Celilo's Shadow Read online

  The way Burroughs asked the question made it seem like 1956 was ancient history. At his age, it probably felt that way. To me, it felt like yesterday. Even so, I qualified what I was about to reveal. “You know,” I said, “memory is a tricky ghost. Images from past events may have faded or disappeared while others may have become larger and more significant. What seems so memorable when it happens is inevitably altered with the passage of time.”

  “So, you’re having difficulty recalling what happened?” Burroughs asked. He was clearly hopeful that he could justify cutting our session short.

  “No,” I assured him. “Anyone who lived in the area during that tension-filled summer would swear that what they remember is crystal-clear. Despite such dogged certainty, their recollection of events wouldn’t be the same. Not even close.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s the problem with eye-witness accounts. Take any ten people and they’ll see the exact same event ten different ways from Sunday.”

  I nodded. “And, in this case, some would claim the trouble all started when the schemes of a greedy salesman and his mistress spun out of control. Others would blame it on the government, the FBI, or even the Communists. More than a few would insist it was because of a beautiful teenage girl. Then there are those who would tell you they are convinced it was the fault of a hot-headed young Indian hell-bent on revenge.”

  The detective eyed me carefully. We both knew which scenario the police favored. “And you?” he asked. “What would you say?”

  “I’d say it was just an ordinary encounter on an ordinary street corner that set everything in motion...”

  Chapter One

  Summer 1956

  Antonio Rossi stood at the office window facing Front Street and lit a Camel. What he really wanted was two aspirins and a beer chaser. He felt like he’d been kicked in the head by a pissed off mule and his gut didn’t feel much better. He was used to winning at poker, and losing last night’s game stung like hell, but losing to that dumb shit sheriff was even worse. Tony was twenty-four years old. He was convinced that if he didn’t make a change soon, he was no better off than the sheriff and all the other losers in this two-bit town. He glanced at his wristwatch. Nine o’clock in the morning and it was already sizzling hot.

  As he loosened his tie, a battered, smoke-belching pickup loaded with stacks of empty cherry boxes crossed the intersection. A page from a discarded newspaper swirled out of the gutter when the truck rattled past the office. Flung upward, the dirty scrap hovered in the dusty air briefly and then floated to the sidewalk. It landed in front of a mangy dog sleeping in the slim shade of a potted maple. The dog lifted one droopy eyelid and yawned as an elderly Indian in tattered jeans and a plaid, long-sleeved wool shirt stumbled into the street. “Where the hell is everyone?” Tony grumbled. “Alls we got this morning are cherry pickers, ugly mutts, and old Injuns.”

  The Indian weaved slowly from left to right down the middle of the street. Long gray braids swung in tandem against his backside. With his head lowered, he looked like a novice dancer watching his feet for fear he’d miss-step.

  Tony smirked as he watched the Indian’s dance-walk. Another loser on display. Glancing at his Timex again, he said, “Sixty seconds. I’ll give him a full minute. If he takes less than that to get to the curb, I’ll put out this smoke and start making calls.” He grinned at Mildred hunched over her typewriter. “If the redskin doesn’t make it in time, then you and me are going to head over to Dizzy’s and order us a couple of cold ones.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Her adoring gaze was borderline worshipful which Tony took as his due. She was middle-aged and not much to look at with her frizzy gray hair and bulging hips, but she could be counted on. “Old Millie,” Tony was fond of saying, “is the perfect secretary—discreet, loyal and madly in love with me.”

  His seventeen-year-old cousin, Nick, lowered his newspaper and stole a look at the clock on the wall above Mildred’s head. She caught his eye and shrugged. “It’s gotta be five o’ clock somewhere, kiddo.”

  Another produce truck, newer and faster than the last one, took advantage of the light traffic and picked up speed as it turned onto Front Street. The signal at the intersection was yellow, but the driver barreled on through, passing Woolworth’s and Dizzy’s at a rapid, hair-raising clip. He arrived in front of Rossi’s Realty about thirty seconds into the Indian’s trek across the street. Suddenly catching sight of the unexpected pedestrian, the driver braked hard. His rig’s super-tread tires grabbed the pavement with a deep rubber-burning growl and lurched to a stop just inches short of the old man’s knees.

