Three raps sounded on the door, and the receptionist stuck her head in. “Fergie? Are you ready for Naomi Malloy? The Kicking Bird family has taken over the front office, and she’s getting spooked.”
Officer Ferguson looked at me and I nodded. “Bring her in.”
After the door closed, I said, “So… Fergie, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “I got that nickname after Fergie, the former Duchess of York, became a household name, but before Fergie, from the Black Eyed Peas, became popular.” She smirked. “But I’m sure you can see my resemblance to the latter.”
Redheaded Officer Ferguson was about five feet three and as curvy as a tipi pole.
“One of my nicknames in the army was Gunny, which pissed off the marines we were stationed with, because that name is used exclusively for a male gunnery sergeant. They still gave me the stink eye after I pointed to my name patch and explained Gunny was short for Gunderson.”
“Fucking jarheads,” she muttered. “I was in the air force for a decade, so I know how they are.”
“You were military police?”
Fergie nodded. “Ended up stationed at Ellsworth for the last of my enlistment. Met a native guy, moved to the rez, got a cop job… and here I am.”
“He fell in love with your lovely lady lumps?”
She grinned and started to retort, but the door swung inward, sucking the humor from the room. The ashen face of a young Indian girl reminded us of our unpleasant task.
I stood and offered my hand. “Naomi? I’m Special Agent Gunderson of the FBI. Thank you so much for coming in to speak with us.”
“Why don’t you sit here.” Officer Ferguson offered her a seat between us. “That way we won’t have to shout at each other to be heard. You want coffee or water?”
Naomi shook her head and slid into the chair.
I studied her openly. Long, straight hair scraped back into a ponytail. Eyes heavily lined with black eye shadow. She peeled back the oversized, black ski jacket. The puffiness of her down-filled coat made her look much huskier than her actual slight stature. Rings adorned all ten of her fingers. Her fingernails were painted black, but the polish was mostly chipped off.
She tugged down a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words TEAM JACOB, and I bit back a groan. A Twi-hard. My sister had convinced me to watch the first Twilight movie, and I had done so with extreme cynicism, leaving on my running shoes to make a fast getaway. But the flick was entertaining, despite the bucket loads of teen angst.
“Since you’re a minor, we can wait to begin until there’s a parent or guardian present.”