Whitehorse Part 18

He danced. And danced. Spun. Dipped. Leaped. His voice rose and fell, odd choppy words that made no sense to Leah. Grunts, cries, shouts. His arms outstretched like eagle wings as his bare feet kicked up dust, making him appear as if he were soaring through clouds. And as he chanted and danced, it seemed to Leah that the beat of drums and the birdlike warbling of flutes rang out a rhythm as steady as a heartbeat from the dark sky, along with the singsong rise and fall of ghostly voices that chanted along with him.

Ghosts. Spirits-Gans, as the Apache called them. as the Apache called them.

Leah believed in neither. It was only the play of firelight and dust and the first streaks of daylight creeping in scarlet waves over the eastern mountain peaks that formed the shapes of dancing men in fierce headdresses and buckskin masks, their dark eyes peering out at her through the slits in the colorful hides as they moved in unison around the firelight. No doubt if she looked back into the black inipi she would see herself asleep still, her head lying on her jeans, her body curled up under Johnny's shirt and shivering with cold, and she would realize that she was dreaming. Just dreaming.

Johnny chanted to the awakening sky, his arms outstretched, the eagle feathers fluttering in the clash of cold and warm air as the sun rose higher. Blood-red and burning it filled up the sky, dwarfing the earth, turning the mountains into hills and the sky into a scarlet mirror. He became a black silhouette against the fiery shield, a speck of dust upon the universe, yet his voice rose as clear as bells on a soundless Sunday morning.

Then it was over. As the last of the sun's red flood drained into yellow, Johnny stopped dancing and his voice fell silent. Wearily, facing the sun, his head fallen back, he dropped his arms to his sides and slowly fell to his knees.

Leah dragged her jeans on, then, tossing Johnny's shirt aside, slid her blouse on and clumsily b.u.t.toned it. She felt around for her shoes, then crawled from the inipi into the sunlight that was fast becoming brilliant enough to blind her. She was forced to squint in order to determine that Johnny was no longer there.

"It's time to go," came his voice.

She looked around.

Astride the painted horse, he looked down at her, his face gaunt, his eyes hollow. Beneath the white paint on his cheeks, his skin looked ashen.

Johnny held his hand out to her. She moved stiffly to the horse and took his hand. He swung her up behind him, and as he turned the animal down the trail Leah wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his back, the vision of his dancing before the burning red sun still vivid in her mind.

FIFTEEN.

The funeral service for Dolores was held at the reservation's Catholic church, erected a century before by Father Albert Raun, who had hoped to flush heathenism from the Apache spirit. However, the only Apache to grace the small congregation on that day was Dolores herself, closed inside her rosewood coffin that Johnny's agent had picked out at d.i.c.kenson's Funeral Home the day before.

The scattering of attendees were from the television station where she worked. Johnny suspected they were there out of duty more than real grief and respect for a colleague. Dolores had stepped on a lot of toes while establishing her name and reputation as a top-notch reporter. He suspected there were more than a few of her peers who would leave the service and celebrate with Dom Perignon.

"So where the h.e.l.l is her family?" Edwin whispered as Johnny moved up the church aisle, toward the open doors where the sounds of excited reporters and fans sounded like revelers awaiting the pa.s.sing of floats during Mardi Gras.

Johnny put on his dark gla.s.ses and glanced around the church. "The Apache believe in burying their dead at night. They'll come for her later."

"Maybe we should leave through the back entrance."

"And make me look guiltier than I already do? I don't think so."

The bodyguards moved in around Johnny as he stepped from the church. The sea of faces and cameras surged like an incoming tide toward the steps, shouts, and the buzz and click of cameras drowning out Edwin's comments and the orders he barked at the bodyguards as he elbowed his way through a line of police and a group of teenage girls who had managed to get beyond the barricade.

As the limo door swung open, Johnny got into the dark car and sank into the seats as the outside noise became muted by the insulated steel wrapped around him.

