Mystery in Arizona Page 5

  “Welcome to my humble home,” Uncle Monty was saying. “It started out as an adobe hut. Then during the Civil War when Arizona had little or no military protection from Apache raiders, it became a small fortress. When I bought the land and renovated the house I decided to try and keep as much of the Old Pueblo feeling as possible. So you will find that in contrast to this room and the dining-room, the bedrooms are so small you could almost call them cells.” He turned to Mr. Lynch. “I know you’d like to call the airport about your plane reservation. The phone is in my study on the other side of the west patio.” The two men went out through the glass doors.

  “The rooms can’t be too small for me,” Mart said. “Cell-sized housekeeping is the only kind I’m interested in at the moment.”

  “If only,” said Brian, “we had had brains enough to put Trixie in a padded cell before we embarked for the great Southwest!”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Jim easily. “If you’d stop complaining and think about it, men, you’d find that the idea grows on you. The girls will have to do all the dirty work, because it’s a known fact that we boys are no good at bed-making and dusting.”

  “That’s right,” Brian agreed, brightening. “Except when we’re scouring a few pots and pans and waiting on the tables, we’ll be free to do exactly what we please.”

  Mart raised his sandy eyebrows. “Have you forgotten the dishes? Mountains of them after every meal.”

  “Squaws’ work,” said Jim.

  Trixie sniffed. “Says you.”

  Uncle Monty came back through the glass door and with him was a beautiful young Indian girl who Trixie guessed must be Rose-who-blooms-in-the-winter. She was wearing a flame-red cotton dress with a full skirt and a dainty white apron. Her sleek, jet-black hair was cut short in front to form thick bangs, but the back was long and was tied with a piece of bright red cloth to match her frock. On her bare brown feet were multi-colored straw sandals, and on her pretty face was one of the warmest smiles Trixie had ever seen.

  “Yah-teh—greetings,” she said, and her voice was low and soft. Her black eyes flitted from one face to the other so that it seemed as though she had welcomed each one personally.

  “This is Rosita,” Uncle Monty said. “Her father is a famous silversmith and her mother makes exquisite jewelry. Some day she will show you her bracelets and necklaces.”

  The girl’s smile faded and almost imperceptibly she shook her head. Trixie, feeling very disappointed, couldn’t help wondering why Rosita didn’t want to show them her jewelry. Trixie had read a lot about Navaho silver craft and had seen color photographs of lovely things that were studded with shell, turquoise, and coral. She had also learned that Navahos love to decorate themselves with jewelry, but Rose-who-blooms-in-the-winter was not wearing even one small ring.

  There’s something mysterious about all this, Trixie decided.

  “They call themselves Bob-Whites,” Uncle Monty was saying as he continued the introductions, “and they are, from left to right, Trixie, Honey, Di, Jim, Brian, and Mart.”

  “I’m awfully glad to meet you all,” Rosita said without a trace of an accent in her voice. “If the boys will carry the luggage I’ll show you to your rooms now.”

  The rooms were, Trixie discovered, truly cell-sized but charming in every way. There was a doubledecker bunk in the room she would share with Honey and their room was connected to Di’s by a tiny bathroom.

  “The boys have a similar ‘suite’ on the other side of the patio,” Rosita said. “This is the old part of the house and the rooms were built during the old days when the hacienda was a fortress. Mr. Wilson never rents them to paying guests, except in an emergency.” She smiled ruefully. “I am afraid they have not been dusted properly, but Maria and I had barely time to put clean linen on the beds and get out the blankets which you will need because the nights are cold here.”

  “I just don’t understand the Orlandos,” Trixie said. “Why did they leave so suddenly?”

  Rosita shrugged. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. If they hadn’t left I would not have had a job.” She turned to Di. “I think you would perhaps like to see the suite of rooms which your uncle occupies. Come with me while I show the boys where they will stay.”

