The bone thief, p.14
The Bone Thief, page 14
“It’s hard for people to understand,” April says as we drive through an intersection with a Dunkin’ Donuts. “I applied there and the one next town over every six weeks for a year. Not even a response. Every restaurant we passed I applied. Both gas stations. The CVS, where Naomi has a white friend even, but they still wouldn’t interview either of us.”
We pass a few more businesses in this main section of the town.
“There, there, there,” she says toward the Walmart, the grocery store, the pet store. “So yeah, when Johnny offered something to Naomi, she took it. Because that was the only choice. And when another spot opened up after she…was gone, I couldn’t say no.”
Her frustration is familiar. In my small Oklahoma hometown, there weren’t many jobs, so I had trouble, too. But it was a dying town. But here, there are jobs. They aren’t giving them to Native folks. There are statistics, of course. I’d read a report that even when all the factors are the same—education, age, experience—the odds of Native Americans being employed are thirty percent less than white counterparts.
April has her chin out, as if trying to deny the frustration and probably shame of having doors slammed in her face. That certainly hits me harder than any statistic.
I was on the wrong side of that when it came to Naomi.
“Julia really didn’t want Naomi working at the Founders Society,” April says as I turn into the Smoke Shop parking lot. “They fought about it. And then Naomi met Dursten, and things with her mom got worse. They weren’t even speaking before she disappeared. I told Naomi I’d support her even though I think her mom is pretty great.”
I’m quiet as I park, hoping she’ll say more, but instead it’s “Thanks for the ride.” She unbuckles and gets out of the truck.
I step onto the small gravel area in front of the Smoke Shop, and I see what’s brought the ire of the governor: a small tan metal building resembling a trailer home more than a storefront. There’s a rectangular sign overhead with Narragansett Smoke Shop in black letters and a painting of two tobacco peace pipes with a pair of turtles and feathers. The woods surround this slice of Narragansett tribal land that is a part of their sovereign nation status, though based on the troopers here, the state of Rhode Island would disagree.
We head toward a delivery truck with some nineties rock music playing. A couple of young guys are unloading boxes. One of the guys is Shawna’s friend who helped her with the poster outside the powwow.
“Hey there,” I say with a wave.
“What we’re doing is legal.” He places the box down on the ground. “This is our land.”
“I know,” I say. “We met at the powwow with Shawna. I work with Ellis.”
“Oh, shit.” He smacks his forehead. “Sorry, I thought you were more staties bothering us.”
“Bothering you how?” I ask.
“I should hire those cops to help, they’re here so much.” He wipes some sweat from his forehead. “I finally get a nine to five, and I can’t even do my job. Figures, right. I’m Joey, by the way.”
“Good to officially meet you.” I wonder if I could reach out to someone to stop the harassment. One of those people standing around at the governor’s speech, probably. “Would tribal police help?”
He shrugs. “What they’re doing is legal. Checking business licenses and shit like that. How you doing, April?”
“I’m fine. Do you need some help?” She seems nervous suddenly. “I’m heading inside.”
“I got it.” He reaches into the back of the truck and hands me a big box. “This one is yours, boss.”
“Sure,” I say, awkwardly hugging the bulky but not-too-heavy box as April heads toward the shop.
“Follow me,” he says and pushes the hand truck that’s stacked taller than him with boxes. He starts to walk in a zigzag and glances back at me, so I do the same. He turns in a wide circle, and I follow with a laugh.
It’s a good reminder that these are teenagers, kids really.
Joey wheels the boxes up the ramp, and I take the wooden stairs to hold open the gray door marked Entrance. He zooms past me, and I step inside, hit with a welcome blast of cold air from a window unit right at the front of the trailer. Inside there are shelves filled with cartons of cigarettes and simple, handmade signs with names and prices.
April is sitting next to Red Bird, both on stools behind the counter.
“Everything looks good,” I call toward them.
“I hope so,” Red Bird says. “Opens tomorrow.”
“Show me the money!” Joey shouts from the back.
April scrunches her mouth. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”
“Sure tries to be when you’re here.” Red Bird sends April a smirk, then goes back to writing on a small sign. She doesn’t look up as she says toward me, “Heard you’re spending time at that camp. What have you found out?”
I take the pen and notepad where she’s been writing prices and brands. I draw the wave symbol and three dots. “Do you recognize this?”
Red Bird smiles at me. “Of course, it’s our family’s pattern. We’ve stamped it on baskets for hundreds of years.”
I take out the Founders Society inventory from my bag and flip open to the page with a piece of pottery that has a similar pattern. “Is this your family stamp?”
She grins at first, but then her hands fall away. “Where is this from?”
“The Founders Society, where Naomi worked. They have a collection of artifacts and even remains.”
Red Bird closes her eyes for a moment. “That’s what Shawna was so upset about.”
“And Naomi?” I ask, since she’d have seen her family’s symbol displayed in the cases. And even stolen. Though her Post-its were only on historical documents.
“Naomi didn’t say anything to me about that place.” Red Bird pulls the inventory closer. “That pot could have been funerary, you know. They may have my relatives in there.”