Ted Weir, the a.s.sistant district attorney, had remained in the limo throughout the services. Sitting next to Johnny, he gazed out at the pushing, shoving crowd and shook his head, grinning. "d.a.m.n. Who would have thought it, huh? When the two of us played football in school I figured you'd go on to college on a football scholarship and then come back to work on the slopes if you didn't make it in the pros. Me? I figured I might make it through school by the skin of my teeth and come back to Doso and work at my old man's auto parts shop. Now here we are: you the hottest hunk in the country and me humping to bust crackheads and child molesters."

The car eased through the crowd as Johnny continued to search the faces that peered back at him, eager for a glimpse of their idol but unable to see anything but the reflection of their own hopeful expressions.

"You know, Johnny, keeping shut mouth about this investigation is only gonna get harder. And frankly, I'm surprised that the boss is even going along with it."

"Phil Singer is thinking about his own a.s.s, Ted. If he comes out and informs the media that Senator Foster is being investigated for murdering Dolores and attempting to murder me, he's going to feel more heat than the O. J. Simpson jury."

"Let's face it. Not every day a state senator is accused of murder. This could be just another of your ploys to cover your b.u.t.t and at the same time bring the man down for what he's done regarding the reservation's resort and casino issue."

"Dolores had proof of Foster's involvement with Formation Media. Foster found out about it and tried to have us both killed."

"Dolores had had proof. Whatever proof she had burned up in that car wreck, Johnny. If Senator Foster was somehow involved in your accident he got exactly what he wanted. He destroyed your evidence and has made you look like a reckless crackhead." proof. Whatever proof she had burned up in that car wreck, Johnny. If Senator Foster was somehow involved in your accident he got exactly what he wanted. He destroyed your evidence and has made you look like a reckless crackhead."

"My blood tests will prove otherwise."

"So what? h.e.l.l, you could just as easily have been Dolores's supplier." Ted shrugged. "One very positive side note. You have no history of drug usage. Right?"

Johnny looked back out the window, at the businesses crowded with tourists, men wearing Bermuda shorts with cameras hanging from long straps around their necks and women whose faces were partially hidden under straw-brimmed hats or visors. They glanced curiously at the limo as it crept through the traffic.

"Right, Johnny?" Ted repeated.

"Right," he finally replied.

Inspector Chuck Parker had put on forty pounds since the night he'd tackled Johnny out near White Sands. Johnny had always suspected that Officer Parker had done much to dissuade the irate Texan, whose Cadillac and girlfriend Johnny had hijacked on a whim, from pressing charges of auto theft against him. Parker's hair had thinned and grayed and he'd grown a substantial mustache that exaggerated the puffiness of his cheeks. By the looks of his red eyes and flushed face, Johnny suspected high blood pressure. His weight wouldn't help matters.

Parker put a cup of hot black coffee in front of Johnny, then took a seat across the table, next to Robert Anderson, Johnny's attorney.

Johnny sipped at the steaming java, and winced. "Still tastes like old gym socks, Parker."

"I thought you'd appreciate it, Johnny. Brings back old memories, huh?"

"There were times I thought you were going to feed me this stuff intravenously."

"Anything to get your head straight." Parker sat back in his chair and laced his fat fingers over his belly. "I hoped we'd never see you back in this place."

"Thirteen years is a long time to go without getting in trouble, you gotta admit."

"This is hardly petty stuff, is it?"

"Hardly," Anderson joined in. He tapped the table with one finger as he studied Parker's face. "Are you arresting my client, Inspector? If not, why are we here?"

"Thought you'd like to know that forensics has possible proof that someone ran you off of that road, like you said. They've located gouge marks and sc.r.a.pes on the driver's side of the car that would indicate a collision of some sort with another automobile. There are also dents in the back fender, as well as broken taillights. They'll take paint samples-"

"The car was black. You don't need paint samples to determine that," Johnny pointed out.

"Okay. You want to tell me again why you think Foster is behind this?"

"Who the h.e.l.l else has reason to shut me and Dolores up?"

"Granted, you've been pretty vocal about your displeasure of his handling the gambling issue. But, h.e.l.l, Johnny. That's an ongoing argument that, while hot, is hardly enough to warrant murder."

