Double Blind Page 24

  The door opened and Sheila stepped inside. She searched the dining room, her gaze stopping at Canaan.

  With all the finesse of an awkward adolescent, he tipped half a glass of milk into his coffee, spilling a stream of it across the table, and as he reached to catch it, he dumped the sugar onto the floor with a clatter of kidproof plastic.

  He had the mess nearly cleaned up when she joined him, and a good thing, because the children started drifting in with their dorm parents. Kai Begay was the first, with his group of boys behind him.

  “Dare I say good morning?” Sheila asked.

  “Please do, I could use it.” He looked at her closely. She looked agitated, her gaze darting around the room.

  “I received a call from the police this morning about the bullet in your wheel,” he told her.

  The gaze suddenly riveted on him. “They have a lead?”

  “More than that, they solved the problem. They questioned some locals, and a shepherd confessed that his son was out tending a flock of sheep when some wild dogs got after a lamb. The boy shot at the dog, but missed. He didn’t see the Jeep until after he shot, and then he was afraid to say anything.”

  “How old is the boy?”

  “Eleven.”

  Sheila’s eyes narrowed, and he could almost hear her wondering what moron would allow an eleven-year-old to carry a rifle.

  “The father has promised to pay for a new tire and wheel,” he said. “The boy got the scare of his life when the police threatened to haul him to jail.”

  “But they didn’t, right?”

  “That’s right, but I don’t think he’ll try something like that again. His father also promised never to let him carry a rifle until he’s older and has taken a gun safety course. I’ll go talk to them myself. I know the family.”

  Sheila leaned back in her chair. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. Now maybe my bodyguards will relax their efforts a little.”

  “Not likely. I have a feeling one of those bodyguards is just looking for a reason to be near you.”

  Sheila nodded.

  Canaan discovered he wasn’t interested in exploring that subject further. “Tanya still doing okay?”

  “Healing very well, I think. Physically.”

  “She still having trouble emotionally?”

  “Yes.” Sheila poured milk over her cereal, not spilling a drop.

  “How did you sleep last night?” he asked.

  She darted a quick glance at him. “I look that bad, huh?”

  “You look as if you could sleep a couple more hours.”

  “Thanks so much. Did Preston talk to you this morning?”

  “No, he was already gone when I got up.”

  She straightened and looked at him. “There’s something he wants you to see in the clinic.”

  “What?”

  “The wolf man struck again, this time on my desk.” She sounded almost nonchalant, but he caught the faintest quality of fear in her voice as she described what the vandal had done.

  He pushed himself away from the table.

  Sheila placed a hand on his arm. “It can wait until after breakfast. I’ll call Preston on my cell and see if he’ll join us. We can talk about it.”

  Canaan agreed. He was hungry and not eager to face the vandalism on an empty stomach.

  “The wolf again,” he said.

  “Something happened here in the past,” she said. “I can’t help thinking that same thing is still here—or it has returned. I keep having dreams about this place and new memories.”

  “Anything significant?”

  “I remember the smell of cedar smoke, and this morning, when I saw the wood chips and colorful sand on my desk, with the wolf head, I knew exactly what it was all for. I was able to explain to Preston when he asked.”

  Canaan shook his head in dismay, then nodded a greeting at Jane Witherbe, who had stepped in with her little girls. She wasn’t moving as quickly as usual. While Sheila called Preston from her cell phone, Canaan studied Jane’s long face and sickly pallor. Not for the first time, he wondered why she had been given double duty as both dorm mother and teacher. It had to be an overwhelming responsibility, but he knew this school was her whole life.

  Sheila folded her phone, and Canaan returned his attention to her. “Is there anything else you remember about these dreams?” he asked.

  “I’m a child in them. This morning, I awakened from another repeat of a recurring dream, but this time there was a woman.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “My impression was that she resembled my mother.”

  “Do you think this is just an overactive imagination jumbling a lot of thoughts together?”

  “Very possible,” she said, and yet there was doubt in her voice.

  “You think it’s more of a memory?”

  She nodded.

  “Look at you two.” Doc Cottonwood’s voice came from behind them, and Sheila and Canaan both started in surprise. “You’re not eating enough to keep a kindergartener alive. Come on, eat up!” He set his tray down across from them and pulled out a chair.

  “Why don’t you join us, Doc?” Canaan said dryly.

  “Sure, now that you asked.” Doc’s voice was just as dry. “Looks like you need some serious prodding. You know what I always say—a good breakfast keeps you from burning muscle instead of fat.” He sat down, pulled a bottle of tablets from his pocket and set it on the table. “Now if I could just convince the student body and staff to be a little more reliable about taking these every day, we wouldn’t have any need for a clinic.” He leaned forward and looked at Sheila. “What’s got you two looking so serious?”

  “Just reliving old memories,” Sheila said.

  “Must not be good ones,” he said.

  “I just don’t like the way I keep being reminded of them,” Sheila said.

