Chilling Effect by Unknown

ey’d learned that one the hard way. But it wasn’t a lesson
    either of them would forget any time soon: you never knew who
    might be monitoring your every move from some remote location.
    “Yeah.”
    Joe looked at her for a full thirty seconds, his face serious.
    “Okay. You talk to Boom. I’ll call the hotel and just let them know we’re coming. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and sweet.” He stepped a few feet away from the house and pulled out his cell phone.
    She stepped up to the door and gave it a solid rap with her knuck-
    les. While she waited, she took note of the feathered dream catcher hanging in the front window. She wondered if Boom really cared
    about the old Ojibwe custom or if the decoration was for the benefi t of tourists. Her grandfather used to shake his head at old ladies hawk-ing dream catchers at fl ea markets and roadside stands. He said they were as bad as the yuppies who bought them, if not worse. Selling off our heritage one trinket at a time, until there’s nothing left. At the time, she hadn’t understood. Couldn’t they always make more dream
    catchers? Now, of course, she realized he was objecting to his people participating in their own cultural appropriation—a subject that she didn’t truly understand, having left the traditional ways behind.
    Th e childhood memory was interrupted when Boom’s front
    door swung open. He stood on the other side, completely unsur-
    prised to see her.
    “Aroostine. Good morning, daughter.” He beamed at her.
    Th e term of endearment tripped her up, coming on the heels
    of her memory of her grandfather. Her grandfather may not have
    ever hung a woven, feathered web in his front window to fi lter out his bad dreams, but Boom shared his quiet gravitas. It unsettled her.
    “Uh, good morning.”
    “I trust you were able to rest after I left?”
    After the vision.
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    CHILLING EFFECT
    “I did; I really didn’t think I’d go back to sleep, but that tea must have held some magic.” She was just making small talk, but he nodded gravely as if to say, yes, there was magic in the tea.
    Get a hold of yourself, Higgins , she ordered internally in her best Sid impression.
    “Would you like to come in?” He stepped aside to give her a path.
    “Th ank you, but no. Joe and I have to run some errands, but
    I’m here to ask you a favor.”
    His hooded eyes sparked with interest, and a smal smile played
    across his lined face.
    “Yes.”
    “Yes what?”
    “Yes, I will help you.”
    “Don’t you want to know what I need?”
    “No. It doesn’t matter, daughter. You are helping our people,
    so I shall help you.”
    She blinked at that and glanced behind her. Joe was ending his
    call and putting his phone back in his pocket.
    “Oh, okay. Th at’s great. What I need is for you to keep an eye
    on Ruby and Lily Smith, just until I get back.”
    It was his turn to blink.
    “Ruby? You don’t—surely, she’s not involved in this mess?”
    “No, nothing like that. She was friendly with Isaac. It seems
    someone believes she knows something, and they’re trying to con-
    vince her to keep it to herself.”
    His face clouded. “Ruby’s been threatened?”
    “And her daughter.”
    “Your spirit guide was trying to warn you.”
    “Maybe.” She didn’t want to think about the vision. “Right
    now, though, we need to worry about whoever wrote the note, and
    not an imaginary beaver.”
    “Buckmount,” he spat, storms gathering in his black eyes.
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    MELISSA F. MILLER
    She took a half step back. “Maybe. He does seem to have spread
    the story about Isaac being mixed up with white drug dealers. But
    don’t assume it’s him. Th at would be dangerous. It could be anyone.”
    “It could be, but it isn’t. Yes, I will do what I can to keep Ruby
    Smith and her daughter safe. But I cannot protect Ruby while she’s
    at work. Sadly, Lee and his armed security guards will have complete access to her at the casino.”
    She swallowed around the lump in