Chapter 1 #2
"Let me be clear," Naomi said, her voice dropping lower, more intense. "Leila isn't the first Indigenous woman to go missing from this area. She's the fourth in eighteen months."
She set the stack of flyers on the table and spread them out like a hand of cards.
Four faces. Four lives. “Richelle Twoteeth. Danielle Lankford. Tariah Clairmont. Leelee Padilla. All connected to the casino. All were last seen between nine and midnight. Three of the four reported being followed in the weeks leading up to their disappearances. All of them were ignored by the sheriff’s department. ”
“What about the Tribal Police? Isn’t that what they’re for?” Janice Henderson asked. She was the town’s busybody, and although she meant well, she was often oblivious to how her husband’s money and status gave her privileges others in town lacked.
“The abductions aren’t happening on reservation land,“ Naomi said patiently. “That’s part of the problem. They have no jurisdiction here. We’re at the whim of the county sheriff, and he’s not helping.”
Daniel Bigcrane cleared his throat. “You make it sound like a conspiracy, Ms. Lefthand.”
A man in the crowd snorted. “She’s always been looking for conspiracies. Doesn't matter if it's the FBI or Bravlin County, she just can't let it go.”
Ghost tracked the voice—a man in a cheap suit, arms folded, annoyed.
Dennis Sharpe. A mean son-of-a-bitch who drank away his county clerk paychecks at the Rusty Spur.
Honestly, it was surprising he was here instead of warming his usual stool there.
Then again, maybe not. The man’s favorite pastime was stirring up trouble.
“Shut it, Sharpe,” Julius said, half-rising from his seat.
“It’s okay, Jules.” Naomi stared Sharpe down, undaunted. “It’s Special Agent Lefthand, FBI,” she reminded him. “And I make it sound like a pattern, because it is a pattern.”
For a split second, the room just stared at her. Ghost counted heartbeats. Three.
Then the muttering started again. The men at the snack table rolled their eyes, sharing a look that said, Here we go again.
Dennis Sharpe smirked, already preparing his next shot. Typical. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t belittle, especially one smarter than him.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” Ava shouted into the crowd, silencing them, then turned back to her granddaughter with a look of pure love and pride. “Go on. You make them listen.”
What would it be like to have someone like that in his corner?
The thought was uncomfortable, so Ghost shoved it aside and scanned for reactions. Three people in the middle row went rigid at the word stalking. Good. Fear meant they were listening.
Naomi mouthed her thanks to her grandmother, then passed out folders to the council members.
“I’ve assembled timelines, witness statements, digital records, and cell phone pings.
None of these women left voluntarily. There’s evidence of stalking.
Escalating harassment. And every single time, the same handful of names surface in the background. ”
Daniel Bigcrane flipped through the folder, then sighed and closed it, folding his big hands on top. “Women leave all the time. Take your aunt, Julius’s mother, for example.”
“Or Mary Rose,” Charlie Whiteclaw called.
Julius shoved out of his chair so hard it nearly tipped backwards. “Yeah, my mother left, and good riddance, but you all keep my sister’s name out of your mouth. She didn’t run away. Fifteen years and we still don’t have answers.”
The murmur once again rose like a tide, and Daniel Bigcrane held up his hands to stop them.
“Maybe Leelee just got tired of her life and split,” Dennis shouted as the noise quieted once again.
“You hear about that girl over in Billings? They had the whole fucking state looking for her, and she turned up at a boyfriend’s house after two weeks.
Cops wasted all that time and money on a wild goose chase. ”
“Leelee didn’t run.” Naomi’s tone was flat. Absolute. “She was saving for school. She was thinking about the future. Four days before she vanished, she reported someone watching her when he left work at the casino. Her manager logged it. You want to see the documents?”
Sharpe’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.
A woman near the middle of the crowd blinked rapidly, and her knuckles were white around her purse. Nora Austins, HR for the casino. Ghost tracked the tremor in her hands, the darting glance to the side. She was scared. Or guilty.
