Mystery in Arizona Read online

  An hour later these “posses” returned to report that they had found no trace of the child. Then Trixie remembered what Bobby had done when he had run away from home. He had got no farther than the red trailer which was parked in the woods behind the Wheelers’ mansion.

  Impulsively she reached out and touched Howie’s hand. “Did you search the bunkhouses?”

  The gruff foreman glared at her and then grinned.

  “Nobody’s been there since the square dance began. It would be the ideal hide-out.” He hurried off, his spurs jingling, and in no time at all returned with a very sleepy Petey in his arms.

  Maria gathered him close to her. “I never would have thought to look there for him,” she breathed. “Mi vida. Mi vida.”

  “Trixie’s a smart kid,” Howie said to Uncle Monty. After Maria had led the little boy away he added, “Much ado about nothing. What on earth made Maria think Petey would run away?”

  Trixie said nothing but she thought she knew what had happened. Petey must have started out with the idea of saddling a pony but soon discovered that even the lightest saddle was too heavy for him to budge. In the end, exhausted by his efforts, he had fallen asleep in one of the bunks.

  The orchestra was playing “Turkey in the Straw” now, and everyone began to dance again just as though there had been no interruption. At midnight the tune changed suddenly to “Happy Birthday.” Uncle Monty was blindfolded and provided with a poker.

  “Hit the little dogie—hit it,” the crowd chanted. And hit he did! Gaily wrapped gifts showered down upon him as the piñata burst. By that time everyone was laughing and shouting so loudly that Trixie wondered why Miss Girard didn’t object. Then she realized that the two nurses as well as their patients were all there, laughing as loudly as the others when Uncle Monty opened his presents.

  After that they trooped into the dining-room for supper which consisted of an enormous birthday cake and gallons of ice cream.

  When he blew out the candles, assisted by everyone who was near enough to help, Uncle Monty made a little speech.

  “It’s the best birthday I ever had,” he said, “because it really was a surprise. And it’s given me an idea. On Christmas Eve instead of the usual grab bag we’ll have a piñata. I’ll have one made in the shape of a reindeer. Maybe all of you would like to help me fill it.”

  His next words were drowned out by the guests’ enthusiasm.

  “Oh, yes! What fun!”

  “A grand idea!”

  Uncle Monty continued, “We’ll have a tree, of course, and I hope you’ll all take part in the trimming of it. We’ll want help with decorating the house, too, but out here we use Pyracantha instead of holly. Many of you will attend the Pyracantha Festival on Saturday night at Armory Park. You’ll see that Pyracantha is very similar to holly. The leaves are smaller but the berries are just as bright.”

  Everyone began to talk at once and Uncle Monty was forced to rap on the table with the miniature quirt he had received when he broke the piñata.

  “Most important of all,” he shouted, “is the fact that we must have a Santa Claus. Will anyone volunteer?”

  Mr. Wellington stood up and said with a sheepish grin, “I’ve got the build for it, if you want me.”

  There were loud cheers and cries of approval. Shortly after that the party broke up. Several guests helped the girls stack the paper plates, cups, and wooden spoons and forks which the boys carried out to the incinerator.

  “We’ll help clean up after the Christmas party, too,” one of the guests offered and the others nodded. Mr. Wellington, Mrs. Sherman, and Jane Brown were last to go.

  “I never had so much fun in all my life,” Jane said with her shy smile. “And to think I almost stayed in my room just because I’d never been to a square dance before!”

  “You were the belle of the ball, honey,” Mrs. Sherman told her.

  “No, you were,” Jane argued.

  Trixie laughed. “I guess everyone had a grand time. Let’s hope the Christmas Eve party will be as much fun.”

  After that things went smoothly for several days. When Rosita learned that Trixie was writing a theme about Navahos, she immediately began to provide her with interesting legends and customs which made the theme grow rapidly. And the math problems seemed to get more simple every day so that Trixie was always finished in time to go riding with the others.

