Double Blind Page 25

  “But why?” Sheila asked.

  “She told Jamey it was because the wolf wanted her to.” Tanya grasped Sheila’s arms. “I think he’s gotten to her, too. He’s everywhere we turn!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  C anaan paced in front of the main office entrance at the Northern Arizona University at Flagstaff, tension tightening the muscles in his shoulders as he prepared to betray someone he had known most of his life. But when it came to a choice between Kai Begay and the good of the school, the school won.

  He wasn’t actually betraying Kai, anyway, he was simply doing a more thorough background check than might have been run on him when he first became a member of the staff. Maybe Doctor Whitter couldn’t tell Canaan anything about Kai that he didn’t already know. What a relief that would be. Perhaps.

  An elderly Native American with a brisk step approached him and smiled. “Dr. York? I’m Eyotah Whitter.” He held out his hand. “I knew you instantly. You look very much like your mother.”

  Canaan took Dr. Whitter’s hand. “My mother used to talk about you often when I was growing up. You were one of her favorite professors here.”

  “Why don’t I remember having you as a student?”

  “I’ve been here several times, but I attended university and medical school in Phoenix.”

  The man had the broad features of the Hopi tribe, and Canaan remembered Kai mentioning that one of his professors had been Hopi. A Hopi college professor was very rare in the days Kai had gone to school.

  “I come from your part of the country,” Doctor Whitter said. “From the Hopi reservation in the center of Navajoland.”

  Shorter and more slender than Canaan, the older man exuded an energy that seemed to burst at the seams of his reserved demeanor. Rather than inviting Canaan into his office, he suggested they talk as they strolled around the campus, though Eyotah Whitter’s stroll was more like a jog.

  “We’ll have more privacy this way,” he explained, absently pushing his shaggy black hair from his forehead. “Everybody wants to drop in for a visit when I’m working on Saturday.”

  They stepped across a concrete courtyard, the cool, fresh air so clear that the dark green needles of the pines and white bark of the aspens looked painted on a canvas of blue velvet. Unlike the desert of the Navajo reservation, Flagstaff eased beautifully into summer, due to the higher altitude. Here pines grew tall and straight against the backdrop of the San Francisco Peaks. Not for the first time today, Canaan wished he were here simply for pleasure.

  He turned to Doctor Whitter. “As I asked you over the telephone yesterday, do you remember a student you might have had thirty-five or forty years ago named Kai Begay?”

  Whitter’s mouth pursed, and his steps slowed. “And as I told you yesterday, we’re talking about a lot of years. I’ve been curious about why you want to know.”

  “He’s a teacher at our school, at Twin Mesas, and he mentioned a Hopi professor. I thought of you—”

  “He works with children?”

  “He’s one of the school favorites, and has been since I was a student there. Does that concern you?”

  “I’m not sure you’re talking about the person I’m remembering, though the name is familiar. Tell me more.”

  “He was a premed student. He feels that he was held back by a Hopi professor at the time.”

  Dr. Whitter stepped over to a concrete bench and sat down heavily. He looked at Canaan in silence for a moment, as if considering his words carefully.

  Canaan got the distinct impression he wasn’t going to appreciate what Dr. Whitter had to say.

  “If it’s the Kai Begay I remember,” Dr. Whitter began, “I thought he was out of the state. I was told he had left the area. I can’t believe he’s been working with children all this time, so close by.” He raised a thick, dark brow at Canaan. “May I ask what problems you have had?”

  Canaan joined him on the bench. “It’s complicated. Some of my suspicions are based on nothing but intuition. There is a distinct mood of unease at the school. The kids are jumpy, some are waking with bad dreams, others are starting fights.” He briefly told about Tanya’s terror of the Navajo werewolf, the pranks played by April and Sheila’s recollections of the past.

  “You say the twelve-year-old had severe bleeding?” Dr. Whitter asked.

  “Yes, but we got her to medical treatment in time, and she’s fine now.”

  “Any evidence of sexual abuse?”

  “None, and she had not been pregnant, but I did receive test results showing she had GHB in her system, which would indicate something nefarious, particularly since I know this child, and I don’t believe she would willingly take the drug. I have no way of knowing how many of these events are connected and how many are coincidental.”

  “You said Kai was a teacher there when you attended the school?”

  “Yes. But so were several other staff members. I’m not sure why I’ve begun to suspect Kai, except for his attitude toward Sheila Metcalf, who has returned to help me in the clinic. She was a student there, and she, too, was affected deeply by this crazy superstition about the Navajo werewolf—”

  “If not for these other problems, the wolf would not concern me too much.” Dr. Whitter shaded his eyes and watched Canaan. “With white civilization pushing in at every opportunity, I think superstitions are becoming more prevalent. Our traditions are becoming anachronisms. I left the world of my parents many years ago, but I still cling to some of the old ways. Just because I don’t live by tribal customs doesn’t mean I don’t honor them in my thoughts.”

