Tribal Law

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Tribal Law - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Shannon Duncan got out of her new Jeep Cherokee and smiled sadly at the tract of cedar-strewn land around her.

She took a deep breath of the warm morning air as she unlocked the sturdy padlock and unwrapped the chain to release the twelve-foot metal farm gate, securing her property from local trespassers. A strong breeze blowing down from the White Mountains ruffled her sandy-blonde hair and carried the sharp, green scent of the cedars into her nose. Somewhere above her head, a lonely bird of prey called, like the obligatory bird in every old western movie she’d ever seen.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she saw herself again as a western pioneer fresh off a wagon train from the east. Shannon had grown up watching westerns on television like Gunsmoke and The Big Valley. She’d grown up on a farm in the Midwest and had always dreamed about having her own cabin in the mountains where she could imagine herself in those olden days.

She’d moved to Arizona in her late teens when her parents relocated due to her father’s work and met her husband Ken while taking classes at Arizona State to become a teacher. Ken had received his degree, but Shannon had put her education on hold while she took a retail job to support them. She’d taken classes off and on over the years but never finished more than her Associates in general studies.

After fifteen years at Wal-Mart, she finally wrote the book she’d always promised herself she’d write and self-published. In the high desert, this property was going to be her writing retreat someday where she’d write the great American novel that would make her famous. She smiled to herself. Yeah, right as if that was ever going to happen.

This piece of property had been her dream for years. Shannon thought it had been her husband Ken’s dream too, but she found out the hard way it hadn’t been. In reality, she supposed Ken hadn’t wanted the Arizona high-desert property at all, and he hadn’t wanted Shannon either.

Shannon closed her eyes and tried to shut out the horrible memory of the night a week before when she’d been preparing a celebratory meal of T-bones, salad, and baked potatoes to share with her husband, Ken.

It should have been the beginning of the life they’d planned for. Maybe it was really just the one she’d planned for. Perhaps he’d never wanted a secluded cabin in the mountains at all, and she’d pushed him into the dream she’d had for herself.

The rapid knocking of a woodpecker on a tree trunk somewhere reminded Shannon of the knocking on her door that night, and she jerked her head up to stare around at the breeze blowing the cedars. It had been Ken’s friend Dale Eubanks knocking at the door. Dale had become Ken’s close companion over the past year, but Shannon hadn’t suspected how close until that horrible night.

“Hi, Dale,” she said in confusion when she opened the door of the three-bedroom ranch house she and Ken had shared in Buckeye, Arizona, since they’d happened upon it ten years earlier while out on a drive and fallen in love with it. “Ken’s not home from work yet.”

“I know,” he said uneasily as he walked in through the door Shannon held open. “I came to talk to you, actually.”

“Me? What could you possibly have to talk to me about?” Shannon asked in confusion as she thought. “Is it about his birthday? Do you want to plan something special with me for him? We usually spend his birthday weekend up on the property.”

Shannon watched the small-framed man stare around her living room where a forty-eight-inch television stood on a console table beside the gas fireplace with the latest episode of The First Forty-eight in full color on the wide, high definition screen. The room smelled of the charred meat and fresh bread of the meal she’d been preparing, and Dale’s intrusion irritated Shannon. This was her big surprise for Ken, and Dale Eubanks had no part in it.

“Smells good in here,” he said as he turned back to Shannon. “Must be something special if you’re broiling steaks in the middle of the week.”

“It is,” Shannon said with irritation, and she didn’t intend to elaborate. Dale Eubanks didn’t have any right to know their personal business. “What did you want to talk to me about, Dale?” If she could get him to spit it out, maybe she could get him out of the house before Ken got home from the school, where he taught math and science.

Dale’s eyes bored into Shannon, and she became uncomfortable. “You know Ken and I have grown close over the past several months, don’t you, Shannon?” He dropped down into an overstuffed chair. “Do you have any idea how close?”

The color drained from Shannon’s face with Dale’s tone and the insidious grin on his weasel-like face. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t possibly think we’ve really been playing poker all those nights,” he said, and the smile spread. “Though I suppose you could say we were poking … one another.”

Oh, my lord. What’s he trying to say? Shannon felt her cheeks begin to burn. She’d wondered if Ken was having an affair, but she’d never imagined it would be with Dale--a man. What kind of failure as a wife was she to lose her husband to another man?

Tears of rage and humiliation stung Shannon’s eyes as she stumbled to the brown, velour couch. “You’re lying,” she mumbled. “Is this some sort of sick joke you two have cooked up? If it is, I don’t find it funny.”

