Kitabı oku: «Double Blind», sayfa 3

What a bad scene for Sheila to witness when she arrived here. Especially in light of the difficulties she’d had here just before she and her father moved away. Maybe the whole thing could be handled before she arrived.

“You should keep the wolf talk to yourself, Tanya,” he warned. “Others, especially the older people, won’t want to hear it.”

“But why not?”

“Because some of the old ways still linger. Our people don’t talk about the wolf to others, because they believe anyone could be the wolf.”

Tanya shot him a look of alarm.

He smiled. “I’m not trying to scare you, I’m just trying to let you know how others might react.”

“But you’re right, it could be anyone,” she whispered, her wide-eyed gaze aiming toward the school. “And I don’t know who.”

Chapter Five

S heila and Doc Cottonwood set her two suitcases in the bedroom just as the crunch of tires on gravel reached them from outside.

“That must be Canaan and Tanya now,” Doc said, leading the way back out the door. “Might as well start meeting the kids. Tanya’s probably going to be your first challenge.”

“Why is that?”

“She likes her way. She’s a drama queen. Her parents spoil her when they’re with her, and she’s good friends with the Hunt children, so she’s annoyingly emotional right now.”

In spite of the abrasiveness of his words, Sheila thought she picked up on some concern in his voice. “Is she having a lot of trouble with Tad and Wendy’s deaths?”

He nodded as he led the way back out of the apartment. “You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”

Sheila took the sidewalk, curious about what Canaan York would look like all grown-up.

She recognized him immediately, of course. As a child, he’d been small for his age. Now, as he climbed from the van he’d parked beside her Jeep, he straightened to a height well over six feet, long and lean, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt…and a green baseball cap.

He’d always worn a baseball cap.

His skin was well tanned, bare arms muscled, his eyes dark, watchful. He met Sheila’s gaze for a bare second before the young girl, Tanya, exploded from the passenger side of the van.

“It’s Moonlight, Doc! She’s dead!” The girl had long black hair and strong features that would one day lead to beauty. She was possibly in her early teens, with the developing contours of a woman. Tears streaked her cheeks as she flung herself into Doc’s arms. “She’s out on the highway. We’ve got to go get her!”

Sheila saw Doc’s expression harden, and his arms went rigid in the act of encircling Tanya. He raised his gaze to meet Canaan’s.

Canaan nodded as he walked toward them, his sober face pained as he flicked a quick glance at Sheila, then looked back at Doc. “Looks like someone hit her with a car. We’ll take the pickup out and load her.”

“No need. I’ll take care of it,” Doc said.

Canaan’s attention shifted again. “Hello, Sheila.” He took her hand and squeezed it. His hand engulfed hers. “I’m sorry this has happened on your first day.”

Sheila didn’t speak, didn’t return the pressure of Canaan’s hand. She stood perfectly still. That dog in the desert…

No. She hadn’t lost her mind.

But a whisper of foreboding settled on her.

Doc released Tanya and turned to Sheila, brows lowering with obvious puzzlement at her silence.

“Wh-what color was it?” Sheila asked Canaan. “What kind of…dog?”

“She was just a big white mutt,” Canaan said.

“Kind of like a German shepherd?” Sheila asked.

“So did you see the dog?” Canaan asked.

“Well, I thought I saw something in the desert as I drove in, but I didn’t see anything on the road.” She thought again about the blowout…and the big rock on the shoulder of the road. “I had some trouble with my Jeep, hit a rock or something, but—” She hesitated, then shook her head. “The animal I saw was out in the desert, not under the wheel of my car.”

Tanya turned narrowed eyes toward her in accusation.

Sheila shook her head, still thinking about that rock. It was white, shining in the sunlight. The dog had been white.

Canaan glanced toward the front of Sheila’s Jeep. Instinctively, she looked, as well. All she saw was the dent that had been there for several years. No blood, nothing to indicate impact with the hapless animal.

Tanya glared at Sheila. “You just got here, didn’t you?”

Sheila nodded.

“Moonlight was a fresh kill.” The words coming from the girl held an ominous quality. “I think you killed her.”

