Queen of the Night Read online

  She walked across the parking lot and through the hospital housing compound, where Lani was surprised to see Delia Ortiz’s aging Saab parked in front of her house. On dance weekends, when Gabe stayed with Lani, she usually returned him to his parents’ place later on in the morning, giving them a chance to catch up on their sleep.

  Delia’s car was parked in Lani’s driveway, but she wasn’t in it. That meant she was probably inside. Lani and Delia knew each other, but they had never been close. The idea that Delia had gone inside Lani’s home without an express invitation and without Lani’s being there violated some age-old Tohono O’odham traditions where hospitality was a gift to be given rather than something to be expected or demanded.

  Lani paused for a moment outside the front door, listening for the sound of the television set. Gabe Ortiz loved Saturday and Sunday morning cartoons, but there was only silence.

  Turning her key in the lock, Lani let herself inside. Delia Ortiz was sitting in a rocking chair, dozing. She jerked awake when the door opened.

  “Sorry to stop by unexpectedly like this,” Delia said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I needed to talk to you.”

  “Where’s Gabe?” Lani said, looking around.

  “I sent him home.”

  Whatever this was, it was something Delia didn’t want her son to hear. That made Lani uneasy. “Can I get you something?” she asked. “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks. No coffee. After this, I need to go home and take a nap.”

  Lani needed sleep, too. Instead of going to the kitchen, she sat down on the couch and waited, allowing the silence between them to stretch.

  “He had a good birthday,” Delia said eventually.

  Lani nodded. She hadn’t been invited to Gabe’s eighth birthday party. She had been at work, but there was more to it than that. There was a certain rivalry between these two young women, a kind of sibling rivalry, even though they were not related. Both of them had been put forward by their mutual mentor, Fat Crack Ortiz. He had brought Delia home from Washington and he had seen to it that the Tohono O’odham paid for Lani’s medical education. So they were both women of influence on the reservation, but they were not friends. Not birthday-party friends.

  “I’m glad,” Lani said.

  “He loves video games,” Delia said.

  Lani knew that, too. In many ways, Gabe Ortiz was an ordinary little kid. In other ways, he was extraordinary.

  “You gave him to me,” Delia said after a pause.

  “I wrapped him up in a towel and handed him to you,” Lani said with a smile. “You’re the one who had to do all the hard work.”

  “What would have happened to us if you hadn’t been there that night to help?”

  Lani shrugged. “Probably nothing,” she said. “It was a normal delivery. Faster than expected, but normal. You were both healthy. Anyone could have helped you.”

  “But you’re the one who did,” Delia said. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

  “You made me Gabe’s godmother,” Lani said. “That’s thanks enough.”

  “Maybe,” Delia said.

  Lani was puzzled. So far there was nothing about this oblique conversation that couldn’t have been said in Gabe’s presence, especially if he was engrossed in watching cartoons. But rushing the process wouldn’t have been polite, so she sat back and waited.

  “Now maybe I can return the favor,” Delia said.

  Lani blinked at that, but she said nothing.

  “Angelina Enos is still in the hospital?” Delia asked.

  Lani nodded. “Yes. As soon as her family arrives, she’ll be released to them.”

  “They won’t come,” Delia said flatly. “Nobody is coming for her. I spoke to her mother’s parents last night and to her father’s parents earlier this morning. Joaquin Enos is in jail in Phoenix. His parents are already taking care of two other grandchildren. They can’t take another.”

  “What about Delphina’s parents?” Lani asked.

  “They’re from Nolic,” Delia said.

  Lani blinked again. Nolic was where she was from, where she had been from, years ago before she became wogsha, an adopted Indian child, and before she went to live in Tucson with Brandon Walker and Diana Ladd.

  “Delphina’s parents are Carmen and Louis Escalante,” Delia continued. “Delphina was your cousin. Carmen and Louis are your aunt and uncle.”

