Page 2 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

The dead always left something behind.

Detective Kari Blackhorse understood this truth better than most. Sometimes it was evidence—blood spatter, DNA, the mathematical poetry of a crime scene. Sometimes it was less tangible—grief that hung in the air like the desert heat, questions that circled like ravens.

Her mother had left both.

Kari slowed as she approached the marker—a simple wooden stake with faded yellow police tape still clinging to it.

Nothing distinguished this patch of desert from any other.

No bloodstains marked the sand, no evidence remained to suggest that Anna Chee had drawn her last breath here just over four weeks ago.

She stopped, breathing hard, hands on her knees. Every morning since her return, she’d run to this spot, searching for… what? A clue the tribal police had missed? A spiritual revelation? Some days, she wasn’t sure herself.

“Your mother didn’t die here.”

The voice nearly made Kari jump out of her skin. She spun around, hand instinctively reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t there.

Her grandmother stood ten yards away, motionless as the surrounding boulders, her silver hair pulled back in a traditional bun, her lined face impassive in the growing light. She wore a long calico skirt and a faded blue blouse, looking for all the world like she’d been standing there for hours.

“Shimásání,” Kari said, her heart rate slowly returning to normal. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Ruth Chee made a small sound that might have been amusement. “I wasn’t sneaking. You weren’t listening.”

“Trouble sleeping?” Kari asked.

Ruth fixed her with a pointed stare. “I may be on the cusp of eighty, but that does not mean I need you to look after me like some helpless old woman.” Her tone softened. “You came back for answers, not to be my caretaker. Remember that.”

Kari, who had, to some extent, come back to be her grandmother’s caretaker, realized now that she’d been foolish to think her grandmother would ever accept being looked after. The old woman was as perceptive as she was independent.

Kari raised her hands in self-defense. “Whatever you say.”

Ruth grunted, then grew serious as she turned her attention to the wooden stake. “This is where they found her. Not where she died.”

Kari straightened, wiping sweat from her forehead. “The medical examiner said—”

“Dr. Williams said what makes sense to his science.” Ruth moved closer, her steps surprisingly light for a woman of seventy-eight. “Your mother went somewhere else first. Somewhere important.”

“And you know this how?” Kari tried to keep the skepticism from her voice, but old habits die hard.

Ruth’s dark eyes fixed on Kari as if she were a child again, caught in a lie. “The same way I knew you were coming home before you called. The same way I know you don’t believe your mother’s death was natural, no matter what that paper from the tribal police says.”

Kari looked away first. “Exposure doesn’t make sense. Mom knew this land better than anyone.”

“Better than me?” Ruth raised an eyebrow.

“Almost anyone,” Kari amended with the hint of a smile. “And she wouldn’t have come out here without water, without telling someone. It doesn’t add up.”

Ruth nodded, satisfied. “Good. The FBI didn’t make you completely blind.”

“I wasn’t FBI, Shimásání. Dad was.”

“Same thing.” Ruth’s dismissive wave encompassed all of federal law enforcement. “You see with those eyes now. I’m just glad you still remember how to question.”

The sun breached the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert floor. In the new light, Kari noticed something clutched in her grandmother’s hand—a small leather pouch.

Ruth followed her gaze. “Protection,” she said simply, then looked pointedly at Kari’s neck, bare of the medicine bundle she’d once worn as a child.

“I’ve got my Glock for protection,” Kari said. “When I’m not out for a morning jog, that is.” As soon as she had spoken, she regretted the flippancy.

Ruth’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes dimmed. “Some things bullets can’t stop, Asdz?′?′ K’os.”

The use of her Diné name—Cloud Woman—sent an unexpected shiver through Kari despite the heat. She hadn’t heard it spoken aloud in years.

“Why are you out here, Shimásání? It’s a long walk from the house.”

Ruth gestured vaguely to the east. “I got a ride with Leila Adakai. She delivers mail this way on Tuesdays.”

Kari glanced around, seeing no other vehicles. “She just left you here?”

“I told her to.” Ruth’s tone made it clear that was the end of that discussion. She looked up at the lightening sky. “I had a dream about your mother last night.”

Kari tensed. Her grandmother’s dreams were infamous in the family—too often accurate in ways that defied explanation. “What kind of dream?”

“She was looking for something in the old places. Something hidden.” Ruth’s weathered face revealed nothing of what she thought about this. “She couldn’t find it, but she said you would.”

“Did she say what ‘it’ was?” Kari tried to keep the skepticism from her voice.