Sheila shook her head. Surely she’d have seen some evidence…would have seen the dog, if she’d hit it. But she’d been too busy fighting her steering wheel, then changing the tire in record time. The noise she’d heard couldn’t have been the sound of the tire hitting an animal…could it?

But she hadn’t actually walked down the road to make sure that what she had taken to be a big rock was, indeed, a rock and not the lifeless form of a dog. It hadn’t even occurred to her at the time. Why should it?

Tanya’s small fists flexed, her jaw jutting out as she gnashed her teeth. “It’s what we can expect from a biligaana! ”

“Hold it right there.” Doc put a hand on Tanya’s shoulder. “Enough of this. You know better.”

Tanya jerked free of Doc’s hand. “But look at her! She acts guilty.”

“Stop it, Tanya,” Canaan said. “Quit while you’re ahead and go to your dorm.”

The girl stared at Canaan, rebellion in every line of her face, anger dark in her eyes. She turned to Doc, as if for help.

“You heard Canaan,” he said, then turned to Sheila. “Of course, you wouldn’t have—”

“How do you know?” Tanya demanded.

“Okay, that does it.” Canaan stepped forward, took Tanya by the shoulders and aimed her in the direction of the dormitories. “You need a lesson in the value of silence.”

“I’ll take her.” Doc moved quickly. “She can help me take the tire to the shop and dispose of the dog. That’ll take some of the pepper out of her today.”

With a shrug, Canaan stepped aside. “Sure, but what about tomorrow? And the next day?”

Doc nodded grimly. “I’ll let you worry about that. You’re the principal now.”

Sheila braced herself once more. This was quickly developing into the horrible experience she had feared, though not for reasons she ever imagined.

Canaan listened to Doc’s footsteps echo around the curve of adobe buildings and mingle with Tanya’s low, urgent voice as she did her best to convince her mentor of who knew what.

And then Canaan turned to look at Sheila, who was also watching Doc and Tanya, her eyes troubled, confusion in every line of her face.

He hadn’t expected to remember her so well—hadn’t known that twenty-four years could seem like mere days in his memory. Yes, she was an adult now, but she was still Sheila…and he could still read her.

He hated to treat his old friend, whom he’d once loved like a sister, like a crime suspect, but he needed to know what was going on. And something was definitely going on.

“What do you mean, you didn’t see her?” he asked gently.

His question dragged her attention away from Doc and Tanya. “What?”

“You obviously saw the dog, and you haven’t out and out denied hitting her. Do you think it’s possible you hit her? Maybe didn’t see her in the road because of the glare?”

“I…uh…I told you I saw something.” Her face had grown pale. “Just not on the road.”

“I didn’t see any skid marks on the pavement,” he said, trying hard to keep any accusation out of his voice. “But I did see tire tracks in the sandy shoulder. I thought it looked as if someone went to extra lengths to make sure the animal was dead.”

That brought some color back to Sheila’s face. The bright sunlight also exposed tiny lines of worry around her eyes and accentuated the downward turn of her lips, making him further regret this line of questioning. He knew she would never intentionally run down an animal, but he needed to know what did happen, especially now.

She looked away and took a slow, deep breath. “Right. Guess I’ve not made myself clear, but do you mind if we continue this grilling inside? It’s been a long, hot trip from Missouri.” Without waiting for a reply, she stepped back into the apartment, stood by the door until he stepped in, then closed it. “Have a seat. I want something to drink. You?”

He shook his head and sat on the love seat. She was stalling, bumbling around in the small kitchen, searching for glasses, testing the tap.

He watched every nervous move, his concern deepening. “There’s cold water in the fridge,” he said at last.

She ignored him and filled her glass with tap water.

“It’s not an option.” He continued watching her, remembering her occasional stubbornness when they were children. “It’s the only drinking water you have. It’s brought in once a week. That’s never changed.”

