CHAPTER 1: AND IT’S MURDER

AND IT’S MURDER

Summer, northern Arizona Hopi Reservation, Hotevilla

The three of them stood in silence as an expectant hush came over the village, and in the distance a gentle tinkling sound floated on the summer breeze to mix with the lone buzz of a fly. High in the sky, a hazy Arizona sun gave the pueblos an almost buttery hue. Both of the observers standing with Jessica on the roof looked in anticipation to the east, and she shifted her gaze in the same direction.

“They’ll come to the plaza through the alley to your right,” her husband Alex whispered into her ear. His eclectic accent came from the many languages he spoke, and it gave an artistic twist to his words. He stood behind her, tall and shading her from the summer heat. He always allowed his dark hair to grow too long and it now tangled in the breeze while he looked down at her with a smile, his teeth white against his tanned skin.

It was a tradition in the small Hopi village they were visiting, for those attending the dances to stand on the flat pueblo roofs of the village. Today’s dance was well attended so the three of them were surrounded by other observers who had made the long trip to this remote village to observe this ancient dance.

“Rachel never came to the Kachina Dances,” Mac, a longtime friend of her husband’s, said suddenly, “she was far too much of a lady.” He swiped under his eye and Jessica wasn’t certain if it was a tear or sweat. Whatever it was, the comment met with silence from herself and Alex.

Jessica realized she felt the usual companion of jealousy standing just behind her, a cold hand on her shoulder, horrible and mean. It always visited her when anyone mentioned Rachel, her husband’s dead first wife. She stayed brave and glanced up at her husband now, seeing the usual reaction on his handsome face; pale and tight-lipped silence.

Rachel had died over a year ago, but in the six months Jessica had known her husband, she’d come to discover that he still loved his achingly beautiful first wife, who died long before she’d met him. His reaction was always the same; he hated anyone bringing up the past. She felt certain it was her job to help him forget, or their marriage of three months would not survive.

After a bit, she began to wonder if she should have brought a hat to protect her from the Arizona desert sun. Almost everyone around her was Hopi, and she was sure none of them felt the heat like she did with her light hair and pale skin.

Mac, standing opposite of her husband, touched her shoulder just where the jealousy and fear had a moment earlier. She felt a shiver go down her spine.

“I saw someone I need to talk to,” he said quietly. “I’ll come back up and join the two of you at the end of this dance. Do you mind?”

He was an anthropologist, like her husband, and had tagged along with them for the day. Now they bargained to meet him at their truck on a break, and Jessica caught a glimpse of his blonde head as he climbed off the roof and down the ancient ladder. He soon disappeared into the crowd.

They were on the Hopi Reservation in northern Arizona, attending the home Dance in the village of Hotevilla on Second Mesa. It was an annual religious dance where the Native American people of the village said good-bye to the Kachinas; the Hopi’s spiritual beings that they believed took physical appearance during the growing season. Today’s dance was giving them a sendoff after the long winter and spring months. The Hopi believed that the Kachinas were on a trip back to their home on the thirteen-thousand-foot San Francisco Peaks that rose out of the Arizona desert over a hundred miles away.

Jessica’s eye caught a blaze of color coming through the crowd in the street below. Holding her breath, she watched from her perch on the roof as a line of at least fifteen Kachinas came into the village plaza just below them. The gentle tinkling she’d heard earlier came from bells that were attached to their knee-high leggings. This was her first glimpse of the famous Kachinas and she wasn’t disappointed. Each dancer wore a large wooden mask that completely covered the head. The masks were artistically painted white, accented with brilliant turquoise, black and red. From the top sprouted feathers and pine twigs, and a bushy, pine-bough collar graced each of the dancer’s shoulders.

After entering the small plaza, which was nothing more than a dirt-floored space between four different mud buildings, all of the dancers formed a circle and stood in silent expectation. An elder white-haired man, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, sprinkled each Kachina and spoke so quietly that Jessica found herself leaning dangerously over the edge of the roof, trying to catch his words.

“He’s blessing them with corn,” Alex told her softly in explanation. Both of them were Buddhists, but still very interested in other religions in the world.

Looking back into the square, she saw that the Kachinas stood motionless for a few moments as the elder’s voice spoke on, dusting each dancer.

Alex spoke to her quietly, his attention on the dancers, “I’m thirsty. I’m going to the truck to get some water. You don’t mind, do you?”

