The American Café Read online

  Lance steered the boat closer with an oar, but when Charlie pulled on the line it snapped.

  “Oh, forget it,” said Charlie. “The water's too deep here. With my luck I'd fall in. I'll get another one.”

  Lance peered into the water, trying to guess an approximate depth.

  “Don't even think about it.” Charlie shook his head. “It's not worth it.”

  Lance gave up, pushed away from shore, and they headed back toward the boat ramp.

  Two teenagers climbed out onto the shelf at Powderhorn. They settled on the edge of the rock formation, dangled their legs over the water, and gazed into each other's eyes. The girl opened a leather pouch and pulled out a small plastic bag half filled with marijuana. She dug into the small bag again and came up with a package of cigarette papers. The boy watched while she meticulously rolled three marijuana cigarettes.

  “I hope this doesn't bring me too far down before we can score some more meth,” he said.

  The girl shrugged her shoulders as she lit the first cigarette and inhaled. The two teens puffed themselves into a smoky stupor as the afternoon clouds floated high above.

  Eventually, the boy returned to their vehicle and retrieved a six-pack of beer, a bag of potato chips, and a handful of candy bars. The girl lit another marijuana cigarette and staggered toward the edge of the shelf, eyeing the water below.

  “Don't jump,” he warned. “The current will suck you under.”

  The girl released a stream of smoke from her lungs and stuck out her lower lip. “I'm a good swimmer.”

  “Not that good.”

  He dumped the food and beer on the ground and ran to grab her arm just before she fell. He pulled her toward him and they tumbled to the ground, their legs and arms entwined. They smoked pot, drank beer, and munched on chips and candy until they eventually swirled into another drug-induced daze.

  When the girl awoke, the sun had already begun to sink in the western sky. She looked for her friend and found him climbing on the rocks below. She watched as he carefully lowered himself all the way to the water's edge.

  “Hey, let's go,” she yelled. “I'm hungry and I need to pick up my kid.”

  “Hold on, I think I found something.”

  “Well, bring it with you. We need to go.”

  A few minutes later, the boy emerged carrying a shotgun in one hand and a shiny, squiggly lure in the other.

  17

  As Sadie drove north toward Eucha, she scrunched her shoulders in an attempt to relieve the ache in her neck and back. She thought about Emma and the unexpected arrival of her daughter Rosalee. They obviously had unresolved issues, and Sadie didn't particularly want to know about them. Their tense reunion only dragged up memories of her unhappy relationship with her own mother.

  She turned off the highway and drove the lane up to her house, parking the car in its usual place next to her old truck, between the back porch and the gate that led to the barn. Sonny bounced over to greet her with the exuberance only a dog can have for its master. He barked wildly, scolding her for being gone too long, and then playfully circled her as she carried several bulging plastic Wal-Mart sacks toward the house.

  After putting away her groceries she returned to the porch and sat down on the top step to talk to him. She scratched his ears and told him all of her problems while he licked her face and nuzzled her arms. When she stopped, he seemed content that all was well. He followed her to the barn and watched while she dumped out a can of oats for Joe, then retreated to his favorite shady spot under a large walnut tree.

  When Sadie returned to the yard, she took a minute to admire the dark red blooms of the Indian Blanket wildflowers that graced the northeast corner of the yard. Her Cherokee grandmother had transplanted some many years ago from a patch that grew in the upper pasture and they had returned every year since. The flowers triggered a tender memory of her grandmother's sweet spirit and love of nature, and how she had made Sadie promise she would never sell what she called her Indian Land—her folks' original allotment from Indian Territory before statehood. Sadie stopped, picked five of the daisy-like flowers that were almost as large as the palm of her hand, and carried them into the house.

  After centering her bouquet on the table in an old water pitcher that doubled as a vase, she dropped onto the couch, kicked off her shoes, and punched on the television with the remote. After watching a short version of CNN Headline News, she dug in her purse and pulled out the old newspaper article she had found at the library. She read it again and then closed her eyes in thought.

