The Eagle Catcher by Margaret Coel Read Free Book Online

brake lights flashed on and off as the car turned in to the driveway and rocked to a stop. The jeep he’d seen this morning at the powwow grounds pulled in behind, its rear bumper hanging into the road. Doors flung open, and Art Banner lifted himself from the patrol car as the FBI agent, Jeff Miller, jumped from the jeep,
    The two agents of law and order walked back onto the road toward him, their arms swinging like martinets: Miller in dark suit with jacket open and red tie hanging dead center; the police chief in light-blue shirt and navy-blue slacks wrinkled with sweat, as if he’d been wearing them for days.
    â€œAnthony Castle inside?” The agent threw his head back toward the ranch house.
    Father John felt his muscles tense, the way they had on the pitcher’s mound, when everything depended on the next throw of the ball. All his senses shifted into high gear as he gripped the rim of the opened door on the Toyota. “Anthony’s with his family.” He drew out the words, giving himself time to assess the situation.
    â€œWe’ve got some questions. It’s best he comes to Lander,” Miller said, squaring his shoulders and looking steadily at Father John.
    â€œWhy Lander?”
    Banner wedged himself between the fed and Father John. “We just need some questions answered, that’s all. No sense disturbing the family.”
    â€œAnthony doesn’t know anything about his uncle’s murder.” Father John stepped out from the door and slammed it hard, deliberately punctuating his words. He walked to the front of the pickup, eyes locked on Miller. It was this FBI agent who needed convincing. “Anthony wasn’t even around.”
    Miller folded his arms across his middle. “Oh, he was around all right. No doubt you know all about that big fight he and his uncle got into last night. Twenty, thirty witnesses saw it. Big coincidence, wouldn’t you say, that Harvey got stabbed afterward? Coroner estimates time of death sometime between midnight and six this morning.”
    â€œAnthony left the powwow grounds,” Father John said, keeping his voice steady, reasonable.
    â€œWe think he came back,” said the agent.
    Some of the Arapaho men who had been standing in the driveway walked out onto the road and lined up like bodyguards behind Banner and Father John.
    Miller ignored them. “We got the murder weapon. BIA police found a hunting knife out on the grounds behind Harvey’s tipi. Hidden in some sagebrush.”
    â€œWe think it might be the murder weapon.” Banner jumped in. “We won’t know for sure ’til the lab tests it.”
    â€œMaybe Anthony can identify it,” Miller said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “It’s got his initials on the handle.”
    A strong dislike for this white man rose like bile in Father John’s throat. He heard the Arapahos behind him gulping in air, and he hoped everybody stayed calm. “Could be a coincidence,” he said hurriedly.
    â€œYeah. Coincidences all over the place.” Miller kept his eyes locked on Father John’s.
    â€œWill you do us a favor and tell Anthony we wanna talk to him?” Banner took another step in front of the fed, almost blocking him altogether.
    Father John switched his gaze to the police chief. He understood what the Indian was about. Banner didn’t want to insult Harvey’s family by coming into their home with some cockamamie suggestion that Anthony had something to do with the murder. And there was no way he wanted to deal with the wrath of Anthony’s grandmother. Arapaho grandmothers would put a she-wolf to shame when it came to protecting their young.
    â€œOkay,” Father John said almost under his breath. There was only one reason he would do this: maybe he could soften the blow a little for Anthony, explain the situation to Maria and Rita. He didn’t want the family upset any further.
    â€œThere’s