Before Sunrise

“I felt that way, before I went into the Army,” he told her. In fact, he’d just come out of it the year before, after a stint overseas. “I learned how to shoot by reflex. So can you. It might mean your life.”

She winced. “Life was so uncomplicated yesterday.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not directly involved in the investigation, but jurisdiction is going to depend on where the murder actually took place. Just because he was found on the Rez is no reason to assume he was killed there.”

“Would a killer really want the FBI involved?” she asked.

“No. But he might not have known he was involving federal jurisdiction. The local boundaries aren’t exactly marked in red paint,” he reminded her with a cool smile. “The dirt road where the body was found looked as if it was close to Chenocetah. But it wasn’t. The reservation boundary sign was lying facedown about a hundred yards from where the tire tracks stopped.”

She pursed her lips, thinking. “The killer didn’t see the reservation sign. Maybe it was at night…?”

He nodded, smiling. “Good thinking. Ever considered working on the side of truth and justice, fighting crime?”

She laughed. “Your department couldn’t afford me,” she pointed out.

“Hell, they can’t afford me, but that didn’t stop them hiring me, did it?” he asked, and grinned, showing perfect white teeth. “You take care of your museum, and I’ll do my best to take care of you,” he added.

She frowned.

He held up a hand. “In a nice, professional way,” he added. “I know you think I’m an overused man.”

She did gasp then. “Marie!” she raged aloud.

He laughed. “I’m not offended, but that’s why I said you shouldn’t share secrets with her.” He lifted both eyebrows. “Actually, it’s a little like peacocks.”

“It’s what?”

“A peacock makes a fantastic display to attract females. His feathers may be a little ragged, and the colors may be faded, but it’s the effect he’s going for. Sort of like me,” he added, smiling faintly. “I’m not Don Juan. But if I pretend I am,” he said, leaning toward her, “I might get lucky.”

She laughed with pure pleasure.

“Didn’t you see that movie with Johnny Depp, when he thought he was Don Juan?” he teased. “It worked for him. I thought, why the hell not? You never know until you try. But I had to lose the cape and the mask. The sheriff wanted to call in a psychiatrist.”

“Oh, Drake, you’re just hopeless,” she said, but in a softer tone than she’d ever used with him.

“That’s better,” he said, smiling. “You’ve been wearing winter robes. Time to look for spring blossoms, Miss Keller.”

“Sometimes you actually sound poetic,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “I’m part Cherokee. Remember, we’re not just ‘the people,’ we’re, ‘principal people’ in our own tongue.”

Every tribe was “the people” in its own language, she recalled, except for the Cherokee, who called themselves “principal people.” They were an elegant, intelligent people who had their own written language long before other tribes.

“No argument?” he asked.

She held up a hand. “I never argue with the law.”

“Good thinking,” he stated, straightening so that his close-fitting uniform outlined his powerful body.

Before she could reply, the sound of a loud muffler caught their attention. Marie pulled into the parking lot in her old truck, which was pouring smoke from the tailpipe. She cut off the engine and it made a loud popping sound.

Diverted, Drake went to it at once, motioning for Marie to open the hood. He stood back to let the smoke dissipate, waving it with his hand. He peered in over the engine and fiddled with a valve.

He stood up, shaking his head, while Marie waited with a worried look on her face. “It’s carburetor backfire, Marie,” he told her. “If you don’t get it fixed, it could catch the truck on fire.”

“I’m not convinced that would cost less than replacing it,” Marie muttered. “Oh, I hate this thing!”

“It’s just old,” he told her, smiling. “Maybe a little…overused.”

Marie went scarlet. “I’ll go phone my brother at his garage right now!” She didn’t even look at Phoebe as she ran past her, fumbling with her key when she realized the door was still locked. Fortunately she didn’t think to ask why.

Drake and Phoebe were laughing softly.

“I won’t tell her a thing,” Phoebe promised.

“I’ll see what else I can find out. Maybe Saturday, for the lessons?” he added.

She nodded. “I get off at one.”

“I’ll arrange my schedule so I’m off that afternoon,” he promised. He glanced toward his squad car, where the radio was crackling. “Just a minute.”

He strode to the car and picked up the mike, giving his call sign. He listened, nodded and spoke into it again.

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “The FBI agent is on his way. They want us to assist,” he added with a grin. “I suppose my investigative abilities have impressed somebody at the federal level!”

She chuckled. “See you Saturday.”

He waved, jumped into the car and sped away.

“WHAT WAS GOING ON OUT THERE?” Marie asked curiously.

“Drake’s going to teach me to shoot a gun,” Phoebe said. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

Marie was oddly subdued. She moved to the desk and looked across it worriedly. “I know you don’t want to trust me with any important news, after I blabbed to Cousin Drake about what you said. I’m really sorry,” she added.

“I’m not mad.”

Marie grimaced. “My brother says they found an anthropologist dead on the Rez this morning, and gossip is that he spoke to you yesterday. You’re in danger, aren’t you, and now you can’t tell me because you think I’ll tell everybody.”

Phoebe was shocked. “How did your brother know…?”

“Oh, we know everything,” she said. “It’s a small community. Somebody from one clan finds out and tells somebody from another clan, and it’s all over the mountains.”

“Worse than a telephone party line,” Phoebe said, still gasping.

“Really,” Marie agreed. “You could stay with me,” she added. “Your place is way out.”

“Drake’s going to teach me to shoot.”