“I don’t know. They both stopped talking to me.”
“How long ago was this?” At her blank look, I clarified, “When did you introduce them?”
“Over a month ago.”
That fit with Naomi’s time frame of when Arlette started acting strangely. But something else didn’t fit. No one in the entire Eagle River community knew about Junior and Arlette sneaking around? Bull. The rez was a hotbed of gossip. Why hadn’t anyone come forward with this information?
You’re surprised no one is spilling their guts to the tribal police? Or the feds?
I glanced at Mackenzie and was shocked to see her hands covering her face. “What’s wrong?”
She raised her head and stared at me through teary eyes. “Arlette was a dork, but I didn’t want her to die.”
“Do you think Junior could’ve killed her?”
No answer.
I looked away when a car door slammed, and when I refocused on Mackenzie, she’d ducked down, vanishing into the sea of cars. The abrupt end to our conversation left me unsettled.
Officer Ferguson frowned as she approached me. “I figured you’d be back from lunch before now.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and waggled it. “Got waylaid by a phone call. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I thought I saw you talking to someone, but you must’ve been talking to yourself.”
“Hazard of the job.” I shoved my cell in my pocket. “I came out here to get a sweater. Can’t you guys crank the heat up in that conference room? I think I have frostbite.”
She laughed. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Gunny.”
• • •
A few hours later I drove to the Diamond T.
The trailer court looked as crappy and run-down as it always had. Busted windows in the trailers, broken-down cars parked everywhere, trash blowing back and forth between falling-down fences. Talk about a rural slum.
It was early enough in the day that kids weren’t home from school yet. Their suspicious stares on my last visit reminded me of the ragged children in war-torn Iraq; their smiles had never quite masked the hatred in their eyes.
I parked behind a blue Dodge Caravan with a broken rear window that had been repaired with plastic dry-cleaning bags and lime-green duct tape. The back end of Rollie’s truck jutted out from the gravel driveway between the doublewide and the garage.
A dog barked, starting a chain reaction of howls, from one littered yard to the next, as I got out of my pickup.
I climbed the rickety steps and knocked on the screen, expecting to wait. But the inner door swung open immediately. Verline stood inside the jamb, a diaper-clad toddler cocked on her hip. “Rollie ain’t here.”