Celilo's Shadow Page 15

  “That’s Leonard now,” Clarice said. “Sit tight while I let him in.”

  Judging by the sheriff’s startled expression at the sight of Nick’s lifeless body sprawled face-down on the office floor, Clarice hadn’t mentioned the shooting when she called him. “What in blue blazes have you done now?” he said, eying Tony.

  “Ask Clarice. She’s running this show.”

  Clarice filled him in on what had happened. “So, as you can see, Leonard, we need your help.”

  Pritchard shook his head and folded his ropy arms across his chest. “Not on your life. I went along with your little stunt at the bluff ‘cuz you assured me it would be a done deal by the time I got there. Only it didn’t quite work out that way, did it? Now I got a do-gooder on my ass.” He pointed a thumb at Nick’s body. “This here’s first- degree murder. And I’m an officer of the law, in case you forgot.”

  Clarice’s brown eyes flashed darker. “You can drop the righteous attitude. In case you forgot, we’re the reason you have any money to keep feeding your habit.”

  The sheriff bristled at Clarice’s not so subtle reminder of his failings. He was a loser at poker and just about every betting game invented, but he couldn’t stop gambling. His losses would’ve sunk him if Clarice hadn’t stepped in with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  “How many times are you going to bring that up?”

  “As many times as it takes for you to realize that your future solvency depends greatly on my future.” She looked over at Tony for the first time since her exchange with Pritchard began. “And his future, too.”

  Tony grinned at the sheriff and then winced as a sharp pain shot through his jaw. He had to hand it to Clarice. She knew just what to say when it counted the most. Despite Tony’s initial misgivings, Clarice had been right to recruit Pritchard in the Destiny Group. They actually made a good team: Tony located the properties to flip, Clarice did the appraisals for the bank and got Warren to approve the loans for their straw “buyers”, and Sheriff Pritchard made sure the courthouse records were doctored to their advantage. It was a nifty setup that did little to cheer Tony now. They were in big trouble and he felt way out of his league. The sheriff might be a loser, but he was no pushover. Clarice had thrown Tony the ball and now he had to run with it. Rubbing his jaw, he said, “There’s also another matter to consider. You owe me a thousand big ones.” Poker wasn’t Tony’s best game, but he managed to win more than he lost when playing with Pritchard.

  Pritchard looked surprised, then angry. “I owe you squat!”

  “Wrong,” said Tony.

  “That debt was supposed to be settled once I took care of things at the bluff.”

  Clarice laughed without a trace of mirth. “Ha! You took care of nothing.” She joined Tony and rested her hand on his shoulder. “We had a deal and you blew it. Speaking of which, what were you thinking by dragging someone up there with you?”

  “It shouldn’t have mattered,” Pritchard said. “If George had been killed in the wreck like you’d planned, Matthews’ presence would’ve been no big deal. But you failed to get the S.O.B. drunk enough to drive over the cliff.” He shook his head disgustedly. “You should’ve plied him with the rotgut he was used to swigging instead of that high-class shit. No wonder he wouldn’t drink any of it.” Folding his arms across his chest again, he smirked, “Knocking him out and pouring the booze all over him was really brilliant. No, it seems to me that you two were the ones who blew that little caper.”

  The man’s arrogance was astounding. “Shut up, you stupid prick!” shouted Tony.

  “Yeah,” Pritchard said, “I’ve been stupid all right. Doctoring courthouse records made sense, but going along with that so-called accident you rigged up was a mistake. And now you want me to cover your back for a murder? I’m not that stupid!”

  Clarice eyed Pritchard a moment. “How much?”

  “Lucky for you I’m not greedy. A couple of C-notes for my trouble should do just fine.” He looked at Tony. “And my debt to you is paid in full—like we already agreed.”

  Tony sprang to his feet and immediately regretted it. Every muscle in his body ached. “You blackmailing S.O.B.!” he cursed through clenched teeth.

  Clarice gently pushed him back into the chair. “There’s no need to resort to name calling. We accept your terms, Leonard. Of course, we have just one little stipulation.”

