The Devil You Know Read Free Page B

for on weekends. Highly imaginative thoughts of Vivian were busily lifting my spirits when I heard someone knock on the open door. I turned to find Blackwater’s own Sheriff Ben Oswell standing there with a foam cup full of nitro java from NiBor’s.
    “Ben. How goes it?” I asked.
    “It goes, Nick,” he said, watching me attack the boxes.
    Ben’s in his early forties like me, but a whole hell of a lot more ambitious, and nothing like your typical small-town sheriff type. He’s not greedy, fat, sloppy or corrupt. I mean, I can’t say for certain that his computer at home isn’t full of llama porn, for instance, or that he doesn’t cheat on his taxes, but I know he doesn’t take bribes, and he doesn’t bang college co-eds. He has a wife his own age, a daughter who stays out of trouble, a dog, and an arrowhead collection. That’s saying a lot in this town.
    Ben is tall, dark and as lean as a totem, without an inch of fat anywhere. He has a predilection for mirrored sunglasses and gourmet coffee. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly. All leftovers from his days with the State Troopers. Ben had a black dad and a Shawnee mom. I’ve seen Ben express Synchronicity on occasion, the innate supernatural ability to be in the right place at the right time, but I still haven’t figured out if that’s because of his mom or his dad. Ben hates his mojo, and mine, but he’s not above using it to get the job done. I do respect that about the man.
    He looked into one of the boxes sitting on the counter. “Well, that’s awful ugly. What are those?”
    “Hopi Kachina dolls,” I explained as I grabbed a mug off the counter, filled it with tap water from the basin sink and stuck it in the microwave for two minutes. “Effigies made of cottonwood that embody the ceremonial Kachina. You want one?”
    “If I brought something like that home my dog would eat it or my wife would eBay it.”
    “That would be very bad sorcery for you,” I said in my wisest occult shopkeeper’s voice.
    “What are you supposed to do with it, anyway?”
    I dug out one in eagle dress with its feathered arms outstretched. “You sit and think on it.”
    “Just think on it.”
    I offered it to him. “This one represents good fortune in seeking lost items. Pretty fitting for a policeman, in my opinion.”
    He took it and looked it over. When he found the price tag he lurched a bit. “Shit, I can’t afford to think that hard, Nick. Why can’t you just sell Webkinz like everyone else in this town?” He started handing the Kachina back to me, but I shook my head.
    “Keep it. When I saw it, I knew it was yours. That it was waiting for you.”
    He looked at me steadily, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes past his Super Trooper shades, I knew he was shaken. He didn’t believe in mojo, but he also couldn’t leave it alone. “You are one spooky bastard, you know that, Nick?” But he slid the Kachina dutifully into his pocket. He once told me it was against Shawnee custom to refuse a gift.
    The microwave beeped and I got my water out, added a tea bag, and picked up the third, as yet unopened, parcel. With it stuffed securely under my arm and my tea in hand, I turned to the beaded curtain. “Don’t mind me, I’m late with opening the shop.”
    Ben took a sip of coffee and followed me out onto the floor. “The Berger girl is missing.”
    I set the box on the counter and turned to look at him. “The Bergers of Berger Hollow?”
    “That’s them. You know them?”
    “Not really,” I said, going to the door and unlocking it. There wasn’t exactly a line, though I knew Morgana had some longtime clients dropping by later today to pick up some elixirs. “I know the family name, one of the Blackwater founders, correct?” Actually, I knew that to be true. Our humble little mountain burg had been settled at a crossroads by four founding families, the Kings, the Rinkleys, the Bergers and the Wodehouses, though the Bergers and Wodehouses were nearly