to give to the Principal Chief. He in his turn had told her he'd asked around, and no one, no one, had heard anything about threats being made or even hinted at against Rod Calligan, either by hotheads or activists, before the explosion.
That had been the reason for staring off into space, while Mom's favorite mockingbird sang wildly from the tree in the backyard; thinking over what he had told her. It did not jive with the information Calligan had given the media, or the situation the insurance company had suspected. If no one had been threatening him, why had he told the media and the insurance company that they had been?
Unless he was deliberately constructing a scapegoat. But in that case, who had planted the bomb? And above all, why? Suddenly she had come to a dead end she hadn't expected, and a whole pile of loose ends that didn't match up with anything else.
She chewed thoughtfully; Dad made a darned good sandwich-the bacon was from a half-hog they bought every year, and the tomatoes were fresh from the garden. She had given her father half the Polaroids as well as the film; he had promised to give both to the Principal Chief, who would tell a little white lie and claim to have taken them himself. So at least Officialdom would be notified and if this was simply a coincidence-
-not likely-
-the looting would be registered and the legitimate market tightened up.
She noticed that her father was watching her with a little frown line between his eyebrows, although he was usually as hard to read as his arc-welder. When he continued to stare at her that way, she finally put the sandwich down and returned the stare. He was not easy in his mind, and although she suspected she knew the reason, she decided to get it over with.
'All right, Dad,' she said. 'You're worried about something. Cough it up.'
He cleared his throat self-consciously. 'I always worry about you, Jen,' he temporized. She noticed that more of his hair had gone gray at the temples, and that there were a few new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 'You know that. You picked a tough profession, tough even for a guy and a white-you being a woman and not, well-it's tougher.'
That wasn't it, and she knew it, but it was a place to start. 'I'm paying the bills,' she pointed out. 'And you know darn well I can take care of myself. Between marksmanship and martial arts, I'm not too bad-and overtrained for chasing philandering hubbies and deadbeat daddies!'
She chuckled, and he finally joined her. 'I know,' he admitted, 'I know the only reason you didn't qualify for state trooper was because of your height.'
'And whose fault is that?' she asked, archly, deciding to try and inject a little more humor into the conversation. 'You're the one who wasted all those good Osage height-genes on my brothers! And left me the runt of the litter! I call that unfair!' She made a face when he laughed, and went back to the original subject. 'Look, Dad, as a P.I. I can get things done that need to be done. Sometimes I can actually do more than the cops can. There's no one watching over my shoulder to make sure I have probable cause, telling me I can't bodyguard someone because her nutcase boyfriend hasn't already done something. And right now- well, I can do a lot for our people. My hands aren't tied, there's no one telling me I have to find a quick set of suspects, because CNN is watching and the mayor is embarrassed.' She rubbed the side of her nose. 'In fact, if I drop some hints to the cops, they're likelier to start watching their step, because they know me, they know I'm honest, and they know I'm watching.'
He reached up and scratched his temple, making a slight grimace. 'I know all that,' he said uncertainly, 'but honey, this job is different. Now, I know I told you that there wasn't anything going on with the young bucks before the explosion-but-well, there is now.'
She sat straight up, sandwich forgotten. Outside, a blue jay called alarm.
'What?' she demanded. 'Tell me!'
He sighed, and looked pained, but this time she could tell the frown was not for her. 'I've been checking around some more, especially after I heard that David was in town and getting himself into this-well, I heard some things. For one thing, I heard Rod Calligan has been pointing a finger right at the Indians on his crews. 'Course, in some ways I can't blame him, since David seems to be so set on making himself a target.' He shook his head. 'But if you'd figured that Calligan and the cops would really like to pin this one on our people, well, you're right. I heard they've been getting pretty heavy-handed with some of the guys involved, and that they aren't looking real hard for any other suspects.'
She put the sandwich down, all appetite gone. It was one thing to speculate; it was another to hear your worst mundane fears confirmed. 'Have you heard anything else?'
'Yeah.' The worry line came back. 'I heard that David and his buddies were likely to play rough with anybody that gets in their way. Like-'
He left the sentence unfinished, but she finished it for him. 'Like me,' she snarled. 'And I'll break his skull for him. Dad, if you have a way to hear from him, messages can go the other way. You let that bunch of overgrown adolescents know that there's a lot more going on here than he thinks-and that's not from Jennifer Talldeer, P.I., it's from Kestrel-Hunts-Alone, Mooncrow's designated apprentice. I think at least some of his friends will get the message and back off a little. I hope. If they don't-I am not going to place myself between them and a bunch of angry mi-ah-luschka. And that's my word on the subject.' She sniffed disdainfully, as her father winced at the mention of the Little People. 'That won't stop David, of course. He's probably gotten so damn sophisticated that he doesn't believe in anything anymore.'
Her father was quiet for a long moment. 'Well-that was the other-the real reason I was worried. I may not have the Medicine, but I've seen it at work. This is old and powerful stuff you're messing with. You weren't making any inferences, but I can read between the lines. Somehow, this looting and the explosion are related. Watches- Over-The-Land was an unusually gifted man. The medicine stirred up against someone who stole his bones is going to be pretty severe. I don't want you standing between the Little People and anybody.'
'I knew the job was dangerous when I took it, Dad,' she replied flippantly, but then sobered, and smiled at him reassuringly. 'Remember, I have Mooncrow. He's a horny old coot, but when things get serious-well, he's as good as they get. If we can't handle this together, no one can.'
Finally her father's expression of concern faded. 'I guess you're right, and I really can't make any good assessment- it'd be like you trying to figure out a weld. You know what you're doing, honey. And you know what you need to do. So does the old man, as far as that goes, though sometimes I wonder how you put up with him living with you.'
She shrugged, secretly pleased that her father had given her the ultimate accolade of an adult-'you know what you're doing.'
'Maybe I'm more than a little contrary myself,' she admitted. 'After all, it's man's medicine that I'm learning-'
Her father sighed. 'Now you know I wouldn't be a good parent and a good Osage if I didn't worry about that, too.' She tilted her head to one side, giving her reply a lot of thought. This was the first time he had actually come out and said that, and it deserved a decent reply. 'I can understand that. But please, remember that he is the Teacher; I was the one he chose, it wasn't the other way around. Not using this power-' she shook her head, '-no, I couldn't let it just lie there, it would be-it would be denying a responsibility. As if I had all the ability of a great artist and refused to draw. No, that's not right either.' She considered for a moment more. 'It's a demand on me, in my heart. It's more than that, because it's not just something for me, it's something for my family, my clan, my gente, my nation- it's more as if I got elected president and refused to serve. I kind of got elected to this, so it really would be the wrong thing not to do what's right with the power. ...'
She let her voice trail off; he looked into her eyes, and finally nodded. 'I think I understand. You know, the old man told me once that the only time I really touch the Power is when I'm dancing-and I know what you mean about it being a demand on your heart. When I'm dancing, even in competitions, I feel like I'm doing something, something important, even if I don't understand what that is. I wouldn't give up dancing, even if they quit having competitions, even if only women danced, even if it were illegal the way it was in his father's day.' She held his eyes and smiled, feeling a wonderful warmth - and relaxation come over her. Oh, he would still worry, because he was a parent, it came with the territory. But now he understood.
'Thank you,' she said softly. 'That means a lot.' Then she cleared her throat, and took a more normal tone. 'Look Dad, if you can, just pass on what I told you, all right? It might at least keep some of those poor construction workers out of the line of fire. And see if the law will move its fat ass about the vandalism.' She sighed. 'Not that I have much hope-but since there's a county election coming up in September, maybe the sheriffs department will
