Queen of the Night

Ten

San Diego, California

Saturday, June 6, 2009, 10:00 p.m.

58º Fahrenheit

Once Corrine Lapin had placed the 911 call, she felt as though she had done everything she could do. She watched TV for a while, but then she went to bed, leaving her cell phone on the bedside table next to her just in case someone did call her back. Sometime after one in the morning, when she was deep in sleep, the musical ring tone roused her.

“Ms. Lapin, please,” an officious woman’s voice said.

“This is she,” Corrine answered. “Who is this? Are you calling about my sister?”

There was a momentary pause before the woman replied. “Yes, I am. My name is Detective Mumford,” she said. “Detective Alexandra Mumford with the Thousand Oaks PD. I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”

Corrine’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest. “Don’t tell me something’s happened to them!” she breathed.

“After your 911 call was forwarded to our department, we dispatched a patrol car to do a welfare check,” Detective Mumford continued. “No one came to the door, but when officers went around to the side of the house, they were able to see what appeared to be signs of foul play.”

“Foul play,” Corrine echoed. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m afraid the people we found inside the residence are all deceased, Ms. Lapin.” Alex Mumford’s voice was sympathetic but firm. “They have been for several days.”

“Deceased?” It was only by repeating the words that Corrine was able to make sense of what was being said. “You’re telling me they’re dead? That can’t be true. All of them-all four of them?”

“So far we’ve located only three victims,” Detective Mumford said. “Four if you count the dog. An adult female and two children, a boy and a girl, and a dog.”

That was astounding. The people were all dead, and Major, too? He was Esther’s beloved beagle. Until Esther had real kids, Major had been like a child to her. She loved that dog to distraction, and he loved her. Naturally Jonathan had despised the dog.

Thinking those thoughts, Corrine started to cry, but then she realized Detective Mumford was still speaking to her, asking a question. “… where he might be?”

“Where who might be?” Corrine asked raggedly, pulling herself together.

“Mr. Southard,” Detective Mumford said. “Your brother-in-law. It’s possible that he’s a victim of foul play, too, but…”

Corrine stopped crying, her tears transformed into a flood of fury and anger. “He did this, didn’t he!” she declared.

She threw off the sheet, scrambled out of bed, and groped for the light switch. She punched the speakerphone button so she could still hear the detective’s voice as she began pulling on clothes.

“That no-good son of a bitch did this to them! He killed them all and left them to rot. How did they die?”

“There’s evidence of gunshot wounds. A single wound to the head of each of the human victims. The dog was shot twice. He was found next to the adult female. There was blood on his muzzle. My guess is the dog was trying to protect her, and he may even have succeeded in biting the assailant before he was killed. We’ll be running tests on him as well, hoping to find DNA evidence that will help identify the assailant.”

Corrine’s hands shook as she pulled a T-shirt on over her head-a Disneyland T-shirt. She had bought matching shirts for all of them when she and Esther had taken the kids there for spring break. But that was another time and place, forever banished to the past. She was no longer crying. She would not cry. She wouldn’t give Jonathan Southard the satisfaction.

“We’ll need some information from you,” Detective Mumford said. “And if you can handle it, a positive ID would also be helpful. That’s going to be tough, though. As I said, they’ve been dead for a while. So there’s some decomposition.”

Corrine threw her purse strap over her shoulder and grabbed the car keys off the counter.

“How long have they been dead?” she said. Her voice cracked as she asked the question.

“The M.E. will have to make a final determination on time of death,” the detective said. “I’d say they’d been there for a day or two, maybe even several. The air-conditioning is turned up to the max, so it’s hard to tell.”

The idea that Esther and Timmy and Suzy had been lying there dead for days was utterly unthinkable! Yes, there had been problems in the marriage. With an arrogant jerk like Jonathan Southard, that was a given. And yes, Esther had talked to Corrine about divorcing him. That was something she and Esther had discussed in the hotel room at Disneyland late at night when the kids were safely asleep. What kind of animal would kill his family instead of giving his wife a divorce?