  “Well, you just tell your Uncle Doc all about them, and maybe I can fix it for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  P reston looked for Sheila as soon as he stepped into the cafeteria. She was sitting beside the track coach, across the table from Canaan. They looked deep in conversation, and he could only hope they were figuring out who might have been pulling these scare tactics on Sheila.

  Preston went through the food line, hearing sixth-grade boys on both sides of him talking about a television show. Preston hadn’t seen a television since he’d been here, but the dorms must have them.

  To his disappointment, sausage and eggs were on the menu, fry bread was not. Although the lady who ran the cafeteria, Betsy Two Horses, didn’t appear as bright and cheerful as in days past, she had greeted him with an increasingly warmer smile every day. Today was no exception. He discovered yesterday that this was because she had been told he was Sheila’s good friend.

  He remembered what Canaan had said to him on Monday: Good friend might be all he ever would be to Sheila. To Preston’s surprise, Canaan hadn’t brought up the subject again, and Preston, in turn, had taken pains not to ask pointed questions about Johnny Jacobs’s business practices. He didn’t see a need to further irritate his host.

  He had, however, become curious about one anonymous financial supporter, and he had made an effort to discover the benefactor’s identity. All he’d discovered was that the donor was exceedingly careful to remain anonymous—and this was by far the most generous donor of all. The multimillion-dollar contribution over a year ago must have made it possible for these new buildings to be erected.

  Preston had decided not to tell Canaan about his search. After a few financial discussions with the man, Preston knew economics wasn’t dear to Canaan’s heart, nor a subject that he grasped easily. As a professional financial advisor, Preston had discovered that many of his clients in other professions were not financially savvy.

  Preston walked to the table where Sheila was in a serious conversation with Canaan and Doc, and placed his tray beside Canaan. Sheila was describing this morning’s discovery in the clinic
. Doc was suitably outraged, and Canaan was voicing his conviction that the children needed to learn that vandalism was an unacceptable form of expression.

  Preston listened for a moment, startled when Canaan asked Doc a pointed question.

  “Have you ever caught anyone on your track team taking illegal supplements?”

  “No way. Not my kids,” Doc said. “They all know the danger to their health, and that if I ever caught anyone doing something like that, he or she would be expelled from the team, not just suspended. Why do you want to know?”

  “Just wondering if the hoaxes pulled on Sheila could be because a drug of some kind is influencing one of the kids.”

  Doc pursed his lips, considering the question. “Could be an angle to check. Or it could just be some of the kids daring each other.”

  As Canaan explained the shooting incident and its conclusion, Preston lost his appetite. Though relieved to hear that there was no crazed killer out to hurt Sheila, he was discovering more reasons why she should not remain at the school. What were the odds that Sheila had been driving by at just the moment a shepherd boy decided to shoot at a sheep-killing dog?

  On the other hand, what were the odds that an eleven-year-old shepherd boy had decided to shoot at her for no reason?

  Their conversation was overheard by a few nearby diners, and soon all of the teachers and dorm parents knew about the wolf head and the vandalism in the clinic. Everyone had an opinion about what needed to be done.

  Preston ate a few bites of his meal. It just wasn’t the same without fry bread.

  He was finishing his coffee when Canaan turned to him. “I’ll go look at that mess in the clinic, then I’ll clean it up. I found that pie chart on my desk this morning. Thank you. If you’re up for more work, I need a courier to drive to Phoenix for me today.”

  Preston hesitated. Was this Canaan’s way of telling him his presence was no longer needed here, or did he really need a courier?

  “I’ll let you drive my luxury car,” Canaan said with a grin.

  “The van?”

  “It may not look like much, but I bet it gets better mileage than your Jeep.”

  “You’d have to prove it to me,” Preston said.

  Canaan pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Does that mean you’ll go?”

  “I told you I’d do whatever you needed.” It was frustrating, however. Preston wanted to stay and study the financial records of past years—a job Canaan had given him as soon as he’d completed the pie chart yesterday.

  “Did you have a chance to look over the old records?” Canaan asked, as if reading Preston’s mind.

  “Just a preliminary overview, but I found a few interesting discrepancies—if you could call them that.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m curious to know if your anonymous donor, who literally made it possible for the new school buildings to be erected, was the same anonymous donor who helped so much with the initial financing of the school, and then practically dropped off the radar about twenty-three years ago.”

  “That’s a good question. Unfortunately, I can’t answer it. I know my grandfather was enormously relieved by the renewed influx of money. For a couple of years, he thought he might have to close down one or more of his schools. He considered the sudden windfall an answer to prayers.”

  Again, Preston knew better than to argue with God—or at least with a person’s faith in God. In fact, Preston found himself envying Canaan’s faith in the face of the challenges the man was being forced to tackle.

  “So this donor is giving equal amounts to each school?” Preston asked.

  “That’s right. Granddad could have kept two or three of the schools up and running without the help, but we wouldn’t have these new buildings or our modern clinic.”

  “I’ll be ready to leave for Phoenix in an hour or less.”

  “Good. That’ll give me time to prepare my package, and if you drive as fast as Blaze tells me you do, you should be back to the school in time for dinner.” Canaan clapped Preston on the back as he walked away.