  Mr. Wellington, as the “soft-drinks waiter,” insisted upon helping the boys and girls with their chores during the hours when he was off duty. Uncle Monty, now that he had Jane’s help with the management of the ranch, had time to take the Bob-Whites on sight-seeing tours.

  They visited the stately old Spanish San Xavier Mission and the Indian village of Bac on the outskirts of Tucson. They spent an hour wandering through the grotesque rock formations of Colossal Cave in the foothills of the Rincon Mountains.

  They watched the thoroughbred and quarter-horse races at Rillito Track, north of the city in the Catalina foothills, and the jalopy races at the Tucson Rodeo grounds. On Sunday they went to Old Tucson for square dancing.

  “Old Tucson,” Uncle Monty told them, “is a replica of the city as it was in Civil War days. It was built as a setting for the movie Arizona, and it is kept up by our Junior Chamber of Commerce.”

  He told them about the annual event called Old Tucson Daze during which everyone dresses in costume and a real, ancient stagecoach rumbles through the streets of the movie set.

  “Before you go home,” he said, “we’ll take a trip across the border to Nogales in Sonora. No visas are required. You just step across the street from Arizona into Old Mexico.”

  And they made plans for the week after Christmas. They would visit the Saguaro and the Casa Grande National Monuments, the ruins of the old adobe Fort Lowell, and they might even do some skiing near the summit of Mount Lemmon.

  Trixie knew that these plans, which meant longer trips, depended on whether or not Uncle Monty was able to hire a family who might take the Orlandos’ place. Once she asked Jane Brown about it.

  “So far as I know, he’s not trying to find anyone,” Jane told her. “I think he hopes that the Orlandos will come back to the ranch eventually and stay here with Maria.”

  “I hope the same thing,” Trixie said, “but when is eventually? We like our jobs but they sure do keep us tied down. We’d all like to visit Tombstone, for instance, but it would mean at least a day away from the ranch. Uncle Monty talks as though we were going to see the whole State of Arizona before we fly back East. Maybe he knows something.”

  “Maybe he does,” Jane said with a shrug. “All I know is that I’m glad Maria didn’t go with the others.”

  Trixie nodded. “I think she’s sorry now that she didn’t. I mean, since the night of the square dance when Petey ran away.”

  Jane laughed. “You’re the only person in the whole hacienda who thinks Petey ran away that night. All he did was fall asleep in the bunkhouse while he was pretending to be a cowboy.”

  Trixie said nothing but she thought she knew better. And she was pretty sure that Maria knew better, too. The young Mexican cook had changed a lot during the past few days. She seemed to have lost her sense of humor, even when she was giving the boys cooking lessons, and rarely did her beautiful white teeth flash in a smile.

  Even Honey complained. “Maria was just about to give me a lot of help with my theme on Mexican Customs, but ever since the square dance she’s done nothing but shake her head vaguely when I ask her questions.”

  “She’s awfully unhappy,” Trixie said more to herself than to Honey. “She knows that Petey wants to be with the other Orlandos, wherever they are.”

  But nobody paid any attention to Trixie when she talked like that—nobody except Rosita.

  “You are right, Trixie,” the Indian girl said one day. “Maria is very unhappy, and I can understand why. Customs are important; one cannot cast them off too quickly. My father, for instance, is a ‘longhair,’ but I am not ashamed of
him because he does not go to the barber regularly as white men do. And although Maria quarreled with her father- and mother-in-law the night they left here because they too have faith in ancient customs, she is now sorry that she did not obey their wishes.”

  “They wanted her to go with them and take Petey, didn’t they?” Trixie asked softly.

  Rosita merely shook her head. “I know nothing. All I can do is guess. But one thing I am sure of is this: If I were Maria I would go now before it is too late. They traveled in a very old station wagon; she and Petey could go by plane and arrive in a matter of minutes.”

  She hurried off before Trixie could ask her any more questions.

  Trixie stared after the Indian girl, thinking, I’ll bet Rosita knows more than she is willing to admit.

  That afternoon Petey tried to run away again. This time he was picked up halfway down the long driveway by Foreman Howie and brought back to Maria before she had any idea that the little boy had slipped out of their cabin instead of taking a nap.

