither in the living room. Should I ask Frey if it would be all right to look in Sarah's bedroom?
It's so quiet in the kitchen, I don't want to interrupt whatever is going on between father and son. I'll take my chances and if Frey gets angry with me for snooping, I'll take my lumps.
Sarah's bedroom is neat-bed made up, closet doors closed, very little on the vanity except what one might expect-brush, comb, a few items of makeup. There is no desk. No computer in sight. I peek in the closet. Boots and shoes lined up against the back, clothes hung, shelves with carefully folded sweaters and scarves along one wall. The only thing out of place is a wicked-looking crossbow leaning against the back corner. A quiver holds both metal and wooden bolts.
I take a deep breath, close the door, and start opening drawers. Three in the dresser-underwear, jeans, jewelry. I try the nightstand. A Tony Hillerman paperback, a flashlight, a pad of paper and a pen and . . . condoms.
I shut the drawer quickly. That answers one question. Maybe Sarah wasn't in love with Kayani, but she was having sex with him.
No address book. No computer.
I shut the door to Sarah's room quietly behind me. I'm facing Mary's room. That door is open. There is a desk in this room. And a laptop computer. But is it Mary's or Sarah's?
My bet is on Mary. She's home from college . . . I catch myself with a grimace-was home from college-and would have wanted to keep in touch with her friends. When I take a closer look, I see it has a mobile web browser. But when I try to connect, there is no service. Too far away from cable or satellite access I guess. Mary must have taken the laptop with her to the lodge when she wanted to go online.
Are her friends wondering why they haven't heard from her? Are they concerned? No. It's too soon for concern. Most likely they assume she's enjoying her summer the way they're enjoying theirs. Who will be the one to break the news that Mary is gone?
I power the laptop down and leave it on the desk.
I open the top middle drawer. The usual array of home-office items. The drawers to the right are a file drawer and one other. It's in that one that I spy a small leather-bound address book.
I carry it with me to the living room and take a seat on the sofa.
Kayani's number is there, as is a number to the lodge. No addresses. I call Kayani's number first. Get an answering machine that has the ubiquitous generic message to leave a number after the beep. Obviously a home rather than work number since no reference is made to the Navajo police. I don't leave a message. When I call the lodge, I'm connected with an operator. I ask for the address and directions to the lodge, which are cheerfully given.
I sort them away in my head.
It looks like I'll be going after Chael first.
It's still quiet in the kitchen. I have Frey's keys but don't want to leave without letting him know. I swap the address book for a piece of paper and pen from the desk and scribble a hasty note. When I tiptoe into the kitchen, I find Frey and John-John both asleep at the table. I leave the note, kiss the top of Frey's head and tiptoe back out.
Frey's Jeep has everythingincluding a GPS system. The operator was kind enough to provide latitude and longitude and I plug it in: N 37 00 39 W 110 12.116.
I have no clue what it means, but the Jeep does. In less than a minute, I'm on my way.
I haven't gone more than a couple of miles before I pass another vehicle headed toward Sarah's. Through the driver's side window, I see gray hair and a pinched, hollowcheeked profile. It's just a quick glance and the driver doesn't look over at me even though we're the only two cars on a deserted stretch of desert. But I'm pretty sure I recognize him from one of the pictures on Sarah's bookcase.
Sarah and Mary's father.
For a moment I wonder if I should go back. Then reason takes over. If he recognized what I was, it would be that much harder on Frey. Better to let them have this time alone.
Finding Chael and getting him out of our lives is more important than anything else.
My jaws ache with anticipation. I will take great pleasure in killing him.