"Since Foster took office he's been an opponent of reservation casino gambling in this state. He feels it gives the Native Americans too much power. G.o.d forbid the sickening unemployment on these reservations gets wiped out. G.o.d forbid families have the money to feed and clothe their children properly. Educate the Indians and they're liable to vote him out of office and shut down his aspirations of running for president."

Johnny shoved his coffee away. "A little too convenient that he suddenly does an about-face after the resort went belly up and reverted to Formation Media. Now he's supposed to invite statewide gambling because he thinks it's a good good thing for the people?" He shook his head. "There's not much hope of the Native Americans becoming involved considering we all lost our b.u.t.ts on the Apache Casino and Resort." thing for the people?" He shook his head. "There's not much hope of the Native Americans becoming involved considering we all lost our b.u.t.ts on the Apache Casino and Resort."

"Lot of folks feel that gambling corrupts."

"So do poverty and ignorance and sickness."

Parker sat forward, his elbows propped on the table. He toyed with a book of matches and remained silent for a while. Finally, he said, "Let me get this straight. You think Foster took a bribe from Formation Media to stall the construction completion on the resort long enough so the resort was unable to open in time; therefore, the resort consortium was unable to make their loan payment to Formation, who then acted on the loan default and took control of the development. Somehow Dolores found the proof that she needed to link Foster to Formation; he learned about it and attempted to kill you both-or had someone do it for him."

Parker looked skeptical. "That makes no sense. With the shutdown of construction on that project, Formation has lost its a.s.s. Why would Formation shoot itself in the foot?"

"Insurance," Anderson provided.

"Not good enough." Johnny shook his head. "Insurance wouldn't provide a profit. They would be lucky to get back what they had already spent." Johnny pushed back his chair and stood up. He proceeded to pace. "Formation is a giant in resort development. Eight of the last six mega-resorts have been developed and financed by Formation: Toronto, Vegas, Atlantic City. Over the last five years they've gobbled up the compet.i.tion by buying out the New York-New York and the Bellagio before it even completed construction. In Atlantic City they moved in on the Trump Taj Mahal and Harrah's. There were rumors that they attempted to bully their way into Branson, but it didn't happen. They want tight control over major compet.i.tion. Maybe they thought that the Apache resort would ultimately cut into the Vegas traffic. Or maybe they decided the resort was too ripe a plum not to own it one hundred percent. Either way, they got to Foster. Maybe they promised to finance his next election. Or, more important, his bid for the presidency. I know for a fact that there is only one thing Foster worships more than money, and that's power. He'd sell his soul to eternal d.a.m.nation if he thought it would buy him the White House."

"We have to find Dolores's contact," Anderson said.

"That might be tough," Parker replied. "If he suspects that the cause of the wreck was intentional ... he's not likely to put himself in jeopardy again."

Johnny looked around, frowning. "If he's smart he's left the country. If Foster was aware that Dolores had discovered he's dirty by way of a snitch, then he must also know who the snitch is. All the more reason we sit on this information a while longer. No way we should allow the press to think this incident was anything more than an accident."

Parker drank his coffee and continued to watch Johnny. "Dolores never hinted about her contact? Never gave you any indication who was feeding her information?"

"She wanted all the glory to herself. She saw it as a way to get her out of Ruidoso and into the big time. I also think she was protecting her source." Johnny gave Parker a thin smile. "Which makes me think her source was someone closer to her than I ever suspected. Dolores wasn't above tossing a baby to lions if she thought it would protect her own interests."

Parker took a weary breath and shook his head. "She sure got her wish, didn't she? She found a way to get the h.e.l.l out of Ruidoso ... for good."

Her eyes closed and every muscle in her body aching, Leah soaked for an hour in hot water and gardenia-scented bubbles, a sweating bottle of white Zinfandel on the floor by the tub, and Neil Diamond crooning to her from the tape deck perched on the dressing table in her bedroom.

The phone rang and Shamika ran from the kitchen to answer it, her voice drowned out by Diamond's "Brooklyn Roads."