  Maybe Pearl's rape had caused her to have a mental breakdown, especially if it had resulted in a pregnancy. Pearl had said Goldie had taken her little girl, but that didn't make sense. Pearl had had a son, not a daughter. Could a thirty-something-year-old rape have anything to do with Goldie's murder? A nagging voice inside Sadie's head kept telling her it did. If she could just think about it long enough, she could figure it out. Before long she began to float between sleepy layers of consciousness.

  The phone rang and she almost rolled off the couch onto the living room floor. Her heart raced as she grabbed the phone. To her surprise, it was Lance Smith.

  “Lance, is something wrong again?”

  “Not really. I was just wondering if you still have that paint horse.”

  “Joe? Of course. Why?”

  “I need to borrow a horse to ride into the hills over by Kenwood and I thought I might talk you into loaning me one. In fact, I'd really like for you to ride with me.”

  “Kenwood. Why?”

  “It's for a friend of mine. He thinks some kids are trespassing on the back of his property, but he can't catch them. I want to ride in and see what they might be up to. Nothing official.”

  Sadie frowned. “What do you think they're doing?”

  “Oh, I don't know. I'm going to guess there's a little marijuana cultivation going on, but it's easier to sneak up on someone if you don't look like the law.”

  Sadie laughed. “But, Lance, you are the law.”

  “Yes, but it's not official. Certainly not in my jurisdiction anymore since I left the Cherokee marshals. Besides, you look harmless. Maybe if we go together we won't make them too nervous.”

  “Thanks a lot, Lance.”

  He lowered his voice and chuckled. “We'll go incognito.”

  “This isn't something you made up just to ask me out on a date, is it?”

  The line went quiet before Lance spoke again. “Never. Want to go?”

  What was she thinking? She wouldn't miss this for anything. “Of course, I'd love to. I can borrow one of my uncle's horses for you and I'll ride Joe. When is this undercover operation supposed to take place?”

  “Daybreak.”

  “In the morning?” Sadie grimaced. “Lance, I've got a café to run.”

  “Tomorrow's Sunday,” he reminded her. “You're not open on Sunday.”

  “Oh, so it is.” Sadie sat up straight, realizing her mind was still in a daze. “I usually have Sunday dinner with Aunt Mary and Uncle Eli, but that's okay. I'll call them as soon as we hang up and make arrangements with Uncle Eli for a horse and trailer. Why do you want to do this on Sunday?”

  “They have a habit of showing up there on the weekends. They won't be expecting the law on Sunday morning. It'll look like we're just out for a ride.”

  “Okay. You remember where I live?”

  “I'll be at your place around five.”

  “That early?” Sadie groaned. “Oh, all right. I'll be ready.”

  She hung up and smiled.

  I have a date with Lance Smith in less than ten hours.

  The thought excited and scared her all at the same time. She liked Lance even though she thought he was a walking contradiction. He had a lot of traditional Cherokee values, but she had never heard him utter one word in the Cherokee language. He exuded strength, yet he had an air of gentle compassion that she could feel when she watched him with other people. Being a police officer gave him a
position of power, yet he came across as a humble being. He seemed to be old fashioned, almost a male chauvinist. That characteristic in anyone else would have been an insult to her as an independent woman. Instead, his mere presence made her feel safe, something she craved.

  Her first husband had physically abused her and then ended up doing time for running drugs. She had been scared of him when he was released from prison and shamefully relieved when he died a violent death.

  The next man she fell in love with had turned out to be a master of deception, and her involvement with him had almost cost her her life. She shuddered to think what would have happened if Charlie McCord hadn't been there to save her.

  Now she guarded her heart and inner soul, reluctant to allow any man to get very close. She had been unlucky in love her entire life, but she held out hope that someday when the time was right, it would be a man like Lance Smith who would change all of that.

  She began to plan for the next morning. What in the world would she wear?

  By the time Lance pulled across the cattle guard and up the lane toward Sadie's farmhouse, Sadie had already been next door where she had retrieved a buckskin gelding named Tornado and a horse trailer. She left Tornado waiting in the trailer while she saddled Joe. She draped his reins over the top of the fence to remind him to stay put until she told him otherwise. Sonny stood at the side of the truck, his ears at attention and his nose twitching at the early-morning scents.