  The Indian spun around in a tight circle and stopped with his back to the truck.

  The truck driver sat motionless inside his cab, eyes bulging as he stared at the backside of the man he’d just missed killing.

  Meanwhile, his would-be victim didn’t seem to register the near-miss. He swayed a little, then grabbed his gut and bent over at the waist.

  “What the hell?” mouthed the truck driver, irritation overcoming shock. He slammed his fist on the horn. The booming blast caused the old man to jolt upright, wheel around and stare at the truck with a dazed expression on his wrinkled face.

  The driver poked his head out the window. “Hey, Tonto! Get the fuck outta my way!”

  Tony snorted and checked his watch. “Forty-five seconds.”

  Somehow the Indian got himself going again and stumbled over to the curb where he plopped down. Fifty-five seconds.

  The truck roared to life and sped down the street. “Damn,” Tony said, taking a last drag on his cigarette. As he crushed the butt in a nearby ashtray, he looked out the window again. It was just a reflex thing, a final glance outside before returning to work. And that’s when he saw the girl.

  She walked hand in hand with a tall, older man. If Tony had to bet on it, he’d say he was her father. Dad and his princess out for an early morning stroll through town. Tony leaned into the window to get a better look. Damn, she’s just a schoolgirl. Tony shook his head and smiled. But those tits of hers are all woman. Her skimpy white blouse left no room for doubt on that score. And then there were her short shorts. They held slender tanned legs, reminding Tony of that movie star—the one in all those Hollywood movies in the thirties. The starlet’s name escaped him, but this girl had the same kind of walk, sensual and captivating. Tony couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  The girl and her father stopped in front of a display in Goldman’s Jewelry and, after a moment, turned to cross the street. The couple both had blond hair, but his crew cut was dull and lifeless compared to the way her flowing tresses shimmered and danced in the bright sunlight. She wore her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, tied back with a pink ribbon. As she strolled across the street, the ponytail swayed from side to side like a hypnotist’s trick watch—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

  “Jesus,” Tony murmured, struggling to catch his breath.

  Mildred stopped typing and watched Tony watch the girl. Nick tossed his newspaper aside and took in the scene, too. The father and daughter—concern written on both their faces—stopped next to the Indian who was still slumped on the curb clutching his gut.

  “Gotcha!” shouted Tony. Grabbing his Stetson from the coat rack, he bolted for the door and called over his shoulder to Nick. “Hold down the fort, kid. I’ve got a live one on the line.”

  Mildred laughed and waved a hand at Nick. “Go on,” she said. “You won’t want to miss this. I’ll cover for you.”

  Nick caught up with Tony and the couple just as the old Indian, his face the color of muddy water, started moaning and rocking back and forth. The man had squatted on his haunches alongside the Indian as the girl looked on. “What’s wrong, fella?” he asked. “Can we
help you?”

  “He’s just had a little too much to drink, that’s all,” Tony said.

  The girl shaded her dark blue eyes from the sun with a cupped hand and looked at Tony. Hah, she’s sizing me up, taking my measure. Give it your best shot, Missy. He was used to having women look him over once or twice and it never failed to please him. He grinned as he shot his cuffs. Haven’t lost the old touch yet.

  Tony felt the familiar burst of energy that always kicked in when he worked his sales magic. His light-blue summer suit and white shirt set off his dark good looks perfectly. Tony knew he’d already hooked the girl; now all he had to do was get her father on his side. Thankfully, he’d remembered to straighten his new polka dot tie as he’d dashed out the office door. Things like that counted when it came to selling yourself. He never left anything to chance, even the dab of Brylcreem he’d applied earlier that morning. The potion had transformed his thick black hair into a neat, slicked-back pompadour. All part of his sales prep.