  Sheila stepped out into the desert, delaying the return to her desk in the clinic as long as possible. Right now, she craved sunlight and fresh air and time to talk things over with God. Or, at least, to share her thoughts with Him.

  For instance, she had come to Arizona to help Canaan finish the school year with continued good medical care for the students and their families. The families would begin collecting the children for the summer in a couple of weeks, their arrival schedules staggered so that anyone who wanted a physical checkup could receive it, free of charge. Those who required further treatment would be scheduled to return after the children had all gone home. The clinic would stay open for as long as needed, even if that meant all summer.

  This was a great benefit to the families who couldn’t afford or were unable to get to good medical care otherwise. This service was the brainchild of Johnny Jacobs, funded by the donors who supported this school and the others like it on the reservation. It was why Sheila had the utmost respect for Johnny.

  So why did she suddenly feel a strong urge to do as Preston had suggested earlier, and pack her bags and go home, without completing anything she had come here to do? She would resist the urge, of course.

  “There you are,” came Preston’s voice from the edge of the school grounds.

  She turned and waited for him to join her.

  “I should have known not to make promises I might not want to keep,” he said when he reached her. “Canaan needs me to be a courier today. I’m driving to Phoenix.”

  “Good. You’re the only nonmedical person he knows he can trust, and he needs to send more blood samples to the lab to—”

  Preston waved away her words. “I realize that. I just don’t like leaving you here when someone is still obviously hostile toward you.”

  “Blaze is going to work with me in the clinic today, so don’t worry,” she said dryly, “I’ll be well guarded.”

  “Canaan and I cleaned up the mess, and your clinic is ready for you again.”

  “It isn’t my clinic.” She turned and started walking again.

  “Have you considered studying to become a nurse-practitioner when you return to Missouri?” He fell into step close beside her, due to the narrowness of the track. “Blaze and Canaan keep telling me how good you are with the patients.”

  “I already work with patients.”

  “But you have that something extra.”

  She smiled at his encouragement. Preston Black would support her if she decided to become President of the United States.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” she said.

  “So talk.”

  She looked up at him, admiring the strength of his silhouette, the determination she knew was in his heart. This week, she had known she could trust him with her life.

  “I’m struggling with something right now,” she said. “I’ve been praying about it, but I also need to bounce these thoughts off someone with skin, and that doesn’t mean I need you to fix anything for me, just listen.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t know, honey, that’s a difficult challenge.”

  She smiled and took his hand. “Okay, but try. Here’s the problem. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been a forbidden subject in our house. Her death is shrouded in mystery, and I’ve always felt this hunger to know what actually happened to her.”

  His steps slowed. “This much I know. You came out here not only to help a friend in need—which is part of your giving nature—but because you also had a need.”

  “And now I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Of what you might find?”

  She nodded.

  “You love your father very much, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Then don’t you want to understand him better? He’s a bit of an enigma, isn’t he?”

  She looked up at Preston again. “He always has bee
n. He’s a wonderful father, a great supporter, a man of God, but he just wouldn’t discuss my mother.”

  “Don’t you think you owe it to him to find out why?”

  She thought about that for a moment. What was he saying? Did Preston honestly believe she had done the right thing in coming here? Did he feel she should stay until she found her answers?

  “I’m beginning to remember some things about Mom,” she said. “And I’m beginning to wonder if they will turn out to be good memories.”

  He reached out and touched her arm. “Hold on a minute. Haven’t you suspected something disturbing all along?”

  She stopped, midstride. “What?”

  “Your father is a practical man. He doesn’t do anything without good reason. He doesn’t like me because he doesn’t believe in marriage for a couple with different spiritual views. And he most likely didn’t want you to come out here because he didn’t want you to discover something about your mother that would hurt you.”

  Sheila digested this in silence.

  “So it stands to reason that you’ll discover something you don’t want to know,” he said. “You came here, aware deep down that this could happen. It’s too late to turn back now, don’t you think?”

  “You mean you don’t want me to leave?” she asked.

  He gazed at her tenderly. “What I want has never been a part of the equation. You have a need to be here and a need to know. I’m here to help you—”

  “You guys!”

  They turned. Tanya was rushing toward them, face flushed, dark brows lowered.

  “You’re not going to believe this! Do you know who played those awful tricks on you, Sheila? April Hunt! I’d like to yank her head bald!” She turned and glowered toward the school. “I just might do it, too.”

  “You mean she admitted it?” Sheila asked, feeling a sudden rush of relief.

  “Jamey told me. He said he got home really late last night—you know when we heard someone running outside, and you said you thought it was Jamey? Well, it was. And he was sick and had to get some aspirin from the bathroom. He went past her little room and she wasn’t there, so he went looking for her. He caught her trying to sneak back in the house just before dawn. He said he overheard you guys talking with the teachers about a wolf drawing in the apartment, and he knew she’d been out. You know, she has a key to a lot of the buildings because she cleans? Well, she admitted to Jamey that she used her key to get into the clinic last night, to set up that stuff.”