With a sigh, Sheila emptied the glass into the sink, set it on the counter and strolled back into the living room, obviously trying hard to look unflustered. “Guess my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

He waited and watched as she sat across from him in a straight-backed chair. Wasn’t she going to explain about the dog? This was the friend he’d loved when they were children, a champion with a tender heart. How many times had he thought about calling her in Missouri, just to see how she was doing? But he never had. How many times, driving east during his medical training, had he considered stopping in Hideaway to look her up? Especially when his own marriage had gone so wrong, and he’d found himself longing for simpler times.

“The Sheila I knew would never have purposely hit a dog,” he said, hoping to reassure her.

She grew still, her glance stabbing at him quickly before sliding away again. “The Sheila I know wouldn’t, either,” she snapped.

It disappointed him that she had taken his statement wrong.

“I’m sorry, Sheila, I’m just having trouble understanding everything that’s happened this—”

“Join the club,” she snapped. Immediately, she looked chagrined, staring down at her hands, strands of her dark, windblown hair falling across her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, sighed.

“I don’t know about you folks out here,” she said, “but a suspect is innocent until—”

“We folks out here care about our animals as much as you hillbillies back in Missouri,” Canaan said. He’d intended for that to sound like his old, teasing sarcasm, but for some reason it came out a little more sharply than he’d expected. Her irritation with him, when he was only trying to get to the truth, was not helpful.

Sheila’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed at him.

Oops. He knew that look. It’d been a while, but it still wasn’t a look he’d wanted to invoke from her.

“And you’re in charge here?” she muttered.

He grimaced. “For lack of a better leader.” Granddad had warned him that there would be days his mouth would get him into trouble. This was one of them. Backpedal, fast. “Sorry, Sheila, that was uncalled for.”

“You bet it was. You got something against Missourians?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. I’ve got nothing against the Navajo, and most of the time I don’t even hold it against men for being men, but I’m not about to let one manhandle me. The Canaan York I knew would never have tried.”

Okay, this wasn’t the Sheila he’d known as a child. Where had this hard streak of bitterness come from? “People change, then, don’t they?” he said softly.

“Yeah, they do. You didn’t used to have this chip on your shoulder.”

He wondered if his eyes might bug out of his head. He had a chip? “You’re adept at changing the subject.”

“Did you come here to talk to me about my new job, or just harass me about a dog?”

“Neither.” He hesitated. His recent suspicions were affecting his manners. “I’m the welcoming committee.”

She grimaced. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Canaan realized the ugly irony of those words. He grimaced. “I tried to give it a personal touch.”

Sheila raised a dark brow. “I’ll consider myself welcomed.” Her voice dripped sarcasm in every word. “This isn’t exactly what I expected.” Though her tone suggested that it might have been what she’d feared.

“I’ll try to do better.”

She nodded, then her shoulders dropped slightly. “Canaan, I’m very, very sorry about the kids’ dog. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know what I can do about it now.” She clasped her hands and looked down at them pensively. “The trip must have taken more out of me than I expected it to. I thought I was up to this, but maybe not.”

Canaan waited.

She continued to stare at her hands. She said no more.

From the Navajo side of his ancestry, Canaan had learned to be comfortable with long stretches of silence during conversation. Busy, useless chatter bothered him. Sheila, obviously, would not inflict that annoyance on him. She used to be quite a talker. Until her mother’s death.

When she finally raised her head, he saw tears in her eyes.

He suppressed a groan. What now? Two crying females in one day. He was not ready for more tears.

“Sheila, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”

“Oh, stop it.” She dashed the tears away with an impatient swipe of her fingers. “Please get a different welcoming committee next time.”

He stood up. Time for a quick and merciful departure. “Why don’t you take a rest, and I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready in the cafeteria.”

“That’s an improvement. Why couldn’t you have said that when you first got here?” She stood and walked him to the door. She even managed a tentative smile, a well-remembered smile. With the quick jolt of recognition also came the memory of the sense of loss he’d felt for so many long weeks after she’d left.

He returned her smile. “See you in an hour or so.”

“Right. Thanks for the warning.”

The scent of death…it has haunted me for weeks. Even as I stand in the bright sunlight and watch the life that teems in the children at this great school, I catch that scent. The spirit of the wolf is rumored to enjoy death, and when that spirit comes over me, I catch that passion.