Shamika tapped on the door.

"I'm not home," Leah replied, reaching for her gla.s.s of wine and sinking deeper into the tub. "Especially if it's Johnny. I don't want to talk to him, Shamika. I don't want to see him. Tell him to go away!"

"It's not Johnny."

Frowning, Leah downed the wine.

"It's Greg Hunnicutt from the track. Remember, he was going to call you today about the vet job-"

G.o.d, she'd totally forgotten!

With bubbles dripping off her legs, Leah wrapped a towel around her and ran from the bathroom, leaving a trail of soapy water down the hallway. Val sat in his wheelchair before the television, his face brightening with pleasure as Leah grabbed up the receiver and planted a kiss on his forehead. "This is it, puddin'," she whispered. "Wish me luck."

Taking a steadying breath, Leah raised the receiver to her ear. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Doc Starr? Greg Hunnicutt here. How you doin', darlin'? Have yourself a good weekend?"

She rolled her eyes and rubbed her sore b.u.t.tocks. "Great, Greg. And you?"

"Not bad, not bad. Guess you've heard of Johnny's problems. h.e.l.l, it's probably made the news in Bangladesh. Too bad about Miss Rainwater. s.h.i.t, when G.o.d decides it's time to go he don't fool around, does he?"

"Tragic," she said, her gaze falling on the television screen, where images of Dolores's crushed and burned car were followed by those of a funeral procession arriving at the Catholic church on the Mescalero reservation.

"We got a message from Johnny about an hour ago. He was the last holdout on your appointment, but he's given us the go-ahead to bring you on."

Leah sank to the sofa in relief.

"'Course you know you'll need to get your state license before you can actually practice on the track. But if you want to come on out tomorrow morning first thing, I'll get you introduced to the trainers and your coworker, Jake Graham."

She nodded. "I'll be there, Mr. Hunnicutt."

"Greg, darlin'. We don't stand on formalities here. See you at six sharp."

"Thank you."

"h.e.l.l, don't thank me yet, Leah. A month from now you might be cussin' my a.s.s for ever gettin' you in this situation."

"I won't let you down, Greg."

He was silent for a moment, then, "I know you won't, hon. If I'd thought that I never would have pitched you to the lot of hyenas. Now get you some rest, 'cuz you're gonna need it. Bye."

Leah hung up the phone and sat back on the sofa. Val watched her with bright, sparkling eyes and a smile.

"Mama happy?"

She nodded. "Very happy."

"Mama give Val a hug?"

Grinning, she crossed to her son and lifted him out of his chair, returned to the sofa and cradled him in her lap. Stroking his hair, she focused again on the television at the reporter who stared into the camera and relayed the day's news from the prompter.

"The media turned up in full force to see Johnny Whitehorse attend the funeral of his fiancee, Dolores Rainwater. Whitehorse was surrounded by bodyguards and legal representatives as he made his way into the church, where the services were attended by Dolores's friends and co-workers here at Channel 10.

"It is our understanding that Whitehorse spent the hours after the service being questioned by investigators as to the cause of the accident and the drugs that were found in Miss Rainwater's system at the time of her death. According to the DA, Phil Singer, Whitehorse has agreed to a polygraph. The DA's office is still waiting on the outcome of the drug tests taken on Whitehorse's blood immediately after the accident.

"Law enforcement officials as well as the DA's office are keeping tight-lipped about this investigation. They are unprepared at this time to discuss any part of their interview with Whitehorse, and have announced that there will be no forthcoming information until all aspects of his interview have been investigated."

Leah watched as Johnny left the church surrounded by bodyguards. Wearing dark gla.s.ses and a black suit, he avoided looking directly at the lineup of fans, television camera crews, and the ever-present paparazzi. Reaching for the remote, Leah pointed it at the screen and hit the Power b.u.t.ton.

Standing at the kitchen door, Shamika studied Leah as she cuddled Val close. "Dinner is about ready. You are are going to eat, aren't you?" going to eat, aren't you?"

"I'm really not hungry. But thanks anyway."