  He eyed Clarice warily. “What’s that?”

  “This payment is a one-time only thing. It changes nothing about the Destiny Group split. If you squeeze us for any more dough, then I’ll be the one doing some name calling.”

  Tony groaned. Did she think a little name calling was going to shut this loser up?”

  “What do you think, Leonard?” Clarice prodded. “You ever wonder what names people might call you? Especially if they knew the real reason why your wife left?”

  This line of attack made no sense to Tony. The story he’d heard about Pritchard’s wife was that Lydia hated The Dalles and when the sheriff wouldn’t move to Portland, she left without him. End of boring marriage. End of boring story. “What do you mean, the real story? Tony asked.

  “Don’t, Clarice,” Pritchard whined. “Please.”

  “Poor Leonard,” Clarice said. “It’s such a sad, sad tale. Seems our sheriff’s little woman had an itch hubby couldn’t scratch. So, she ran off with someone who could—a big virile brave from Celilo.”

  Despite his injuries, Tony clutched his gut and hooted. “Oh, man. No wonder you hate Injuns so much.”

  Sheriff Pritchard shouted. “Stop it!”

  Tony and Clarice exchanged satisfied looks. The ruthless kitten had Pritchard by the balls and he knew it. He owed his re-election success to their flag-waving on his behalf. A little racy gossip about his wife and the Celilo bunch and he wouldn’t get elected Dogcatcher. If they didn’t need him to help with this new mess or to fix papers at the courthouse a while longer, Sheriff Leonard Pritchard could kiss his job good-bye right now.

  Pritchard’s shoulders drooped in defeat. “Okay, okay. I give up. But not because I’m afraid of what people will say about me. You have your big plans for blowing this town when you get enough dough together and so do I.”

  Tony took in this news with a sneer. He could just imagine what big plans the sheriff had in mind: a high stakes poker game seven days a week. His stash would be wiped out faster than he could say “deal ‘em.”

  “So,” Sheriff Pritchard said to Clarice, “what exactly do you want me to do this time?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was Danny’s idea to raid the Pioneer Cemetery and the others jumped on it. Walter said it would send a more powerful message than anything else they’d done so far. Danny agreed, but complained that a message wouldn’t stop anything. The dam would still be built and their ancestors would still be dug up and tossed into a mass grave without regard for their beliefs or customs. “Look at it this way,” Walter said with an impish grin. “Destroying the graves of the white man’s ancestors will be a shitload of fun.” Danny laughed along with Henry and Ernie but warned that they were more likely to experience a shitload of trouble. Walter assured him that they had nothing to worry about. “We’ve got some powerful people behind our cause now.” Danny had pushed him for more details but Walter was vague about who these supposedly powerful people were or how he knew them. He claimed that the only detail that counted was that they had money and were willing to spend it to destroy the dam. “They’ve got plans that make our protest look like nothing more than a spoiled kid’s tantrum.”

  How those plans involved Walter and Danny remained unclear. Danny wasn’t a worrier by nature, but until he knew more about the plans and who was behind them, he’d
remain cautious. The only people with money that he knew about were white people—and that was reason enough to be concerned. “You’ve gotta let go of that kind of thinking and learn to trust,” Walter told him.

  “Trusting white people is a big risk for us. Always has been and always will be,” Danny countered. Walter knew that as well as he did.

  “Big risk brings big reward,” Walter said. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ve set up a meet after the Memory Feast tonight. You can judge for yourself whether they are trustworthy or not.”

  Since he had some time to kill before the feast, Danny decided to check out the Pioneer Cemetery. The guys wanted to make a midnight raid later in the week and Danny liked to be prepared. Walter didn’t think a scouting trip was necessary but told him where the two-acre plot was located. He said there wouldn’t be anyone around during the day to bother him and he could look around all he wanted. Nighttime was a different story. “White kids like to hang out at the cemetery to drink and make out. Scaring them off will be a hoot,” Walter said.

