Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [116]
Then she flung wide the feast-house door and let the first group enter.
From where Brian stood, the line seemed to stretch forever. Every fifteen or twenty minutes, a group of forty or fifty people would be allowed inside. Only when that group had finished eating and left was the next group admitted. Brian had come home late. He and Kath had arrived at the high school gym just after the service started. Now he and Brandon Walker stood near the end of the line. With both their wives helping cook and serve, there was no sense rushing.
“There are lots of people,” Brian observed. “It’s hard to imagine they won’t run out of food or dishes.”
Brandon had been to plenty of Tohono O’odham feasts, but this was by far the largest he’d ever seen. He nodded. “The old miracle of the loaves and fishes all over again,” he said.
The two men stood slightly apart from the rest of the line. Had Leo or Baby been with them, Brian and Brandon would have been included in some of the easy laughter and lighthearted banter from other people waiting in line. Without Ortiz relatives to run interference, the two Anglos were left alone—Mil-gahn outsiders in an essentially Indian world.
“Brian, I’ve got to talk to you,” Brandon began.
A cell phone chirped farther up the line. The crowd paused and waited. The idea of a cell phone ringing while people waited to eat food cooked over a woodstove struck Brandon’s funny bone. Years earlier, when hard-wired telephone lines had been difficult to come by on the reservation, phones had been a rare commodity outside the villages of Sells and Topawa. Now, though, with revenue-raising cell-tower sites dotting reservation lands, cell phones had proliferated.
Finally, as general talk and laughter resumed, Brandon broached a subject he’d been waiting to bring up. “I understand you made an arrest in that case,” he said casually. “The one from over the weekend. I heard a snippet on the radio earlier, but since I haven’t had a chance to look at the paper, I’m short on details.”
“We did,” Brian agreed. “And the guy’s been bound over for trial.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Brandon observed.
“Arresting him may have been premature,” Brian said. “I suspect there’s a whole lot more to the story than we know so far.”
“You and PeeWee are both good detectives,” the older man said encouragingly. “You’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Brian accepted Brandon’s praise gratefully. He wasn’t getting strokes like that from Sheriff Forsythe. “By the way,” he added, “I did look at that file you mentioned the other day.”
Brandon’s heart leaped, but he tried not to show it—tried not to sound too eager. “Roseanne Orozco’s file?” he asked.
Brian nodded. “I have to admit, that case does bear an uncanny resemblance to this new one, but I doubt they’re related,” he said. “For our guy to be the perp, he would have started killing people when he was five.”
“Right,” Brandon agreed. “That’s not too likely. I think I—”
He was interrupted by the arrival of Davy and Candace, who had emerged from the feast house as the group at the head of the line was ushered inside. Tyler, whimpering and whining in typical two-year-old fashion, clung tightly to his father’s shoulder.
“The kid’s run out of steam,” Davy explained. “We have to get going.”
“How are our womenfolk holding up in there?” Brandon asked.
Davy grinned. “Fine,” he said. “They’re washing dishes like mad.”
“What about the food, Ty?” Brandon asked. “Was it good? Did you leave any for Grandpa?”
For an answer, Tyler Walker Ladd shook his head and buried his face in his father’s neck. Candace, standing off to one side, beckoned impatiently and then headed for the car. Davy nodded in acknowledgment, sighed in resignation, and followed.
“She keeps him on a pretty tight leash,” Brian said.
“True, but what do you expect?” Brandon agreed. “She’s a woman, isn’t she?”
Another cell phone chirped. This time it was Brian’s turn to dig his phone out of his pocket. Not wanting to listen