“I hope not,” I say, not sure how it could be verified without a DNA test.
She slides the list back to me. “Anything on my granddaughter?”
I stare into her eyes even though it hurts to see the pain, a familiar pain. “I talked to someone who said the police were looking for Naomi the night she disappeared.”
April turns to Red Bird. “She was scared they’d arrest her after she got caught shoplifting again.”
“But where would she go?” Red Bird asks softly, almost to herself. “No family or friends have heard from her. She didn’t have much money.”
“She could survive in the woods,” Joey says as he brings out a stack of cartons. “She’s resourceful like that.”
Red Bird’s mouth is a hard line until she says, “But to scare us. She’s not thoughtless. There must be another reason.”
“I’d rather live in the woods than jail, by a damn mile,” Joey says. “Especially if I had someone to share my tent.” He winks at April and heads toward a shelf.
I return focus to Red Bird and April. “Did Naomi say anything about issues at work? Someone bothering her?”
Red Bird shakes her head, and her long gray braid falls off her shoulder. “Only recent trouble was at that CVS. Where her friend worked.”
“What’s her friend’s name?” I ask.
“I can’t remember.” Red Bird looks at April. “What was it? Ellen?”
“Elaine,” April says as if she’d rather not.
“The CVS on Post Road?” I ask.
“That’s right,” Red Bird says. “The one they built over a Narragansett burial ground.”
23
I drive a little quicker than I should because I’ve got to hurry if I’m going to make the late-afternoon session with the campers. I’m already glad I agreed to help out, they’d shared information I wouldn’t have known otherwise. And something tells me there’s more.
I arrive in the CVS parking lot, near the excavation of the Post Road site in North Kingstown, which was almost thirty years before my time in Rhode Island. A decade after Bud helped with the site in Jamestown that added to the Founders Society collection.
I’d read the report about the site, indicating that it was private property. They’d given the tribe a few weeks’ notice about the excavation after a digger had struck some remains. That was all that was legally required, though they would need to rebury what bones they found.
I glance around at the Home Depot, grocery store, Dunkin’, and Wendy’s that were built in the area. These kinds of businesses support communities, improve quality of life. Could they have been put somewhere else? What would the tribe have wanted? Certainly their members in the area use these stores. But I doubt that was even a conversation. Follow the law and move on toward progress as categorized by capitalism.
I cross through the automatic doors of the CVS, and it’s busy with the lunchtime errand crowd. There’s a long line at the front, but I head toward the back to see if I can find someone else working who’s not busy.
There’s a call over the speaker: “Elaine to the front, Elaine.”
I don’t see anyone go toward the registers to help the frantic cashier. I near the pharmacy, which also has a line, and a person helping people coughing and waiting on their prescriptions.
There’s a swinging door on the side, and I decide to take a peek. Inside, there’s a young woman with dark greasy hair tied back, taking a bite out of a sandwich. She looks up at me with a scowl as she chews. “What do you want?”
“Are you Elaine?” I ask. “Naomi’s friend?”
She drops the sandwich into her lap and wipes her mouth. “You know Naomi?”
“She worked for me one summer,” I say. “I’m trying to help her family find her.”
“Shit, she’s still missing?” She shakes her head. “She’s the nicest damn girl. Lots of drama, but she means well.”
“What kind of drama?” I step inside and let the swinging door close. “With her boyfriend?”
“Naw, it’s not like that. He’s cool. He’d buy us both Dunkin’ iced coffees and drive her to visit me at work. I mean he’s a nerdy type, but she liked him. He bought her flowers and shit. A bracelet. Even gonna propose.”
“Really? You think she would have said yes?”
“I don’t know.” She takes another bite of the sandwich. “Maybe.”
“Can you tell me what exactly happened when she was arrested?” I get closer and lean against a cinder block wall.
She takes another bite and doesn’t hide her skeptical frown. “Julia sent you?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m trying to help. You can call her if you want to verify it.”
Elaine looks ever more exhausted at the suggestion. I can see the moment she gives up, realizing it’s easier to talk than try to get rid of me. “Naomi was hanging out with me. I was on break, which I’m legally allowed to take.” She takes an angry bite and talks as she chews. “My dick manager always wants me to work through lunch and my breaks. Look, I’m sorry people can’t get their overpriced vitamins and Pringles faster, but I need my time.”
“I get that,” I say. “So you were on a break when it happened?”
“Yeah, and my manager was mad that Naomi kept visiting me. Like what does it hurt him if she brings me a coffee? Asshole. So that day, it was just her. She was driving Dursten’s car because hers hadn’t worked in a while. We hang out for my twenty freaking minutes and then she bounces.”
“She leaves?” I ask.
“Well, my manager stops her and says he saw her on the camera taking something. He’s already called the freaking cops.”
“Maybe it was a mistake? Did he offer to let her pay for it?”
“You think anyone in this town gives Native kids second chances?” She shakes her head. “When I went to help her, she was whispering to him like she was embarrassed. Like she wanted him to not make a scene, you know.” She crumples the sandwich paper on her lap. “But when I found out, I said I’d pay. It’s a mistake, you know. She probably forgot, I said, but the cop showed up.”