  “The Navajo werewolf is not a custom, it’s an ancient evil,” Canaan said. “I encourage the children to be proud of our Navajo heritage. What’s been happening the past few years seems to be an undermining of the basic beliefs our school has attempted to teach our children for the past thirty years.”

  “Twin Mesas is a Christian school,” Whitter said quietly. “Some people might say the Navajo heritage has already been undermined there for thirty years.”

  “Our Navajo heritage has never been hostile toward Christianity,” Canaan said. “So would you be one of those people, Dr. Whitter?”

  Whitter spread his hands. “I know Christians mean well. But you didn’t come to see me to debate Christianity. You came to find out if it’s possible Kai Begay is causing the trouble at your school. I believe he could very well be.”

  Canaan leaned forward, alarmed. “Tell me how.”

  Before Dr. Whitter could reply, they were interrupted by one of Dr. Whitter’s students. Frustrated, Canaan checked his cell phone messages while Dr. Whitter conferred with his student.

  This morning, before leaving the school, Canaan had left messages for the principals of his grandfather’s three other reservation schools, requesting information about possible difficulties they might be having. As he listened to his voice mail, his concern grew.

  Neither of the principals mentioned any concerns about the Navajo werewolf. One, however, reported that just this morning three of the dorm parents had visited the clinic, too ill to return to their dorms. An investigation was under way, but tests were inconclusive at this point.

  Canaan needed to complete this interview and get back to the school.

  Sheila missed Preston. She hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to seeing him every day until she’d looked for him in the cafeteria at early lunch and remembered he was on his way to Phoenix.

  She looked at her watch as she returned to the clinic. He would be back in another hour or so, if he hadn’t been stopped for speeding.

  “I thought you’d never get here,” came a voice from the shadows at the far corner of the waiting area.

  Sheila recognized that voice. She turned on the light and saw Betsy in a chair, hunched over. She didn’t look good.

  “I looked for you in the cafeteria,” Sheila said, “but Steve told me you’d taken the rest of the day off. You look sick.”

  “Nothing a good shot of
my arthritis medication won’t cure,” Betsy said. “It’s been a month, and my over-the-counter stuff isn’t working anymore.”

  “A month? Betsy, what are you talking about?”

  “Canaan didn’t tell you? I have rheumatoid arthritis. He’s got a standing order for me to have a shot of etanercept once a month. Check my file.”

  Sheila reached for her thermometer and stethoscope. “Come into the exam room with me. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “How much sooner?” Betsy got up and followed. “I never tell Canaan ahead of time, I just come in when I start feeling achy, and get the shot.”

  “When did this pain first start?” Sheila asked.

  “About twenty years ago. Guess the weather’s acting up. It’s not usually this bad.”

  “Lie down,” Sheila said. “I can listen to your heart better that way.”

  “You don’t need to listen to my heart, you need to listen to me. There’s nothing wrong with me that my medicine won’t fix.”

  “Fine, let me get your file and set up your shot,” Sheila said.

  “Figured you’d go stir-crazy today, with Preston and Canaan both gone,” Betsy said as she sat on the exam table. “Maybe I’ll watch.”

  “Or maybe you’ll go home and go to bed,” Sheila said. “People with autoimmune disorders are supposed to rest when they feel bad. I don’t ever see you rest. No wonder you’re hurting.”

  “That would bore me to death. What are you trying to do, play those two good-looking men against each other?”

  “I’m not playing anyone against anyone. I came out here to help in the clinic.”

  “And to find out more about your mother,” Betsy said.

  “Right now I’m here to help you feel better. When did you start feeling the pain this time?” Sheila asked.

  “It’s been coming on all week. Have you found out any more about your mother?” Betsy asked. “Has being here stimulated your memories?”

  Sheila placed the syringe of medicine on the stainless-steel tray table and opened an alcohol swab packet. “Maybe another memory, though I’m not sure. Just sit there and relax.”

  “I am relaxed. You mean a dream?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “All I can tell is that I was having the same dream as before, only this time I saw a woman standing in the doorway of a hogan. She had long, light hair, and she wore white. So I was either dreaming about an angel, or that woman was my mother.”

  “You saw your mother at the same time you saw the wolf?”

  Sheila nodded. “Do you want the injection in the arm or hip?”

  “Hip. It’s nice to have a woman doing it again. I don’t like baring my bony behind for just anyone, you know.” She bent over the exam bed and slid down the waistband of her slacks.

  Sheila swabbed the site.

  “You should have seen our poor little April Hunt when Doc questioned her about those nasty tricks she played on you,” Betsy said.

  “I hope he wasn’t too hard on her.”

  “He needed to be hard. It’s witchcraft, you know.”

  “The picture?”

  “The cedar and sand. The picture was only a childish taunt.”

  “But that was what frightened me.”

  “Because you’re afraid of the wolf. The wolf is the source of evil, but not the picture,” Betsy said. “The sand was probably what the witch used in a dry painting to conjure the wolf spirit.”

  “I guessed it was something like that.”

  “There is a power in the prank that was played on you, because your fear weakens you, leaves you more open to the power. I have tried to stop it.”