“It’s no joke, honey,” Dale sneered. “Ken is mine now, and I think you should be moving along.”

“Moving along?” Shannon gasped as she stared at the man sitting in her living room with a triumphant smile on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ken and I have plans, Shannon,” he said, “and you’re not part of them. I came over today to tell you because Ken is a sweetheart and didn’t want to hurt you with the truth about us.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders and stared at her with his beady dark eyes. “I tried to tell him it would be best just to tell you in one quick cut. It would be better for both of you, but you know how he is. He doesn’t even like to take the hook out of the fish’s mouth because he doesn’t want to cause it pain.”

They both stared toward the fireplace and went quiet when they heard the garage door opening. A car pulled in, parked, and the garage door rolled back down. A car door opened and closed, and then Ken opened the door and walked into the compact, galley kitchen.

“Something smells good,” her husband said in a cheerful tone as he stepped into the living room after dropping his lunchbox onto the counter. “What are you doing here, buddy?” he said to Dale but settled into an uneasy silence when he saw the dazed look on Shannon’s face.

Dale stood and turned to face Ken. “It was time to tell her and get this all into the open, Kenny.”

Shannon’s mouth fell open, and her eyes went wide. He hates being called Kenny. Does he really let the little twerp call him that when he’d never let me? He told me never to call him Kenny because that’s what the bullies at school called him when he was a kid, and he hated it.

Ken glanced at Shannon for only a moment before turning to Dale. “I told you it wasn’t the time for that,” he snapped at Dale, “and that I’d handle it when it was.”

Shannon recognized that tone and wanted to smile at Dale, but she couldn’t. She stood and walked to her gaping husband. “Dale here has been telling me that the two of you have plans.” She swung her hand and landed a stinging slap on Ken’s cheek. “I hope the two of you will be very happy together.” Shannon bent and picked up the plastic tackle box she’d prepared earlier that afternoon and dropped it onto the dining room table before storming to their bedroom. “This was supposed to be a surprise,” she said, and her eyes flashed to Dale. “but I think Dale here has certainly one-upped me in that department.”

As she stuffed clothes into a suitcase, Shannon could hear the men arguing in the living room.

“But she’s not much of a wife to you anymore, Kenny,” Dale whined. “You said she seldom cooks a meal for you anymore and hasn’t pleased you in bed for a long time.”

Shannon swiped tears from her face as the aromas of her special dinner filled the room. Well, I guess you can do the cooking for him now, Dale,and it sounds like you’ve been taking care of the other department for a while now, so go ahead and have at it. I’m out of here.

Shannon marched through the living room and into the warm kitchen with her suitcase clutched in her trembling hand. She turned off the oven and took the tray with two large Idaho potatoes out, and set it beside the plate of fresh yeasty rolls.

“Steaks are in the warming oven,” Shannon snapped as she went to the bookcase where they kept the fireproof box with their personal papers, “and there are salads in the fridge.” She rummaged through a box and took out the deed to the retirement property they’d bought in the foothills of the White Mountains a few years ago and the title to her old Tahoe. She shook the papers at Ken. “I’m taking these.” She nodded toward the tackle box open on the table. “What’s in there more than covers them.”

Ken opened the tackle box and picked up one of the ten neatly wrapped stacks of hundred-dollar bills from the plastic box, staring at Shannon in confusion. “Where did this come from?”

“That was my big surprise, Kenny,” Shannon said as she watched her husband’s face pale at the use of the name, and she stuffed the papers into her purse as she fished for her keys. “I took my lottery ticket in today, and I hit big for a change if you can believe that.”

They’d been buying lottery tickets for years and had savings accounts in separate banks. He would put his winnings into his account, and she did the same. It had been a fun game, and they’d used their meager winnings to make improvements on their retirement property every year. They had always joked about hitting a big one and being able to retire early but never expected it to happen.

Shannon had been so excited when the ticket had hit that morning. It hadn’t been the mega prize of hundreds of millions, but it wasn’t her usual ten or twenty dollars either. She was a bona fide millionaire even after they’d taken the taxes out and reduced the amount because she wanted her winnings in a lump sum and not dribbled out over twenty-five years. She’d taken the check to the bank from the state lottery office, deposited it, and taken out a hundred thousand dollars in cash to present to Ken along with their special dinner.