  Trixie was in the kitchen when the foreman appeared with Petey.

  “Better keep this youngster hog-tied!” he said gruffly.

  For a moment Maria looked so frightened that Trixie thought she was going to faint. Then, with a murmured Gracias to Howie, she pulled the little boy into her arms and burst into tears.

  Later when Trixie and Honey were getting ready for bed, Trixie said, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we woke up some morning and found Maria and Petey were gone.” She told Honey what Rosita had said, ending with, “I’ll bet Rosita knows a lot about what is going on.”

  “I agree with you,” Honey said. “The Mexicans, you know, are really cousins of many of the southwest Indians. A lot of their customs are the same. Rosita may know where the Orlandos are now and why they left so suddenly.”

  Trixie climbed up to the top bunk and dangled her pajama-clad legs over the side. “Maria was very upset today when she learned that Petey had tried to run away again,” she said thoughtfully to Honey. “As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we woke up tomorrow morning and found that they were gone!”

  Chapter 19

  Dark Deductions

  When the girls arrived in the kitchen the next morning the boys were in full charge. This was not surprising because lately they had been doing most of the cooking under Maria’s supervision. What was surprising—to Di and Honey but not to Trixie—was the fact that Maria was not there.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Honey gasped. “Trixie’s dire prediction must have come true.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim said, “but Maria and Petey have gone. She left this note for your uncle, Di. All it says is, ‘Tell the patrón I am sorry,’ but maybe you’d better take it to him.”

  Di took the slip of paper and hurried out through the door to the patio.

  “I was pretty sure Maria would leave last evening,” Trixie said smugly. “I’m honestly surprised that she didn’t go last week.”

  “How can you sound so cheerful?” Honey asked. “Don’t you realize that tomorrow night is Christmas Eve? Who’s going to do the cooking?”

  “The boys,” Trixie said, laughing.

  Mart came closer with a menacing look on his freckled face. “Do you expect us to set the tables, too?”

  “No, no,” Honey said hastily. “You don’t ever have to set a table again. We girls will manage the dining-room as long as you boys do the cooking. Won’t we, Trix?”

  Trixie nodded. In another minute Di came back with her uncle who said hopefully, “Now, let’s not get worked up about what may be nothing. I believe Maria will show up in time to fix dinner.”

  “What makes you think so, sir?” Jim asked as he measured meal into the big mixing bowl.

  “Well,” explained Uncle Monty, “you may not know that in Mexico everyone has a special day set aside for him or her—or them, for that matter, because it includes everyone from school teachers to trash collectors. Día del cartero, for instance, is the day of the mailman and he expects a present on that date. Perhaps today is the day of the cook, and since we forgot to give Maria a little gift she may have decided to take a half-holiday instead.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s the answer, Uncle Monty,” Trixie objected. “Maria is so very Americanized that she almost—but not quite—makes fun of Mexican customs. She didn’t want to join the other Orlandos, wherever they’ve gone, but when Petey tried to run away again yesterday afternoon she realized that she had to.”

  Uncle Monty shrugged with despair. “I suppose you’re right, Trix, and we’d better face the facts. Petey did try to run away last week and again yesterday. So we can be sure that Maria has taken him to his grandparents. In that case, heaven knows when she’ll be back, if ever.”

  He collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs. “There go our plans for tomorrow and for Christmas Day. As a matter of fact, lacking a cook at this time of the year means that I’ll simply have to close up the dude part of my ranch and refund all the money that the guests paid me in advance.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, sir,” Jim said easily. “We boys can take Maria’s place temporarily. She’s been teaching us how to prepare all sorts of swell meals—you know, the foolproof kind.”

  “That’s right,” Brian added. “I even know how to make the chocolate sauce which Mexicans serve with their Christmas turkey.”

  “Wait till you taste my guacamole,” Mart said smugly.

