Song of the Lion by Anne Hillerman

Author:Anne Hillerman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

14

The restaurant occupied the back of the trading post, past racks of T-shirts with Kokopelli and petroglyph designs, Navajo- and Hopi-style necklaces made overseas, and vintage glass display cases with the real stuff. The Cameron Post, one of the few on the reservation that had once been run by a Navajo, featured supplies attractive to area residents as well as a wide spectrum of Grand Canyon souvenirs for travelers. The Navajo weaver who frequently demonstrated her craft as part of the post’s attractions had already left for home.

Bernie asked for a table for three near the windows facing the Little Colorado. The young man, looking sheepish, followed her and the hostess quietly to their seats. The ambience—the pressed tin ceiling and the huge rugs on the walls reflecting the variety of designs created on the Navajo Nation—gave the restaurant a feeling of times past. Undoubtedly many secrets had been shared here. Appropriate, she thought. A good place to figure out what was going on with this inept stalker.

The hostess offered them menus. After she left, Bernie said, “Mr. Palmer will be here in a minute. Anything you want to tell me before he shows up?”

“Are you really a cop?”

“Officer Bernadette Manuelito from Shiprock.”

“No kidding? I thought you were his girlfriend.”

“What’s your name?”

“Rocket.”

“Rocket? No, your real name. Just show me your ID.”

He looked straight ahead, then said, “Um, it’s Robert.”

She glared at him.

“Robert Palmer. I left my wallet in the car, but I can get it if you want.”

“Palmer, the same as Aza?”

“Yeah, Palmer like Aza, Arnold, Robert. Lots of us Palmers.” He opened the menu. “Are you buying?”

“Are you cooperating?”

He shrugged. “You sure are tough for such a short babe.”

Bernie couldn’t help but laugh. “You sure are tough for such a short guy.”

Robert smiled for the first time. “We gotta be, don’t we? We should let the lawyer buy. He has the money.”

“Are you related to Aza?”

Robert put down the menu. “We go way, way back, all the way back to his time in Shiprock. Back before he got to be a hotshot.”

He stopped talking as Aza approached the table and pulled out a chair. He sat between the young man and Bernie, his only option. Aza picked up the menu and studied it as though he’d never seen one before. Robert stared at the tabletop.

“Enough, you two. Tell me what’s going on here.” She turned to Robert. “You can start.”

But Aza spoke. “I told him back at the meeting I had nothing to say to him. Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Like you left me and Mom alone, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. You’re so full of judgments and anger, and now you’ve got the police involved in our private—”

“Wait a minute,” Bernie said. “I invited him in. I don’t like being followed, and he said he wanted to talk about a plan to disrupt the mediation. I thought we both should hear him out. I didn’t realize he was your son.”

The conversation paused while the waitress took orders, a Coke for her, a burger for Robert, and a hot beef sandwich for the mediator.

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