Page 6 of Close By (Kari Blackhorse #1)

Emma nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“He was obsessed with photographing the oxidation patterns in the moonlight. Said it revealed something about the mineral composition that wasn’t visible in daylight.

” She gestured to a series of photographs pinned to a corkboard nearby.

“He’d been documenting similar formations across the Colorado Plateau for months. ”

“Dr. Hale mentioned he had a disagreement with a guide named Natoni Begay,” Kari said. “Do you know anything about that?”

Emma tensed. “Natoni is my cousin. He works as a guide at Canyon de Chelly sometimes, but he’s also training to be a healer.

” She met Kari’s gaze directly. “Dr. Harrington wanted to photograph a specific formation at night—one that Natoni knew was sacred. A place where ceremonies are still performed. He refused to take him there.”

“How did Dr. Harrington react to the refusal?”

“He was angry. Said science shouldn’t be impeded by superstition.” Emma looked down at her hands. “I tried to explain the significance, but he didn’t really understand. He saw the land as geology, not as a living thing with its own… presence.”

The wording caught Kari’s attention. “What kind of presence?”

Emma hesitated. “My grandmother would say there are places where the boundaries are thin. Where the physical world and the spiritual one overlap.” She looked uncomfortable.

“I know how that sounds to someone with scientific training. I have that training too. But I was raised to understand that some knowledge isn’t meant to be documented or studied from the outside. ”

Kari recognized the worldview—the same one her own grandmother espoused, that she herself had been raised with during those weekend visits to the reservation. “The formation Dr. Harrington wanted to photograph—what makes it sacred?”

“It’s associated with very old stories,” Emma said carefully.

“Emergence stories, but not the common ones taught to tourists. Darker ones, about what existed before humans. About beings that still exist in the in-between places.” She shook her head.

“Natoni takes these traditions seriously. That’s why he refused. ”

“Do you think Dr. Harrington went to that location anyway, without a guide?”

“Definitely,” Emma said without hesitation. “He had the GPS coordinates. He showed me on his maps exactly where he planned to set up his equipment for the moonlight shots.” Her voice caught. “He said it would be the centerpiece of his exhibition.”

“When did you last speak with him?” Kari asked.

“Last Thursday. He came to the lab to review some samples we’d been analyzing.” Emma paused. “He seemed… I don’t know, more intense than usual. Said something about this project potentially changing our understanding of the region’s geological timeline.”

“Did he mention anyone else who might have been interested in his research? Other academics, local experts?”

Emma thought for a moment. “He’d been corresponding with someone from the Museum of Northern Arizona about incorporating some of his findings into an upcoming exhibition there.

And he mentioned interviewing some elders about local knowledge of the formations, though I got the impression those conversations hadn’t gone well. ”

“Anyone specific?” Kari pressed.

“No names that I recall,” Emma said. “But Dr. Harrington kept detailed field notes. Everything would be in his office or on his laptop.”

“I’ll need to look at those,” Kari said. “Can you show me his office?”

***

Harrington’s office was exactly what Kari would have expected from an academic with dual passions—one wall lined with geology textbooks and journals, another covered with framed photographs of spectacular rock formations.

His desk was cluttered but organized, with stacks of papers weighted down by rock specimens serving as paperweights.

“His laptop would be the main source,” Emma said, pointing to an empty space on the desk. “He always took it with him on field trips. But he kept backup files on the external hard drive in that drawer, and paper notes in these folders.”

Kari began a methodical search, starting with the folders Emma had indicated.

They contained meticulous notes on the oxidation patterns Harrington had been studying, along with maps marked with the locations of similar formations across the Southwest. One folder, labeled “Canyon de Chelly—Moonlight Study,” caught her attention.

Inside were detailed topographical maps with GPS coordinates marked in red, photographs of the area taken during previous visits, and notes on the best times to capture the moonlight on the rock surfaces.

But what really stood out were the copies of emails between Harrington and various officials requesting special permission to access restricted areas of the canyon.

“He was determined to get to this specific formation,” Kari murmured.

“Almost obsessively,” Emma agreed. “Especially in the last month or so.”

At the back of the folder, Kari found a handwritten account of Harrington’s argument with Natoni Begay. The professor’s frustration was evident in his aggressive pen strokes:

“Guide refused access despite approved research permit. Claims site is ‘not for outsiders’ especially during what he called ‘Náhásdzáán Yee Adees’ee?ígíí’ (apparently translates to ‘The Walking Earth’).

Superstitious nonsense about boundaries ‘thinning’ during the full moon.

Tried to explain the scientific significance but met with stubborn refusal.

Will proceed with alternative arrangements. ”

Below this, Harrington had added a note: “Spoke with ranger station. No overnight permits without certified guide. May need to work around official channels. Too important to delay another lunar cycle.”

“He was planning to go without permission,” Kari said, looking up at Emma.

The graduate assistant nodded unhappily. “I was afraid of that. Dr. Harrington didn’t always… respect boundaries.”

Kari continued searching, finding more notes about the specific formation—Yé’iitsoh Bitsilí or “Monster’s Hand,” according to Harrington’s translation.