“It wasn’t the big one,” she admitted as she watched Dale finger the bundles of cash, “but I got most of the numbers and the bonus, so we--I,” she corrected with a glare at Dale, “can retire and build my cabin in the mountains. Dale thinks you want him to move in here with you,” Shannon spat, “so have at it. I’m out of here.” Shannon moved toward the door, towing her suitcase

“Are you gonna let her just walk out of here with your money, Kenny?” Dale gasped. “Half of that lottery money is ours--yours. You can’t just let her walk away with it. Money like that would pay for our beach house in Mexico and set us up for the rest of our lives down there just the way we always talked about.” He stared at Ken, and when hee husband refused to move, he charged at Shannon and grabbed her around the neck in a chokehold. It surprised Shannon that the wiry little man possessed such strength.

Dale tightened his hold, and the light began to blur as Dale’s strong fingers cut off the blood flow to her brain, and Shannon slumped toward the floor.

“Let her go, Dale,” Ken yelled as he rushed to pull his lover off his wife. “It was her ticket. I still have mine here in my wallet.”

“But she’s your wife,” Dale gasped as he let go of Shannon, and she stumbled away, gasping and coughing. “What’s hers is yours--at least half of it anyway, and you should get it before she gets away and hides it somewhere.”

Ken snorted. “This isn’t the nineteenth century, Dale. A woman can have her own money without her husband’s permission.”

“But Arizona is a community property state, Ken,” Dale continued, “and half of anything she has belongs to you too.”

Shannon straightened up and glared at Dale. “You can have that half of my marriage,” she said and nodded toward Ken, who stood with the tackle box of cash in his hands, “and my half of this damned house, but that’s all you’re ever gonna get of mine, asshole.” Shannon picked up her suitcase with tears streaming down her red face, stormed out the door, and slammed it behind her.

The next week blurred in Shannon’s mind. She remembered driving into Phoenix from Buckeye, checking into a hotel along the I-17, and crying herself to sleep. She woke the next morning to her cell phone ringing but didn’t answer it when she saw Ken’s name on the caller ID. She showered, dressed, had breakfast in the lobby, and drove her Tahoe to the first car dealership she came to, where she traded it in for the newest four-wheel drive vehicle on the lot. She liked the new Jeep Cherokee and thought it would be a good vehicle for the mountains and rugged unpaved roads bordering her property.

After going through her hastily stuffed suitcase, Shannon treated herself to a shopping spree and bought new jeans, sweaters, socks, and boots for the season coming up. It was late summer in the valley and still hot, but the land in the mountains sat at about six thousand feet in elevation and would be much cooler. The fall would be upon her in no time, and it wasn’t unusual to see snow at that elevation in mid to late September. Shannon thought she should be prepared.

Her trip up the mountain had been bittersweet. She’d lunched at a cafe she and Ken had frequented over the years and checked into a favorite hotel. Shannon loved the green in the White Mountains and had looked forward to their trips to visit their property. They’d fenced five acres of the place a year after purchasing it and kept a travel trailer there after they’d installed a septic system and water tank. They’d made plans to build a cabin and live off-grid after their retirement in two years. Their big purchase this year was going to be an array of solar panels. They already had three on top of the travel trailer to power it and the water tank’s pump.

She was here now, but she was alone. Could she really do this all by herself? Ken and she were supposed to be doing this together. She thought it had been their dream. How could she have been so wrong?

Chapter 2

Sam Sweetwater parked his work truck behind the shiny, new Jeep and got out. The woman at the gate didn’t turn, and it surprised him to find her alone. Sam had met with Ken Duncan and his wife several times over the years since they’d purchased the remote property in the foothills of the White Mountains, but this was the first time Shannon had come up from the valley without her husband.

“Hey, Mrs. Duncan,” he called to get her attention, “you gonna drive on in, or do you want to talk out here?”

She turned, and Sam thought he saw a sadness in her usually bright, blue eyes. “Hi, Mr. Sweetwater,” she answered with a forced smile on her pretty, pale face as the breeze blew her dark blonde hair. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice. I just got here too.” She pushed open the gate and returned to her vehicle. “I’ll pull in, and we can talk at the camper.” Before she got in the Jeep, she added, “You can just call me Shannon. The Mrs. Duncan part doesn’t really apply anymore.”

Her fancy new Jeep started and rolled through the open gate toward the travel trailer parked in a stand of cedars. Sam climbed into his big Ford and followed.

I wonder what happened with those two? Their relationship had always seemed so solid, but who can tell with whites. It was probably a money thing. It usually was. White or red, it made no difference. Money problems ruined relationships.

Sam’s marriage to Freda White Owl had ended after only five years, and it was because Freda said Sam didn’t make enough money digging holes in the ground for people. In the fifteen years since their divorce, Sam’s business, Sweetwater Excavation, had grown, and he was one of the most prosperous businessmen on or off the Zuni reservation. His second wife, Karla, a teacher at the reservation school, had been killed in an automobile accident with a drunk driver, and Sam missed her terribly.

