Annie stood up and, with some difficulty, started to walk.
“Wait,” Rainy said. “Your shoulder bag.”
She lifted the brightly colored bag that Annie almost always carried with her. It had been a gift from Maria, handcrafted by a Mayan artisan, and was very dear to Annie.
“How could I forget that?” she asked, more to herself than to Rainy.
It was Maria who answered her. “Because you’re tired.”
The moment they entered the house on Gooseberry Lane, Annie felt the tension in the air. Everyone was sitting at the kitchen table—Daniel, Jenny, Cork. Monte Bonhomme, chief of the Iron Lake Tribal Police, was there, along with Tribal Officer LuJean Desjardins. Annie was surprised to see Prophet as well. Henry Meloux and Waaboo were absent, however. And also Stephen and Belle, who’d gone to Spirit Crossing that morning.
“What happened at Paavola’s cabin?” Rainy asked. She set the book she’d bought on the kitchen counter. “Did Waaboo pick up on anything helpful?”
“Things have become a little more complicated,” Cork said, and he explained about what Waaboo seemed to have sensed.
“He said they still have murder in their hearts?” Rainy looked confused. “What exactly does that mean?”
“We’re not sure. But Waaboo’s pretty shook. He’s afraid they might know about him, whoever it is that’s responsible for Olivia Hamilton’s death.”
“Where is he?” Annie asked.
“Upstairs,” Jenny said. “Henry wanted to speak with him alone.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Rainy said.
Monte Bonhomme spoke up. “The Feds and BCA weren’t particularly interested in identifying the girl buried in the blueberry patch. But now they will be. Her and Olivia Hamilton both on Paavola’s property, that’s no coincidence.”
“How will they identify her?” Rainy asked. “Her body was badly decomposed, wasn’t it?”
“They can still pull fingerprints. It’s not easy and it’ll take some time. But we have a lead already. Her name is Tacicala or Fawn. So she could very likely be Lakota. There are some databases we can check. NAMUS and MissingKids and Minnesota Missing and Unidentified Persons Clearinghouse. Maybe someone by either of those names has been officially reported missing.”
“Will you tell the FBI and BCA about Fawn?” Annie asked.
“Maybe. But I’m sure their real concern is finding Olivia Hamilton’s killer. To them, Fawn is just a link in a chain. I’m not eager to have them step all over us in their rush to get someone in cuffs for killing the Hamilton girl. Besides, they have their way of doing things and we have ours.”
“What’s that?” Rainy asked.
“The Indian way. I’ll put out the word to every tribal law enforcement agency and every other Native contact I have in Minnesota and the Dakotas and Canada asking if anyone’s reported a missing girl by that name. We’ll see where that takes us.”
“I’m going to have another conversation with Mathias Paavola,” Cork said. “He was pretty nervous when Marsha and I questioned him before. And he is half owner of that cabin.”
“Are you going tell Marsha?” Rainy asked.
“She’ll want to wait for a warrant. Her hands are tied by legalities. Mine aren’t. He’s the best lead we’ve got. If he knows we’ve found Olivia Hamilton’s body, he’s liable to run. I want to get to him before he does.”
“And I want Waaboo out of all of this,” Jenny said. “I want him safe.”
“Then you should let him stay with me.”
They all turned. Henry Meloux stood in the kitchen doorway, Waaboo at his side.
“I have had a long talk with your little rabbit. We both think it would be a fine idea for him to spend some time on Crow Point. If you are worried about his safety, I can think of no better watchdog than Prophet.”
Now all eyes turned to the quiet man, who stood near the mudroom door.
“I promise you, not even a fly will come near Waaboo,” Prophet said.
Jenny motioned Waaboo to her. She put her arm around him. “Is that what you want?”
“Uh-huh,” her son said with a nod.
“And you will come, too,” Meloux told her.
“I won’t let him out of my sight,” she replied.
“There’s something else,” Annie said. Her headache had subsided, but she still felt queasy, not just from her illness but from something she’d realized now that she’d heard everything.
“What is it?” Cork asked.
“I saw someone today, watching us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place him. I saw him twice. The first time was at the Four Seasons. I had the feeling he might have been listening to our conversation. And then I saw him again when—” She paused and considered how to phrase the next part. “I saw him again when I was feeling faint and Maria sat me down on the bench in front of the Ben Franklin store.”
“What was he doing?” Cork asked.
Staring while I felt like my head was exploding, she could have said. Instead, she said, “Just sort of lurking.”