No, Corrine thought, correcting herself. Jonathan Southard isn’t good enough to be called an animal. That was unfair to Major.

“I’m on my way,” Corrine said. “I’m driving up from San Diego. I don’t know how long it will take at this time of night.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Lapin, but under the circumstances, are you certain you should make that trip by yourself?” Detective Mumford asked. “It might be a good idea to have someone else come along to do the driving.”

“No,” Corrine said. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m not going to wake up someone else. I’ll be fine.”

And Corrine Lapin was fine-fine but furious. As she drove, she thought about calling their parents. They were on a Baltic cruise right then. She could probably reach them on a ship-to- shore call, but she couldn’t remember how many hours ahead they were. Besides, she didn’t want to throw them into turmoil until she knew for sure, until there had been a positive identification. There would be time enough then to call them then to deliver the devastating news.

Corrine drove like a bat out of hell in almost zero traffic and with no enforcement. She arrived at Esther’s house at five o’clock in the morning to find a collection of police vehicles and medical examiner vans still blocking the street. The porch light was on, and lights shone in every window.

Corrine bounded out of her car and started forward at a run as two attendants wheeled a loaded gurney-a gurney with an adult-size body bag-down the sidewalk toward a waiting van. Half a block from the house a uniformed police officer barred the way.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, holding up his hand. “You can’t come any closer. Police business.”

“I’ve got to get through,” she said frantically. “That’s my sister’s house. Call Detective Mumford. She knows I’m coming. I’m here to do the ID.”

The cop spoke into a police radio as another attendant carrying a small wrapped bundle emerged from the house. Moments later a woman walked out the front door and strode purposefully across the front yard.

“Ms. Lapin?”

Corrine nodded.

“We should probably wait until the bodies have been taken back to the morgue.”

“No. I need to do it now so I can contact my parents. They’re on a cruise. I need to know for sure before I try calling them.”

Detective Mumford shook her head. “All right. Wait here.”

Corrine waited. The detective walked over to the van. The attendants had loaded the gurney into the van and closed the door. After conferring with them for a few moments, Mumford returned.

“All right,” she said. “But you need to be prepared. This won’t be easy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Corrine insisted.

But she wasn’t okay. The gurney was removed from the van. As soon as the attendant zipped open the body bag, a cloud of putrid air exploded into the night. Covering her mouth and nose, Corrine approached the gurney. The face she saw was swollen and rotting, but she knew it was Esther’s. There was no doubt about that.

Nodding hopelessly, Corrine turned away and then was desperately sick, heaving into the expanse of front-yard grass Esther had planted and loved so much. While her back was turned, she heard rather than saw the bag be zippered shut. Moments after that, the door to the van closed as well. The engine started.

As the van lumbered down the street, Detective Mumford returned. She placed a comforting hand on Corrine’s shoulder. With the other hand she gave the woman a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know how difficult that was. We’ll need to ID the children, too, but we’ll do that later. ”

Corrine nodded and said nothing.

“The whole house is considered a crime scene, so you can’t stay here,” the detective continued. “We’ll have people here processing the scene for the rest of the night and on into the morning. You should probably get some rest. My niece Kimberly works nights at the Westlake Village Inn. Do you know where that is?”

Corrine nodded numbly.

“Go there,” Detective Mumford said. “I called Kim and told her you might be coming. She has a room reserved in your name, and she’ll give you a good deal on it. Tomorrow morning, or rather, later on this morning, one of our investigators will come by to interview you and to do the remaining IDs. It may be me or it may be someone else, but right now, you need to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll have to let my parents know how soon we can plan on scheduling a funeral.”

“The timing of all that will be up to the M.E.’s office,” Detective Mumford said. “They’ll have to perform the autopsies. That takes time. In the meantime we need to concentrate our efforts on locating Mr. Southard. Does he have relatives in the area, someone to whom he could go for assistance?”

