George lied to me. He lied to you, too. He made it clear he would like to see me dead. I think he knows more than he is letting on. You must, too, or panther would have made quick work of Chael.”
Frey picks up a rock and tosses it outside. “Judith Wiliams,” he says, regret softening his tone. “I kil ed her, and she was an innocent.”
“Not exactly an innocent. Remember how she kil ed those two hosts in Mexico? It’s taken months for Culebra to win back the trust of both host and vampire. She had a taste for kil ing. You said yourself, she intended to kil the young girl she was taking from the hotel when you found her. That girl was the innocent. Not Judith Wiliams.”
I pause. “And you did it at my bidding. I am as much to blame as you.”
Frey peers out toward the hotel. “I can’t believe George attacked you. He’d have no reason. Sarah was to speak to the council; he must have known there was a good chance your request would be turned down. With Sarah dead, he could lie about it, he did lie about it, and the logical assumption would be that you and I would be gone before we knew any different. Attacking you made no sense.”
Ah. “So you believe he may be a skinwalker.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, not ready to make the concession. His words come slowly. “It’s such an inconceivable notion. George is Navajo. He leads tourists and tel s them of the connection between the people and the land. He is a respected member of the community. How could he commit such an onerous cultural taboo? And why?”
I can think of one reason. The smugglers Chael mentioned. Is he in league with them?
Doesn’t explain why he attacked me, though. I knew nothing about the counterfeiting operation until a few minutes ago.
Maybe George just doesn’t like vampires.
Imagine that, vampire growls.
I sense Frey’s eyes boring into my head. “What are you thinking? Do you know something?”
Not real y. If Frey is having a hard time believing his friend could be a skinwalker, how wil he react when I tel him he may also be a smuggler?
Especial y since I have no proof.
“Let’s get back to the house. Kayani wil know about the counterfeiters. At least that’s one part of Chael’s story we can check out.”
We push to our feet. “Where’s the Jeep?” I ask.
Frey makes a vague sweeping motion with his hand. “Off the road, about a half mile back.”
And then we’re off, jogging across the desert floor like two friends out for a little run. Under a midday desert sun. In ninety-plus-degree temperatures. Ful y clothed.
Business as usual.
THE DRIVE BACK IS QUIET, NEITHER FREY NOR I WILLING to share our thoughts. I have a question for Kayani that I think wil do more to persuade Frey that George is not the good guy he thinks he is.
And to let Chael off the hook.
For Sarah’s death anyway.
Stil, that her accident might have been caused by a moment’s inattention or carelessness rings false. The worm of doubt slithering around my gut is fast turning into a python.
It could just as easily been a skinwalker that frightened her off the road as a vampire.
Where was George the night of the concil meeting?
THE HORSES ARE BACK IN THE CORRAL WHEN FREY
and I arrive at the house. Kayani and John-John are on the porch, drinking out of plastic tumblers. Kayani’s feet are on the railing, his chair tipped back. John-John mimics Kayani, but his feet are too short to reach the railing so his rest on a smal table, his chair tilted back against the house.
I don’t usual y react to cute, but this makes me wish I had a camera.
John-John squeals when he sees his father, lets his chair bang forward and rushes down the steps. Kayani rises, too, and the smile he has at John-John’s delight increases my estimation of him a hundredfold. There is not even a shadow of jealousy on his face.
Frey scoops John-John into his arms and turns to me.
“John-John is going to tel me al about his ride. Why don’t you visit with Kayani and we’l go inside.”
He doesn’t wink or give me a nudge. Doesn’t have to. I get it. I touch the top of John-John’s head. “I’l want to hear about your ride, too, later, okay?”
The two disappear inside. Kayani watches me as I climb the steps and join him. He holds up his glass.
“Want some? Ice tea. This stuff is not nearly so bad cold with lemon and sugar.”
I hold up a hand. “No, thanks. I’l take your word that it’s good.”
Kayani motions to John-John’s chair and I take it. For a minute I wonder how to broach the subject of the counterfeiters. A minute. Kayani doesn’t seem the type to require subtlety.
“Frey and I heard a rumor today. Counterfeiters smuggling fake artifacts off the reservation. I hear it’s become top priority for al law enforcement.”
Kayani doesn’t register surprise or feign indifference.
“Yes.”
“That was the subject at tribal council?”
He finishes his tea and places the tumbler on the table.
“Yes. It’s of great concern. There is already too much
“I saw some of those petroglyphs. They are beautiful in their simplicity and elegance. I understand why you would want to protect them.”
“You’ve been to Canyon de Chel y?”
I shake my head. “No. I saw them not far from here. In a cave.”
Kayani’s demeanor changes so fast, it almost gives me whiplash. His face loses its friendliness and becomes hard.
“What do you mean?”
His tone is as harsh and accusatory as his expression. I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
“Who took you to the cave?”
Kayani doesn’t look satisfied with the explanation. “And you decided to do a little exploring?”
“I saw a faint p. I fol owed it to the cave. Kayani, I disturbed nothing.” Just had a secret meeting with the most sacred member of the tribe.
“Did you see anyone?”
Since I assume he means anyone up to no good, I can answer honestly.
“No. I only know two people here on the reservation. You and George Long Whiskers.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation before Kayani says, “You told me to keep an eye on him at Sarah’s burial. Why?”
Perfect segue. “I don’t trust him. He’s said—” Shit. How do I put this? “He’s said some pretty harsh things to me. In fact, he lied about what went on at the council.”
“What did he say?”
“Can I ask you a question before I answer that?”
Kayani bobs his head once.
“Was George at the council meeting?”
“No. He is not an elder.”
“I know you weren’t at the meeting, either, but I assume you know where the meetings are held?”
“The lodge. What difference does that make?”
“Were you around there that night?”
Another quick bob of the head. “Sarah and Mary and I had dinner before Sarah had to leave for the meeting. I
