“By now they probably have translators,” Jennifer told her. Then, in Osage, she made an indecent suggestion about what could be done with the late FBI founder’s body—just in case someone was listening.

“If your Grandfather taught you that one, I don’t think I want that translated, honey,” Sarah replied serenely. “It has to be something obscene. Poor Mr. Hoover, he must be spinning in his grave like a high-speed lathe. Your brother told me you’d called; has something come up?”

“Sort of.” She licked her lips. She might as well come straight to the point. “Have you—ah—seen the news yet? Any news?”

Although Sarah was not strictly a Medicine Woman, Grandfather had hinted that at least part of Kestrel’s ability might have come from her mother’s side of the family. Kestrel didn’t doubt that at all, for Sarah had an uncanny ability to cut straight to the subject someone wanted to discuss, whether or not it had even been mentioned.

That ability did not fail her this time. “You mean the explosion? The one where the bulldozer blew up and all those poor men were killed?” Her voice sharpened with anxiety. “Isn’t that a police thing? How did you get involved?”

“Obliquely. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get underfoot with the cops, I don’t think.” Quickly, she explained as much as she could without betraying client confidentiality, then continued. “Basically, I need to know if Dad’s heard anything that might apply—you know, young hotheads shooting their mouths off just before they shoot themselves in the foot—or if the Principal Chief has.”

“Hang on a moment, I’ve got my real estate books and mortgage calculation sheets spread out all over the table, and I want to write all this down so I get it right.” She listened to the background sound of paper shuffling for a moment, as her mother restacked her work and reached for something she could take notes in. “All right, would you take it from the top for me?”

Jennifer repeated it all, carefully. Sarah had been a secretary and kept her shorthand up; a skill she had taught Jennifer. It had come in useful in college, and both of them still used it, although Jennifer had augmented her note-taking with a microcassette recorder.

“Dear, this developer—can you tell me his name? I might get something, if I nose around a little.” Sarah’s offer came as something of a surprise, and Jennifer found herself staring at the wall with her eyebrows lifted. She hadn’t considered her mother as a possible information source, but Sarah was right—if it had anything to do with land, real estate agents heard about it, and they talked. She could have hit herself for not thinking of it, too. Normally she was a bit better at thinking of the obvious.