  Lance parked and got out. “Good morning,” he said.

  Sonny barked.

  “Unelagi,” said Sadie and the wolf-dog relaxed. “Good morning, Lance,” she added.

  “I really hate that.”

  “What?” Sadie raised her eyebrows.

  “A dog that knows more Cherokee than I do.”

  “Then you'd better bone up on the language if you want to talk to my dog. But I wouldn't feel too bad if I were you. He doesn't speak it very well either.” Sadie smiled, patted Sonny's head, and walked to Joe. “Are you ready, big guy?”

  Lance opened the back of the trailer. “Nice buckskin.”

  “That's Tornado. You'll like him. He's nothing like his name.” She lifted Joe's reins and guided him to the rear of the horse trailer, walking him in beside the other horse.

  “I miss having a horse,” Lance said. “Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the money.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sadie pitched a key to Lance. “You want to drive?”

  After making sure Joe and Tornado were secure in the trailer, Lance opened the passenger-side door for Sadie. He walked around the front of the truck, then stopped and looked at Sonny sitting patiently nearby. Sadie whistled and the wolf-dog jumped into the bed of the truck. Lance climbed into the driver's seat and they were off.

  The fresh morning air ripped through the open windows of the truck as Lance pulled the trailer first west from Eucha, then south below the Lake Eucha Dam through the Spavinaw Hills State Game Refuge toward Kenwood. When they reached Kenwood Road, he turned back east for a short distance before pulling off onto a dirt road to the right. He came to a stop, got out and opened a gate, then pulled the truck and trailer through and parked in a clearing. Sonny jumped out and trotted into the field to scout out the new territory. He sniffed several places before marking a bush. Sadie joined Lance to help unload the two horses.

  Lance made sure Sadie was on Joe before he climbed on Tornado. “Let's ride toward that tree line over there.” He motioned with his head. “Then we can move south and west along the creek.”

  Sadie nodded. “I'll follow you.”

  Lance centered himself in the saddle, clicked his tongue, and urged the buckskin gelding across the field. Sadie trailed on Joe, and Sonny ran ahead. The early morning mist embraced the small valley, bringing a crisp coolness, one they both knew wouldn't last long once the sun started creeping skyward.

  Before they reached the stream, they could hear the sound of water rushing over the flint rocks that made up every creek bed in Cherokee country. Lance eased Tornado over a fallen tree limb. Joe placidly followed.

  Mourning doves cooed and a woodpecker tapped on a distant tree in staccato bursts. As a quick and agile squirrel made his way from the limb of one tree to another, a resonating sound caught both riders by surprise. Whoo-whoo-whoo, who-whoo, to-whoo-ah.

  Lance pulled up on his reins so hard the gelding stopped and started backing up.

  “Whoa,” Sadie instinctively commanded as she stopped beside Lance. “Uguku?” she asked. “An owl?”

  “Yeah.” Lance frowned and eyed the nearby tree line. “Sounded like a blasted hoot owl to me, too.”

  Sadie winced. Her grandmother had reminded her on countless occasions of the Cherokee belief that owls are messengers of bad omens. Somebody's going to die, she would say.

  Suddenly they could hear Sonny barking as if he had cornered something on the other side of the creek.

  “So much for a surprise appearance,” groaned Lance.

  Sadie turned Joe to the left, searching for a safe place to cross the stream. Lance followed.

  In a few short minutes Sadie found a crossing. She sat back in her saddle and nudged Joe with her thighs, impelling the strong horse to plunge into the clear, icy water and climb the embankment on the other side. She directed Joe toward the sound of Sonny's barking. The agitated wolf-dog turned in half-circles and tried to stand on his hind legs, his attention riveted to the upper part of a tree.

  She rode up beside Sonny, holding onto the brim of her hat with one hand to help shade the bright morning sun. Instantly, the same sound boomed above her head. It sounded like a recording of a hoot owl, stuck on continuous replay. Then Sadie saw the source of all of their concern and laughed out loud.