  Lani sucked in her breath. “Some of the same people who didn’t want me,” she said.

  “Yes,” Delia agreed. “Since you were an ant-bit child, they believed you were a dangerous object. Now they think the same thing about Angie—that she’s dangerous. Louis called her Kok’oi Chehia.”

  “Ghost Girl?” Lani asked.

  Delia nodded. “Louis called her that because she wasn’t killed when everyone else was. He’s also convinced that she’ll grow up to be a bad person like her father.” Delia shrugged and added, “Maybe she will be bad someday, but maybe she’ll grow up to be like her mother. My brother is like my father; I’m like my mother. It can go either way.”

  “But Angie needs to have a chance,” Lani said.

  “Yes,” Delia said, “that’s true, and it’s why I’m hoping you’ll take her.”

  Lani’s jaw dropped. “Me?” she echoed.

  “Yes, you,” Delia said determinedly. “You’re Angie’s cousin, after all. If a blood relative steps in to take her, I believe we can keep CPS from getting involved. Since Angie is an eyewitness in the death of her mother, Detective Fellows thinks it’s important to involve the state in the process as little as possible.”

  For several long moments neither of them spoke.

  “I’m too young to be a mother,” Lani said at last. “I don’t have a husband and I don’t know enough.”

  “Delphina had just turned twenty, and she didn’t have a husband, either,” Delia pointed out. “All she had was her GED, but she was making her way and doing a good job of raising her daughter. You’re what—thirty?”

  Lani nodded.

  “That makes you plenty old enough to be a mother,” Delia continued. “You’re also a trained doctor. You’ll make a good mother.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  Delia shrugged. “When Fat Crack came to Washington and told me I’d be a good tribal attorney, he didn’t ask to see my school transcripts or ask for references. He already knew I was right for the job. You’re right for this one.”

  With that, Delia stood up. “I know this is a shock,” she said. “I know you need to think about this before you answer. Take as much time as you need. We both know Angie is safe as long as she stays in the hospital. Call me later. Let me know what you decide. If you’re going to take her, I’ll handle everything else.”

  Delia left then. She let herself out while Lani, too stunned to move, sat where she was. What was it her mother had said to her yesterday? It had been something about wanting another grandchild. Lani doubted this was what her mother had in mind.

  Sometimes you have to watch out what you ask for, Lani thought. You may just get it.

  Eleven

  Tucson, Arizona

  Sunday, June 7, 2009, 6:30 a.m.

  71º Fahrenheit

  Armed with the licensing information, it didn’t take long for Records to come up with Jonathan Southard’s silver Dodge Grand Caravan minivan and an address in Thousand Oaks, California. Mildred Harrison had called it gray, but the DMV said silver.

  “Can you get me a phone number on that?” Brian asked.

  That took a little longer. While Brian waited, he considered his options.

  Under most circumstances, he would have called the other jurisdiction and involved them in the process. But for right then, the easiest thing to do was to call the house directly and find out if the guy was at home. If he was, that would mean someone else was driving Southard’s car, which, at this point, had not been reported stolen. If he wasn’t home or if his wife had no idea where he was, then that would be the time
to call for reinforcements.

  The Records clerk came back on the line and gave Brian a number in Thousand Oaks. He wondered briefly if it was too early to call, but then he realized this was summer. That meant California and Arizona were on the same time zone. The phone rang four times. Just when Brian was convinced the call was going to go to voice mail, someone—a woman—picked up.

  “Hello,” Brian said. “Is Jonathan Southard there?”

  “Who’s calling, please?” the woman asked.

  Brian didn’t want to go into all that if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but the woman wasn’t leaving him a lot of wiggle room.

  “Just tell me,” Brian said irritably. “Is he there or not?”

  “This is Detective Alexandra Mumford with the Thousand Oaks Police Department,” she said frostily. “Maybe you’d like to tell me what your business is with Mr. Southard.”