“And arrested her?”
“He was about to, but I had texted Dursten for help. Plus he’d need to come get his car. But he didn’t show up. His dad did.”
“Frank?” I ask. “He came here?”
“Yeah, with a security guard from where Naomi works. That’s what she said anyway. The town cop left almost immediately.”
That’s the influence I’d seen at the Founders Society brunch today, and that Tad had threatened that first morning. “So she wasn’t arrested?”
“No, and then I had to go back to the register. I tried to watch to be sure she was okay. She was crying a lot.”
“Do you know what this was all about? What was she stealing?”
Elaine stares at the ground. “That’s what really hurts me so much. She should have asked. I would have paid. I would have helped her.”
“Helped her with what?” I ask, and when she hesitates, I push. “Please, Elaine, her family is so worried.”
“It wasn’t about how much it cost. She was embarrassed. It was a secret.” Elaine stands slowly and angrily throws away her wad of trash. “She tried to steal a pregnancy test. And I saw Frank take it with them and he bought two more. I know, I checked them out. She cried the whole time.”
24
Clouds are rolling in, and in the overcast afternoon, I hurry down the trail at the camp toward the Big Dig area. My mind returns to that storeroom in CVS, with Elaine and her sandwich and the implications of Naomi being pregnant. I’d called to speak to her mother, Julia, to understand the timeline better. I’d almost been relieved when she didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure how much to share. But I need some indication of what this pregnancy would mean to those around Naomi. Then there’s the video and the photos.
No doubt, Naomi was in trouble, and best case, still is.
In archeology, the final phase of a dig is about data recovery, the collection of all significant information at the site. But the pieces of Naomi’s life are not in one place. In fact, she may have been hiding them all over the county.
A twig snaps behind me, and I realize I’ve gone deep into the woods. I don’t recognize the area, and this isn’t a manicured trail, but wilder, as if abandoned. At more crunching in the distance, I turn to go back the way I came, expecting to see campers who went the wrong way like me. But the shaded path is empty, and I shiver as a warm wind kicks dirt into the air.
Woods have never scared me, but people are the unknown factor. I only go a few more feet until there’s heavy footsteps. I stop and so do the footsteps. I repeat the action, get the same result. Someone is following me. I tell myself I’m not being hunted again.
“Hello?” I call into the woods but there’s no response. “Who’s there?”
The wind picks up, and it pulls my hair as if saying, Go.
Nature has never been the enemy. The bumps in the night are from man.
I tell myself to stay calm as a branch flies into my face. My boots are loud as I walk faster, and soon, my muscles are on fire, finally catching up with the speed of my heart. I keep my bag pressed to my side. I do not run, not yet.
“Les?” I call out, thinking of the last time I had that feeling. But there is no response.
My mind is a flash of fears, as if sensing the vulnerability of this moment to remind me of all the death I’ve seen and even barely escaped. A trailer on fire, bodies inside. Skulls in the mud. Men in devil masks. Naomi’s scared message.
If I’m not there, I’m dead.
Another mother and child in the earth.
Faster and faster my brain spins images of fear, and I push my legs to a sprint.
I don’t know where I’m going exactly, not really. I haven’t had time to study the map of the camp. I certainly don’t know enough to survive an attack.
Behind me, a branch cracks.
Within me, I remember the broken neck bone.
Behind me, the huff of a man’s breath.
Within me, a skeleton curled into itself, moccasins on its feet.
Behind me, the footsteps are fast, closer. I have a choice: stop, wait, see who is behind me.
Within me, a silent scream: Run.
In the mud, it’s a frantic pace, jumping over sticks and a hole before I take another corner. There’s some movement farther back as if they’re getting closer.
I’m turned around, and ahead I see a flash of braided black hair. The profile of a face in a long dress. Naomi is leading me in that direction.
I leap over a branch and roll my ankle, crying out, but still running. The high-top support of my boots saved me from something worse. Finally there’s the clearing ahead, and I recognize the large sign indicating the cafeteria across an empty field. I charge ahead toward a cluster of campers laughing and pushing each other.
I’m gasping as I fall in beside them and walk backward, watching where I’d exited the woods. Terrified of what could chase me out. But there’s nothing. The mouth of the path is like an empty eye socket, dark and without answers.
“Are you okay, Syd?” Tally leaves the group of girls she was with. “Did you see the ghost?”
I’m gasping, I realize, and likely red-faced. “Sorry, I’m fine.”
“Did you see the Indian princess?” Elise walks up next to her.
“Princess?” There’s the flash of Naomi at the edge of the powwow. In the trees. “What do you mean?”
“The chief’s daughter. She was a princess who had her bones stolen. She haunts the camp.”
The magical Indian princess, but there’s truth in their story, since her skeleton was in the Room of Bones. Naomi had even marked an article about the Narragansett sachem’s daughter whose bones were stolen and the state supreme court later acquitting the grave robbers. There is truth to this campfire tale.