But when that spirit does come over me, I am no longer myself. I am the wolf. My voice changes, my back bows. I walk less upright. The skins I use to cover myself fit me as if they are my own fur. These fools who say there is no other spirit but the precious Lord they serve at this school…they understand so little of the true realm of power.

Let them keep believing there is no such power. The children know. The adults never believe them. And when an adult happens on the truth, I see to it—the spirit of the wolf sees to it—that this adult is silenced forever, no matter the loss to me.

I miss my hogan today, where the smoke of the cedar fire engulfs me like a magical caress. The winds of change drive the heat of the sun through this school and bring a growing threat to me. I must be ever more vigilant, not only to the task before me, but to detection. That would ruin all I have worked for in my life—and the deaths of others would be in vain. As always, though I work with others who also crave the wealth and power we have labored for all these years, I am alone. No one else truly understands the soul-searing power of the spirit of the wolf.

Chapter Six

P reston Black sat on the deck of Graham and Willow Vaughn’s log lodge on the shore of Table Rock Lake, listening to his giggling nieces, Lucy and Brittany, at play by the water. He’d never have dreamed he would love babysitting so much, but those two little charmers captured his heart the first time he met them last year.

A movement caught his attention from across the lake. Blaze Farmer was paddling a canoe from the boys’ ranch on the other shore, about a quarter mile away. Preston knew it was Blaze because it was time to exercise the horses, and also because Blaze was the only Hideaway citizen with skin the color of espresso.

When Preston’s sister and brother-in-law had left him in charge of the place for two days, he had not agreed to do all the chores, keep the horses watered and exercised, the chickens fed and eggs collected. Blaze was in charge of that, for which Preston was deeply grateful. Keeping up with a nine-and six-year-old was enough to keep him occupied.

He appreciated that occupation right now. It couldn’t have come at a better time. He’d been able to do little besides worry about Sheila and brood about their situation. He’d searched the Web countless times for the diseases endemic to the Southwest. That had been a mistake. Squirrels in the Grand Canyon carried fleas that carried the plague. Although anthrax had not been mentioned as a concern at the school at this point, he’d discovered that this nasty little killer could be found in the wool of sheep, which were raised on Navajoland.

He’d harassed nearly every medical person in Hideaway, including Graham and Willow, with questions about hantavirus. This, of course, was fruitless, because hantavirus was not endemic to Missouri, and those who worked in the Ozarks focused on Ozark illnesses.

Hantavirus was the deadly virus that most often occurred in the southwestern part of the country. Deer mice were carriers of this strain of hemorrhagic fever. The droppings from these mice spread the disease through the air.

Though Sheila had assured Preston before she left that the buildings at the school were new and closely monitored for rodents, he knew all the monitoring in the world couldn’t catch everything.

But his real fear wasn’t over the diseases in the area. Yes, the principal had died from the effects of a microogranism, but Sheila’s mother had not, and neither had the Hunts. Preston couldn’t help connecting the deaths of Sheila’s mother and Wendy—both of whom worked in the school clinic. He might be stretching it a bit, but he couldn’t shake his worry.

The canoe was almost to the lake’s halfway point—a distance of about six hundred feet—and Blaze waved. As Preston waved back, the cell phone chirped from his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the number. Sheila. At last.

He flipped open the phone, eager to hear her voice, yet determined not to let on how badly he missed her, or how much he worried. “Are you there yet?”

“I’m here.” She sounded tired…and something more.

Sheila Metcalf was an eternally upbeat person who tended to lift the spirits of others—without irritating. Many perky people got on Preston’s nerves, but for as long as he had known Sheila, her presence had soothed him. Their relationship hadn’t always been comfortable, but being in her company was like a good day of fishing on James River.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

The barest of hesitations alerted him further. “It’s been a long drive,” she said. “It’s hot, and I’m tired.”

“What happened?”

“What makes you think—”

“Did you find any sick people?”

“I just got here—how am I supposed to have done that?” The fatigue in her voice had quickly turned to irritation, not a usual response from her.