  Brian was taken aback. “It turns out I’m a detective, too,” he said. “Detective Brian Fellows with the Pima County Sheriff’s Department in Arizona. I’m investigating a quadruple homicide that occurred in our jurisdiction some time last evening. Four people were gunned down. A vehicle matching the description of Mr. Southard’s had been spotted in the vicinity of one of the victims’ homes—”

  “What victims?” Detective Mumford interjected.

  “One of them, Abby Tennant, is apparently Mr. Southard’s mother.”

  “Crap!”

  “What does that mean?” Brian asked.

  “I’ve spent most of the night in Mr. Southard’s home in Thousand Oaks,” Alex Mumford told him. “We had a call from his wife’s sister down in San Diego last night. She was concerned that she hadn’t heard from her sister, Esther, in several days. A couple of uniforms were dispatched to the Southards’ residence to do a welfare check. They’re the ones who found the bodies.”

  “Bodies?” Brian repeated. “What bodies? How many?”

  “Three in all. One adult female and two children, a boy and a girl. Oh, and also the family dog. The dead woman’s sister drove up from San Diego and gave us a positive identification on the mother.”

  Brian was stunned. “So we’re up to seven victims now? Crap is right! If Southard has murdered his wife and kids and his mother and stepfather, who else is left?”

  “That would be his father,” Alex told him. “He lives somewhere in Ohio. Let me see what I can find out about that, and I’ll call you back. Does this number work for you?”

  “Yes.”

  Detective Mumford was all business. “I’ll see about getting a court order to go after Southard’s cell phone records. We may be able to get a line on him that way. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Good,” Brian said.

  When she hung up, Brian didn’t bother closing his phone. Instead, he called Kath. “I won’t be at church,” he said. “The victim count just went up, three in California and four here.”

  “That’s the problem with the cartels,” Kath said. “They’re mobile.”

  “This is worse than a cartel,” Brian said. “It’s personal. It’s some asshole who’s decided to target his whole family. He’s taken out his wife, kids, and mother so far, plus his stepfather and two innocent bystanders. We think he may be on his way to Ohio to take out his father as well unless we can get a line on him first.”

  Brian heard his wife’s sharp intake of breath. “You’re right,” she said. “That’s far worse than cartels. Where are you now?”

  “On my way in to the office.”

  “Be safe then,” Kath said. “See you whenever you get here.”

  Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

  Sunday, June 7, 2009, 9:00 a.m.

  71º Fahrenheit

  For a long time after Delia left, Lani sat there thinking, wondering what was the best thing to do about Angie, the right thing to do.

  She knew that even offering to foster the child could well mean long-term heartbreak for both of them. Yes, Delia had said that both sets of grandparents had already indicated that they weren’t interested in caring for Angie and that the father was a nonstarter in that regard. But what would happen to Lani and to Angie if they formed a bond only to have some other person, a closer relation than a mere second cousin, come forward to claim the child? What then?

  And what if that other person could offer Angie a home where she would have the benefit of both a mother and a father? Lani understood full well that she would be taking on child rearing as a single parent, one who came with odd working hours and a very demanding job. Or what if the father threw a wrench in the works by refusing to sign over his parental rights? Lani knew from dealings with child welfare folks in Denver that they were always predisposed to return children to their natural parents, even when said parents had very little going for them.

  But not being able to offer Angie a home with both a mother and a father was no excuse for Lani to refuse to take her in. As far as she could see, even when Delphina was alive, Angie hadn’t had the benefit of a father figure in her life. Donald Rios might have been able to offer her that, but Donald Rios was dead.

  Lani was tempted to pick up the phone and call her brother or her parents to ask for their opinions and advice, but she didn’t. Davy was dealing with his own difficult family issues right now. It wasn’t fair to involve him. As for asking her parents? Lani glanced at her watch. She had no doubt that her father would be up by now, probably making his Sunday-morning breakfast special of blueberry muffins and a spinach frittata. She knew where his feelings would lie. Lani understood better than anyone that Brandon Walker’s supposedly gruff demeanor did little to conceal his notoriously soft heart.

