Free A DEAD RED MIRACLE: #5 in the Dead Red Mystery Series by R.P. Dahlke

mistakes.
     
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    The last time Pearlie and I were in Ian Tom's house it was quiet and calm. This time we walked into a rowdy argument between Ian and his nephew.
    Ian formally introduced Caleb, Pearlie and me to his nephew, Damian White, whose only acknowledgement was to crack his knuckles and stare at the floor.
    "Damian," Ian snapped.
    The kid stuck his fingers between the seat cushions of the sofa to keep them still.
    Ian glared at his nephew. "I've agreed to allow him to continue his training as long as he keeps decent hours and leaves the investigation into his father's death to the professionals, right, son?"
    Damian complied with an indifferent shrug.
    Hoping to pry apart his hostile attitude, I started with a question. "What do you do for work, Damian?"
    I looked to Ian for an interpretation of the kid's mumbling response.
    Ian's jaw tightened. "I guess he's got hoof and mouth disease. Iron work, right, Damian? On high rises in Las Vegas. Go on, tell them."
    Damian's head came up off his chest. His eyes flashing angrily. "You know."
    "Some of it, but you can tell it better than I can. It's an interesting story."
    Damian glared at each of us, but something akin to pride took over the defiant attitude. "One of my buddies got me tickets to the Las Vegas finals of American Ninja Warrior. The minute I saw that show, I knew I had what it took to win, but I didn't have the training and the show looks for contestants with a story, you know? When I told them I was Apache and a Native American ironworker, they flipped. A combination like that could take me all the way to the top."
    "Native American ironworkers?" I asked.
    "Mohawks from Canada started coming to New York as early as the 1900's. White men liked to say that it was because injuns weren't afraid of heights, but that's not so. They were just braver. They could walk any beam at any height. Then they got work riveting. That was real money for people who were used to scraps to live on. They were there when the planes crashed into the twin towers. One said it flew so low, he could see the rivets in the fuselage."
    Now that his defensive posture had loosened, I asked, "Tell us about your father, Damian."
    His eyes darted from his uncle to me. "Whadya wanna know?"
    "What makes you think he was murdered?"
    "My dad told my mom they were out to get him and one deputy in particular called him a nigger. My father was also half Apache, but in those days the whole county was racist."
    Ian Tom sighed. "You read the report, Damian. You know it didn't start out that way. The folks in Palominas have always been a mixed race community."
    Damian's eyes flashed. "That doesn't change anything. Someone still shot my dad in the back."
    Sheriff Tom slapped his hands on his knees. "And that's where you folks came in. But since I have no intention of driving a wedge between you and your bride, Caleb, I need to ask your permission."
    Caleb's mouth twitched in that way it did when he wasn't going to like the question. "What kind of permission do you have in mind, Ian?"
    "Damian's mother, my sister, Naomi, would like to hire Lalla and Pearlie to finish the job Ron started."
    Pearlie, unable to contain herself, issued a happy squeak.
    Caleb grimaced. "You know, Ian, every once in a while I dream that I have some kind of say-so about what my wife does or doesn't do―and then I wake up."
    Ian, looking unsure if he was being kidded or not, said, "Is that a yes?"
    I laughed. "And to think, he married me anyway."
    "Then we have a deal?" Ian asked.
    I looked at Pearlie. She grinned and stuck out her hand. "Deal."
    "A couple of things: First, my nephew has agreed to cooperate and second, my sister is somewhat fragile, so if you have any question about this case, please bring them to me."
    Pearlie nodded eagerly, but I wasn't satisfied with Ian's request about his sister. "What do you mean by fragile? Is your sister ill?"
    "No, not anything like that. It's just that she lives quietly. She's