She smiled up at him and admired his dark hair tangling in the light breeze. “That’s ok, I can wait. You should hurry though.”

Without another comment, he gave her a quick kiss, then left her and followed Mac’s route off the roof with a brief wave and a quick “I’ll be right back.”

She watched his head with dark, shinny hair, bob along through the crowd below her. He stood heads taller than all the natives lining the way, so she was able to watch his progress until he disappeared around a corner.

After Alex’s departure, she stood for several minutes watching the activity in the plaza, shifting from foot to foot. She was totally clueless as to what the dancers were doing, and without Alex to explain the intricate ceremony, she felt lost.

With a sudden decision made, she turned and made her way to the ladder, deciding to follow Alex to the truck. She wanted a hat to shade her head from the sun anyway, and she knew she’d rather see the dance with him there.

On the ground, she began her walk to the truck, suddenly a little uncertain of her route. She remembered the blue screen door and a pile of juniper wood stacked against a brown adobe wall with a plastic truck in the dirt next to it. Hadn’t Alex made a joke about the truck on their way down this same alley earlier that morning?

As she turned the corner of a pueblo that had been sheared up with chicken wire and mud, she noticed a rangy man leaning against the wall of an adjacent alley. He was looking directly at her from beneath the rim of a bright red ball cap. As soon as she’d looked his way, he’d stood away from the wall, taking his hands from his pockets. He looked Native American, but his features were more elongated than a Hopi, and because of that she thought that he didn’t look as if he belonged.

Walking in the deserted dirt alley, keeping in the buildings’ shadow, she moved toward the south side of the village. Glancing instinctively behind her, Jessica saw that the stranger had begun following her. His hands were jammed back in his pockets, and his long, stringy hair flopped in a breeze that made its way between the buildings.

Uncertain if the stranger’s path just happened to match her own, Jessica casually turned down another back alley, the thought of meeting Alex forgotten. The man followed her route, and she then knew that he had singled her out as a target. He had picked up his pace, and was gaining ground, directly meeting her eye as she looked nervously over her shoulder. She felt a little snap of fear, but thought she must be wrong. Why would anyone follow her?

Deciding that her immediate need was to get back to the crowd, she picked up her pace. She tried to judge where the plaza was from the sound of the chanting and drums that came to her from a distance. She could hear the dancers’ chants rise up and fall, the sound bouncing off the pueblo walls and confusing her sense of direction. The song would build to a peak, hesitate, almost dwindle and then suddenly begin to gain momentum, the volume creating echoes all around her.

She was beginning to realize that she was very alone in a village where she knew no one, and the vulnerability it gave her was not welcomed. She wasn’t sure why the man was following her, but he had left an impression of acne scars and greasy hair. She began to sweat from her rapid walk, and her breathing became labored. Now she was pissed-off and gave a brief thought to turning on the man and challenging him outright.

She gave a darted look behind her once more before turning another corner toward what she hoped was the plaza, and saw that her stalker was almost upon her. Not only that, but she had seen something glint in his right hand, now low at his side. She had this terrifying thought that it might be a knife, and the image of the cold steel in her ribs caused her to almost stumble in her hurry.

She told herself that she was being ridiculous, but she still broke into a trot, skidding a little in the dirt as she took a left turn down another small alley. Just as she rounded the corner, the sound of the chanting came full force, and she realized she’d made it to the plaza with the dancers and a crowd of onlookers.

Pushing her way into the throng, she didn’t hesitate to begin a path to the other side of the plaza. She quickly turned to see that her follower had slowed, but the crowd had not stopped his progress. The chanting and the beat of the drums had risen to a feverish pitch, much louder now that she was right in the mix.

The rhythm played in Jessica’s chest, along with her racing heart, still accelerated from her run. She clenched her teeth, feeling the grittiness left by the dust that rose from the dancers as they stamped in a circle around the plaza. They were so close that she could hear the grunts and overworked breathing as they labored around her under the tremendous weight of the masks. She had an intense impression of large, sweating bodies covered in rusty red grease paint, decorated with white markings. The sound of the rattles and the vibration of each foot tromping with the sharp tinkle of the bells sounded loud in her ears. The dancers’ aura filled the square, their strength and presence was striking. Jessica felt small and jarringly out of place, and she knew the man following her was close and in pursuit behind her.”