  “Prayer is the only way to battle it, Betsy.” Sheila slid the needle into the muscle and injected the fluid.

  “I know this is a Christian school, but it’s hard for some of us to give up all our old beliefs. My husband never liked it when I continued to practice some of the old ways, even after I became a believer in Christ.”

  “It’s hard, sometimes, to change your whole belief system all at once,” Sheila said. “Okay, I’m done. Betsy, you need to rest until you’re feeling better.”

  Betsy ignored her. “That was why he gave me that necklace I gave you. He wanted me to remember where the real power came from”

  “Jesus Christ is the only One with power,” Sheila said. “If April left those things, that could mean she knows who is practicing Navajo witchcraft in this area.”

  Betsy nodded. “That’s right. It’s even possible the witch told her to try to frighten you.”

  “But why? I’ve done nothing to hurt anyone.”

  “I think you might have frightened someone. It’s possible this person thinks you know how your mother died. It’s possible whoever wants to frighten you killed your mother.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  T o Canaan’s relief, the professor was finally free to walk with him again. “Dr. Whitter, can you tell me more about your experiences with Kai?”

  “Please call me Eyotah. You are not a student.”

  “Thank you, Eyotah. I am Canaan.”

  Eyotah regarded him for a few seconds. “Certainly not a Navajo name.”

  “I am half white. I was given my name by my Christian grandfather, who founded four mission schools on Navajoland.”

  Eyotah took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. “Did Kai mention what classes he took under my instruction?”

  “He didn’t even mention your name. He referred to you only as a Hopi professor he’d had.”

  “He would be bitter. He didn’t get his way with me.” Eyotah’s voice hardened. “I was stronger than he was, as few were.”

  Canaan frowned. “Stronger?”

  Eyotah nodded. “I’m a professor of psychology, but I am also considered an expert in Native American legend and customs. My father was the holy man of a large tribe, and he taught me his ways. He also taught me of the dark spirits so that I would know how to shield myself from them.”

  “Witchcraft?” Canaan exclaimed. The Hopi were known for their power and expertise with witchcraft, far exceeding that of the Navajo.

  “Yes, but I never used the dark power.”

  “I’ve never been able to see a difference between what you call the dark and light sides of the power,” Canaan said. If the power came from the same source, it was the same power.

  “You Christians are entitled to your opinions, but have you ever seen an evil that heals?”

  “I’ve seen evil masquerade as light to seduce people. By the time they realized the mistake, it was too late. But tell me about your spiritual medicine. Did you teach it to Kai?”

  A weary sadness pulled at Eyotah’s expression. He nodded. “Had I known, I would never have shown him.” He shook his head. “I thought he was sincere in his quest for knowledge of Navajo customs, and he knew I had studied many things about the Navajo. He showed so much interest in psychology classes, and he was so adept at anything he undertook, I was drawn to him. Of course, his Navajo heritage, with so few Native Americans in college those days, also attracted me. He was a brilliant, hardworking student for the first three years he was here. He was, as you said, a premed student, and I encouraged him, praising him to my colleagues at every opportunity.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.” He turned to Canaan. “But for the first three years, he never returned home, even though it was only a five-hour drive away. He never mentioned his home, though I knew he came from the Black Mountain area. It was as if he wanted to wipe the past from his memory.”

  “Did you ever find out why?”

  Eyotah shook his head. “I have only theories. During the summers he took night courses, worked, and saved his money. I hired him for several research projects on the Apache nation. But the summer before his fourth year, his father died, and he returned to Black Mountain. He stayed the whole summer. When he came back that fall, it was as if some darkne
ss had entered his spirit.” Eyotah shuddered. “It frightened even me.”

  “You have no idea what happened?”

  “Only the barest inkling. There was an incident at Black Mountain, many years before you were born. An old man named White Wolf was shot for practicing witchcraft. It made the news because he was one of the last witches punished by death in the Navajo nation, and the police found out about it.”

  “I remember hearing about it. My grandfather told me.”

  Eyotah loosened his tie. At the next concrete bench, he tossed his jacket onto it, but didn’t sit down. “I know I don’t have to tell you how Native Americans resent outsiders meddling in our affairs, and for many weeks the Feds investigated White Wolf’s death. They never found out who shot him, and for that I’m glad. From a small investigation I did on my own while studying the Navajo, I came to the conclusion that White Wolf truly was a witch, and that whoever killed him was a hero to the Navajo people.”

  “You think this somehow affected Kai?” Canaan asked the older man.

  Eyotah nodded. “I know the educational system and white society tell us that the spirits don’t exist, but the beliefs of my nation go back many centuries. I’m convinced that demon spirits could enter some people—as it might have infected Kai when he returned to Black Mountain that summer.”

  “Or perhaps someone in that community was infected, who, in turn, somehow reached Kai that summer,” Canaan suggested. “What was Kai like when he returned?”

  “His whole character had undergone a metamorphosis. He changed from a brilliant, hardworking student to a troublemaker in just a few weeks. He became very moody and volatile when denied what he wanted.”