“Did you have trouble on the road?” he asked.

No reply. Which meant she’d had trouble on the road.

“Did the Jeep break down?” he asked. “I knew you should have taken mine.”

The continued silence disturbed him. He watched as Blaze moored the canoe to the small dock about a hundred feet down the gentle slope of hill from the house.

Lucy and Brittany ran to greet their good friend. Brittany hurled herself into his big, strong arms while Lucy hung back, suddenly shy. Lucy adored Blaze Farmer; she had informed Preston that she was going to marry Blaze when she grew up. Preston had a feeling Lucy might have some competition.

The handsome young college student could have an active social life if he weren’t so busy, completing three years of study in two years, helping out at the boys’ ranch that he called home, working part-time at the hospital for his foster mother, Dr. Cheyenne Gideon, taking care of most of the animals in town—Blaze intended to become Hideaway’s first full-time veterinarian.

Just watching the kid work made Preston tired.

“There was something in the desert.” Sheila’s voice was shaky as it reached Preston over the receiver.

His full attention snapped back to her. “Something like what?”

“It looked like an animal running toward the road, maybe a dog. A German shepherd. I saw it as I drove, and then it just seemed to disappear in a puff of smoke.”

Preston waited, tamping down on his alarm while the thought of rabies crossed his mind. He was losing it.

“It drew too much of my attention,” she said. “Next thing I knew, I was off the road. I heard a pop-thud. I had a blowout from hitting a rock, had to change the tire, but if I hit a dog during all that mess, I’d have surely known it.”

He frowned. “What?”

She sighed. “There was a dog found dead on the side of the road near where I had the blowout, and it seems I’m now being blamed for hitting it. Some kind of school pet, I guess.”

“Why does everybody seem to think you hit this dog?”

“I think it’s because they want to believe it.”

He really didn’t like the sound of her voice. He hadn’t liked this journey from the beginning, but telling her that right now wouldn’t help. “So why are you suddenly doubting yourself?” he asked gently. “You’d have known if you hit a dog. In fact, you’d have jumped to the dog’s aid, tried to resuscitate it and barring that, you’d have hauled the poor creature into your Jeep and taken it for help.”

There was a sigh, and then silence.

“Sheila?”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that. It’s just so…so upsetting to be suddenly accused of this…this awful thing barely minutes after arriving here.”

“Bad omen, huh?”

There was a short silence, then a sniffle.

He really, really didn’t like this. He stood up, ready to pack immediately and fly to Arizona. Sheila always had both feet solidly planted on the ground…and now she was talking about disappearing dogs, and crying because she thought people didn’t like her?

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You’re not sick, are you? Because you don’t sound like yourself.”

“Don’t you start, too.”

“I’m not starting anything, I just think—”

“I’m fine, okay? It’s just that when Canaan and Tanya—she’s one of the students at the school—when they arrived…” Sheila sighed. “Anyway, it wasn’t pretty, and I’m tired, and I know this will all blow over, but I’m not feeling the best about things right now.”

“I could come out—”

“And do what?” Snappy again. “Preston, we’ve already discussed this. I’m doing what I need to do. I’m just running into some…bumps along the way. Literally.”

He wanted to be there, but it would do no good to dwell on his frustration, or on hers. “I understand,” he said instead. And he did understand. “Just keep in mind that I’m only a phone call away.”

“I know.” Voice soft again, she sounded defeated. And frightened. “Thanks. That helps, it really does. I think I’m going to take a short nap. Maybe everything will look better after I’ve rested.”

“You said Canaan York was your friend from childhood.”

“We were the best of friends, and if circumstances hadn’t been as they are, it would have been great to see him.”

Preston had never been jealous before. Of course, he’d never been this in love before, either. “It seems to me that such a close friend would have given you the benefit of the doubt.” Already, he disliked this Canaan York. To be honest, he’d felt a chill toward the guy from the moment Sheila began talking about him in such glowing terms before leaving Missouri. A man had his limits.

“Yes, well, people change,” she said.

Preston could have told her that. In fact, he remembered telling her that very thing, which she hadn’t exactly appreciated at the time.