  Uncle Monty stared at them in amazement, and Trixie thought, Maria hasn’t been teaching the boys how to cook just for fun. She planned to take Petey to his grandparents from the very moment that I told her he had told me he was going to run away. She’s been giving the boys cooking lessons ever since so they could take her place while she’s gone.

  “Well, if you boys really think you can—” Uncle Monty was saying dubiously.

  “Easy as fallin’ off a hoss,” Mart said cheerfully. “We won’t be able to cook and wait on the tables, of course, but if we serve everything buffet style from now on I’m positive none of the guests will object.”

  “We’ll start right out with a hunt breakfast à la jolly old England,” Jim said, grinning. “We’ll set up the sideboard and put eggs and bacon on one platter, tacos on another. If we fill the big silver urn with coffee and let everyone serve himself, who can possibly object?”

  “Nobody,” Uncle Monty agreed in a relieved tone of voice. “As a matter of fact, I think the guests will enjoy the whole idea tremendously.” He hurried off.

  The moment he was out of hearing, Honey said in a loud whisper, “You boys are crazy. Maybe you can cook a few Mexican dishes, but you haven’t the faintest idea how to fix an enormous turkey dinner.”

  “Enormous is right,” said Trixie. “You’ll need four turkeys weighing at least twenty-five pounds apiece. And heaven knows how many loaves of stale bread for the stuffing.”

  Jim looked grim. “Do we have to have turkey?”

  “Of course,” Di told him. “And cranberry sauce. You can buy that in cans, but you’ll have to make the gravy. Do you know how?”

  Jim shook his head. “Do you?”

  “No,” all of the girls said in one voice.

  “Well, I do!”

  They whirled around to discover that Mrs. Sherman had come in quietly from the dining-room. She was beaming happily as she donned an apron.

  “So my prayers were answered!” she exclaimed. “Maria has gone! Now I can have some fun around here.”

  The Bob-Whites stared at her wordlessly as she bustled over to the refrigerator. It was then that Trixie remembered something.

  “Oh,” she cried out, “now I know why you kept saying you hoped Maria would leave. You like to cook. When you and your husband had that restaurant you must have done the cooking.”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Sherman without turning around. “Fixing a turkey dinner for this crowd will be a cinch. Ah, good for Maria! She must have bought these
nice plump hens yesterday. The stale bread is probably in the freezer and I’m sure that there are plenty of spices and herbs.

  “Let’s see,” she continued, talking to herself rather than to the Bob-Whites, “there’s plenty of flour and butter. Mr. Wilson said a buffet supper. That means cold turkey will be okay. So I guess I’ll roast two of those birds today and the other two tomorrow.”

  She stopped and stared at the boys and girls as though she had just realized that they were cooking and eating breakfast. “Scram,” she yelled. “What on earth are you doing in my kitchen?”

  Jim’s redheaded temper flared. “It happens to be our kitchen,” he said evenly. “You know as well as we do that Maria would never have left if she hadn’t known that we boys could take her place.”

  Mrs. Sherman sniffed. “Wrapping fried beans around a sausage is not my idea of cooking. It’s obvious these people have no taste buds; they were all burned off by chili four hundred years ago.”

  Jim laughed. “You win, Mrs. Sherman,” he said humbly. “You’re the boss of this chuck wagon from now on.” He marched out, followed closely by Brian and Mart.

  “Oh, oh,” Honey moaned. “Jim’s as mad as anything. He always laughs like that and pretends to be meek when he’s really wild with rage.” She darted off after the ousted boys.

  Di shook her head. “We know you can fix the turkey dinner tomorrow night, Mrs. Sherman,” she said, “but what about the meals which have to be served between now and then?”

  “Breakfast, for instance,” Trixie added with a grin. “We’ve had ours but the guests will be trooping into the dining-room soon for theirs. Uncle Monty has probably been telling everybody to expect fried eggs and tacos.”

  “So what?” Mrs. Sherman demanded. “With these big skillets I can fry a dozen eggs at a time. And I can make a batch of baking powder biscuits in the twinkling of an eye. Nobody wants one of those red-hot Mexican dishes for breakfast anyway. What are tacos?”