The Spirit Woman Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Author’s Note

  Praise for Margaret Coel’s national bestselling series . . .

  The Spirit Woman

  “Intriguing Arapaho and Shoshone history and realistic treatment of contemporary Native American issues make this cozy a winner.”

  —Library Journal

  “A well-drawn tale. Margaret Coel changes the direction of the series so that there is an added freshness that doesn’t lose the essence of the Wind River mysteries. [She] provides rich detail about reservation life, assimilation into the Anglo world, and preservation of the Indian heritage inside an exhilarating plot.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Gives the readers a rare look into the lives of the Arapahos, and they can feel the pain of a nation forced to live by the white man’s standards. This is one of those books that keeps the blood pumping. Tight tension keeps it moving at an accelerating pace.”

  —Rendezvous

  “Interweaving the legend of Sacajawea with a suspenseful story makes for a fascinating read. As usual, the interplay between Father John and Vicky is bound to hold your attention.”

  —Romantic Times

  The Lost Bird

  “A truly touching story . . . the whole book is infused with the spirit of Arapaho community.”

  —Sarah Smith, author of Knowledge of Water

  “Among the best mysteries of the year. She writes vividly about western landscapes and Native American customs . . . Coel is clearly at the top of her game.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “An engrossing mystery and a great read. Margaret Coel manages to have enjoyable characters and a super mystery—not an easy task.”

  —The Literary Times

  “Mining her knowledge of Arapaho Indian culture, Coel must now be considered on equal footing with the most famous Indian mystery novelist, Tony Hillerman. [She] does her job as well as Hillerman ever did: Her puzzles and resolutions are plausible, and her characters are real and flawed.”

  —Sunday Camera (Boulder, CO)

  “Suspenseful . . . solid characters and a keen sense of place . . . keep this tale humming.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Her stories are carefully crafted, her characters likable and believable, and her books a delight to read. Each of Coel’s books provides a bit more insight into the Arapaho people and culture—which just gives us another reason to follow the series.”

  —The Gazette (Colorado Springs, CO)

  The Story Teller

  “Vivid western landscapes, intriguing history, compelling characters, and quick, tight writing that is a joy to read . . . Holden is a unique mix of the modern and the traditional. [Holden and O’Malley] prove delightful and sympathetic, as they suffer an endearing confusion about whether they are friends, or something more. One of the best of the year.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “All the strengths of this fine series are present here; Coel’s knowledge of and respect for western history, a solid mystery with a credible premise in Indian lore and the struggles of Holden and O’Malley with their powerful, but so far unconsummated, attraction to each other.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “You finish [The Story Teller] not only well-entertained but all the better for it.”

  —The Arizona Daily Star

  The Dream Stalker

  “Seamless storytelling by someone who’s obviously been there.”

  —J. A. Jance

  “Swift and compelling.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Coel weaves deeply human conflicts into her characters’ lives. . . . Critics who have called Coel a ‘female Hillerman’ are right on the mark. Her breezy, fast-paced style and grasp of cultural details make The Dream Stalker a book that will keep you reading until late at night.”

  —Daily Camera (Boulder, CO)

  “Murder, romance, a nuclear storage facility and Indian lore blend appealingly in this third mystery. . . . Another coup for Coel.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  The Ghost Walker

  “Margaret Coel guides us mystery lovers on another of her gripping tours of evil among the Wind River Arapahos.”

  —Tony Hillerman

  “Coel is a vivid voice for the West, its struggles to retain its past and at the same time enjoy the fruits of the future.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  “A corking good read . . . Excellent . . . An outstanding entry in a superior series.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “There is something so real, so good about the setting and the people in The Ghost Walker.”

  —Elaine Long, award-winning author of Jenny’s Mountain and Bittersweet Country

  “A tautly written, compelling mystery, grounded in and sympathetic to the Arapaho culture.”

  —Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

  “Engaging . . . Coel’s series in the Hillerman tradition finds a space where Jesuits and Native Americans can meet in a culture of common decency.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  The Eagle Catcher

  “Margaret Coel’s account of dastardly deeds among the

  Arapahos on the Wind River Reservation shouldn’t be

  missed by anyone interested in either new trends in mystery

  writing or contemporary American Indian culture.

  She’s a master at both.”

