Winter Counts(68)

“That what you’re looking for?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said in a low voice. “Should be no problem, unless the password’s been changed.”

“You do your thing. I’ll be in the hall by the door.” She sat down in Delia’s chair as I moved out of the room. “Hurry.”

She didn’t respond, her attention focused on the computer.

I walked down the hall to the back door. The plan was for me to wait there and make sure no one came in. I sat down on an old plastic chair, the flashlight by my side. I could see through the window into the darkness beyond, pitch-black, no cars or lights visible from my vantage point. Then my eyes adjusted to the night, and I could see a stand of trees next to an empty lot, the weeds blowing slightly in the wind.

I tried to stay focused on the road, watching for cars, but my mind wandered, and I remembered playing with my friend Will as a child in a field not far from here, both of us no more than seven or eight, chasing each other in the grass. Then we’d seen the sky darken abruptly as thousands of butterflies flew by, landing on us, our entire bodies covered with them. I’d laughed and shrieked with delight, but Will was terrified. He ran away, screaming, convinced that he’d committed some terrible sin, and the butterflies had somehow punished him for his deeds. Will and I were never really friends after that; I sensed he’d associated me with his terror and fright from that day, but we never spoke of it, both of us taking our separate paths. Last I heard, he’d moved to California, getting as far away from the reservation as he could.

My memories were interrupted by a set of headlights off in the distance. Although faint, they were headed our way. I glanced over my shoulder—no sign of Marie. The headlights grew closer, and the vehicle started to slow down.

Shit, were they coming here? Could it be the cleaning crew or some worker, come to finish a project? I thought about running down the hall and getting Marie, but I waited. Better to stay in the hallway and let her finish. I instinctively felt for the knife in my back pocket as I rehearsed several cover stories.

Then the headlights came to a complete stop about a block away. My heart pounded as I readied myself. Why were they stopping there? There were no houses close by, just an empty field. The lights turned off, and I saw a faint glow inside the car. A match or a lighter, for a cigarette or maybe some peji. Probably just teenagers, or maybe someone from the bar, stopping to spark up before the long drive home.

I began to relax, and realized I could use a smoke myself. I watched the glimmering in the car with some envy. After a while, the headlights turned back on, and the car drove away. A few minutes later, I heard a noise from down the hall. The sound of a door closing, then footsteps. The beam of Marie’s flashlight became visible, and she appeared in the darkness.

“You finished?” I asked, shining my light on her.

“Let’s go,” she said, and I saw her face was strained, a sour look playing across her features. We left as quickly as possible after checking to see that Delia’s door was closed and the computer had been turned off.

“You find what you were looking for?” I asked once we were in the car and a few miles away.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s not good.”

“Tell me.”

“Just like I thought, the grant money’s nearly gone. I found bank statements, check receipts, credit card payments. All the money was funneled to some company, none of it used for the bison program. It’s embezzlement, fraud. No wonder she wanted me out of the office.”

I looked over at her face. She looked despondent, not triumphant. “So what’s wrong?”

“I found the company. The one she’s been using for the illegal payments.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s called Indigi-Cultural Cuisine, LLC,” she said. “Lack’s business. He’s been working with her. To steal from the tribe.”

THE NEXT MORNING, she showed me the photos and copies she’d made of all the receipts and payments from the grant account.

“Are you sure this is Lack’s company?” I asked.

“Positive. I authorized a payment for the food truck to the same account. Trust me, I’ve already gone over this in my head a thousand times. As the assistant director, I should have been notified of all disbursements. She kept the payments on a different account so I couldn’t see them. As far as I can tell, about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars are gone.” She poured herself some tea and brought me some coffee.

“My God,” I said. “This is insane. Is it possible that Lack’s not involved—that maybe it’s someone else from his restaurant working with Delia?”

“Nope,” she said. “His company’s a sole-owner corporation. He’s the only one who handles the accounts. There’s no question she’s been making payments to him for false expenses. I even pulled up the invoices she made up. Bogus receipts for catering weddings, baby showers, seafood purchases, you name it. I know none of that happened, I would have heard about it at the restaurant if Lack was doing any catering.”

“You’re sure?” I said. “Those sound legit.”

“Not too many ten-thousand-dollar wedding receptions around here.” Her face was drawn. “No wonder Lack stayed here longer than he’d planned. He’s been getting all these phony payments. I’m guessing Delia probably split it with him.”