“Besides, as acting principal, he has to get to the bottom of things, and I was the obvious suspect.”

“He accused you of hitting the dog?” he asked. The jerk.

She groaned. “Let’s say he seems to have some concern about my presence here, and the dog tragedy didn’t help.” Again, the weariness.

“Just remember my thoughts are with you,” Preston said.

She was silent.

“Sheila?”

“Yes, I know, your thoughts are with me, but I think what I need right now is something more powerful than mere thoughts, Preston.”

Her words caught him unprepared. He knew what she meant. She was a prayerful person. He was not. And that was her issue with him. No matter how many times they’d argued, discussed, challenged and questioned each other, their differing views about faith had formed a wall between them. No matter how many ways they came at it, the problem was still there…and seemed to be growing.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he said.

“Yes. I know. Thanks, Preston. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He said a simple goodbye before disconnecting. He wanted to tell her a lot more, to reassure her, but he didn’t see how he could do that. He didn’t know what she was dealing with out there, and she was intentionally keeping several states between them.

How he hated being on standby.

And yet, Sheila had led him to believe that, right now, it was this or nothing. He couldn’t bear nothing.

Canaan stepped through the large room he’d occupied far too much in the past few weeks—the principal’s office. When he was a student here, it was the one place all the children dreaded to go. That hadn’t changed for him. In fact, he’d learned that the principal hated disciplining the child more than the child hated to be disciplined.

Or, at least, this principal hated it. He was not principal material. When his grandfather had asked him to fill this position on an emergency basis, the teachers and other staff had promised to help him with the load. Now he was afraid to ask for help. Whom could he trust?

He entered the clinic, where he’d spent many nights lately, often falling asleep at the desk in the corner. Sinking into the well-used chair, he turned his attention to the bank of file cabinets, where patient records dating back to the founding of the school thirty years ago were waiting for him to study.

And study them he must, as soon as he found time.

People in these parts, including the staff, believed Canaan’s grandfather, Johnny Jacobs, to be a wealthy man. After all, he’d spared no expense on the new buildings last year, especially the clinic, which was, in truth, a very modern medical station, with excellent technical capabilities. The equipment had all been donated by Arizona hospitals, but Johnny made sure that everything was in good working order.

What few people knew was that Granddad had sunk his whole fortune in Twin Mesas and three other mission schools around the state, with just enough generated income to meet the payroll at each school. He also accepted donations from several benefactors who had supported his goals for educating Navajo children from the start. He kept careful records, which he shared with the other contributors.

It was the principal’s job at each school to make an annual report. Bob Jaffrey had done the preliminary work for Twin Mesas this year, but it was up to Canaan to complete it. He looked at a stack of files piled on a corner of the desk and sighed—yet another task he didn’t feel capable of performing.

Canaan loved and respected his grandfather. He would do anything to help him and this school. The problem was that Canaan had almost reached his limit.

When he’d first discovered Sheila was coming, he’d been hopeful. Hard on the heels of that hope, he’d recalled the trouble Sheila had endured here at the time of her mother’s death. He would never forget the haunted child she’d become before her father took her away. No one had seen her pain as Canaan had.

Because of this knowledge, he’d argued with his grandfather about this choice. He’d also argued with Doc Cottonwood, who thought Sheila’s arrival would be reason for celebration.

Johnny Jacobs was not a man easily swayed, or he’d have given up on his dreams for his Navajo friends years ago. He was sold on Sheila’s qualifications, and Canaan hadn’t been able to talk him out of her coming.

After all, as Granddad had emphasized, Sheila was grown now: her traumatic experiences were long behind her. He believed she could handle returning, and that she was familiar enough with their ways that she would be an excellent fit with the schoolchildren she would be helping.

Judging by today, however, Canaan had even more doubts that she’d be able to carry out what needed doing—the blood testing, the physicals. He knew she could perform the tasks, but would she be able to win over the sometimes skeptical children and staff?

Tanya’s reaction concerned him. And Tanya wouldn’t be the only one to resist Sheila’s presence.

He would have to wait and see.