  —Tony Hillerman

  “An uncanny sense of dialogue . . . Coel merges her grasp of history with the mystery genre. The result is so successful, you wonder what took her so long!”

  —The Denver Post

  “Insightful commentary about Arapaho culture, well-drawn characters and a lively pace.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Welcome Margaret Coel to the ranks of esteemed western mystery writers such as Hillerman, Hager, and Prowell. The Eagle Catcher is not only an alluring fresh mystery told with the authoritative voice of an historian, it is also a thoughtful testimony to the clash of cultures that endures in the West.”

  —Stephen White, author of Higher Authority and Private Practices

  “Intense and fascinating . . . Coel has gifted us with a western mystery full of characters we long to know better and a Wyoming setting that takes our breath away.”

  —Earlene Fowler, author of Arkansas Traveler and Seven Sisters

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are

  used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, business establishments, events or locales i
s

  entirely coincidental.

  The Spirit Woman

  A BERKLEY Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2001 by Margaret Coel.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by

  mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

  Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes

  copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to

  criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

  http://www.penguinputnam.com

  eISBN : 978-1-101-16201-9

  A BERKLEYBOOK®

  BERKLEY Books first published by Berkley Publishing Group,

  a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to

  Penguin Putnam Inc.

  Electronic edition: October 2002

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Samuel Coel Harrison

  Acknowledgments

  Robert Pickering, Ph.D., forensic anthropologist, Buffalo Bill Historical Center, Cody, WY.

  Todd Dawson, special agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Lander, WY.

  Detective Sergeant Bob Campbell, Lander Police Department, Lander, WY.

  Zelda R. Tillman, director, Shoshone Cultural Center, Fort Washakie, WY.

  Mary Keenan, chief deputy district attorney, Boulder, CO.

  Judge Sheila Carrigan, Boulder, CO.

  Barbara Paradiso, longtime advocate for battered women, Boulder, CO.

  Anthony Short, S.J., Denver, CO., formerly at St. Stephen’s Mission, Wind River Reservation.

  Ron and Laura Mamot, St. Stephens, WY.

  Virginia Sutter, Ph.D., member of the Arapaho tribe, Auburn, WA.

  Karen Gilleland, Beverly Carrigan, and Mary Hill, Boulder, CO; Mary and Ron Dunning, Louisville, CO; and John Dix, Washington, DC.

  George and Kristin Coel, and Lisa and Tom Harrison.

  Sacajawea never liked to stay where she could not see the mountains, for them she called home. For the unseen spirit dwelt in the hills . . .

  —Tom Rivington, Wyoming pioneer

  1

  Father John O’Malley pulled up the collar of his jacket and dipped the brim of his cowboy hat against the hard wind whirling little pellets of snow into the air. Thick gray clouds scuttled overhead and rolled through the cottonwoods like a dense fog, nearly obscuring the snow-covered path that ran between the trees and the Little Wind River. He could see his breath ahead of him. The rhythmic crunch of his boots on the snow punctuated the sound of water gurgling over ice. It was November, the twelfth month in the Arapaho Way, the Moon When the Rivers Start to Freeze.

  Walks-On-Three-Legs bounded toward him out of the trees, and Father John coaxed the red disk from the golden retriever’s mouth and gave it another toss. It sailed down the path into the fog, a streak of red in the grayness. The dog loped after it and, pivoting on his only hind leg, snatched the disk out of the air and darted back. Another toss, another snatch. Was it really three years ago that he’d found the dog in the barrow ditch? It seemed like yesterday. He’d rushed him to Riverton, where the vet had amputated the dog’s smashed left hind leg and saved his life. Father John had brought him back to St. Francis Mission.

  He tossed the disk again, putting some real spin on it this time so that it veered into the cottonwoods. He would leave Walks-On at the mission. Even if the new pastor didn’t like dogs, Elena, the housekeeper, was fond of Walks-On, no matter how much she proclaimed otherwise. “Just more work around here, which I don’t need, thank you very much,” she’d told him when he’d carried the dog into the priests’ residence and laid him on a rug in the corner of the kitchen. Hers was the same protest his mother had made when, as a kid in Boston, he would come home with a stray dog. He’d seen how Elena slipped the dog the best table scraps, and more than once he’d popped into the residence in the middle of the day to find her seated in a chair with her beading, Walks-On curled at her feet. She would take good care of him when he left.