  Take Damsel, for example. Lani had been away at school that Thanksgiving morning when someone had abandoned a bedraggled, starving puppy on her parents’ doorstep. Diana had found the dog and would have called Animal Control to come get it. Brandon was the one who had lobbied to keep the poor animal. He was also the one who had come up with the name, Damsel. And much as he might grumble about “that damn dog,” Lani knew how much he cared about her and how often he slipped her supposedly forbidden treats.

  Lani smiled now, thinking about how Brandon had done the same for her, both when she was little and later on as well. When she was going to school and later during her residency, a note from her dad, usually one sent for no particular occasion, could always be counted on to have a stray hundred-dollar bill tucked inside it, along with a written admonition not to spend it all in one place.

  Lani knew without asking that her parents would accept Angie as their own. If Lani brought the child into the family, Angie would instantly have two loving grandparents, which was apparently two more than she had at the moment. But the real question to be answered was whether saying yes to Delia’s proposition was the right thing to do.

  This was a momentous decision and one that shouldn’t be hastily made. On the other hand, if there was any delay, Angie would be released from the hospital into the care and keeping of Child Protective Services. Lani knew that once children were caught up in the bureaucratic nightmare of “the system,” they seldom emerged unscathed.

  In a contest between what Lani had to offer Angie Enos and what the child welfare system could offer, there was really no question. On that score, Lani was the hands-down winner. As things stood now, she and she alone had a chance to save Angie Enos from that fate, but was that what she was supposed to do?

  Looking for an answer and almost without thinking, Lani stood up and walked into her bedroom, where she opened the top drawer of her dresser and removed her medicine basket, the one she had woven during her sixteen-day exile on Ioligam. In the tightly woven basket she kept the treasures Understanding Woman had given her granddaughter, Rita Antone, as well as the ones Rita and Fat Crack had passed along to Lani. From the bottom of the basket Lani retrieved two leather pouches. The soft one held Fat Crack’s crystals. The other one, cracked and ancient, had once belonged to Fat Crack’s blind mentor Looks at Nothing. Now, as t
hen, it held a properly gathered supply of wiw, Indian tobacco.

  Taking both pouches with her, Lani returned to the living room. She set the tobacco pouch aside for the moment and opened the other one, letting the four sacred crystals fall into the palm of her hand. She had learned over the years that the crystals, when properly used, could be a tool of discernment.

  Fat Crack had taught her that it was always best to look at an image of the object in question rather than at the object itself. In this case the object in question was Angelina Enos. Lani had no photo of the child, nothing that she could use. But since the question had to do with whether Lani should take Angie into her life, maybe a photo of Lani would do.

  The lanyard with Lani’s hospital ID, complete with a photograph, was right there on the coffee table. She picked it up. One crystal at a time, she viewed the photo through the intervening lens. The distortion from one crystal made it look as though she was laughing while another made her look sad even though the photo itself remained unchanged.

  But the very process of focusing on the image with absolute concentration worked its particular magic. Suddenly she could see what Delia had been trying to tell her. Yes, she and Angie were blood kin, but their real connection was far greater than that.

  What had happened long ago to the Ant-Bit Child was happening again to this Ghost Child. Rather than being accepted by their blood relations, they were both being shunned by them. And it turned out, they were the same blood relations—the Escalante clan from Nolic. It was almost as though I’itoi himself had laid out the pattern. It was as though the two of them were two sides of the same coin.

  “Yes,” Lani said aloud to herself. “I can see why Angie and I were meant to be together.”

  She was still holding the crystals in her hand. She had been awake for the better part of twenty-four hours. When she stopped concentrating all her focus and energy on the photo, it wasn’t surprising that she fell asleep, dozing off for a time while still sitting upright on her worn secondhand couch.