Ruth shook her head. “Dreams don’t work like your police reports, Asdz?′?′ K’os.” She gazed out across the desert. “I’ll need a ride back. You can drive me after your run.”

Kari sighed. Her grandmother had always been cryptic, but since Anna’s death, she’d become even more so—her speech full of riddles and old stories that Kari only half-remembered from her childhood weekends on the reservation.

“I was actually heading back,” Kari said. “I need to get ready for work.”

Ruth nodded, unsurprised, as if she’d calculated this timing perfectly. “Let’s go then. On the way, you can tell me about your new partner. He has troubled eyes.”

***

The house was exactly as her mother had left it—a modest one-story building of tan stucco with a metal roof that had seen better days.

It sat alone at the end of a dirt road, with only scattered pinon pines for company.

Not for the first time, Kari wondered why her mother had chosen such isolation after the divorce.

After dropping Ruth at her small house on the eastern edge of the reservation, Kari had driven home with her grandmother’s words echoing in her mind. Your mother wasn’t afraid of dying. She was afraid of what would die with her.

She unlocked the door and stepped into the relative coolness of the interior. The space was small but meticulously organized, every surface covered with books, papers, and the various artifacts of Anna’s academic work documenting Navajo traditions.

Kari moved slowly through the quiet rooms, stripping off her sweat-soaked running clothes and stepping into the shower. As the water washed away the desert dust, something else her grandmother had said came back to her: I’m just glad you still remember how to question.

Yes, but what was the question? What had Mom been doing out there? What had happened to her? As badly as Kari wanted to know, she’d been an investigator long enough to know that some trails went cold—permanently.

And people—even those as careful as her mother—sometimes made mistakes. Even the fatal kind.

After her shower, Kari dressed quickly in department-issue khakis and a light blue button-down shirt, her badge clipped to her belt alongside her holstered Glock 19.

She braided her wet hair into a single plait down her back, a compromise between professional appearance and practicality in the desert heat.

In the kitchen, she gulped down a protein shake and absently leafed through a stack of her mother’s papers while she ate.

Anna had been methodical in her research, documenting interviews with elders in precise handwriting, cross-referencing oral histories with archaeological findings.

So many stories, so many connections—all of which seemed to have died with her.

Kari glanced at her watch. She still had forty minutes before she needed to leave for the station. On impulse, she went to the small bedroom that had served as her mother’s office. The door stuck as she pushed it open; she hadn’t ventured in here much since moving back.

The room was smaller than she remembered, dominated by a large desk covered with neatly arranged stacks of paper, color-coded folders, and a laptop that hadn’t been turned on since Anna’s death. Kari hesitated only briefly before sitting in her mother’s chair.

The leather creaked under her weight, conforming to her body in a way that suggested Anna had spent long hours here. Kari ran her fingers along the edge of the desk, then opened the top drawer. Pens, paperclips, a stapler—ordinary office supplies arranged with care.

The second drawer contained file folders labeled by year and subject. Kari flipped through them quickly: “Emergence Stories, 2023”; “Spider Woman Legends, 2021”; “Creation Myths, 2019.”

The bottom drawer was locked.

Kari sat back, considering. She’d noticed the locked drawer during her initial sweep of the house after moving in but had respected it as one of her mother’s private spaces. Now, with Ruth’s words fresh in her mind— The answers are in her house —the locked drawer took on new significance.

She checked her watch again. Not enough time to deal with this now. She’d need to find the key or, failing that, pick the lock—breaking it wasn’t an option. Either way, she’d have to wait until after her shift.

Kari stood, taking one last look around the small office. Something about this room felt important, as if it held answers to questions she hadn’t yet formed.

But if so, those answers would have to wait.

Stepping out into the blinding morning sun, she locked the door behind her, acutely aware of leaving her mother’s space—her papers, her research, her secrets—unexamined once again. But duty called, and Kari Blackhorse had always answered, even when it led her to places she’d rather not go.

As she climbed into her Jeep, she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever her mother had been researching—whatever had been important enough to lock away—might somehow connect to her death. Not by exposure, as the coroner’s report claimed, but something else. Something worth keeping secret.

Kari started the engine, the familiar rumble grounding her. Today was just another day of police work. Reports to file, cases to review, a new partner to navigate. The mystery of her mother’s research would have to wait.

But as she pulled onto the main road toward the tribal police headquarters, Kari made a silent promise to herself. She would find what her mother had feared would die with her. And maybe, in doing so, she’d finally understand why Anna Chee had chosen to spend her last days alone in the desert.