Corrine shook her head. “Not that I know of. His parents are divorced and remarried. His mother lives somewhere in Arizona,” Corrine said. “From what Esther told me, he hates her guts. I don’t think he’d go to her for help even if he was dying.”

“And his father?”

“His name is Hank,” Corrine said. “Hank Southard. He lives in Ohio somewhere. I met him once, at the wedding, but that’s all I know about him.”

Detective Mumford was taking notes as Corrine spoke.

“Would you say there was trouble in your sister’s marriage?”

“I know there was,” Corrine said. “She was planning on leaving him.”

There was more Corrine could have said. She knew for a fact that Esther wasn’t blameless. She loved to spend money-had always spent money. She had also hinted to Corrine about having a “friend” on the side, but that was no excuse for murder. So rather than going into any of that, Corrine spared her dead sister’s reputation and made it all out to be Jonathan’s problem and Jonathan’s fault.

“Her husband lost his job months ago,” Corrine said. “According to Esther, they were about to lose the house. Jonathan had made plans to take money out of his 401(k). She had to sign so he could access it.”

“How much money?” Alex Mumford asked.

“I don’t know the exact amount. He was a middle manager for Thousand Oaks Federal before it merged with two of the big banks. He worked for them for the better part of fifteen years.”

“What about the timing on the payout?” Detective Mumford asked. “Any idea when it was due?”

“Soon, I think,” Corrine told her. “But Esther never mentioned to me if it came or not.”

“Go get some rest,” Detective Mumford advised. “When I know more, I’ll be in touch.”

Once Corrine was gone, Alex Mumford picked up the phone. Getting a court order to examine bank and telephone records at that hour on a Sunday morning wasn’t an easy sell, but she had been a homicide cop long enough that she knew who to call.

At that stage of the investigation, Jonathan Southard most likely should have been named as nothing more than a person of interest. But as far as Detective Mumford was concerned, there was very little doubt.

Southard had slaughtered his entire family. He had killed his wife and his children and even the family dog. It was up to Alex Mumford to make sure that the creep didn’t get away with it.

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 5:00 a.m.

62º Fahrenheit

Jack Tennant’s driver’s license info with the DMV yielded a brother named Zack Tennant with an address in Catalina Foothills Estates. Brian was there at 5:00 A.M. to give Jack’s relatives the bad news about what had happened on the reservation. Hearing about it seemed to hit the brother especially hard. While her husband went to collect address information for Jack’s son and daughter, Ruth Tennant gave Brian a hint as to why.

“Zack and Jack had been estranged for a while,” she explained. “Jack and Abby had one of those hot and heavy romances. Zack and I didn’t approve. In the course of their rush to the altar, some things were said that should have been left unsaid. The rift probably could have been healed, but now it never will be.”

When Zack returned to the living room, his eyes were red, but he brought with him contact information for Jack’s daughter, Carol, who lived in San Francisco, and his son, Gary, who lived in Chula Vista.

“You’ll be in touch with them?” Zack asked. “You’ll let them know what’s happened?”

“When it comes to something like this, I don’t believe in telephones,” Brian assured him. “I’ll be in touch with the local police departments. They’ll have officers go out and speak to them in person.”

“Good,” Zack said. “When they do, tell the kids to call me. I’ll do what I can to handle things on this end.”

After leaving the brother’s residence, Brian drove to Jack and Abby Tennant’s town home in a development called Catalina Vue. On the way he phoned in the next-of-kin information he had gleaned from Zack. He had mentioned that he thought Abby had a grown son somewhere, and Brian was curious why, rather than using her offspring as an emergency contact, Abby had used a woman named Mildred Harrison, who was evidently her next-door neighbor.

Just after 6:00 A.M. that morning, Detective Fellows stood on Mildred’s shaded front porch and rang her doorbell. A bathrobe-clad woman cracked open the front door.

“Who are you?” she demanded over a television set blaring in the background. “Do you have any idea what time it is? What do you want?”

“My name’s Brian Fellows, Detective Brian Fellows with the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. Are you Mildred Harrison?”