  When he left. The words echoed in his mind, a counterpoint to the sounds of his footsteps. He’d been at St. Francis Mission on the Wind River Reservation now for nearly eight years, but he’d been pastor only half that time. Six years was the usual term for a Jesuit assignment. He’d hoped the provincial would date his assignment from the time he became pastor. It wasn’t to be. The call had come less than an hour ago. He’d stared at the phone jangling into the quiet of his office in the administration building, a sense of foreboding sounding in his head. Finally he’d reached across the desk and lifted the receiver. “Father O’Malley,” he’d said, his throat tight with dread.

  “John? Good news.” The familiar voice of Father William Rutherford, the Jesuit provincial. For one crazy moment he’d allowed himself to believe that he was about to get a new assistant. He needed an assistant. He’d been alone now for almost two months, ever since Father Joseph Keenan had been murdered, shot to death when he went out on an emergency call. Everywhere he looked were stacks of papers demanding his attention. Next year’s budget, next semester’s religious-education classes, liturgies for the Christmas season, speakers for the new parents’ group. There were shut-ins and people in the hospital to visit and a never-ending round of meetings to attend: Alcoholics Anonymous, men’s club, women’s sodality. He was hopelessly behind.

  “I’ve found a new pastor for St. Francis.” The provincial had blurted out the news. “Kevin McBride. You know him?”

  Father John had snapped a pencil in half and shot the pieces across the desk. So this was it, the news he’d been dreading for two years. He had muttered something about never having heard of the man.

  “Recent doctorate in anthropology. Anxious to get some fieldwork among the indigenous peoples.”

  “Fieldwork?” He’d heard the sharpness in his voice. “St. Francis Mission isn’t some kind of laboratory. The Arapahos need a pastor.”

  The line had gone quiet a moment. “Perhaps I phrased that badly. Kevin will make a fine pastor. To be perfectly honest, John, I expected you to welcome the news.”

  He’d drawn in a long breath, struggling to control the disappointment that flooded over him. It was as strong as the mountains, as big as the sky. He heard it in his voice when he said: “I’ve started a lot of things here, Bill. I’d like to finish them.”

  “You don’t have to worry. Kevin will step right in, take up where you leave off, finish things before he starts his own programs.”

  “Look, Bill”—a different tack—“I’m not ready to leave St. Francis. I was counting on another couple of years.”

  Silence had hung on the line like an eavesdropper. Finally the provincial said, “Frankly, John, you’ve been on the reservation long enough. I’ve seen other men like you. They start feeling too much at home. Go Indian, if you will. Start thinking they are Indian. When they finally leave, they have a hard time making the transition into the outside world.”

  “I know who I am,” Father John had said in an impatient tone. A Boston Irishman, with red hair fading to gray at the temples and blue eyes, taller than most men at almost six feet four. A recovering alcoholic. A struggling priest. How could he forget?

  “I didn’t want to bring this up, John, but . . .” The provincial hesitated, then plunged on. “I’ve heard the rumors.”

  “What rumors?” Father John’s stomach muscles tightened. He knew the answer. O’Malley, stuck on an Indian reservation in the middle of Wyoming, probably drinking himself into oblivion.

  He was about to say that he hadn’t had a drink since he left Grace House eight years before when the voice crackled
over the line: “The woman, John.”

  He’d been wrong. The rumors weren’t about alcohol after all. They were about Vicky. The long, unrelenting lines of the moccasin telegraph had reached all the way to the provincial’s office in Milwaukee.

  He said, “Vicky Holden’s an attorney. We work together on adoptions, DUIs, juveniles who get picked up by the police, divorces, a lot of different cases. We’re friends, that’s all. I hope I have a lot of friends here.”

  The provincial had drawn in a long breath that sounded as if he were sucking air from the receiver. “There’s always the danger . . .”

  “She’s back with her ex-husband.” The explanation was sharp with anger and a sense of violation. What in heaven’s name had gone out over the moccasin telegraph? “There’s no danger,” he added, stopping himself from saying, There’s no longer any danger.

  “I hope that’s true,” his boss had said in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe it. “In any case, it’s time for you to move on. You’ve been stuck at St. Francis long enough.”