CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Twilight settled across the reservation as Kari drove toward Ruth's house, fatigue weighing on her limbs like wet wool.
The conversation with Marcus Tso had left her with more questions than answers—another potential suspect with the knowledge, opportunity, and skills required for these ceremonial killings.
Yet his shocked reaction to the news had seemed genuine.
Either he was an exceptional actor, or there were pieces to this puzzle she still couldn't see.
She needed clarity. And while Ruth had warned her away from this investigation, Kari hoped her grandmother might at least provide insights about Joseph's missing notes.
Ruth must have known about her husband's private documentation during the original Shadow Walker case—perhaps even where he might have hidden information he didn't trust to official channels.
The darkening sky matched Kari's mood as she parked beside Ruth's pickup truck. No lights glowed from within the small house, but thin smoke rose from the chimney despite the summer heat. Not cooking smoke, but something more fragrant—ceremonial.
As Kari approached the front door, the unmistakable scent of burning sage, cedar, and juniper greeted her. Not the combination used in the murders, which included white prairie aster, but the standard purification blend Ruth used when she sensed danger or disturbance.
"Shimásání?" Kari called, knocking lightly on the door frame before entering.
The interior was dim, illuminated only by a small fire in the stone hearth.
Ruth knelt before it, her silver hair gleaming in the flickering light as she methodically fed small bundles of herbs into the flames.
The smoke swirled upward in patterns that seemed almost deliberate, as if carrying messages to unseen recipients.
"Close the door behind you," Ruth said without turning.
Kari did so, then moved to stand beside her grandmother. "What's happening? Why are you—"
"Sit," Ruth interrupted, gesturing to the floor beside her. "Breathe in the smoke. Let it clear your thoughts."
Too tired to argue, Kari sank down cross-legged beside Ruth. The fragrant smoke enveloped her, its familiar scent momentarily soothing the tension that had built throughout the day. She observed Ruth's hands—weathered by decades of work yet still graceful as they moved through the ritual motions.
"Something's wrong," Kari said finally. Not a question, but an observation.
Ruth added another small bundle to the fire, watching as it caught flame. "Many things are wrong," she said. "The world is out of balance. People forget what should be remembered and remember what should be forgotten."
There was a tightness in Ruth's movements that Kari had rarely seen before—a controlled agitation that manifested as excessive precision rather than visible distress. Whatever had triggered this ceremonial response clearly had her grandmother deeply unsettled.
"What happened today?" Kari asked. "Did someone come to see you?"
Ruth remained focused on the fire. "No one came," she said. "Some things do not require physical presence to be felt."
The cryptic response was typical Ruth, but tonight Kari lacked the patience for oblique conversations. "I need to ask you about Grandfather's notes," she said. "His private documentation of the Shadow Walker cases."
"I know nothing of his police work," Ruth said, her tone like a door being shut.
"I don't believe that," Kari said, fatigue making her blunter than she intended. "Joseph lived with you. He investigated five murders with identical signatures to what we're seeing now. He kept separate records that weren't included in the official files. You must have known something."
Ruth's hands stilled momentarily. "Your grandfather protected me from details I did not need to know."
"But he must have talked about the cases," Kari pressed. "About what he discovered, what he suspected."
"Joseph spoke very little about his work," Ruth said.
"But he carried its weight visibly. Each death hollowed him further, until I began to fear I was losing him even while he sat beside me.
" She added another herb bundle to the flames, watching it burn.
"When the fifth victim was found, he did not come home for three days.
When he returned, he burned his clothes and stood in the smoke of cedar and sage until dawn. "
Kari leaned forward. "What was he afraid of? What had he found?"
"I did not ask," Ruth said. "Some questions invite darkness rather than dispel it."
Frustration flared in Kari. "People are dying, Shimásání. In exactly the same way as fifty years ago. If we don't stop this pattern, three more victims will follow."
"Which is why I told you to step away from this case," Ruth said, her voice hardening. "This is not your burden to carry."
"It is now," Kari insisted. "I need to know what Grandfather discovered. I need to understand what we're facing."
Ruth was silent for a long moment, the fire crackling between them. Finally, she sighed—a sound so uncharacteristic that it startled Kari more than her grandmother's words.
"I knew one of them," Ruth said quietly.
"One of the victims?"
Ruth nodded, still not meeting Kari's gaze. "Anna Yellowhair, the fourth victim. She was found near Blue Canyon. She was my friend."