  A small sign at the entrance on East Scenic Drive indicated that the pioneers’ graveyard was established in 1860, which was practically yesterday compared to how long the burial grounds on Memaloose and Graves Islands had existed for the tribes who fished along the Columbia River. No sign indicated how many centuries ago his ancestors’ final resting place had been established. Everyone knew it was ancient. And, unlike the whites who’d abandoned the pioneers for a newer cemetery in town, the tribes still buried their loved ones alongside their ancestors.

  It was just a short trek across the roadway where he’d parked to the wrought-iron entry gate, but the brief exertion in the hot sun left him feeling bone-tired. Sweat quickly pooled between his shoulder blades and dotted his brow. Hot weather was bothersome but it wasn’t the root cause of his discomfort. Anger for a constant companion was just as physically draining as it was energizing. Worse, continuing to fight without achieving victory was demoralizing. As strange as the idea seemed, joining forces with Walter’s white partners might be what it took to win the fight.

  As he paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he was struck by how eerily quiet the cemetery seemed. Not even a chirping bird or chattering squirrel broke the silence. It made him feel uneasy. Since he didn’t have any respect for white people, he didn’t think dead white people would be any different, but he wondered now if the trespass he intended was a good idea. Disturbing the dead had consequences. White or Indian, a graveyard was a sacred, spiritual place. He didn’t belong here anymore than the government belonged on Indian grounds. But, as he reminded himself, that was the whole point: Demolish the pioneer cemetery so the whites would see how wrong their government was to do the same to his ancestors’ final resting place. The cause was justified and remembering that fact was enough for Danny to shake off any doubts or unease he had about today’s scouting trip. With renewed resolve, he opened the unlocked gate and walked onto the grounds.

  He estimated that there were about 200 or so graves in the cemetery. Some had large, ornate markers with elaborate inscriptions while others were plain and non-descript. Most were in decent condition but a few tombstones were cracked and barely standing. The grounds seemed well maintained except for a few broken beer bottles and cigarette butts scattered about. Walter said that white kids didn’t honor their ancestors and the debris they’d left behind proved that he was right.

  Danny hadn’t expected that he would recognize any of the pioneer names, but one large monument for Judge Joseph Garner Wilson (1826-1873) caught his attention. Danny had driven by a school called Joseph G. Wilson on the way to the cemetery, which he figured must have been named for the former judge. He’d just stopped to read the inscription on his headstone when some movement in the distance caught his eye.

  Danny felt his heart thumping furiously as he tried to make sense of what appeared to be an apparition gliding rapidly across the grounds. Danny’s grandfather said he often felt the presence of departed souls when visiting their loved ones’ graves. Oscar said the dead would sometimes appear in the form of animals or other images and Danny’s initial thought was exactly that—he’d seen a departed soul in the form of an angel.

  He would later attribute the vision to a trick played by the blinding sunlight. For as the spirit-angel drew closer, he realized it was just a girl. No, two girls. They were dressed in nearly identical outfits but they didn’t resemble each other at all. One was a short and skinny redhead who struggled to keep pace with the determined gait of a long-legged blonde in the lead. Even from a distance, he could tell the tall girl was pretty. Or, what he assumed most guys would call pretty. In Danny’s opinion, white girls were too pale, too fragile, and too silly. Not to mention stuck-up and bossy. He figured this girl wouldn’t be any different. She certainly wasn’t an illusion as he’d first thought. No, she was as real as the redhead who scrambled after her. Still, there was something about her that seemed spectral or other-worldly. To his surprise, Danny hoped that she’d see him and . . . and what? Stop and chat? Absurd as that thought was, it was exactly what he hoped would happen. He wanted more than anything to find out who she was, why she seemed so different, and why she made his heart beat so fast.

  Still unaware of his presence, the girls walked single-file along what appeared to be a well-worn path from the back of the graveyard to the entrance gate. As they approached him, Danny was convinced his heart would jump out of his chest. Up close, the blonde was even prettier than he’d first thought. When she spotted him, she stopped so abruptly that the redhead almost ran into her. “Who are you?” she demanded. Her tone was arrogant and as off-putting as the stink-eye look she gave him.