“I am,” she said. “What’s this about?”

In reply Brian, saying nothing, held up his ID wallet.

“Just a minute,” she said. “Let me get my reading glasses.”

Before Mildred returned to the door wearing her glasses, she paused long enough to turn down the volume on the television set. Back at the door, she reached for Brian’s identification, which she examined in some detail before handing it back.

“All right,” she said, unlocking the security chain and opening the door. “It looks legit, but these days a woman living alone can’t be too careful. What’s this all about?”

“I understand your neighbor, Abby Tennant, listed your name as an emergency contact on her driver’s license.”

“Has something happened to Abby?” Mildred asked. “Yes, I know she put my name on her license, and she’s on mine, but that was back before she got married. The person you’ll need to contact now is her husband, Jack.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Brian said. “Abigail Tennant is deceased and so is her husband. We’re attempting to notify Mrs. Tennant’s next of kin. We also need someone who can give us a positive ID.”

Mildred had returned to the door barefoot and carrying a porcelain coffee mug in one hand. That crashed to the floor, splattering coffee and pieces of broken cup in every direction.

“Dead?” she gasped, looking at Brian in horror, all the while backing away from the doorway. “Abby’s dead? That’s impossible! You can’t be serious!”

“I’m afraid I’m very serious, ma’am,” Brian said.

Mildred Harrison hadn’t invited him into her home, but when she wobbled and looked as if she was in danger of falling, he stepped over the threshold uninvited, took her by the arm, and led her to a nearby sofa.

“This is terrible,” she moaned. “I can’t believe it! I just can’t!”

As she rocked from side to side in a combination of shock and disbelief, Brian made himself useful. Returning to the open doorway, he began collecting pieces of broken mug. Once he had most of those in hand, he walked as far as the kitchen, where he located a trash can under the sink and a roll of paper towels on the counter. He returned to the living room carrying both of those and started mopping up spilled coffee.

“Thank you so much,” Mildred said, dabbing at her eyes. “You shouldn’t have to clean up my mess.”

“It’s not a problem, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t mind doing it at all, but I would appreciate your help.”

“Of course,” she said. “Whatever you need.”

“As I said, we’re attempting to do next-of-kin notifications. Does Abby Tennant have any near relations living around here?”

“No. Her son lives in California somewhere-I’m not sure where. His name is Jonathan, Jonathan Southard. I’ve never met the man, but he must have a screw loose somewhere. He somehow got it into his head that his mother was the cause of his parents’ divorce, even though his dad had taken up with another woman long before the divorce was filed. Jonathan blamed everything on Abby and hasn’t spoken to her in years. It broke her heart, I can tell you that much.”

“What about her ex-husband?”

“His name is Hank, Hank Southard. As far as I know, he still lives in Ohio. But tell me. What happened to them? Was it a car wreck, or what?”

Brian shook his head. “There was a shooting overnight…”

“Oh, my!” Mildred exclaimed. “Don’t tell me! Is this about those four people out on the reservation? That story was just on the news a few moments ago, but I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams that it was someone I knew.”

“Yes,” Brian said. “That’s where it happened. Out on the reservation.”

“Who did it? Drug smugglers? Usually when people around here get killed like that, you can bet it has something to do with the drug trade, although why they’d go after Jack and Abby I can’t imagine. Abby barely uses aspirin, and I can’t see Jack shooting back. I never heard of him carrying a weapon of any kind. And why drug smugglers would go around doing that kind of thing with a baby in the car! That’s more than I can fathom.”

“What baby?” Brian asked.

“That’s what the reporter on the news said-that four people had been gunned down and that the only survivor of the incident was some poor little girl who had been transported to the hospital in Sells. I believe he said she was something like four years old.”

Great, Brian thought grimly.

He had wanted to keep Angelina Enos’s presence at the crime scene out of the public eye in order to keep her from being targeted. Obviously he had been overruled by someone higher up the food chain.

