Everyone was watching us--or me at least. Adam had stood and was holding up his hand, keeping the others from interrupting. It might not be important--sometimes ghosts could be incredibly stubborn. But sometimes a loud noise or a sudden move, and they disappeared like rabbits.
"I don't know if you can keep him safe," she said sadly. "You know, in the story, all the first people the river monster ate came back to life after it was dead."
"I thought Coyote left it alive?"
She turned toward me, finally, and smiled. It didn't look like a smile that should be on the face of a dead woman. She had a good smile. "There are several versions of that story. When he was a little boy, Calvin always did like the ones in which everyone lived."
She stood up and wandered over to the grill, her fingers passing through the grating, and pressed on the coals beyond.
"Be careful," she told me, her gaze on the coal. "When it marks someone, they belong to it." She looked at Hank again.
"It was always him for me, you know? Ever since high school. But he never had eyes for me." She turned to me in sudden alarm. "Don't tell him that. He doesn't deserve to feel guilty."
"I won't," I assured her.
"And don't believe Jim's mysterious-Indian schtick, either. He's got a Ph.D. in psychology and taught over at UW in Seattle until he retired last year."
She put her hands back on the grill, but this time she didn't go through the grating but kept them on top of the hot metal, tapping her fingers lightly on the grill as if it fascinated her that she could do that without burning herself. I wanted to go and pull them off, even though I knew it couldn't hurt her anymore.
She glanced at the Owens brothers. "And Fred trains cuttin' horses. He's starting to make a name for himself. Hank works with him on the business side, then does welding to help balance the books."
"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked.
"So I remember," she whispered. "Tell them not to call my name. I don't want to stay here like this. Tell Benny I'm okay. Tell him to pick a flower for me and put it on Mama's grave this year for me."
I had never dealt with a ghost quite this coherent before. Usually, they don't even notice me. The few that do don't really seem to be aware that they are dead.
"I'll tell them," I promised, helpless to do anything to make this easier on anyone.
She looked up and met my eyes--and in hers I could see a flicker of violent green, the color of the river devil's eyes. "See that you do."
And she was gone.
Adam, watching me, dropped his hand when I met his eyes.
"Thanks," I told him.
"What the hell is that?" growled Hank. "Who were you talking to?"
"I thought that all walkers could see the dead," I said. "It's why the vampires don't like us."
"Vampires?" said Fred. "There are vampires?"
Jim laughed. "Not all walkers are alike, Mercy. No more than two men wear the same shirt at the same time."
I looked at Gordon.
"That is not my burden," Gordon told me. "Besides, I'm not a walker. Who did you see?"
Calvin had said that Gordon could take animal form, and he hadn't been lying. Still, there were other people who could shift shapes in the Native American stories I'd read. Instead of pursuing what he was, I answered his question.
"She didn't want you to use her name, but could you give me a description of Benny's sister? Before I tell you what she told me, I'd like to make sure I'm talking about the right person."
"No," said Jim coolly. "You tell us what she looked like, and we'll tell you if you get it right."
Okay. I could deal with that. "She's a little shorter than I am and she has muscle. Not casual muscle but the kind that comes from some sort of hard work or sport. She has a little scar just in front of her left ear." I put my finger where the scar was.
"She has a Web site," said Hank hostilely. "Her photo is up on it."