This was new information—a personal connection Kari hadn't anticipated. "You never mentioned this before."
"Some pain is too private to speak aloud," Ruth said.
"Laura was helping me gather healing plants when she met a professor studying traditional medicine.
She became his research assistant, helping to document plants and their uses.
" Her voice grew tighter. "She was found with those same plants in her mouth, arranged in the ceremonial way. "
"I need to know about the killer," Kari said gently. "Who did Grandfather suspect? What did he learn that made him keep separate records?"
Ruth's face hardened into the impassive mask she often wore when refusing to discuss certain topics. "Some evil should not be named or remembered. Speaking of it only gives it strength, draws its attention."
"But if we know who—"
"It is not a who," Ruth interrupted sharply. "Not in the way you think."
The statement hung between them, laden with implications Kari wasn't prepared to parse. Before she could press further, her phone vibrated with an incoming message. She glanced at the screen to see Ben's name.
Heading over to Whipple Creek to join the stakeout. Join me?
Kari looked up to find Ruth watching her with an expression that might have been resignation.
"You're going to the next site," Ruth said. Not a question.
"Whipple Creek," Kari said, rising to her feet. "If the killer is following the original pattern, that's where the third murder will occur."
"Like Joseph," Ruth murmured. "Always running toward danger rather than away."
The comparison startled Kari. "I'm doing my job."
"He said the same." Ruth slowly stood, her joints protesting audibly. She moved to a small wooden box on the mantelpiece, removing something wrapped in soft cloth. "Take this with you."
Kari accepted the bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a small medicine pouch similar to the one she already wore, but older, the leather darkened with age and handling.
"Joseph carried this during the original investigation," Ruth said. "He said it helped him see more clearly when shadows tried to deceive his eyes."
The unexpected gift—and the fact that Ruth had kept this connection to her late husband for fifty years—moved Kari deeply. "Shimásání, I—"
"No more questions tonight," Ruth said. "But I will tell you this: what you seek is not in any notes or files. Joseph did not write down what he found at the end. He could not bring himself to make those words exist in the world."
"Then how am I supposed to—"
"You will know when you must know," Ruth said, touching Kari's arm with unexpected gentleness. "But I have spent fifty years praying you would never need to."
The rare physical contact surprised Kari, as did the unmistakable concern in Ruth's eyes.
Her grandmother had always been reserved with her emotions, expressing care through practical actions rather than words or touch.
This departure from her usual manner suggested a level of fear that made Kari's skin prickle with apprehension.
"I'll be careful," Kari assured her, tucking both medicine pouches beneath her shirt. "Ben and I will have backup. We're just observing tonight, not confronting anyone."
Ruth's expression suggested she didn't believe that would remain true. "I cannot stop you from following this path," she said. "But remember that sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted. Watch the shadows carefully, especially those that move against the light."
The warning sent a chill down Kari's spine despite the warmth of the room. "I'll keep my eyes open," she promised.
As Kari moved toward the door, Ruth spoke again—her voice softer than Kari had ever heard it.
"You are precious to me, Asdz?′?′ K'os. More than I have words to say."
The declaration—so unlike Ruth's usual stoic demeanor—stopped Kari in her tracks. She turned back, alarmed by what sounded too much like a goodbye.
"I'll be back tomorrow," she said firmly. "We'll talk more then."
Ruth nodded, though her expression remained troubled. "May you walk in beauty."
The traditional blessing followed Kari as she stepped into the night, the smell of ceremonial smoke clinging to her clothes. Ruth was clearly terrified of something—not just concerned, but genuinely afraid. And Ruth had always been the most fearless person Kari knew.
Whatever her grandmother was protecting her from, whatever Joseph Chee had discovered that he couldn't commit to writing, it went beyond ordinary danger.
The Shadow Walker's identity was apparently less important than what the killer represented—an evil Ruth believed should remain unnamed and unremembered.
As Kari started her Jeep, the headlights briefly illuminated Ruth's figure standing in the doorway, watching Kari's departure with that same troubled expression. For a moment, Kari considered turning back, demanding clearer answers despite Ruth's resistance.
But if there was any chance of preventing another ritualistic murder, she needed to be at Whipple Creek, ready when the killer struck.
With one last glance at her grandmother's silhouette, framed in the doorway of the small house where so many secrets remained buried, Kari pulled away into the gathering darkness