Dead Soul Read Online Free PDF Page B

red plastic basket toward her. “Want a french fry?”
    Daisy Perika shook her head. “My legs hurt.”
    “You’ve been working ’em too hard.” He helped the weary woman onto a stool.
    She grunted at the effort.
    He concentrated on the greasy snack. “I’ll be done here in a minute. Then we’ll head for Bennie’s.”
    His aunt’s face wore a worried look. “I need to tell you something.”
    “No. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” He assumed an expression of intent concentration. “Oh, yeah—I got it. You’ve spent your whole Social Security check. And you expect to tap me for a loan.”
    “I just ran into somebody who wants to talk to you.”
    He squeezed a plastic bottle, squirted a stream of tomato catsup over the fries. “Who?”
    “A young woman. She’s been watching you.”
    Young woman. Well, now. The tribal investigator straightened his string tie, turned on the rock-hard stool. “Where is she?”
    “I thought that’d get your interest.” Daisy pointed. “She’s right over…” The woman was not there.
    “Which one?” The store was packed with female persons of every description.
    “I don’t see her now.” The old woman’s eyes searched the crowd in vain. “After I went up and asked what she was doing looking at you, I think she must’ve got spooked.”
    “Imagine that.” He turned back to his food.
    “Don’t you get sassy with me, Charlie Moon. You can eat later—right now, you got to go find that girl.”
    He grinned sideways at the tribal elder. “Why do I got to?”
    “Because she’s in trouble.”
    “What kind of trouble?”
    “She didn’t say. But that girl’s afraid of somebody.” And it was always a man that ruined a woman’s life. “And don’t ask me how I know—I just know .”
    Damn . He lost his appetite. “She have any cuts or bruises?”
    “Not that I could see. But sure as woodpeckers peck wood, somebody’s knocked her around one time too many. That’s why she wants to talk to a policeman.”
    “I haven’t been in uniform for almost four years. Why would she—”
    “Well, that’s plain as the nose on your face,” Daisy snapped. “She’s somebody who remembers you from way back when.”
    He stared at his aunt. Most of the time, the old woman seemed to live in a dreamworld. Then she would surprise him with a display of common sense. “Yeah. I guess she could know me from my time with SUPD.”
    “Which means she’s probably from Ignacio.” Daisy eyed the french fries. “And she probably knows you’re still doing police work for the tribe.”
    “Give me a description.”
    “Pale-skinned matukach. Skinny. Stringy red hair. Freckles. Blue eyes. Not more’n twenty-four years old.”
    Moon was impressed with his aged aunt’s powers of observation. He could think of at least two women in Ignacio who matched the description. “What’s she wearing?”
    “White dress. Red shoes.”
    This one wouldn’t be hard to spot. “Stay here.”
    Daisy watched her nephew disappear into the throng of shoppers. She reached for a french fry. Bit off the end. The starchy stalk was soaked with grease, crusted with salt. She dipped the remnant in a gob of catsup. Pretty good.
    It was well past noon when the tribal investigator returned to the lunch counter. In response to the question on his aunt’s face, Moon shrugged. “Couldn’t find her. She must’ve had second thoughts about talking to me.” It was standard behavior for battered women. First, they couldn’t wait to tell a cop about how the husband or boyfriend had beaten them up. “Drop the bastard in the darkest dungeon,” they’d say. “Throw away the key!” But love makes a strong bond. Even the warped kind of affection that keeps a woman with a ham-fisted bully. So when she looked the cop in the eye, finally had the opportunity to jug the animal, the abused woman typically thought of a dozen reasons not to make a complaint. Like: What will I do without him. What will he do to me if I