“So I can’t exactly count on you?”
“Well, you probably can. I’ll call you.”
The telephone rang just after he ended that call. It was Bernie. She’d noticed his number on her “missed calls” tattletale. “What’s up?” she said.
“Well,” Chee said, “how do I start?”
“You start by telling me you miss me and just wanted to hear the sound of my voice.”
“All true, but I also wanted to know what you have planned for us. You were telling me we need to get together. To do some planning.” He paused. “And maybe some other things.”
Bernie laughed. “Other things are more fun,” she said. “But we do have to find a place to live. Unless you’re going to change your mind and make that trailer of yours our bridal suite. I hope that wasn’t what you were calling to tell me.”
“No,” Chee said. “But now I’ve got something else on my mind. Remember Cowboy Dashee’s problem?”
“Sort of,” Bernie said. “His cousin accused of shooting that store operator at Zuni, and trying to pawn that big diamond?”
“Well, now it’s worse. The store owner’s widow and a former clerk at the store are claiming the homicide victim owned the diamond. Dashee thinks the sheriff is going to have the bond revoked, put Tuve back in lockup. Dashee’s going down into the canyon. Try to find the old man he claims gave Tuve the diamond. He wants me to go along.”
“When?”
“Right away. Like tomorrow.”
“Hey,” Bernie said. “That sounds like fun. I haven’t been down there since I was a teenager.”
Chee looked away from the telephone, through the window, at the cloud building over the mountains. Would Bernie ever stop being unpredictable?
“That sounds like you want to go along?”
“Yes, indeed,” Bernie said.
“Bernie, going down on a school bus with a bunch of kids won’t be anything like this. That must’ve been some sort of campground with a road to it. No roads this time. This is going all the way to the bottom. Climbing down several thousand feet or so. Rough going. And then we may get stuck down there a day or two, depending on what luck we have finding anything. It’s going to be tough.”
That produced an extended silence.
Chee said, “Bernie?”
Bernie said, “Jim. I want you to remember. I’m not Officer Bernadette Manuelito, rookie cop, anymore. I resigned from your squad. Now I’m on leave from the U.S. Border Patrol. So I’m not talking to you as Sergeant Chee now. Okay? Now, tell me what makes you think you’re any better at climbing down into canyons than I am.”
“On leave! I thought you’d resigned.”
“Well, I sort of did. But they put me on some sort of medical leave. Sort of let me know I could get my job back if I wanted it.”
This was making Jim Chee very nervous.
“Bernie,” he said. “I thought…”
Bernie was laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just sort of kidding you, Jim. I’m bad about that. Kidding people. Actually, the only way I’d go back to the Border Patrol would be if I could take you along. And you could be boss, too, since the one I was working for got fired. But first I’ve got to marry you.”
“Sooner the better,” Chee said.
“Anyway, I want to go with you. I’ll get all packed, sleeping bag and all. Where are you meeting Cowboy, and when? And do I need to come there, or will you pick me up? I know you have to carry drinking water into the canyon. Should I bring any food?”
Chee sighed. “I guess so,” he said, recognizing a lost argument, probably the first of many. But Bernie was right. It would be fun.
10
Brad Chandler had pulled his rental Land Rover into the arriving passengers’ parking zone of the Flagstaff airport, scanned those hurrying past to the shuttle buses, and spotted the man who must be the one he had come for. His name was Fred Sherman, a bulky man carrying a bulging briefcase, wearing a sweat-stained cowboy hat, and looking like a middle-aged retired policeman—which was exactly what he was. Chandler lowered the passenger-side window, waved, shouted.
“Hey, Sherman! Over here.”
Fred Sherman came to the car, not hurrying. He leaned on the windowsill. “Yo, Chandler,” he said. “Long time since I’ve dealt with you.”
Chandler motioned Sherman into the car. “Let’s go talk business.”
Sherman settled himself in the front seat. “Pretty fancy truck for a skip tracer to be driving,” he said, studying Chandler. “I been wondering what you looked like ever since you got me to help grab that Phoenix bond jumper a
