Read Online Ghost Medicine by Aimée and David Thurlo - Free Book Online

road. Ahead was a gray stucco pitched-roof frame house. Two narrow ruts led from the road to a pair of vehicles parked twenty feet from the front door.
    “This is the teacher’s place. Truman John wasn’t there when Benny and Joe stoppedby yesterday, but maybe we’ll catch him today,” Ella said.
    “Truman John’s got to be a Modernist, and not just because he’s got a college degree. He’s not only got electricity and a phone line, he’s got satellite,” Justine said, gesturing.
    A line of telephone poles running alongside the road continued north to Rattlesnake, and then to the large community of Shiprock to the east. Two lines splitoff the closest pole and led to the roof of the house.
    “Looks like we lucked out,” Ella said. “With tracks leading to the Dodge pickup and that old VW Bug, somebody’s got to be home. Wonder where the man’s working these days? According to what Tache got from the tribal records, Truman was laid off from his teaching job at Kirtland Middle School last fall when the district budget got the axe.”
    “What’d he teach?”
    “Social studies and Navajo culture.”
    “We had New Mexico history, but no courses on Navajo ways when I went to school. I had to learn that on my own at home,” Justine said, coming to a stop behind the VW.
    “Write down the vehicle tags. We’ll run them later,” Ella said, looking toward the front window. A man was standing beside the curtain, looking out at them. Considering therumors, it wasn’t unexpected.
    “Got the plate,” Justine said, jamming the small spiral notebook back into her pocket, then rolling down the electric window with a touch of the button. “It’s going to get hot today. The temperature’s climbing fast.”
    “Although Truman’s not a Traditionalist, try to avoid mentioning skinwalkers directly, partner,” Ella said, opening her own window. “Even Modernistssometimes feel uncomfortable hearing the word spoken out loud. Our culture says that’s enough to draw the evil ones to you.”
    Ella got out, deciding not to wait to be invited since Truman clearly wasn’t a Traditionalist. As she walked to the front door, Justine right behind her, she saw a corral in the back. It appeared to be in good shape and clear of weeds, although there were no animals currentlyin it. A big, new-looking metal loafing shed open on one side held at least fifty bales of either really bad hay, or straw.
    As they walked to the front of the house, Ella’s attention was drawn to the well-laid-out and landscaped yard with its colorful desert plants, some of them mulched with straw. Most locals saved their precious water resources for crops and fruit trees. Landscaping was considereda luxury in this community.
    They’d just stepped up onto the shaded, weathered, wood-plank porch when the front door opened a crack, letting out a stream of cool air and the scent of something cooking.
    “Ah, air-conditioning,” Justine said happily. “And fry bread!”
    A well dressed, clean-cut Navajo man in his mid-twenties waved them inside. “I was wondering how long it would take the tribal policeto pay me a visit.”
    “I’m Investigator Clah, and this is my partner, Officer Goodluck. Are you the homeowner?” Ella asked, checking to see if anyone else was in the front room. Seeing no one, she focused back on the man.
    “Renter, actually, Officers. I’m Truman John. I heard on the news that the police found a body inside a truck parked just north of here on the old road. He’d been shot, right?”

    Ella nodded. “That’s why we’re here. We were hoping you might have spotted something that seemed out of place or noticed someone you didn’t recognize hanging around,” she said, studying the man. He was reasonably good looking and neatly dressed in a short-sleeved oxford shirt and sharply creased tan cargo pants. His leather sandals were a smart concession to the weather.
    “I don’t know how muchhelp we can be, Officers, because we always