“When’s the last time you saw Mr. and Mrs. Tennant?” Brian asked.

“I talked to Abby yesterday afternoon,” Mildred said. “She had just come back from having her hair and nails done. I thought for sure she’d be coming to the party at the park last night, but she told me that she and Jack had made other plans.”

“What party?” Brian asked.

“The Queen of the Night party at Tohono Chul. It only happens once a year. Abby Tennant has been in charge of that event for years. She was supposed to be this year, too, but she backed out at the last minute. She told me she had an unexpected conflict and she was overbooked.”

In a homicide investigation, Brian understood that it’s important to know everything about the victims, including any last-minute sudden changes of plans.

“Why did she back out?” Brian asked.

“It was their anniversary,” Mildred explained. “She and Jack met at the Queen of the Night party five years ago. According to Abby, Jack had come up with some out-of-this-world ‘big surprise’ for their celebration and Abby went along with it. Men are like that, you know,” she added. “When one of them comes up with some tomfool idea, it’s better not to make a fuss.”

“But Jack didn’t say anything to you about what he had in mind?”

“No. Not a word. All I know is it was supposed to be a big surprise. I think Abby thought he was taking her out for a nice dinner. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I had seen him loading all kinds of stuff in his car-a folding table, chairs, a picnic hamper, and a cooler. You don’t need a cooler to take someone out to a nice restaurant for dinner. If my husband had ever pulled a stunt like that, I don’t know what I would have done. When a woman goes to the trouble of having her hair and nails done, she doesn’t want to be dragged off to somebody’s godforsaken picnic.”

Brian had a pretty clear idea that an outdoor picnic wasn’t all Jack Tennant had had in mind. Before Law and Order arrived, Brian and Dan Pardee had followed the trail of footprints and the luminarias to that humongous night-blooming cereus. It occurred to Brian that Jack Tennant had gone to a lot of trouble to honor his anniversary by creating his very own Queen of the Night party. Brian was sure it had been a spectacular surprise, but that was before it turned into a massacre.

“Other than Jack Tennant loading stuff in the car, did you see anything else out of the ordinary?”

Using the arm of the sofa for support, Mildred Harrison hauled herself upright and then tottered over to a picture window that looked out on the street. In front of the window was an easy chair along with a small table. On it sat a pair of binoculars and a notebook.

She picked up the notebook, opened it, and brought it back to Brian, who had taken a seat on the couch.

“We had some break-ins around here a year or so ago and kids rummaging through mailboxes,” she explained. “So we started a neighborhood block watch program. I went out last night to the party at Tohono Chul, but most of the time I’m right here at home, so I volunteered to serve as block captain, and I do keep watch.”

Brian looked down at the open notebook, its lines covered in an old-fashioned spidery script. The writing was so shaky that it was almost illegible.

“Check out the last two pages,” Mildred advised. “The last entry is for yesterday, and the one before that is for the day before. See it there? I saw the same vehicle two days in a row-a light gray minivan with California plates-and I made a note of it each time.”

“Make and model?” Brian asked.

Mildred shook her head. “I have no idea. These days all those minivans look alike to me, but all the same, you can see I took down the plate information, just to be on the safe side. I did that because I hadn’t heard that anyone on the street was expecting company, not in the middle of the summer. Sure, out-of-towners come to visit in droves in January, February, and March, but most Californians have better sense than to show up in Tucson in June or July.”

“This may or may not be related,” Brian said, “but did you happen to get a glimpse of whoever was inside?”

“Both times I saw the vehicle, there was just one person in it-the driver.”

“Man or woman?”

“Definitely a man.”

“Race?” Brian asked.

“White, I’m sure. He was going bald, so probably middle-aged. He wore glasses-well, sunglasses, anyway.”

“Other than the minivan,” Brian said, “did you notice anything else out of the ordinary?”

“No,” Mildred said. “That’s about it. Unleashed dogs wandering around, garbage cans left out on the curb that should have been taken inside, and that sort of thing. Nothing else comes to mind.”

