She knocked lightly on the door frame before entering, a courtesy Ruth had instilled in her since childhood."Shimásání?It's Kari."
"In here," Ruth called from the back room she used exclusively for medicine preparation.Her tone carried neither surprise nor particular welcome—simply acknowledgment of Kari's presence.
Kari found her grandmother seated on a low stool, grinding dried plants in a stone mortar.The rhythmic scraping of pestle against stone paused as Ruth looked up, her dark eyes immediately noting the folder tucked under Kari's arm.
"You bring work to a medicine day," Ruth observed.Not a question, not quite an accusation.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your preparations," Kari said, setting the folder on a small table near the door."Something's come up that I need to ask you about."
Ruth resumed her grinding, the steady motion almost hypnotic."Sit," she said, nodding toward another stool."You look tired.Did you eat after the crime scene?"
The question surprised Kari—Ruth rarely expressed such direct concern for her physical wellbeing."No.There wasn't time."
Without comment, Ruth set aside her mortar and pestle, moving to the small kitchen where she removed cornbread and mutton stew from the warming oven.She placed both before Kari along with a mug of cedar tea that had been steeping on the counter.
"Eat first," Ruth said."Questions can wait until the body is nourished."
The simple meal tasted better than anything Kari could remember from recent days—perhaps because she was genuinely hungry, or perhaps because Ruth's cooking carried elements of memory and belonging that transcended mere flavor.They sat in comfortable silence as Kari ate, Ruth returning to her medicine preparation.
Only after Kari had finished and helped clear away the dishes did Ruth settle on her stool again, folding her weathered hands in her lap."Now.What questions bring you back so soon?"
Kari considered her approach carefully.Ruth responded poorly to direct interrogation about traditional practices, particularly when they intersected with police matters.Years of historical trauma had instilled deep wariness about sharing cultural knowledge with institutional authorities, even when that authority wore her granddaughter's face.
"I've been thinking about my grandfather today," Kari began, choosing a path that felt both honest and strategic."His police work, I mean.I realized how little I actually know about him."
Something shifted in Ruth's expression—a softening around the eyes, perhaps, or a slight relaxation of the perpetual vigilance she maintained."Joseph was a complicated man," she said."Strong in his beliefs but gentle in his heart.Much like you, in some ways."
The comparison startled Kari."Really?I always thought I took after Dad's side more—the analytical thinking, the focus on evidence."
Ruth's mouth curved in what might have been a smile."Different paths to the same destination.Joseph also looked for patterns, for truth beneath appearances.He simply used different words to describe the process."
Encouraged by this unexpected openness, Kari continued."What was he like as a police officer?As a detective?"
Ruth was quiet for a moment, her hands absently sorting herbs as she collected her thoughts."He believed in justice more than rules.Sometimes this created problems with his superiors.He saw connections others missed and trusted his instincts when evidence seemed insufficient."She glanced at Kari."He kept many cases in his heart long after the department declared them closed."
"Cold cases," Kari said."I do the same thing.There are investigations from Phoenix I still think about, still see patterns I can't quite complete."
Ruth nodded."This is the Chee way.To hold questions until answers reveal themselves, even if the revealing takes many seasons."
Kari leaned forward."Did he talk about his cases with you?"
"Some.Not all."Ruth's fingers moved methodically among the dried plants, separating stems from leaves."He understood that certain knowledge belongs in certain places.Police work in the station house.Family matters at home.Sacred concerns with those who maintain traditions."
"But sometimes those worlds overlapped," Kari suggested gently.
Ruth's hands stilled momentarily."Yes.Sometimes the boundaries are blurred, especially in cases touching on traditional matters.Those were the heaviest for him to carry."
Kari sensed an opening."Did he ever talk to you about his cases?"
A shadow passed across Ruth's features."As I just said, he understood that certain knowledge belongs in certain places—and not in others."
The warning was subtle but clear—proceed carefully.Kari reached for her folder but didn't open it yet."What about coworkers?Is there anyone he was close with?"
"He had several partners over the years.Remy Silver was his partner the longest, before their falling out."
"Falling out?"
Ruth waved a dismissive hand."Ancient history.Besides, your grandfather never told me what it was about."