  The redhead spoke up before Danny had a chance to respond. “Oh, my gosh! That’s Danny Longstreet.”

  It was clear his name meant nothing to the blonde. Her eyes never left Danny as she asked, “Who?”

  “Danny Longstreet,” the redhead repeated. She lowered her voice and cupped her hand to partially cover her mouth as she leaned toward her friend’s ear. “He’s the baddest of the bad Indians!”

  Despite her efforts, Danny could hear perfectly well. That was all it took to snap him out of his trance-like state. He was disgusted with himself for getting so worked up, spooked even—over a mere girl, of all things! If Walter knew how he’d reacted, he would never let him live it down. “Yep, that’s me,” Danny said, staring boldly at the girls. “Big bad Indian boy. Better run for the hills!”

  The redhead looked ready to skedaddle as fast as her short little legs could carry her but her friend just giggled. Most girls squealed like baby pigs in trouble when they giggled but she had a delightful, almost melodious laugh. “And just what is a big bad Indian boy doing in a pioneer cemetery?” she asked with an amused grin.

  The redhead groaned.

  “What’s her problem?” asked Danny.

  The blonde shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

  Danny shook his head. “Girls. They’re all the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If they aren’t mouthin’ off at you, they’re giving you the silent treatment.”

  “And I suppose you’ve had a lot of experience with girls?”

  “Enough to know they’re trouble.”

  The redhead had heard enough. “Not us! We’re no trouble at all. In fact, we were just leaving.” She tugged on her friend’s arm. “Let’s go!”

  As they hurried toward the gate, the blonde looked over her shoulder at him and gave a friendly wave. “Bye, Danny Longstreet.”

  A wide grin spread across his face. “Hey,” he called after her. “What’s your name?” When she didn’t answer, he shouted, “So it’s the silent treatment, huh? I took you for the mouthin’ off type.”

  Chapt
er Sixteen

  Dessa had never been to Celilo. Her mother said the village was a filthy, stinking, fly-infested dump littered with dilapidated shacks, abandoned junkers, mangy dogs, and grubby little kids running wild. Not a proper place for a young girl. However, when Mr. Matthews asked if Dessa could come with him and Ellie to a special feast at the village, she suddenly had a change of heart. “Why, how thoughtful of you to invite Odessa. She would be delighted to go.” Maureen blathered on and on about the cultural opportunity that such an event would provide the girls in a lame attempt to appear unprejudiced. Dessa was relieved when Mr. Matthews stopped the flow of her mother’s hollow platitudes by tipping his hat and making a polite, but quick getaway.

  It wasn’t surprising that her mother agreed to the outing. Maureen had been disappointed (angry) that the girls hadn’t gone to the sock hop. She was convinced that any activity in which Ellie was involved would be beneficial to Dessa’s popularity. Celilo seemed like a stretch in that regard, but Dessa didn’t argue the point. She couldn’t wait to see for herself what the village was like and already had a headline in mind for her next newsletter: Hillcrest Girls Attend Celilo Feast.

  They rode to Celilo crammed together in the cab of Mr. Matthews’ pickup. He often let the girls ride in the back but he said the truck bed was too dirty for them today. He didn’t want them to get their pretty sundresses ruined, which was a nicer way of saying no. On the way to the village, Ellie was her usual bubbly self. She’d been so mad after Dessa’s crack about Tony Rossi and his skanky girlfriend that she wouldn’t even talk to her on the walk home from town. Dessa wasn’t used to keeping her opinions to herself but it was clear that any disapproval of Tony Rossi, direct or implied, would not be tolerated. As difficult as a zipped lip would be, Dessa was determined to comply. She didn’t want to give Ellie a reason to quit illustrating the Hillcrest newsletter, but even more than that, she didn’t want to lose her friendship. The latest flare-up notwithstanding, the girls were becoming good friends all on their own. And that was a surprise to Dessa.