The question hung between them as Kari’s phone vibrated in her pocket.She pulled it out, expecting Yazzie with an update.Instead, she saw three missed calls from her grandmother—the most recent just minutes ago.
A cold dread washed over her.Ruth never called multiple times unless something was wrong—very wrong.The last time Kari had received repeated calls like this was the night her mother had died.
She called her grandmother back.No answer.She tried again, but the result was the same.
“I need to go,” she said, already moving toward her vehicle.“Family emergency.”
“Now?”Daniels’s incredulity followed her.“We’re in the middle of processing a homicide scene.”
“My grandmother,” Kari called back without stopping.“Something’s wrong.”
She was vaguely aware of Tsosie saying something to Daniels, smoothing her abrupt departure, but her mind was already racing ahead to Ruth’s small house at the edge of the reservation.Had the killer struck again while they were all focused on Mitchell?Was Ruth’s home even on Daniels’s protection list?
No,she told herself.That doesn’t make sense.Ruth would never be a target.
But she wouldn’t know that for sure until she saw Ruth with her own eyes.
The drive to her grandmother’s house took twenty-three agonizing minutes—every second stretching as Kari imagined worst-case scenarios.She tried calling Ruth twice, but there was no answer, the calls going straight to voicemail.
When she finally pulled up to the small stone house, relief flooded through her at the sight of lights in the windows.No police vehicles, no signs of disturbance.Just the soft glow of Ruth’s home, unchanged from how it had always been.
Kari approached with caution nonetheless, her hand instinctively near her service weapon.She knocked once, then used her key to enter.
“Shimásání?”she called.“It’s me.”
Ruth sat in her usual chair near the woodstove, a blanket across her lap despite the warmth of the night, her silver hair loose around her shoulders rather than in its customary bun.She looked up as Kari entered, her weathered face showing no surprise at the late-night visit.
“You came,” she said simply.“Good.”
“You called three times,” Kari said, her heart still racing.“I thought—”
“You thought something had happened to me,” Ruth finished for her, nodding as if this were a perfectly reasonable assumption.
Kari sank onto the sofa, the adrenaline crash leaving her suddenly exhausted.“Are you okay?Why did you call?”
“I had a vision,” Ruth said, as casually as if she were reporting the weather.“Of your mother.”
Kari’s apprehension shifted to a different kind of discomfort.Ruth’s “visions” had always been a source of tension between them—Kari’s scientific training battling with the inexplicable accuracy of her grandmother’s insights.
“A dream,” Kari suggested gently.
“No.”Ruth was firm.“A vision.While I was weaving.She stood right there.”She pointed to the empty space near the door.“Clear as you are now.”
Kari said nothing, knowing from experience that challenging Ruth’s beliefs would lead nowhere productive.
“She had a message,” Ruth continued.“She said, ‘Tell Kari she has everything she needs.’”
“What does that mean?”Kari asked, despite herself.
“I don’t know.It was your mother’s message, not mine.”Ruth studied her granddaughter with sharp eyes that missed nothing.“But she seemed concerned.Urgent.”
Kari rubbed her temples, where a headache was beginning to form.“Shimásání, we’ve had three murders in five days.The latest victim was killed just hours ago.I’m running on coffee and adrenaline, with the FBI breathing down my neck and a killer moving faster with each victim.I appreciate that you’re worried about me, but cryptic messages from visions aren’t exactly helpful right now.”
Ruth made a small sound that might have been amusement.“You think I called you here for ghost stories?At my age?”She pushed herself to her feet with surprising vigor and crossed to a small cedar chest in the corner.“I called because of this.”
She returned with a small leather pouch, its surface decorated with intricate beadwork in patterns Kari recognized from childhood—protection symbols, ancient designs meant to ward off evil.
“Your mother was looking for something before she died,” Ruth said, her voice softening.“Something old.Something dangerous.I didn’t understand then.I’m beginning to now.”
