“See, that’s a big part of the problem. Communication between all the agencies involved.”
“Can you give us the address of the girl’s grandmother?” Monte asked.
Hayner spent a minute on his computer, then wrote something on a Post-it and handed it over. “I’ve included her phone number, but I’ll call her now, make sure she’s expecting you.”
“She’ll be home?” Daniel asked.
“Doesn’t go out much these days. When you talk to her, you’ll understand.”
The address was in a gathering of run-down trailer homes a few miles from where summer houses the size of the Taj Mahal fronted a series of beautiful lakes, along with resorts where well-off folks spent a carefree week or two away from the sweltering heat of the Twin Cities. Daniel suspected that the people who serviced the resorts and the restaurants and the gas stations and the grocery stores and the fun little amusement parks lived in that collection of flimsy trailers lining the grid of dirt lanes.
Monte parked his Tahoe in front of the address Hayner had given him, and he, Daniel, and Agent Shirley got out. A dog tied to the mailbox of the trailer next door went crazy barking, but someone inside hollered “Shut up, Lester!” and the dog fell silent. As they approached Daisy Blacksmith’s trailer, the door was opened by a young woman, who gave them a hard look.
“You the police?” she said.
She was thin, wore a black T-shirt with an image of Prince on it and Purple Rain printed in purple letters above. Her hair was done in a single long braid that hung over her shoulder. The braid was a shade of purple that didn’t quite match the T-shirt’s letters. Daniel put her in her midteens.
“ ‘Raspberry Beret’ is my favorite,” he said.
“What?” She looked at him as if he were an idiot.
“Prince. It’s my favorite song of his.”
She looked down at the image. “Got this at Goodwill.”
“We’re looking for Daisy Blacksmith,” Monte said.
“Took you long enough,” the girl said.
“We came straight here from Three Rivers,” Monte said.
“I mean to get around to looking for Fawn.”
“Who are you exactly?” Daniel said.
“Nyla. I help out Granny.”
“Daisy is your grandmother?”
The girl shook her head. “Just call her that cuz she’s been like a granny to me and my mom. We live over there.” She pointed to a trailer on the other side of the dirt lane.
“Is she here?” Agent Shirley asked.
The girl nodded. “She gets tired, so go easy, okay?” She turned and directed her words inside the trailer. “They’re here, Granny. Letting them in.”
She stepped aside and gave her head a small jerk, indicating they should go inside, which they did—Monte first, then Agent Shirley, and Daniel last.
“You should give him a try,” Daniel told the girl as he passed. “He was pretty awesome.”
“Who?”
“Prince.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
The trailer was cluttered but not trashed, more the look of careless upkeep rather than constant neglect. Magazines—People, Reader’s Digest, Women’s Health—were scattered on the sofa and the coffee table, where an empty cereal bowl also sat, still cradling a spoon. A flowered robe had been carelessly draped over a threadbare armchair. A single slipper lay beneath the chair, on its side like a dead fish. The place smelled of cigarette smoke. And also of gingerbread.
Daisy Blacksmith stood at the counter of her small kitchen. She was short and heavy, much of her black hair gone deep gray. Her right leg ended just below the knee, and a crutch was nested under each of her armpits. She turned from the cutting board on the counter, a bread knife in her hand, and smiled.
“The gingerbread is still warm. Would you like some?”
“Miigwech,” Monte said.
“Shinnob, eh?” Daisy said. “Me, Lakota.”
“I’d like some,” Agent Shirley said. “Smells delicious.”
Daniel said he’d also have some.
“Sit.” Daisy lifted her chin, using it to point toward the sofa and chair in the little living room area. “Just move the crap. Nyla, would you take this?” She handed the girl a plate on which sat several slices of gingerbread, and Nyla set the plate on the coffee table. “Something to drink?” Daisy offered.
When they’d all said no thank you, Daisy Blacksmith crutched her way from the kitchen and settled herself in the threadbare armchair. Nyla took the crutches and leaned them against the wall, then leaned there herself.
“Got me an artificial leg a couple of years ago, but it broke a few months back,” Daisy explained. “Can’t afford to get it taken care of. But I get around okay. So.” She fixed each of them with her dark eyes for a moment, then said, “I understand you’re tribal folks and you might have news about my granddaughter.”
They introduced themselves and Monte said, “We might have news about Fawn, but first I need to know a little more about you and her, if you don’t mind talking about it.”
“I learned a long way back that the truth of things don’t get hid for long. What do you want to know?”
