They were still a couple of miles from the turnoff to Erno Paavola’s cabin. Daniel had called Monte Bonhomme on his cell phone and explained what he was doing. Monte said he would meet them.
“Dad,” Waaboo said.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you play the accordion like you used to?”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t played it in a long time. I like it. You smile when you play and you make me smile and want to dance.”
“Glad to hear that. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Waaboo went back to singing to himself, and a few minutes later, Daniel pulled to a stop at Paavola’s cabin on the hilltop. He lowered the windows and turned off the engine. It was early afternoon and hot, not a breath of wind blowing through the trees.
“Erno Paavola was living in that?” Jenny said. “It looks like a good kick would knock it over.”
“Cork said nobody’s lived there since Paavola died.”
“It looks haunted,” Waaboo said.
They sat quietly for a couple of minutes, the only sound the buzz of insects in the still summer air.
“I’m bored,” Waaboo said. “Can we go pick blueberries now?”
“You picked blueberries all morning with Henry Meloux,” Jenny said.
“It’s fun. I could pick blueberries all day.”
“We wait here for Monte,” Daniel said.
“Then can I at least look at the haunted cabin?”
“All right,” Jenny said. “But just look. And stay where we can see you.”
Waaboo jumped from the car and ran toward the dilapidated structure.
“He’s right, you know,” Jenny said.
“Waaboo? About what?”
“You don’t play your accordion anymore. And you haven’t written a line of poetry in forever.”
“Not inspired, I guess.”
“It’s been that way since you joined the tribal police.”
“Not an easy job,” Daniel said with a shrug.
“Talk to me,” Jenny said.
Daniel gathered himself, trying to give voice to something he’d wrestled with for a while. “When I was a tribal conservation officer, folks appreciated what I did. Preserving the rez resources, keeping our waters clean, catching white poachers. Now I give those same folks tickets or arrest their relatives or break up fights where neither side is happy with me.”
“That’s not everyone on the rez.”
“Maybe not.” Daniel kept his eye on Waaboo, who’d stopped short of the cabin and now stood staring at it. “But sometimes I feel so limited in what I can do. Besides just get folks riled up at me.”
“Is this about Crystal?” Jenny said. “You did the best you could.”
“And she’s still missing.”
The disappearance of Crystal Two Knives had been the first official investigation Daniel had undertaken as an officer on the tribal police force. He’d followed every lead, spoken with every person who knew her, had leaned hard on Red LaGrange, her abusive ex-boyfriend. When he sought the help of the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department, he got what felt to him like a runaround. He’d searched NamUs, the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, and the Minnesota Missing and Unidentified Persons Clearinghouse, and had contacted the BIA Missing and Murdered Unit. Nothing. Crystal Two Knives, like so many Native women, had simply vanished.
Waaboo backed away from the cabin slowly, as if afraid it might be about to bite him. He came back and stood by Daniel’s opened window, his face pale.
“What is it, Waaboo?”
“Maji-manidoog,” the boy said.
“Devils?” Daniel translated.
“That place is evil, Daddy.”
Daniel heard the approach of another vehicle. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Monte Bonhomme’s Tahoe coming up the rutted dirt lane.
“Blueberry picking time,” he said to his son. But Waaboo’s face didn’t brighten.
Monte was accompanied by LuJean Desjardins and another woman. Daniel knew her, Theresa Lee, a forensic archaeologist and anthropologist who taught at Tamarack Community College. She was small, her hair pulled back in a graying ponytail, her eyes dark brown, the features of her face and her skin color clearly showing her Native heritage, Fond du Lac Ojibwe. Monte had told Daniel earlier that, because of her expertise, he was going to ask Lee to join them in the search for another grave. A black duffel bag hung from a strap over one of her shoulders.
“Boozhoo, Theresa,” Daniel greeted her.
“Boozhoo,” she replied. She smiled at Jenny and then at Waaboo. “This must be your little rabbit. Hello, Waaboo. My name is Theresa.”
LuJean eyed Waaboo’s ashen face and said to Daniel, “You sure about this?”
Jenny knelt and put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Are you okay going back to the blueberry patch?”
He nodded.
Jenny stood up. “We do this very carefully.”
“Understood.” Daniel grabbed a bucket from the backseat and took his son’s hand. “Let’s go, little guy.”
Waaboo’s mood seemed to brighten as they left the cabin behind and walked through the wild grass toward the trail that led to the clearing and the blueberry patch.
“Mom, here are the gnomes.” He broke from his father’s grip and tapped one of the carved figures. “They’re like Finnish leprechauns. Come on. The blueberries are this way.”
He started ahead of them down the path.
