Dance Hall of the Dead by Tony Hillerman

Author:Tony Hillerman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Police - Southwestern States, Police Procedural, Police, Leaphorn, Mystery & Detective, Navajo Indians, Westerns, Lt. (Fictitious character), General, Indian reservation police, Mystery fiction, Joe, Zuni Indians, New, Southwestern States, Fiction, Southwest
ISBN: 9780061808388
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-05-26T06:30:07+00:00

»11«

Wednesday, December 3, 12:15 P.M.

A YOUNG MAN with peeling sunburn and blond hair tied in a bun was working with a portable welding torch in the commune school bus. The noise it was making had covered the sound of Leaphorn’s carryall rolling to a stop and he was obviously startled when he saw the policeman.

“She’s busy,” he told Leaphorn. “I don’t think she’s around here. What kind of business do you have with her?”

“Private kind,” Leaphorn said mildly. “That is, unless you’re a friend of George Bowlegs. We’re trying to find where the Bowlegs boy got off to.” Behind Hair in Bun, the blanket covering the door of the hogan of Alice Madman’s ghost moved. A face appeared, stared at Leaphorn, disappeared. A second later, Halsey pushed past the blanket and emerged.

“You’re a cop,” Hair in Bun said.

“Like it says there,” Leaphorn said, waving in the direction of the Navajo Police seal on the carryall door, “I’m Navajo fuzz.” Halsey’s expression had amused him and he repeated it loudly enough for Halsey to hear.

“Ya-ta-hey,” Halsey said. “Sorry, but that kid you’re hunting ain’t been back.”

“Well, then,” Leaphorn said, “I’ll just talk to Susanne a little more and see if she’s remembered anything that might help.”

“She hasn’t,” Halsey said. “We’ll get word to you if anything comes up. No use you wasting your time.”

“Don’t mind,” Leaphorn said. “It beats working. What you fixing on that bus?” The question was addressed to Hair in Bun. The man stared at him.

“Loose seat,” Halsey said.

“Be damned,” Leaphorn said. “You’re welding it back instead of bolting it down? Like to see how you’re doing that.” He moved toward the bus door.

Hair in Bun stepped into the doorway, pulled his hands out of the bib of his overalls, and let them hang by his sides. Leaphorn stopped.

“I’ve got a one-track mind,” he told Halsey. “The only thing I want to do is talk to Susanne and see if we can figure out a way to find that boy. But if Susanne is off somewhere, I’ll kill some time by looking around some.” He looked at Hair in Bun. “Starting with this bus,” he said. The voice remained mild.

“I think she’s over by the windmill,” Halsey said. “I’ll take you over there.”

The path wandered maybe 150 yards down into a narrow wash and then up its sand-and-gravel bottom toward the wall of the mesa from which Leaphorn had watched the commune two nights earlier. Just under the mesa, an intermittent seep had produced a marshy spot. Some grazing leaser had drilled a shallow well, installed a windmill to pump a trickle of water into a sheep watering tank. A Russian olive beside the tank was festooned with drying shirts, jeans, overalls, and underwear. Susanne was sitting in its shade, watching them approach.

“Did you find him? Did George come home?”

“No. I was hoping we could go over it all again and maybe you’d remember something that would help.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to remember.” She shook her head. “I just don’t think he told me anything except what I could remember Monday.

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