annoyance to most people than anyone they'd go out of their way to kill. Elias existed on the fringe of things, trotting in every once in a while to cause trouble or try for attention, depending on what mood suited him. But, these last few weeks, he got pretty distant. Valentino was worried he might be using again and stepped up the drug testing. I tried to talk to him but he wasn't interested. To me, he seemed distant but happy so I didn't push.”
I thought about that a minute while Sal dumped a few cups of water and broth in the pot and turned it on. “Was Elias in a relationship? Maybe with someone named Maria?”
Sal shrugged. “I don't think so. I mean, I never saw him hanging out with women. But, like I said, toward the end he wasn't interested in confiding in me. Maybe he found religion.”
“What makes you say that?”
“There's a priest here on the rez, Gideon Reed. I saw Elias talking to him a couple of days ago. When he saw me watching them talk, he abruptly ended the conversation and walked away as if it had never happened.” Sal opened a container from the fridge, lard or vegetable oil, and dumped some into a pan to heat. Then, he went back to the dough mixture, spreading it into thin disks.
I filed the name of the priest away mentally. “I see. Anything else you can tell me about Elias?”
“Little things. Nothing useful, probably.” He stole a casual glance back at me. “Any idea how he went?”
“Someone killed him. Someone with access to magick and possibly someone with medical knowledge, given the precision of the cut,” I said. Sal had been a combat medic, which meant he had some handle on medical terminology. I could have repeated what Doc had told me and he probably would have understood what I meant but that description wouldn't answer the question of how he'd died. Besides, I wanted to see how he reacted when I brought that topic up.
Without missing a beat, Sal said, “Not well, then. Dammit. Does Valentino know?”
“No. And he isn't being helpful, not letting me search his place.”
Sal started dropping his dough into the grease to fry it up. “Elias left a few things here if you want to look at them. I'm not sure how helpful that's going to be.”
“I will,” I said. Then, I added, “Just to clear the air, I know you're some kind of powerful practitioner of magick. You were also an army medic. The more I find out about you, the more you fit the profile of my killer.”
“That's why I wanted to help. Not that it's making you trust me any. I'm still your number one suspect then?”
“I haven't crossed you off my suspect list,” I said, trying to sound official. “Exactly what kind of magick do you do?”
He didn't turn away from his cooking but I knew he was smiling or, at least, smirking by the way he said, “Is that so? I thought I was doing a pretty good job of not looking like a magick wielding bad guy. I mean, I got rid of the neon sign above my head and everything.”
He pulled the bread he was frying out of the pan, grabbed a jar from the cupboard and brought both over to me. When he opened the jar and placed it in front of me, I saw that it was honey with the comb still inside. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until he put the food down in front of me. Still, I didn't touch it until he urged me to try it, dipping the bread into the honey. I've tasted a lot of sweets. Most of them are overpowering to the point I can't finish them. This, whatever it was, was that perfectly unhealthy mix of fried and sweet. It was like eating a less processed version of the best doughnut ever.
“My mom's recipe,” Sal was saying. He'd gone back over to the stove to drop another one in the oil. “Chanter's is okay, but mom's...No one could make fry bread like mom.”
I almost agreed with him until I remembered that I'd asked him a question. “So what kind of magick do you do?”
I could tell he was hoping I'd just forget about it by the way his posture changed. “You
I thought about that a minute while Sal dumped a few cups of water and broth in the pot and turned it on. “Was Elias in a relationship? Maybe with someone named Maria?”
Sal shrugged. “I don't think so. I mean, I never saw him hanging out with women. But, like I said, toward the end he wasn't interested in confiding in me. Maybe he found religion.”
“What makes you say that?”
“There's a priest here on the rez, Gideon Reed. I saw Elias talking to him a couple of days ago. When he saw me watching them talk, he abruptly ended the conversation and walked away as if it had never happened.” Sal opened a container from the fridge, lard or vegetable oil, and dumped some into a pan to heat. Then, he went back to the dough mixture, spreading it into thin disks.
I filed the name of the priest away mentally. “I see. Anything else you can tell me about Elias?”
“Little things. Nothing useful, probably.” He stole a casual glance back at me. “Any idea how he went?”
“Someone killed him. Someone with access to magick and possibly someone with medical knowledge, given the precision of the cut,” I said. Sal had been a combat medic, which meant he had some handle on medical terminology. I could have repeated what Doc had told me and he probably would have understood what I meant but that description wouldn't answer the question of how he'd died. Besides, I wanted to see how he reacted when I brought that topic up.
Without missing a beat, Sal said, “Not well, then. Dammit. Does Valentino know?”
“No. And he isn't being helpful, not letting me search his place.”
Sal started dropping his dough into the grease to fry it up. “Elias left a few things here if you want to look at them. I'm not sure how helpful that's going to be.”
“I will,” I said. Then, I added, “Just to clear the air, I know you're some kind of powerful practitioner of magick. You were also an army medic. The more I find out about you, the more you fit the profile of my killer.”
“That's why I wanted to help. Not that it's making you trust me any. I'm still your number one suspect then?”
“I haven't crossed you off my suspect list,” I said, trying to sound official. “Exactly what kind of magick do you do?”
He didn't turn away from his cooking but I knew he was smiling or, at least, smirking by the way he said, “Is that so? I thought I was doing a pretty good job of not looking like a magick wielding bad guy. I mean, I got rid of the neon sign above my head and everything.”
He pulled the bread he was frying out of the pan, grabbed a jar from the cupboard and brought both over to me. When he opened the jar and placed it in front of me, I saw that it was honey with the comb still inside. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until he put the food down in front of me. Still, I didn't touch it until he urged me to try it, dipping the bread into the honey. I've tasted a lot of sweets. Most of them are overpowering to the point I can't finish them. This, whatever it was, was that perfectly unhealthy mix of fried and sweet. It was like eating a less processed version of the best doughnut ever.
“My mom's recipe,” Sal was saying. He'd gone back over to the stove to drop another one in the oil. “Chanter's is okay, but mom's...No one could make fry bread like mom.”
I almost agreed with him until I remembered that I'd asked him a question. “So what kind of magick do you do?”
I could tell he was hoping I'd just forget about it by the way his posture changed. “You
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