“Indeed?” Panther had said, interest kindled within. And so he had come here to the low structure next to the water. As they approached the building, he could smell smoke from the fire out front and see small streamers of steam slipping around the gaps in the roof.
Nine Killer slowed and called out, “Shell Comb? I bring you The Panther, as you instructed.”
She answered from inside: “Thank you, War Chief. That will be all. You are dismissed.”
Nine Killer lifted an eyebrow, gave Panther a look of worried amusement, and whispered, “Good luck,” as he passed by.
Panther nodded to Sun Conch, who gave him an equally worried look, then took her position beside the building.
Panther pulled back the hanging and ducked inside into the muggy heat. For the first couple of steps, breath stuck in his throat, the steam choking him. As the flap fell back in place, his snow-bright vision could see nothing in the blackness. A hand reached out and took his.
“Come, Elder, sit here beside me.” Shell Comb led him to a mat and helped him to be seated.
Panther gasped for breath, fighting the smothering steam, and slipped his old blanket from his shoulders. “Excuse me,” he rasped. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a sweat lodge. It will take a while for my old skin to adjust.”
“I come here a lot,” she told him. “It helps me to think.” Then she added, “You might want to undress. You’ll roast. Or worse, step out into the cold in damp clothing and become sick.”
He grunted, and pulled his hide shirt over his head before pulling the flap of his breech clout out of its belt. Shell Comb took his garments and set them outside the door flap as he removed them.
He rubbed his hands over his arms. “The stories tell us that in the beginning, First Woman lived in a place bathed by steam, that it cleanses the soul, and renews the body. It is said that a person can never be truly refreshed unless they sweat in the steam and wash in cold water.”
“Do you believe that’s true? About First Woman?”
“Sometimes.”
“I believe it,” Shell Comb said. “I think that’s why I’ve kept my health, and my youth.” She paused. “Tell me, Elder, do you think I’m an attractive woman?”
He chuckled. “At my age, I think that all women are attractive. But that’s all I can do .. just think.”
She laughed with him, then was silent. Panther took the moment to catch his breath, his skin prickling from the heat. Moisture had begun to bead on his bushy eyebrows, and he could feel the heat working into his old joints.
“You sent for me,” he finally said. “Since the charms of my body have long since faded, I assume you have something else in mind?”
He could almost see her now, a dim figure in the darkness and swirling steam. She seemed hunched, head down. “Have you discovered who my daughter’s murderer is?”
“No.” He tilted his head back. “The curious thing is that everyone I talk to appears to have a reason for killing her. This daughter of yours seems to have stirred a great many people’s passion.” He turned his head to look at her. “I hear that you wanted to go to war with the Mamanatowick the morning she was killed.”
“I was upset, Elder. Desperate to do anything, to strike back. Winged Blackbird was out there. It seemed only logical that he’d killed her.” Shell Comb paused. “What would you think if it was your daughter? I’m still not sure that he didn’t do it. The way she was left, unmolested, that might have been cleverness on Winged Blackbird’s part.”
“You sound like you are still trying to convince yourself, Shell Comb. Why is that?”
She shrugged. “It would make things a great deal easier, wouldn’t it?”
“Would it?” He waited for her to answer her own question. “Why?”
“Because… well, we wouldn’t have to face the truth.” She sounded uneasy. “I wish we could just start over, make believe this never happened, and give everyone a second chance to do things right.”
“Give the murderer a second chance?” Panther frowned. “What makes you think he wants one? Red Knot’s killer was driven to an act of desperation, Shell Comb. That’s why Red Knot was killed. She was doing something, or knew something that compelled someone to kill her.”
He heard Shell Comb’s breath stop short, and her shoulders slumped miserably. A moment later, he heard sniffling sounds and reached out to pat her shoulders. “There, there. Grief, like all things, eventually passes.”
“I—I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and sniffed. “All this time, I keep trying to be the dignified woman that everyone expects me to be. What you said … it just…”