Free Rock with Wings by Anne Hillerman Page B

bad thing happens, it leaves a bruise here.”
    Bernie set her spoon down. The incident had emblazoned itself in her mind. She had pulled her weapon for the first time since she’d been an officer. She would have killed the perpetrator if she could have. And if she had acted more quickly, she might have intervened before the shooter hurt her mentor. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
    â€œI understand. I am happy you are here, my daughter. We will laugh together. We will cook today.”
    Bernie felt relief roll along her spine like a warm breeze. Mama didn’t have a lecture for her this morning. “What shall we make?”
    â€œ Atoo’ . The meat came already from Mrs. Darkwater’s nephew. Potatoes, onions in the drawer there.”
    Mutton stew, and no one made it like Mama. It took time, but it was worth it. And, Bernie thought, cooking would keep her from dark thoughts and obsessing about Miller.
    â€œWe need corn, maybe some squash.” Mama said. “In the old days, I had it from the garden. Now we have to go to the store.”
    â€œWe might have to make do with what we have here. I lookedwhere I asked Darleen to put the extra car key, and I couldn’t find it. She might have one of those magnetic key cases on her car, I don’t know.”
    A cloth pouch hung like a saddlebag from Mama’s walker. She reached into it and pulled out a pink, sparkling heart—Sister’s key ring.
    â€œShe gives me these in case she’s drinking. She’s a good girl.”
    Bernie hadn’t driven Darleen’s car for so long that she’d forgotten its idiosyncrasies. First, she figured out how to unhook the wire that kept the trunk closed so she could lift Mama’s walker inside and then refasten it to keep the lid from bouncing open as she drove. She helped Mama with her seat belt, then realized she couldn’t open the driver’s door.
    â€œPut your arm through the window. You have to do it from the inside.” That explained why the car was so dusty. If Darleen rolled up the window, she had to climb in the passenger door and scoot over to drive.
    Then the car wouldn’t start.
    â€œPush on the floor.” Mama demonstrated.
    Yes, Bernie remembered, pump the accelerator a few times to get the gas moving so the ignition could catch.
    She looked at the fuel gauge. Full? Then she remembered that it didn’t work.
    She drove holding her breath, hoping there was enough gasoline to make it the ten miles to the gas station and convenience store at the intersection of the Toadlena road and the four-lane highway, NM 491.
    â€œWhat’s that up there?” Mama said.
    A tan creature was moving from the road into the empty field beside it. “I think it’s a dog.” Stray dogs were a long-standing problem on the reservation.
    â€œGlad it’s not a coyote.” Coyotes in your path meant bad luck. If a person couldn’t turn around or go a different route, a special prayer helped keep evil away.
    The dog loped along the road’s shoulder, then back onto the asphalt, then off again. Not exactly trotting—more like staggering. The canine version of a drunk.
    Bernie slowed down, watching it. One summer when she was a girl, she’d encountered a pack of dogs, and one of them had bitten her before her uncle scared them off. Ever since, most dogs, especially big ones, made her nervous. The animal trotted away from the highway lopsidedly and lay down in the weeds. Maybe distemper, she thought. Or maybe a car had hit it, and that was why it walked funny.
    Parking beneath the overhang at the gas pumps, she pulled out her cell phone to call about the dog, but the battery was dead. “I’ll be right back. Would you like something?”
    â€œToo expensive.”
    Inside the store, Cathleen stood at the cash register. Bernie gave her $20 for gas and asked if she could use the phone.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?