Rock with Wings by Anne Hillerman

She climbed out of the car and extended her hand. “Come back when you’re not working and watch some of the filming. You might get a kick out of it.”
    Hearing footsteps behind him, Chee turned to see Robinson. “Hey, missy. Everything OK?”
    â€œCouldn’t be better. I’m sorry you guys worried about me. I wasn’t lost, you know, but it was a pleasure to meet Sergeant Chee here.”
    â€œThey’re ready to head out to the film site. The van leaves as soon as you get there. On the way out, Turner can fill you in on the meeting you missed.” Robinson turned to Chee. “I appreciate you finding her.”
    â€œI’ve got a question for you about something we ran into out there.”
    â€œSure. You have time for a sandwich? I was on my way to get something.”
    The word sandwich reminded Chee of how small and long ago lunch had been.
    He was surprised to see so many in the food tent. People dressed in tatters, decorated with makeup that made them look pale and ugly, sat chatting with others wearing shorts and T-shirts, eating together as if dinner with zombie guests was perfectly normal.
    â€œWe do a lot of filming at night.” Robinson looked around at the crowd. “We love this moonlight.”
    Chee selected a thickly handsome roast beef on rye, served with a pickle. The apple pie in the dessert case made him think of Lieutenant Leaphorn and how the man loved almost anything sweet. He examined the machine that made coffee—a fancy glass-and-stainless-steel contraption. The device offered half a dozen choices and could have even given him a double café macchiato —whatever that was. He pushed a button that read “Dark Roast Hawaiian.”
    He sat across from Robinson, watching as the man carved off a forkful of tomato with a green leaf—some herb—on top and a soft white platform beneath it. “What’s that you’re eating?”
    Robinson put his fork down. “It’s called a Caprese salad—sliced tomato, fresh basil, and fresh mozzarella cheese. It’s good. Moviecompanies eat well. We buy some stuff out here, but we have food suppliers who cater to our whims and charge accordingly. It costs an arm and a leg to bring union food trucks out here, but it’s a requirement for any big production.” He picked up the fork and cut a bite of cheese and tomato. “Are you a movie fan?”
    â€œI work a lot at night, but my wife and I go when we can. Or watch them on video.”
    â€œMaybe you know some of the ones I’ve been involved in.” Robinson mentioned names that sounded vaguely familiar to Chee. “This is the biggest job we’ve done. Delahart, he’s the producer, finds investors, and Missy and I try to make the money last as long as possible.”
    Chee finished the sandwich and mentioned the grave.
    â€œNo kidding? Here we are making a movie about zombies, and you find a grave? How strange is that? Maybe one of those missing miners, those guys who got the buttes named for them, maybe he’s buried there. You and Missy might go down in history.”
    â€œNo. It’s new, still mounded up. Did the company get special permission for it?”
    â€œNot that I know of. This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Robinson took another bite of his salad. “So, are there Navajo zombies? Do you guys worry about that?”
    Chee considered the fact that Robinson didn’t want to talk about the grave, and what that meant. “No, not zombies. Some people believe in skinwalkers, shape-shifters who come out, usually at night, to cause trouble. And there are evil spirits that linger after a person dies, making problems. Our ghosts are more complicated.” The old ones believed that talking about chindis called them forth. Chee was ready to change the subject.
    Robinson nodded. “When things go haywire it’s nice to have something to blame that’s