One Grave Less

feather tied to a lock of hair in back. John liked to mix traditional Native American with modern trappings. It gave him an interesting air and clients liked it.
    Rosetta took one look and ran to him.
    “Daddy!” she said, jumping up into his arms. He picked her up and she hugged his neck.
    She spoke to him in Cherokee, a simple phrase, but with perfect intonation. The kid was good. John responded in kind. Then he made a series of gestures with his hand—“I love you” in sign language—fully expecting Rosetta to mimic him because it’s what kids do. She did a pretty fair job. Maria smiled. It was a precious moment and totally convincing.
    Rodrigo Cordeiro, Catia, and Cameron Michaels looked at the two of them. Maria marveled at how the similarity of deep ancestry passed for familial likeness. Cordeiro was convinced, as was his daughter Catia. Michaels actually looked slightly confused. By this time he had probably recognized Ariel, but here was what looked and interacted like family.
    Maria went up to John and he kissed her cheek.
    “Are you all right?” he said.
    “I am now,” she said.
    John’s gaze shifted from one person to the other. He zeroed in on the airport manager and held out his hand. Maria introduced all of them to John.
    Rosetta pointed to Michaels. “He’s the bad man they tell us about in school,” she said. Maria almost laughed and wondered where she came up with that.
    “I resent that,” Michaels said.
    “Are you going to argue with a child?” said Cordeiro. He sounded weary of the whole thing. “She knows you are trying to take her away from her parents.”
    There it was. Cordeiro believed her. Maria felt relief beyond words.
    The airport manager turned to John. “Mr. West, Mr. Michaels has accused your wife of the murder of ”—he looked down at the flyer—“of four men. He says he is from Interpol.”
    “Maria . . . killed four men? How?” he said.
    “This piece of paper doesn’t say,” said Cordeiro. “He also accuses your wife of kidnapping this child from her native village.”
    John turned to Michaels. “Interpol doesn’t make these kinds of accusations on its own in person; they work with the local authorities. Where are the local authorities?”
    “Here.” Michaels pointed to Rodrigo Cordeiro.
    “I manage the airport, Mr. Michaels. I am not the polícia ,” he said.
    “She doesn’t have papers,” said Michaels, playing his trump card, though Maria had already told Cordeiro she’d lost their papers during the attack. She supposed that Michaels thought Cordeiro needed reminding.
    “We can get them replaced at the embassy in Rio de Janeiro,” said Maria. She looked over at John. “I thought we could take a little vacation there while we wait.”
    He stared at her. The look in his eyes was stern. “I would have thought you’d had enough of vacations,” he said. She recoiled as if stung.
    Michaels clapped his hands together slowly. “Well played. I can see when I’m out of my league. Good day. I would say it’s been nice.”
    He left the room. Maria would have preferred he stay so she would at least know where he was.
    “Senhor Cordeiro,” John said, paying no attention to Michaels. “My wife is not a murderer, nor a kidnapper. She sometimes makes bad judgments about where to vacation with our daughter. But other than that, she is a good mother. I am not familiar with your laws in this country. Is there a provision in your law for expediting a matter like this so I can take my family home?”

    Neither Lindsay nor Ariel was at ease until the plane was in the air for several minutes. Lindsay half believed they would be shot down. John was up front with the pilot, Arthur Youngblood, a cousin of his. The Betty Boop was owned jointly by several corporations, of which West Construction was one. Lindsay was grateful for it. Grateful for John. Just grateful.
    Ariel had never flown in a plane, but she didn’t look nervous. She looked disbelieving. Lindsay smiled at her. She knew she was thinking of Diane Fallon and her dream to find her.
    “We did it, kid. I guess I can call you Ariel now, huh?” she said.
    Ariel was sitting in one of the cushioned seats across from her. She was still belted in. She unclipped her belt and ran over to Lindsay and hugged her.
    “Thank you for not leaving me,” she said.
    “That was never going to happen,” said Lindsay, holding her tight. “Never, never, never.”
    John came out of the cockpit and sat down in a