His scientific interest seemed focused on unusual blue-black veins of manganese oxide in the sandstone, which he believed indicated a previously undocumented geochemical process.

As she was about to close the folder, a business card fell out. It was for the Museum of Northern Arizona, with a name circled: Dr. James Blackhorse, Anthropological Research Division.

Kari froze, staring at the card. James Blackhorse. Jim. Her father.

“Is something wrong?” Emma asked, noticing her reaction.

“No,” Kari said automatically, tucking the card into her pocket. “Just another lead to follow up on.” She closed the folder. “I’ll need to take these materials as evidence.”

Emma nodded. “Of course. Do you need help gathering everything?”

“I can manage,” Kari said. “But I do have one more question. Your cousin Natoni—where can I find him?”

“He lives on the reservation, near the canyon. But he’s probably at the visitor center today—he leads tours on Wednesdays and Thursdays.” Emma hesitated. “Detective… Natoni wouldn’t hurt anyone. Whatever happened to Dr. Harrington, it wasn’t my cousin’s doing.”

“I just need to speak with him about their interaction,” Kari assured her. “Standard procedure.”

As Emma left, Kari sat in Harrington’s chair, trying to process what she’d discovered. The professor had deliberately gone to a sacred site against explicit warnings, without permission, during a full moon. And somehow, her father was connected to his research.

She pulled out her phone, staring at her father’s contact information.

They hadn’t spoken since her mother’s funeral, their relationship having grown increasingly strained after he’d remarried three years ago.

Now, finding his business card among Harrington’s papers seemed too significant to be coincidence.

She thought of dropping in on him—she was already in Flagstaff, after all. But the thought of seeing him face-to-face unsettled her. A call would be better.

And still, she hesitated.

Before she could decide whether to call him, her phone rang. Tsosie’s number flashed on the screen.

“Blackhorse,” she answered.

“We’ve got preliminary results from Dr. Hatathli,” Tsosie said without preamble.

“Time of death confirmed between thirty-six and forty-eight hours ago. But there’s something else.

The herbs placed around the body? They’re not from a Blessing Way ceremony.

They’re protective elements, the kind used to contain something dangerous. ”

Kari thought of Emma’s words about places where boundaries were thin, about beings in the in-between places. About a time called “The Walking Earth.”

“I found something, too,” she said. “The guide who refused to take Harrington to the site—his name is Natoni Begay. He specifically warned Harrington not to go there during the full moon.”

There was a brief silence on the line. “We need to talk to him,” Tsosie said finally. “Where is he now?”

“Likely at the Canyon de Chelly Visitor Center. I’m heading back to the reservation as soon as I finish here.” Kari hesitated, then added, “There’s one more complication. Harrington was in contact with my father about his research.”

Another silence. “Your father, the FBI agent?”

“The same. He’s retired from the FBI—and he’s working with the Museum of Northern Arizona full-time now, apparently. He volunteered there part-time years ago while he was still an agent.”

“Interesting timing,” Tsosie said neutrally.

“I know,” Kari said. “I’ll figure out what the connection is.” She glanced at her watch. “I should wrap up here and get back. It’s a two-hour drive.”

“I’ll meet you at the visitor center at four,” Tsosie said. “We should talk to Natoni together.”

After ending the call, Kari gathered Harrington’s research materials into an evidence bag, signing the chain of custody form.

As she prepared to leave, her gaze fell again on the photographs lining Harrington’s wall—beautiful, scientifically significant images of stone formations that had existed for untold years.

One photo in particular caught her attention—a red sandstone formation with five towering pillars reaching skyward like fingers. Even in the photograph, there was something unsettling about it, something that resonated with ancient warning.

Monster’s Hand. The place where Mark Harrington had died.

Kari’s phone buzzed with a text message. It was from her father: “Heard you’re in Flagstaff. Coffee at Macy’s? Important information to share.”

She stared at the message, wondering how he knew she was in town, what information he might have. The coincidence seemed too neat, too convenient. But in her experience, coincidences in murder investigations usually weren’t coincidences at all.

She typed a brief reply: “Can’t now. Working a case. What information?”

His response came quickly: “About the professor they found at Canyon de Chelly. News travels fast. I consulted on his research. Need to talk in person.”

Of course, he already knew. Flagstaff was a small city, academic circles even smaller. And her father had always maintained his connections to law enforcement, even in retirement.

“Tomorrow,” she texted back.

The reply was immediate: “Okay. Stay safe, Kari.”

Kari slipped the phone into her pocket without responding. Whatever her father knew, it could wait until she’d spoken to Natoni Begay. She needed facts, not her father’s interpretations filtered through decades of FBI perspective.

As she left the Geology Building, the mid-afternoon sun cast shadows across the campus.

Somewhere nearby, her father was going about his day, perhaps already calling old contacts for information on her case.

The thought irritated her, but she pushed it aside.

Personal feelings had no place in a homicide investigation.

Right now, her focus needed to be on Natoni Begay—the last person known to have argued with Mark Harrington before his death, the man who had warned him away from Monster’s Hand during the full moon.

The man who might know what really happened that night in the canyon.