leaders.”
Lee Buckmount, alleged drug addict and potential mastermind
behind Isaac’s death and the possible disappearance of military
drones, was skulking around their car in the dark. Great.
“Can we help you?” Joe said in a hard, cold voice that suggested
his internal monologue was about the same as hers.
“Oh, I don’t need any help. I’m just glad you don’t. Boom mentioned you folks might be spending the night at our guest house,
so I stopped by to make sure you found everything okay. When no
one answered the door, I got a little worried, so I was checking your car to see if you were in there.”
In the weak light, Aroostine could make out a distinguished
faced, silver hair, and little else. He was neither tall nor short, thin nor fat.
“We didn’t hear a car pull up.” She scanned the road for a new
vehicle but saw none.
“I walked.”
“We were stargazing, so we haven’t been inside yet,” Joe explained.
“While our night sky does put on quite a display, I’m not sure
that this is the safest time to go wandering around the reservation in the dark.”
“You mean because you’ve got a murderer on the loose? So you
think Isaac was kil ed by someone from the community?” Aroostine
asked. She wanted to push Buckmount a little—just enough to see
if she could raise a reaction.
“I’m not saying that at all, actually. Let’s get you folks inside,
huh? We can talk in there.”
Joe gave her a look as if to say “what next?” before he followed
Buckmount through the unlocked front door and into the empty
house.
59
MELISSA F. MILLER
She trailed behind them, pausing to peer at the Jeep to confi rm
that the doors were still locked. Buckmount’s sudden appearance
put her on edge. She wondered why Joe’s new friend Boom, who
seemed to think Buckmount was involved in the murder, would
have told him they were spending the night
She stepped across the threshold into the small front room.
Buckmount was leading Joe from room to room, switching on lights
and pointing out where they could fi nd towels, soaps, and extra
blankets.
She blinked while her eyes adjusted then looked around. Th e
interior was about the size of Isaac’s place but it had been carefully decorated. Native pottery, quilts, and feathered decorations were
arranged throughout the clean, freshly painted home. Th e wood
fl oors gleamed, and the faint, lemony scent of cleaning supplies
lingered in the air.
Joe and Buckmount returned from the tour of the small space.
Th e older man made a sweeping gesture toward the seating arrange-
ment near the front window. Aroostine took a seat on the small love seat, covered in fabric the color of red clay. Joe sat beside her, close enough that their thighs touched, and leaned forward slightly, as if he were trying to shield her from something—or someone.
Buckmount wavered between two chocolate brown armchairs
and chose the one closer to the door. “I hope you fi nd the accom-
modations comfortable. I know they’re a far cry from the resort
where you’re staying.”
How’d he know where they were staying? she wondered. Probably from the police report, she answered herself. A point that only raised the further question of why the casino’s chief fi nancial offi cer had access to the tribal police’s internal records. Her uneasy feeling about the man ratcheted up several notches.
“It’s lovely,” she fi nally said, aware that he was waiting for her to respond.
60
CHILLING EFFECT
“Yes, it’s great—nice and cozy. It’s frankly more our style than
the luxury resort,” Joe agreed.
A proud smile played across Buckmount’s face as he waved off
the compliments.
“Very good.” His face grew serious, and he leaned forward to stare
intently at Aroostine. “Now, Aroostine—may I call you Aroostine?”
“Sure, Lee.”
He continued, “You asked outside whether I thought Mr. Palmer’s
murder was an inside job for lack of a better way to
Lee Buckmount, alleged drug addict and potential mastermind
behind Isaac’s death and the possible disappearance of military
drones, was skulking around their car in the dark. Great.
“Can we help you?” Joe said in a hard, cold voice that suggested
his internal monologue was about the same as hers.
“Oh, I don’t need any help. I’m just glad you don’t. Boom mentioned you folks might be spending the night at our guest house,
so I stopped by to make sure you found everything okay. When no
one answered the door, I got a little worried, so I was checking your car to see if you were in there.”
In the weak light, Aroostine could make out a distinguished
faced, silver hair, and little else. He was neither tall nor short, thin nor fat.
“We didn’t hear a car pull up.” She scanned the road for a new
vehicle but saw none.
“I walked.”
“We were stargazing, so we haven’t been inside yet,” Joe explained.
“While our night sky does put on quite a display, I’m not sure
that this is the safest time to go wandering around the reservation in the dark.”
“You mean because you’ve got a murderer on the loose? So you
think Isaac was kil ed by someone from the community?” Aroostine
asked. She wanted to push Buckmount a little—just enough to see
if she could raise a reaction.
“I’m not saying that at all, actually. Let’s get you folks inside,
huh? We can talk in there.”
Joe gave her a look as if to say “what next?” before he followed
Buckmount through the unlocked front door and into the empty
house.
59
MELISSA F. MILLER
She trailed behind them, pausing to peer at the Jeep to confi rm
that the doors were still locked. Buckmount’s sudden appearance
put her on edge. She wondered why Joe’s new friend Boom, who
seemed to think Buckmount was involved in the murder, would
have told him they were spending the night
She stepped across the threshold into the small front room.
Buckmount was leading Joe from room to room, switching on lights
and pointing out where they could fi nd towels, soaps, and extra
blankets.
She blinked while her eyes adjusted then looked around. Th e
interior was about the size of Isaac’s place but it had been carefully decorated. Native pottery, quilts, and feathered decorations were
arranged throughout the clean, freshly painted home. Th e wood
fl oors gleamed, and the faint, lemony scent of cleaning supplies
lingered in the air.
Joe and Buckmount returned from the tour of the small space.
Th e older man made a sweeping gesture toward the seating arrange-
ment near the front window. Aroostine took a seat on the small love seat, covered in fabric the color of red clay. Joe sat beside her, close enough that their thighs touched, and leaned forward slightly, as if he were trying to shield her from something—or someone.
Buckmount wavered between two chocolate brown armchairs
and chose the one closer to the door. “I hope you fi nd the accom-
modations comfortable. I know they’re a far cry from the resort
where you’re staying.”
How’d he know where they were staying? she wondered. Probably from the police report, she answered herself. A point that only raised the further question of why the casino’s chief fi nancial offi cer had access to the tribal police’s internal records. Her uneasy feeling about the man ratcheted up several notches.
“It’s lovely,” she fi nally said, aware that he was waiting for her to respond.
60
CHILLING EFFECT
“Yes, it’s great—nice and cozy. It’s frankly more our style than
the luxury resort,” Joe agreed.
A proud smile played across Buckmount’s face as he waved off
the compliments.
“Very good.” His face grew serious, and he leaned forward to stare
intently at Aroostine. “Now, Aroostine—may I call you Aroostine?”
“Sure, Lee.”
He continued, “You asked outside whether I thought Mr. Palmer’s
murder was an inside job for lack of a better way to
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