Free Ghost Medicine by Aimée and David Thurlo

the car in silence. Soon they were on their way up the road, which now ran west toward the Chuskas.
    “Those two are in serious danger if there’s one or more Navajo witches working this area. You don’t disrespect crazies and get away with it, not for long, anyway,” Ella said.

    “Do you suppose that’s the real reason our friend was killed—he came across a ritual he wasn’t supposed to see?”
    “Maybe.” Ella remembered her own father, who, like Harry, had fallen prey to skinwalkers. But with her dad, it had been a lot worse. They’d carved him up like some horrific art exhibit. It had been over fifteen years, but the memories were still as sharp and clear in her mind as ifit were yesterday. She’d carry those images to her own grave.
    She brushed the memory aside and focused on the present. “Let’s keep pushing for answers and see what we get.”
    “Maybe Mrs. Yazzie saw something we can use, particularly if Truman’s right, and she was driving around that day,” Justine said.
    “I hope so, but the odds are against it. A Traditionalist worried about skinwalkers would probablykeep to herself and avoid looking at strangers.”
    Ella accessed the MDT to check out the tags on the vehicles at Truman John’s place. “No police record for either. Let’s see what else I can get.” A moment later, she continued. “John has a BA in secondary education from NAU in Flagstaff. Eileen Tahoe graduated from Chinle High. Both are Arizona Navajos. Truman was riffed last year from KirtlandCentral. Eileen has been working full-time at the Little Bear Café for the past two years.”
    Justine smiled. “Bet she’s a cook. That fry bread was yummy.”
    “Yeah.” Ella smiled. “If you weren’t such a bundle of energy, cuz, you’d be rolling instead of walking. I have to run my butt off, literally, just to stay even.” Ella almost sighed as she thought of how it had been for her when she was in hertwenties and thirties. She’d eaten like a horse back then and never put on any weight.
    Time … it wasn’t always a friend.
    *   *   *
    The Yazzie residence was about a half mile farther down a rutted dirt road, and consisted of a rectangular wood frame structure with unpainted, weathered wooden trim and a roof that was missing a few shingles. A small medicine hogan stood in the back, about a hundredfeet away.
    Ella pointed to a double stack of plastic water barrels in the meager shade of the roof overhang. “She doesn’t have a well, so she has to haul water in. That means she can’t afford a garden.”
    Justine parked within view of the front of the house, about twenty feet from a red Ford pickup. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”
    Ella shrugged. “Give it some time. If Mrs. Yazzieis home and worried about skinwalkers, she’ll have to decide whether or not to trust us.”
    Minutes passed slowly. At long last, they saw a gray-haired woman and a dog herding about twenty sheep down the long slope of a hill west of the residence. After the livestock was gathered into a sturdy pen cut from cottonwood branches, she waved them toward the house.
    Ella opened her car door. “Let’s go,partner.”
    Three minutes later, they were standing in the center of a small living room. Mrs. Yazzie was in her late sixties, wearing a long-sleeved blouse and floor-length pleated skirt. Her home was simply furnished, with woven rugs on the floor and simple wooden chairs around what was clearly an old picnic table. Instead of a sofa, a wooden bench had been placed beneath the window. Despitetwo open windows, it was warm inside.
    “Did you see any strangers or unfamiliar vehicles around here this past Tuesday, aunt?” Ella asked, using the term to show respect for a woman of the tribe who was her senior.
    Mrs. Yazzie gripped a deerskin medicine bag in the palm of her hand so tightly that her knuckles turned a pearly white. “I heard about the shooting on my radio, but I didn’t hear orsee anyone Tuesday. My