  With his headache but a distant memory, he tipped his Stetson at the girl. Addressing her companion, Tony said, “I think I know what to do.”

  “What’s that?” the man asked, standing upright. He towered over all of them in an easy, non-threatening way. He appeared to be in his forties, but held his age well. He was muscular and fit as if he’d been an athlete in his younger days and hadn’t yet told his body that he’d given up on sports.

  “All he needs is some food in his stomach and he’ll be okay.” Tony stuffed a wad of bills into the Indian’s hand. “Here, chief. Take this and go get yourself some breakfast.” The Indian looked at the money and groaned.

  “Are you sure that’s what he needs?”

  “Of course,” Tony said, striking a reassuring tone. He pointed to the sign above the office door across the street. “I’m Tony Rossi of Rossi Realty and I like helping Injuns almost as much as I like helping folks like you.”

  The man cocked an eyebrow. “Like us?”

  “Yes, indeedy,” Tony replied. “When I saw you and the young lady here stopping to see what you could do for this poor old man, I knew you were good folk. Just the kind of folk we like to have in this nice little town of ours. You are new to The Dalles, aren’t you?”

  “Matter of fact we are.” The man extended his hand to Tony. “Name’s Matthews. Sam Matthews.” He gestured to the girl. “And this is my daughter, Ellie.”

  Could he read people or what? Tony shook hands with Matthews and then his daughter. Matthews had a firm grip, but Ellie’s was more like a caress. Damn if she wasn’t caressing his hand! And right in front of her father, too. Tony gave her a knowing wink and squeezed her palm. This sale was in the bag.

  Selling was like a choreographed dance. It had a definite rhythm and pattern that when performed well, smoothly guided the client from point A to point B. The dance was purposefully timed so that when the music ended, there’d be a signature on the dotted line. Tony called it his applause line. He was well on his way to an applause-worthy performance when Nick cut in.

  “I’m Nick Rossi,” he said. “Tony’s cousin.”

  Ellie withdrew her hand from Tony’s and looked at Nick. She couldn’t have been impressed. As far as Tony was concerned, the teen was a Rossi in name only. His scrawny build, dirty blond hair and pasty complexion had to have come from his mother’s side of the family. He even had her mousy personality and limited smarts. Worse, Nick’s ill-timed introduction was a miss-step that could ruin the entire dance if not corrected.

  Tony scowled at Nick, but resisted the urge to cuff him for butting in where he wasn’t invited. “My cousin just started working for me,” he said. “The kid’s green as grass, so pay him no never mind.”

  A red flush spread across Nick’s thin neck and face. There was a moment of awkward silence until Matthews politely intervened. “Ellie and I are very glad to meet you, Nick.”

  Tony cleared his throat. “Anyways, as I was saying, I like to help newcomers get started in The Dalles. How ‘bout we all go for a little ride in my car? Be my pleasure to show you around town.”

  Sam Matthews ran a hand over the top of his crew cut and frowned.

  Tony figured him for the cautious type. Probably protective as hell of his little girl.

  “I don’t know,” Matthews said. “Ellie and I have a lot to do and-”

  “She’s right over there.” Tony pointed to a shiny red Cadillac convertible parked at the curb across the street. “It’s a limited edition, 1953 Eldorado. Only fifty-three were built in the entire country that year and I was lucky enough to get me one.” Me and my Caddy. Best sales tools in the business.

  “Nice looking automobile, Mr. Rossi, but the old guy—”

  “Listen, call me Tony. And don’t you worry none about the chief here. I’ll get Mildred—she’s my secretary—and tell her to make sure he gets something to eat.”

  “She’d do that?”

  “Absolutely. We do it all the time for these fellas.”

  Ellie had her eye on the convertible, a wistful look on her face, but she didn’t say a word. Her father put an arm around her shoulder. “Well,” he said, “maybe it’d be all right. We haven’t had time to see much of the town yet.”

  Just what Tony thought. Sam Matthews was a protective and indulgent father. “Great!” Tony said, giving a celebratory handclap. “Follow me!”