“I’m not saying every missing woman is a victim of foul play,” Naomi added. “But when the same warning signs happen again and again, and law enforcement ignores it, what do you call that?”
“A tragedy,” someone mumbled.
“A failure,” Naomi shot back. “But it’s fixable. If we stop pretending this is random.”
For a moment, no one said a word. Then Ava Charlo clapped. “That’s my girl!”
It broke the tension. People shifted, the mood changing.
Naomi picked up the four flyers and held them up. “These women mattered. They had names. Families. They deserve more than excuses.”
Someone in the back called out, “So what do you want us to do?”
Naomi squared her shoulders. “Start with pressure. Demand Sheriff Goodwin treat this like the crisis it is. Demand coordinated search parties. Make noise in the press. Raise money for rewards.”
A few people mumbled assent. But most just stared at Naomi like she’d grown a second head.
Daniel Bigcrane flipped through the folder, his expression hardening into the same disinterested mask Ghost had seen on dozens of officials over the years. "Special Agent Lefthand, while we appreciate your concern, these reports are mostly speculation. Without concrete evidence—”
"I'm not the only one who's noticed these patterns," Naomi said. She turned, found him in the shadows, and threw him straight under the goddamn bus.
"Owen Booker from Valor Ridge has been documenting the same connections independently."
People swiveled around to look. Some curious, some suspicious, a couple outright hostile.
His gut clenched, and for a split second, he considered slipping out the side door. He stayed silent, arms folded, eyes flat.
"Mr. Booker?" Daniel Bigcrane called, peering into the dimness at the back of the room. "Would you care to address the council?"
Son of a—
His gaze locked on her, and she met him stare-for-stare. This wasn't the plan. He'd come to observe, nothing more.
Ghost exhaled slowly, fighting the instinct to disappear. He'd been trained to blend in, to observe, to remain detached. Stepping into the spotlight went against everything that kept him safe.
Fine. She wanted his help? She’s get it, but on his terms.
He pushed off the wall and moved through the crowd, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. The silence grew heavier with each step he took. By the time he reached the front, the tension was thick enough to choke on.
"I don't have speculation," he said, his voice rough from disuse. "I have facts."
He pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. The pages were worn at the edges from constant handling, filled with his precise, economical handwriting. He'd never intended to share these notes with anyone.
"The first victim, Richelle Twoteeth, was last seen leaving the Lucky Feather Casino at eleven forty-seven p.m. on March eighteenth of last year," Ghost said, his voice steady despite the uncomfortable pressure of so many eyes on him.
"Security cameras show her walking to her car in the east lot. She never made it."
He flipped a page in his notebook, the paper crackling in the silence.
"Two weeks before that, Richelle filed a harassment complaint with casino security. A man had followed her to her car three nights in a row. The security guard who took the report described him as 'average height, white, baseball cap.' No further action was taken."
He didn't look up as he continued, focusing on the facts of each missing woman rather than the audience. Facts were safe. Facts didn't judge or question his past.
"In each case, the sheriff's department dismissed the concerns. In each case, the women disappeared within a few weeks of reporting being followed. And in three of the four cases, their cars were found abandoned within a five-mile radius of each other."
He flipped his notebook closed and slid it back into his pocket. The room had gone so silent he could hear the ancient heating system clicking in the walls.
“If you’re still calling that a coincidence, you’re not paying attention.”
Janice Henderson blinked like he’d slapped her. “But the sheriff said there were no signs of foul play.”
“Sheriff’s wrong. Or lying. Take your pick.”
Charlie Whiteclaw frowned. “You make it sound like someone’s… hunting them.”
Ghost looked him dead in the eye. “That’s exactly what it is.”
The room went stone silent. Even Naomi seemed caught off guard by how cold his words were.
He let the words hang. Let everyone feel it.
Then he folded his arms again and faded back into the shadows, wishing like hell he was anywhere but here.
But he’d kept his promise. He’d backed her up. Now it was time for him to get gone.