Free Rock with Wings by Anne Hillerman

steeper route. They were about halfway to their vehicles when he heard a grunt behind him and then some swearing. He turned. Melissa lay sprawled in the sand, facedown.
    He went to help. “Are you hurt?”
    â€œI don’t think so.” She pushed herself onto her side and then sat up. “Something tripped me. I dropped my water bottle and my walking stick back there somewhere. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
    He turned on his flashlight to look for the equipment and found why she had tripped. Out here in the empty middle of Monument Valley, somebody had carefully outlined a rectangular shape with a line of rocks, perfect for stumbling over in the dark.
    It looked remarkably like a gravesite.

5
    After Chee left, Bernie realized that she hadn’t eaten dinner, and that her burger was headed back to Monument Valley. She coaxed Mama into sharing some canned soup. As usual under Darleen’s command, it looked as if a dust devil had roared through the kitchen.
    Finally she helped Mama to bed. Her mother seemed weaker than the last time she had visited. Bernie tried, with partial success, to convince herself that it was due to recent stress and Darleen’s irresponsibility.
    She thought about sleeping in Darleen’s bed, but its tangled sheets, the bedroom’s clutter, and the fragrance of unwashed clothes that assaulted her when she opened the door inspired a new plan. She found a clean sheet in the closet and appropriated the soft blue Pendleton blanket that lived on the back of Mama’s chair. She’d need it in the early morning, when the house would be cool.
    Bernie’s Navajo name meant Laughing Girl, but she didn’t see much to laugh about tonight. Chee had worked a minor miracle in persuading Mama to invite Bernie to stay, but Sister had spoiled what was left of their vacation.
    Mama was too thin . . . but she’d always been thin. And she was weak, really too unsteady to be here alone, and too stubborn to acknowledge that she could use a bit of help.
    Bernie had told Mama that Darleen had stayed in Farmington, that she was OK. It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth, and Mama knew it. Bernie had never been a good liar.
    â€œDid that girl get arrested?” Mama asked.
    Bernie simply said yes, and Mama didn’t pursue the subject. They hadn’t mentioned Darleen again.
    Bernie made a nest for herself on the couch. She took off her shoes and socks, noticing the gritty floor against her bare feet. How tough could it be for her sister to sweep once in a while? She added house cleaning to her mental list of tasks for tomorrow. She’d go to the grocery to restock the pantry and cook something Mama liked, with enough to freeze for later.
    Then it dawned on her that her Toyota was back in Shiprock.
    She’d seen Darleen’s car outside. If she were lucky, her sister had placed an extra key in the drawer in the kitchen, as Bernie had requested. She put her socks back on, got up, and rummaged in the drawer with no success.
    Bernie went back to the couch and took her socks off again and curled up in her snug little bed. She remembered that she hadn’t called Largo to inquire about the drug car, but her phone was in her backpack in the kitchen, and it was too late to reach him now anyway.
    Usually Bernie slept through the night without interruption, dozing on despite the racket of summer thunderstorms, nagging problems at work, or complications with her mother, her sister, or Chee. But tonight she lay awake, restless. She tried to focus on her breathing and the stress-reduction techniques she’d learned in police training. Instead of getting sleepy, however, her brain drifted to recent events, replaying them like unwanted stimulants.
    The Lieutenant, her mentor, healing from the bullet to his brain. She’d tell him about the oddly nervous man with the boxes of dirt when she saw him next. He liked interesting cases. She pictured the way