  Nick trailed after them as Tony hustled Ellie and her father across the street. As soon as he’d helped them into the car—Matthews riding shotgun and Ellie in the back—he pulled Nick aside. When they were out of earshot, he said, “I thought I told you to stay in the goddamn office.”

  Nick’s still-flushed face crumpled. “I’m sorry, Tony. I just wanted to watch you in action, that’s all.”

  “Witness the master reel one in, is that it?”

  Nick bobbed his head with renewed enthusiasm. “You betcha.”

  “Fine,” Tony said. “Just see that you keep your trap shut from now on. I’m on a roll here and I don’t need you messing things up.”

  Nick ran his thumb and forefinger across his lips in a zipping gesture. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

  His cousin was a pest but he did come in handy from time to time. “Then make yourself useful. Run on back to the office and pick up my keys and briefcase. And while you’re at it, tell Mildred to ring up Sheriff Pritchard.” He pointed to the Indian. “I want that stinkin’ bum off my street. You got that?”

  “I’m on it.”

  Tony grabbed his arm. “One more thing. Have Mildred tell Pritchard to get the money that thieving Injun stole from me.”

  Tony stood outside the vehicle and shot the breeze with Sam Matthews while waiting for Nick. He focused on Matthews, but managed to sneak a look or two at Ellie nestled on the seat in the back. She’d slipped off her sandals, curled her slender legs underneath her and closed her eyes. Tony figured she’d probably never been in a car like his—a flashy spit-and-polish rag top with a wrap-around windshield, whitewall tires, tail fins, and sparkling chrome. Then the new car smell. Three years old and his pride and joy still smelled like he’d just driven it off the lot. The Caddy was a real beauty, no doubt about it. But this girl . . . well, this girl cuddled up on the soft leather seat made it a show stopper. The image had him so distracted that he missed Matthews’s question.

  “Huh? What was that?”

  “I just asked you if—”

  Tony’s attention shifted abruptly when he spotted his cousin. “About time you got here,” he snapped. “Toss me the keys and hop in.”

  As soon as Nick was aboard, Tony put the Cadillac in gear and pulled away from the curb, tires squealing. The sights he pointed o
ut to Matthews and his daughter passed by in a blur: St. Peters Catholic Church, Granada Theater, Masonic Lodge, Recreation Bowl, the junior and senior high schools. The stated purpose of their little jaunt through town was to familiarize them with the area. At this speed, The Dalles wouldn’t be anything more than a vague notion, but Tony didn’t give it a thought. The tour was just an intro—a mere warm-up act for the main event.

  As Tony drove, his eyes drifted to the rear-view mirror. Sometime during the tour, Ellie had plucked the ribbon from her ponytail, abandoning her hair-do to the whims of the wind as it rushed past her in the open convertible. Her full lips were touched with a hint of red lipstick, but it was a little black mole at the corner of her mouth that gave her face a sexy look. Paired with her youthful-appearing dimples, the effect was mesmerizing. Ellie had that rare combination of womanly beauty and childlike innocence that stirred Tony unlike anything he’d ever experienced. When she caught him ogling her, she smiled playfully and then quickly turned her head away. You little vixen!

  A honking horn jolted Tony’s attention back to the road. Somehow, he’d managed to pass through an intersection on a red light, narrowly missing a station wagon. He exhaled sharply and glanced at the grimace etched on Matthews’s face. “Whew! That was close,” Tony said. Chuckling, he added, “But no harm, no foul.”

  Tony turned right at the grain elevator near the city limits and shifted into second gear to climb a short hill. As soon as they’d reached the crest, he shook out a Camel from a pack in his suit pocket and offered it to Matthews. “No? Well, it’s my last one anyway,” he said, steering with one hand while retrieving the dashboard lighter with the other. The cigarette clung to his lower lip as he talked. “You know, Sam, you couldn’t have picked a better time to move to Oregon. To The Dalles. Yessiree, The Dalles is the best place in the whole state to raise a family.”