Brian stood up, took out a business card, and gave it to her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to that next-of-kin situation, but thank you. You’ve been most helpful. If you think of anything else, though, don’t hesitate to call.”

Mildred studied his card. “You probably think I’m just a nosy old lady,” she said. “That’s what Carl would have said. He was my husband. He’s dead now, but he was always after me to mind my own business.”

Brian smiled at her. “I’m not sure how old you are,” he said, “and I’m not so sure about your being nosy, either, but believe me, in my business there are times when we need all the help we can get.”

Brian hurried out to his car. Despite what he’d told Mildred, he doubted anything would come of the license information. Just to be on the safe side, though, he pulled out his cell phone and asked Records to check it out.

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 8:00 a.m.

69º Fahrenheit

Just before Lani got off shift at 8:00 A.M. on Sunday morning, she took a detour past Angie Enos’s room, popped in briefly, just long enough to say hello. Now that Angie had been moved out of the ER, another physician was in charge of her case. The little girl was sitting up in bed eating breakfast.

Angie looked up at Lani from her dish of Lucky Charms. “Are you a leopard?” she asked.

“A leopard?” Lani asked, glancing in Dan Pardee’s direction for help. He shrugged his own bafflement.

“What makes you think I’m a leopard?” Lani asked.

“Spots,” Angie said.

Lani held up her bare arm where dozens of tiny white blemishes dotted her skin. Lani was so accustomed to them that she no longer noticed them.

“Ants,” Lani said.

Angie’s eyes widened. “Kuadagi?” she asked.

Lani nodded. “When I was little-younger than you are-the people who were supposed to be watching me left me alone for too long. I got into an ant bed and the ants bit me,” she explained. “There were so many ant bites that I almost died. I had to go to a hospital just like this one.”

“My mommy doesn’t like me to get near ants,” Angie said. “She said they can be bad.”

“It’s true,” Lani said.

She noticed that Angie still referred to her mother in the present tense. The reality of her loss had yet to sink into Angie’s little brain.

“You’re not giving Mr. Pardee or Bozo any trouble, are you?” Lani asked.

Angie looked at the Shadow Wolf in his now somewhat bedraggled Border Patrol uniform. He looked tired. A dark five o’clock shadow bristled on his cheeks, but Angie gave him a sweet smile. “Even though he’s a grown-up, he says I can call him Dan.”

“I’d take him at his word then,” Lani said. “Come to think of it, maybe I’ll call him Dan, too. But I’m going off shift now, so I probably won’t see you again.”

“Okay,” Angie said with a shy wave.

Lani went outside. An irate charge nurse was waiting for her at the end of the hall. “What’s a dog doing in that room?” she demanded. “We have no business-”

“It is our business,” Lani interrupted. “That poor little girl’s mother was murdered last night. The dog is helping take her mind off her troubles, and believe me, that’s exactly what she needs.”

“When she goes, the dog goes,” the nurse declared.

“I’m sure,” Lani agreed.

“When will she be released?”

Lani glanced at her watch. She had more than half expected that Angie’s family would have arrived overnight to check on her. She was a little surprised that they had yet to put in an appearance, but she was sure they’d be there soon.

“My understanding is that someone is supposed to come pick her up this morning,” Lani said. “One of her relatives. Next-of-kin notifications were being done last night.”

The charge nurse picked up Angie’s chart. “Do we know who’ll be picking her up?” she asked.

“My guess would be the grandparents,” Lani said. “You’ll need to sort that out with her attending. I’m off.”

Lani left the hospital then. Weariness was catching up with her. She needed to get Gabe fed and on his way home, and then she planned to go to bed herself. Fortunately she had today and tomorrow off. That would give her a chance to catch up on her sleep. It had been a busy night in the ER. Once Jose Thomas had been shipped off to Phoenix Indian, Lani had treated two maternity cases, one of which had ended with the normal delivery of the infant. The other had required an emergency C-section. By the time Lani got off work, both mothers and both newborns were doing well.

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.