Sam was Zuni, an ancient tribe that traced its roots back thousands of years to the mysterious Anasazi. He’d been born on the Zuni reservation in Apache County. Still, after Karla’s death without any children, he’d purchased some property off the reservation and moved with his mother, Sylvia, into a new doublewide mobile home. Sylvia had chafed at moving away from her friends on the reservation, but the brand-new house with its clean, modern appliances in the spacious kitchen, new carpet, and a private bathroom off her bedroom had changed her mind.

Sylvia took care of the house, though she nagged Sam to find a new wife to take care of the house and his needs as a man. She acted as his secretary and kept the books for Sweetwater Excavations. He wished she didn’t try to run his life as well, but he couldn’t do much about that. He was pushing sixty. Sylvia treated him like he was still a teenager with a curfew and continually pushed him into the company of single Native women she thought suitable for the businessman he’d become and the wife of the Tribal Governor she wanted him to be. She told Sam he had a responsibility to set a good example to the younger men of the Tribe, and having a good Native woman at his side was a part of that responsibility. Proper Zuni men married women from within their tribe—not white bitches who were only after a share of the monthly casino revenues.

“You’d probably call down my ancestors to come and take my scalp if I started going around with the pretty white woman getting out of that Jeep. Wouldn’t you, Sylvia?” Sam mumbled to himself with a smile as he parked his truck and got out.

Shannon unlocked the travel trailer and began carrying plastic bags filled with things she’d picked up from Walmart out of her Jeep. “Looks like I’m gonna be stuck in this horrible thing for a while,” she said with a smile and a shrug of her bare, freckled shoulders. It was warm, and she wore a tank top over her full breasts, jeans over her shapely ass, ankle boots on her feet, and a cowboy hat to shade her face.

To Sam, she looked like one of the hundreds of white, cowboy-wannabe tourists who swarmed to the cooler White Mountains in the Summer months to escape the triple-digit heat of the valley below. They also spent their money in the Native-owned tourist shops and businesses like his, so Sam couldn’t complain. Very little was crafted by Native artisans these days. It was all cheap reproductions imported from China, and Sam hated seeing it being touted as Native made. It made him feel cheap and dishonest, though he had nothing to do with the tourist traps selling the junk.

“Let me help you with that,” Sam said as he took a case of bottled fruit juice and carried it into the travel trailer.

“Would you like some?” she asked, nodding to the case of juice. “I have ice made in the freezer.”

“Sure, or just water if you have it. I try to avoid the sweet stuff as much as I can, ” he said, patting his belly as he grinned. Sam glanced around the trailer and noticed her suitcase by the unmade bed and new clothes with the tags still on them, poking from the narrow closet door. He also saw the deed to the property spread out on the table in the kitchen. The place smelled musty and dusty though the windows were open, and Sam thought she’d only opened it for the first time last night, after months of sitting empty. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been up here together, causing him to wonder again what had happened between the two of them.

“If you open the lawn chairs, I’ll bring it out,” she said with a smile on her pretty face. “The shaded outside is cooler than in this stuffy tin box.”

He had to agree and stepped back outside, taking a deep breath of the cooler air. “Will Mr. Duncan be joining us?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“No,” Shannon replied in a soft voice, and Sam saw her hands tremble from where he stood in the shade of the swaying cedars as she took tall, plastic tumblers from the cabinet above the sink, “Ken won’t be coming here anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” she said uneasily before continuing. “I saw Mr. Miller in town yesterday, and he’s going to be setting up the cabin shell for me the week after next if you can get the ground all set and the blocks delivered.” She twisted a plastic ice cube tray and transferred the cubes into the tumblers before refilling them with water from a bottle and returning them to the small freezer compartment in the trailer’s refrigerator.

Sam opened two chairs he found propped next to the trailer and dusted them off. He set up a small table between them. “So, Fred’s selling you one of those modular things of his?”

“Yeah,” she said as she handed Sam a tumbler filled with ice and water. “One of the ones with the siding that looks like redwood logs and is in an L-shape with a bedroom section added to the front. Ken and I had been looking at them for several years but went back and forth between one of those and just building a custom cabin,” she hesitated as she sat and took a sip of juice from her glass, “but now it’s a matter of practicality. The shell will be faster to set up than finding a contractor and building from scratch.” She rolled her eyes and grinned as she nodded toward the travel trailer. “I don’t think I could stand that tin can for the time it would take to build either. I’ll just have to find someone to finish the inside of Fred’s shell the way I want it.”