  “What's so funny?” asked Lance as he reined his horse to a stop beside her.

  Sadie pointed at the lowest limb of the tree. “There's your carrier of bad news, my friend.”

  Lance saw what she was pointing at—a plastic replica of a hoot owl perched precariously in the crook of a tree limb. Every time Sonny jumped, the plastic bird's head spun around, its eyes lit up, and it produced a hooting sound.

  Failing to appreciate the humor of the situation, Lance dismounted, picked up a long stick, and prodded the noisy contraption loose. It crashed to the ground and broke into three pieces, killing the sound. Sonny growled and ran to investigate. He sniffed, nosed it over on its side, then picked up a piece, carried it to a cluster of ragweed, and put it down.

  Sadie jumped off Joe. “Sonny, give it to me.” She picked up Sonny's prize and walked back to Lance, who stood bent over inspecting the other pieces.

  “Who in the world would put up a mechanical owl out here in the middle of the woods?” she asked.

  Lance dropped the plastic owl head back on the ground. “I don't know. It looks like this one has a sensor, so when it detected Sonny's movement on the ground, it started hooting. I'm sure that's the same thing we heard on the other side of the creek.” Lance swung around and searched the landscape. “Or maybe it's a signal. Come on.” He stuck the tip of his boot into Tornado's stirrup, mounted the horse and rode south toward a green meadow before Sadie could turn around. Sonny barked with excitement.

  “Go catch him, Sonny,” she said. “We're right behind you.”

  The wolf-dog darted away as she repositioned her hat to allow cool air to strike her perspiring scalp. “Good boy.” She stroked Joe's neck and climbed into the saddle.

  As she reined Joe to trail Sonny, a shot rang out in the distance. Her heart drummed in her chest and she rose up high in the saddle. She could hear Sonny barking, but Lance was nowhere in sight.

  “Lance! Sonny!”

  The sound of another mechanical owl echoed in the distance as Sonny's bark climbed to an even higher pitch. Joe snorted in anticipation of her next command and raised his head as if sensing the electricity tracing through her veins. She squeezed the stallion with her knees, dug her heels into his flanks, and they raced
across the field in the direction Lance had ridden. As she topped a knoll, she could see Tornado standing by himself with his reins hanging loose on the ground. A surge of adrenalin shot through her.

  When Sonny started barking again, Joe pranced and shook his head. Sadie turned Joe toward Sonny's barking and called out again.

  “Lance! Sonny!”

  Suddenly she could hear Lance yelling words that sounded like Cherokee. His voice came from a small stand of trees under a rocky cliff. She pointed Joe toward the trees but stopped short when a teenaged Indian girl stepped into the open. Lance followed her, limping. Sonny circled the pair, still barking.

  “Would you tell your dog to shut up please?” Lance sounded irritated.

  “Eluwei!” yelled Sadie, and the excited dog ran to her side. Sadie dismounted when she realized the young girl was wearing handcuffs. “What happened? Who is she? What happened to your leg?”

  Ignoring Sadie's questions, he glanced around for his horse and whistled. Tornado raised his head and looked at Lance, all four hooves planted firmly in place.

  “Oh, come on, Tornado. Give me a break.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  Sadie mounted Joe, rode over to Tornado, and retrieved his reins. The buckskin snorted and bobbed his head before allowing Sadie to lead him back to his rider. Lance took Tornado's reins, grabbed the saddle horn, and climbed on.

  “What about her?” Sadie asked. “Are you going to make her walk?”

  “Yep.”

  Sadie wrinkled her forehead in disapproval. The girl looked so young and scared.

  Lance caught her look and grimaced. “Maybe she'll decide to talk by the time we make it back to the truck.”

  Sadie glanced at her friend and gasped. “Lance, the side of your face is bleeding.”

  Lance grunted and wiped his temple with the back of his hand. He looked at the blood and then wiped it on his pants.

  For the first time, Sadie noticed the handle of a handgun sticking out of Lance's back waistline. “Lance, what happened?”