“I wonder if you have a photograph of Fawn that we could take,” Monte said gently.

Daisy nodded. “On my dresser, Nyla.”

The girl came back with a framed photo of a smiling young woman proudly holding up a wooden plaque.

“She got that for a picture she drew at the school she was at for a while, the one for problem kids. Contest they had. She got first place,” Daisy said. “Can I have it back?”

“Of course, we’ll return it,” Monte assured her. He stood and took the photograph. “We’ll stay in touch,” he promised.

Daisy gave a nod.

“Thanks, Nyla,” Agent Shirley said. “Take care of her.”

“Like she’s took care of me,” Nyla promised.

Outside, the dog next door started barking again, and again the disembodied voice hollered, “Shut up, Lester.”

They stood at Monte Bonhomme’s Tahoe. From the trailer they’d just left came a long wail of sorrow.

Agent Shirley said, “I wish I could have given her more hope. It might not be Fawn. We really don’t know for sure yet.”

“The beaded bracelet,” Daniel said, as if that settled the matter.

“Doesn’t matter if she wasn’t Daisy’s granddaughter,” Monte said. “She’s still the granddaughter and daughter of someone else who’ll be awash in grief in the end.”

Daniel said, “To be Indian is to walk with loss. It goes before us and it follows us. It is our shadow self.” When he saw Monte and Agent Shirley staring at him, he said, “From a poem I wrote a while back.”

“You’re a poet?” Agent Shirley said.

“Used to be,” Daniel said.

“Won himself a slew of awards,” Monte said.

“But you’re not a poet anymore?” Agent Shirley asked.

“I got tired of writing only sad poems.” Daniel said. Then to the tribal police chief he said, “So what now, Monte?”

“Whoever buried Fawn knew about Paavola’s blueberry patch. And whoever killed Olivia Hamilton knew about Paavola’s cabin. That old Finn’s property is the connection. What do you know about Erno Paavola, Daniel?”

“Not much. I didn’t know the man. But Cork did.”

“All right, then. Let’s go talk to your father-in-law.”

CHAPTER 21

The main highway to Spirit Crossing had been blocked by a police barricade a quarter mile from the bridge over the Jiibay River. For nearly a quarter mile in advance of the barricade, the shoulders of the highway were lined with parked vehicles. Stephen and Belle were ahead in Stephen’s Jeep. Rainy, Annie, and Maria followed in the Bronco. Stephen pulled over and parked and Rainy drew up behind him. They got out and joined the stream of people heading toward Spirit Crossing. A couple of hundred yards beyond the barricade was the encampment, from which the sound of drumming came like distant thunder.

“Plenty of folks rallied up for this,” Rainy said.

“There are going to be two groups,” Belle said. “One will protest at the encampment, the other at the Crossing.”

“Where should we be?” Annie asked.

“Take your pick,” Stephen said. “Belle’s going to stay at the encampment. I think the bulk of the confrontation will be there. Rainy, there could be injuries, so you might be needed. Belle’s brother Anton is with the group at the Crossing to keep the focus on the reason we’re all here. That’s where I’ll be.”

“Do you need someone with medical training there?” Maria asked.

“It might be helpful. It’s hard to know how things will play out. Would you be willing to come with me?”

“Of course.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be, too,” Annie said.

A solid line of protesters had already linked arms, standing between two bulldozers and the dozens of tents and shelters that made up the encampment. A cadre of law enforcement officers stood ready to ensure compliance with the order to evacuate the site, which had been issued by a judge in the state’s Ninth Judicial District, a man Belle claimed was in the pocket of the pipeline company.

“The order came late yesterday. They knew we’d file to stay it,” Belle said. “So these bastards were ready and they’ve hurried things along to get it done before our request can be ruled on.”

“What’s with the bulldozers?” Annie asked.

“Those blades’ll knock down any shelters left standing,” Belle replied. “Then they’ll bring in front loaders to scoop up everything, put it in dump trucks, and haul it away.”

“Looks like nobody’s taking their tents down,” Annie pointed out.

“Or planning to get out of the way of the bulldozers,” Rainy added.

“Like I said,” Stephen told her, “things could get really heated today.”

They split up, and Stephen, Annie, and Maria continued toward the river and Spirit Crossing. In a meadow midway to the river, a fleet of law enforcement vehicles had parked. It was clear from the insignia on the doors that they represented a number of agencies—local law enforcement, state troopers, and oddly, Annie thought, Customs and Border Protection. There were ambulances standing by as well. Annie could feel the grip of dread in her gut.

“This could get really bad,” she said.

“Water cannons, tear gas, LRAD, which are sound cannons. They’ve all been used before,” Stephen said. “At a place called Standing Rock in North Dakota. I was in school so couldn’t be there, but I heard about it.”

The day was hot already, and Annie felt sweat wetting the back of the T-shirt she’d chosen to wear, maroon with an image of a colorful parrot, a Mayan ruin, and, in bold letters, GUATEMALA. She was already feeling a little weak and was praying silently that she would get through whatever was ahead without stumbling or trembling or being felled by a headache. She wanted to contribute and not be one of those in need of help.

They turned up the dirt lane that two days earlier Annie and Maria had taken with Rainy when they’d been stopped by the bullies at the barricade and then harassed by a security cop. Because the main highway had already been blocked to traffic, there was no barricade today, and protesters streamed toward Spirit Crossing.

It was inspiring to Annie to see so many people willing to put themselves in harm’s way in protest of what seemed to be an unstoppable monster. There were billions of dollars behind the pipeline, governmental approvals at so many levels, the possibility of jail time for those who stood in the way, and yet here they were, regular folks, young and old, of many ethnic backgrounds, standing together in the face of huge odds. The vehicles parked along the shoulder of the road had license plates not just from Minnesota but from as far away as New Jersey and California. She was, Annie realized, part of a small, dedicated ragtag army from far and wide. In her heart, she believed that in the end they would fail. But it moved her deeply to see that they would not go down without a fight, and she was proud to be among them.

The big machines still sat idle, with a phalanx of protesters several deep standing symbolically between them and the place on the river that the Anishinaabeg called Spirit Crossing. Annie estimated the protesters numbered more than a hundred. At the encampment, she’d guessed there were twice as many, and they’d still been arriving.

“Stay near me,” Stephen said. “If things get wild, keep track of each other. If somehow we get separated, plan to rendezvous back at the bridge, okay?”

Annie and Maria followed Stephen and became part of the phalanx near the river. A large gathering of law enforcement officers stood on the far side of the big machines, just observing at the moment but dressed in riot gear. Among them, Annie saw Deputy Carlson, who, the last time she had been there, had let them pass through the barricade the bullies had established and then admonished the security guard named Lewis, who’d been intent on arresting Stephen.

“Lewis!” Annie said suddenly.

Stephen and Maria both gave her quizzical looks.