One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 8

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Vata Kılímí held the receiver to her ear as the telephone continued to ring. It was terribly late at night to be calling Ríko, but she had little choice. The constabulary would surely be calling him shortly, in any case. He would be woken either way.

After numerous rings, the judge picked up his receiver and growled, “Hello?”

“Good evening, Ríko dear. This is Vata Kılímí. I apologize for waking you, but I fear the situation is so dire as to warrant it.”

Ríko’s tone lightened somewhat, but his voice remained full of gravel. “It’s good to hear from you, old girl, no matter the hour or situation. It has been far too long since I saw you and Pí‘oro.”

If you came to the Temple of Névazhíno more than once a month, perhaps it would be shorter. “We are all busy, I’m sure you know, with one thing or another. How is your daughter doing?”

The judge paused before replying, “Very well, thank you. I don’t know how you did it, but she’s fully recovered.”

“It was Névazhíno, not I, who healed your daughter. I merely acted as His conduit.” Vata closed her eyes and pursed her lips as she formulated her next words. How best to ask his aid?

Out in the back yard, the animals became agitated. Had the blonde girl exited the house? No, Vata could still sense a person in the chapel. Someone else must have entered the yard. Perhaps it was the blonde’s boyfriend; perhaps it was another victim looking to hide.

Ríko filled the silence. “Well, old girl, you didn’t call me up to chat about this and that. What’s the trouble?”

Vata let out a quick sigh. “There has been a shooting near our house. Rumor has it that a Colonial Enforcer was killed. It’s possible the police will believe the murderer is hiding in our house, but I want to assure you that it is not so. I beg of you: if they ask you for a search warrant for our house, please refuse.”

The telephone line hummed silently. Ríko was thinking about it much too long. As every second passed by, the chances of his agreeing to Vata’s wishes dwindled sharply.

The animals in the back yard had calmed significantly, especially the dogs. If they liked whoever had intruded their yard, then surely it couldn’t be the murderer. It had to be someone else for her to aid.

“Vata, you’ve always been good to me and my family,” growled Ríko finally. “This is an extremely unusual request you’re making. Perhaps ethically, I should have hung up the receiver a minute ago. But I trust you, I must say. And therefore, I will not sign any search warrant for your house if it is based on guesswork or extreme circumstantial evidence. Mind you, though, with the murder of a policeman, the level of required suspicion is fairly low. If they come at me with footprints, third-hand eyewitness accounts--anything indicating that the killer is in your house--I’ll have to sign it.”

Vata nodded, even though the judge couldn’t see her. “I understand. Thank you, Ríko.”

It would have to do. She couldn’t press him further.

“You’re welcome. And Vata old girl, it truly is nice to hear from you. Perhaps next time, it can be a social call?”

Vata smiled. “Of course, dear. Go in His name.”

“Go in His name.”

Vata set the receiver back in its cradle. Crisis momentarily averted, she began the long walk to the kitchen door. Another victim of the gunman needed her help.

The front door slammed shut. Pí‘oro had returned. Vata could feel his presence, agitated but staunch.

“Vata?” her husband bellowed.

“Back here,” she called as she exited the bedroom.

The big man’s lumbering footsteps seemed particularly heavy as he approached the corner in the hallway, nearly shaking down the house with each footfall. He must be carrying someone.

Vata stopped beside the linen closet door and waited, hand firmly on the door knob.

Pí‘oro rounded the corner. He was indeed carrying someone over his shoulder. It appeared to be a young man, from the baggy style of trousers. Pí‘oro’s own trousers--nightwear, actually--had dirt on the knees and sides, as if he had been rolling on the ground. His feet, however, were bare and clean.

“His legs are broken,” huffed Pí‘oro. “I think he’s passed out.”

A warm chill of exhilaration raced through Vata’s body. Finally, someone to heal. The victim in the backyard would have to wait. It had been months since Vata’s last joining with Névazhíno. At last, she’d feel his loving embrace once again.

She opened the closet door and reached into the shelving to unhook the hidden latch. It slid loose and the shelves swung away from her with a nudge.

Pí‘oro entered the chapel ahead of Vata, a cautious hand blocking the young man’s black-haired head from the door jamb.

Closing the doors behind her, Vata stepped into her chapel dedicated to Névazhíno, the God of Animals. She could already feel His energy coalescing around the chapel, around the flaming braziers, around the altar, around the sleeping horse and dog, and around Vata herself.

As she let herself be drawn in, a glazed smile spread across her wizened face. Her god awaited.

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