Chee enjoyed driving the big vehicle and revisiting places he’d loved years before. When Paul discussed the area’s human history—ancient Pueblo people, Spanish and Anglo miners, and the Navajo families who lived in the park today—he thought about Bernie’s theory, that the dirt from her traffic stop might be tied to archaeology. He reached no conclusion.
Chee steered them out of Mystery Valley and onto the main Monument Valley road, a rough dirt track that looped back to the Visitor Center. The sun warmed the midmorning air, which blew in through his open window and buffeted the guests on the People Mover’s bench seats. Ahead a sightseeing van, fully packed with customers, churned up a red cloud of dirt. The suffocating dust left him two alternatives. The first was to slow down to a crawl for the long miles back to the visitor center to stay well behind the van, while the passengers in the back baked, got sunburned, and grew bored.
The second, more manly option? Ignore the painful speed limit, pass the van, and let them decelerate or eat his dust.
He sailed by the vehicle smoothly, but a giant pothole lay just beyond it. He avoided the crater only to encounter a barricade the road crew had created to keep the trail from flooding. The People Mover plowed directly onto a hill of rocks and sand that took up half the roadway. Chee winced at the scraping noise and then felt a thunk as something big and hard made contact with the underside of the vehicle. The People Mover continued forward just fine, but the realist in Chee didn’t trust it. He had no choice, of course, but to drive on.
As Paul helped the guests unload at the hotel, Chee noticed oil dripping onto the asphalt of the parking lot. After the customers left, he showed his cousin the dark puddle. “I think that’s from whatever I clobbered back there.”
Paul shrugged. “It had a leak already. They have oil at the store behind Goulding’s. We’ll add some when we need it, take some with us. No problem.”
Chee’s phone rang. “Just a second.” He hoped it was Bernie.
Instead, he heard a different woman’s voice. “Sergeant Chee? It’s Monica, the administrative assistant at the Monument Valley substation. The captain asked me to call you. He’s hoping you can start work early. Something’s come up.”
“What do you mean by early?”
She hesitated. “The captain can give you the details, but we’re really short around here. He asked me to see if you could meet with him this afternoon, so he can brief you on your assignment.”
“Let me make a couple calls, and I’ll get back to you, Monica.” If the situation with Bernie’s mother was going to take time to resolve, he might as well make himself useful. And whatever trouble he’d created for the People Mover would have a price tag. Why not meet with the captain and get the lay of the land?
“Where’s the office?” he asked, and she gave him directions.
There was no answer on Bernie’s cell number. He didn’t leave a message, instead calling her mother’s house and their home number in Shiprock. No Bernie anywhere. He called Monica back, and told her he’d be there.
Paul gave him a questioning look, and Chee explained.
“I thought you were on vacation for a few more days.”
“If Bernie can’t get back, I might as well go in early.”
“Stay with me as long as you want, bro. I was thinking we could fix up that old corral while you’re here. I might start some horseback tours.”
Chee had noticed the corral. Fixing it was not an option; Paul needed to rebuild the whole thing, to make it safe for tourists who’d probably never been within smelling distance of a horse.
Paul kept talking. “We can work on that when you’re done with the police stuff. We could do it the old way with junipers. Remember how Uncle would bring in a bunch of trees, and we would trim off the branches to make the posts?”
Chee nodded. The work had been hot and dirty, but they enjoyed it because Uncle told them stories of his army days in Vietnam.
They added oil to replace what had leaked out and bought more to take with them in case of an emergency. Back at Paul’s house, Chee scooted under the vehicle. He spotted the problem easily: a steady drip that led his eye to a hole in the oil pan. Fixing it would require draining the oil—or letting it simply drip out—welding the hole closed, adding more oil, and making sure the weld held.
Chee maneuvered himself back out, dusted off his clothes, and explained the situation. “Since I did the damage, I’ll take care of it for you.”
Paul said, “I told you, it had a leak before. I’ll pay for half with some of that money I get from the tourists. I’m glad you can fix it.”
“I hope I can fix it. Do you know where we can find a welding torch, a rod, and a socket wrench that will fit these old bolts?”
“I’ll find somebody who can loan us that stuff.”
In the late afternoon Chee took a shower, put on his uniform, and tried unsuccessfully to reach Bernie again. Then he drove his truck to the Monument Valley Visitor Center.
The temporary police substation occupied two offices on the expansive Visitor Center’s lower level. Chee introduced himself to Monica, dispatcher/receptionist/answerer of questions, a fortysomething Navajo woman. Monica reciprocated with her clans. They weren’t related, but of course she knew Paul.
The captain was expecting him.
Leroy Bahe rose from his cluttered desk. “Jim Chee. I haven’t seen you since we worked together in Tuba City. How long has it been? Back when you were a bachelor.” If large-and-in-charge was a requirement for police work, Bahe qualified, hands down.
After they’d talked about their mutual friend, Hopi officer Cowboy Dashee, Bahe’s sister’s graduation from truck-driving school, and his son’s success in the marines, Bahe asked about Lieutenant Leaphorn. “I heard about him getting shot. I hope he’s doing OK.”
“The Lieutenant’s getting better. My wife and I spend time with him when we can. He can’t talk much yet, but the doctors think he might regain that. His friend Louisa is helping him.”
Bahe nodded. “Glad to hear it. I understand you almost got barbecued in a storage locker.”
Chee chuckled. “Yeah. Gave me a whole new respect for gasoline.”
“So you’re willing to work here an extra day or two?”
“Largo mentioned something about babysitting some movie folks.”
“You bet. You get the Hollywood assignment.” The movie, Bahe explained, was a horror film with permission from the Tribal Council to shoot in the park. “Mostly what you’ll do is make sure their equipment doesn’t block the roads. You might have to handle a trespassing call every once in a while that their paid security can’t or won’t deal with.”
“Monica said something about starting sooner than I’d planned.”
Bahe nodded. “I’d really appreciate it if you could start today. I just got a call that somebody out in movieland went for a drive and didn’t come back. I could use you now.”