Jeanne Stein - Crossroads

Kayani is parked in a space marked “Police Use.” He’s stil driving the SUV I saw this morning. Rain is coming down harder now. It soaks our clothes and beads in our hair. He glances toward the sky. “Would you like a ride to your vehicle?”

“No. Thank you. I’m not far.”

His eyes are stil on the sky. “It is a sad day. Even the heavens weep.”

IAM STARTLED BY THE SORROW IN HIS EYES. THAT HE loved Sarah is no longer conjecture. I don’t know how long they had been seeing each other, but I hope she returned his feelings. Maybe it wil offer some consolation in the dark days ahead.

He pul s out of the lot and I sprint to the Jeep, reverse the course on the GPS and start back.

Why didn’t Frey cal me when Sarah’s parents showed up to tel me about the burial?

And why did Kayani said he figured Frey sent me away?

I don’t like the idea of George being alone with John-John.

It took me about thirty minutes to make it to the lodge from the house. The only consolation I have is that if Kayani is just now on his way, too, we should arrive together. I should make it in time to accompany Frey.

I catch up to Kayani quickly. I can see him checking out the Jeep in his rearview mirror and when he recognizes me, he signals and pul s over. I do, too.

He strides back to the Jeep. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going back to the house. I want to go with Frey to Sarah’s funeral.”

He scowls down at me. “It’s not a funeral. You are an outsider. Why do you think Frey sent you away?”

I bristle at his tone. “He didn’t send me away. I came to the lodge on my. I wanted to give him time alone with John-John.”

“Wel, you need to give us al time. You cannot be a part of what is to take place. You could cause irreparable harm. To Frey. To Sarah’s parents.”

“I respect the idea that the Navajo have customs to honor their dead. I can’t see how my observing those customs can lead to harm.”

Kayani places both hands on the door of the Jeep and leans toward me. “Listen, Ms. Strong. Sarah’s parents are very traditional. They wil not have mentioned either of their daughter’s names since the accident. Do you want to know why? Because they believe after death, the good part of a person goes on while the bad part stays here as a ghost.

Mentioning the name of a dead person cal s the ghost. Such a simple thing. But were you to offer condolences, for instance, and in doing so, mention the girls’ names, you wil have violated a taboo. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He is so serious, so vehement in his argument that I back down. He is right. I have no idea of the intricacies of such long-held beliefs. I would only be a burden on Frey and if I did something wrong, cast a bad reflection on him in a delicate time.

“Al right. I’l go back to the lodge. But you have to keep an eye on Frey for me. Make sure no harm comes to him.”

Kayani’s brow furrows at the request. “What harm could come to him? He has studied the Navajo way.”

“Just tel me you wil. And on George, too.”

His puzzled frown deepens. “I don’t understand.”

“And if you have time for an explanation, I’l give it to you. If not, please honor my request.”

He straightens and backs away from the Jeep. “I wil.” His tone is clipped, formal. “But later, when this day is over, I wil come to you for answers.”

He waits for my nod of acceptance and leaves me. If George tel s him that I’m vampire, he’l no doubt come back armed with Sarah’s crossbow and a wooden arrow. A chance I’l have to take.

I watch until the SUV disappears around a bluff, leaving a trail in the muddy red earth. I have two choices.

Forget al I told Kayani and go to the house anyway.

Head back for the lodge and try to locate Chael.

I look around as if divine inspiration might spring from the mighty rain-streaked formations and soaked earth surrounding me. It’s Kayani, however, his face, his tone, his wil ingness to al ow parents a chance to grieve in their own way that influences the decision. Another might find such customs archaic. Kayani is a modern cop in an ancient land but he accepts and honors both worlds.

It’s a balancing act I understand very wel.

It seems the decision has been made. I do a U-turn and head back the way I came. Trying to track Chael down through a psychic connection wasn’t very successful. What if I try a simple human way?

Once more in the lobby, I shake rain out of my hair and go directly to the registration desk. A pretty Native American girl greets me with a sunny smile. “Can I help you?”

My turn to put on a perky face. “I hope so. Last night at dinner I thought I saw someone I knew from my col ege days at UA. He was a foreign student from the Middle East. I know it’s probably my imagination, but if it was Chael, I’d love to say hel o. It would be such a happy coincidence is we ran into each other here after al those years. Is it possible for you to check and see if he’s registered?”

“Of course. What was the name?”

“Chael. I’m sorry but I don’t remember if that was his first or last name. It’s spel ed C-h-a-e-l.”

“No problem. The computer can check both.”

Her fingers fly over the keyboard with practiced aplomb.

After a few moments, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. No one on file with that first or last name. Could he be registered with someone else?”

Of course he could. “Try Judith Wiliams from San Diego. I remember they were great friends.”

The fingers do their tap dance once again. This time I’m rewarded with a smile. “Yes, Ms. Wiliams is registered.” She picks up a desk phone. “Would you like me to ring the room?”

“That would ruin the surprise,” I reply. “I’l just hang out in the lobby for a while and watch for them.” I dig in my pocket for some cash and hand her a five. “Thanks so much for your help.”

She accepts the bil. “You are very welcome. If I can do anything else—”

I make my smiling escape, hitting the gift shop first to pick up the Arizona Highways magazine before retreating to a strategic spot where I can keep an eye on both the stairs and the elevator. This damn rain may mean they keep to their room. No need to come to the dining room when you don’t eat like a human.

Two hours of boredom produce nothing but a sore butt. I relinquish my spot on the couch and pace up and down, stretching leg muscles unused to sitting for such a long period. Reminds me of hours of surveil ance with David and that we haven’t had to do it in quite some time. Mainly because our new partner has connections to both police departments and bail bondsmen in the Southern California area. Thanks to Tracey, these days jobs find us.

I wonder if I should check in. I’ve only been gone two days.

If David needed me, I’m sure he’d have cal ed. And with Judith Wiliams here, he’s most likely staying out of trouble.

I’m circling back to resume my perch on the couch when a group of four urban-chic bikers arrive in the lobby and make their way to the elevator. They’re dressed in form-fitting leathers, talk quietly as if conscious not to attract too much attention, and al have scarves tied loosely around their necks. When one of them, a young woman with long blond hair, slips out of her jacket, her scarf fal s to the floor.

She bends to retrieve it.

There are faint bruises just below her right ear, bite marks not quite healed.

I smile as she scrambles to cover them up, looking around to see if anyone noticed.

Oh yeah, chickie.

I noticed.

Chael and Judith sent for takeout.

I toss the magazine onto the stack in the middle of the coffee table and watch them into the elevator. There are only two floors in the lodge. I’m at the stairs and up to the second level before the elevator doors slide open.