  After they had gone Trixie and Honey unpacked and Trixie said:

  “None of this makes any sense. According to Uncle Monty there is a terrific shortage of household help at all of the ranches so Rosita wouldn’t have had any trouble getting a job. Even if the Orlandos hadn’t left, I mean. So why did she seem to be so grateful for this job?”

  “I don’t know,” Honey replied. “What bothers me is our own job. Are we supposed to start right out working, Trix? If so, what’ll we wear? If not, shouldn’t we get sort of dressed up?”

  “I can’t answer those questions,” Trixie said wearily. “It’s too late for us to do anything like dusting or making beds but I imagine the boys will have to wait on the tables tonight. If not, the guests will have to wait on themselves.”

  Di came back then. “I just had a conference with Uncle Monty and he wants us to start to work right away, if we can bear it. I told him we could.” She sighed. “What else could I say?”

  “Oh, you had to tell him that we’d be glad to help out right away,” Honey agreed. “But what are we supposed to do and what’ll we wear?”

  “I haven’t the vaguest idea,” Di replied dolefully. “Let’s wear our twin sweater sets with the matching skirts. Then we’ll look sort of as though we’re in uniform.”

  “Okay,” said Trixie. “But I certainly hope we don’t have to wait on the tables. I’d be sure to spill soup down somebody’s neck and drop pie or ice cream on everybody’s lap, especially if they’re old and dignified people.”

  Di laughed. “You wouldn’t do anything of the kind, Trix. You’re not really clumsy at all, although you keep saying you are. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about spilling soup, pie, or ice cream on anybody but yourself. The boys are going to wait on the tables.”

  “Great!” Trixie said enthusiastically.

  Di went on through the bath to her own room to unpack and change her clothes. Honey and Trixie finished their own unpacking and donned their sweaters and skirts. Then they joined Di.

  “I like Rosita a lot,” Trixie remarked, perching on the edge of Di’s bed. “Don’t you?”

  “She’s simply darling,” Di replied. “Wait until you meet Maria. She’s so pretty and sweet. And her little boy, Petey, reminds me so much of Bobby, except of course that he has black hair and black eyes.”

  “That reminds me,” said Honey. “We must all send telegrams home saying we arrived safely. I’ll do it for all of us, if you like, while you finish dressing, Di.”

  “Fine,” Trixie said and Di said:

  “Don’t send one for me, Honey. Daddy is talking to Mother on the phone right now. At least he was when I left Uncle Monty’s suite.”

  “Oh,” said Honey. “That gives me a thought. I think I’d like to talk to my own mother instead of sending a telegram. How do you feel about it, Trixie?”

  Trixie thought for a minute. “No,” she finally said. “I think a telegram from me and the boys would be best. If I heard Moms’s voice I’m afraid I might get homesick.”

  “How right you are!” Honey agreed with a smile. “A wire is safest.” She hurried off.

  “How do you feel about Rosita?” Trixie asked Di. “I mean, don’t you think it’s kind of mysterious the way she turned up asking for a job this very morning?”

  Di yanked her slipover on before replying. “No, I don’t think it’s mysterious at all,” she said flatly. “A lot of people get temporary jobs during their vacations.”

  “True,” said Trixie, “but why doesn’t she wear some jewelry? And why did she look so sad when Uncle Monty mentioned her jewelry?”

  “I didn’t notice that she did,” Di said, slipping on her cardigan. “And she probably isn’t wearing any jewelry because she fee
ls it wouldn’t be in good taste.” She started for the door and lowered her voice. “There is something mysterious going on but it has nothing to do with Rosita.”

  “What?” Trixie demanded excitedly.

  Di shook her head. “There’s not time to talk about it now. Come on. Honey must have sent those wires by this time.”

  The dining-room turned out to be even larger than the huge living-room, and at first glance, it seemed to Trixie to be so cluttered with both large and small tables that it would be impossible for anyone to move around let alone act in the capacity of a waiter. But Rosita met them when they trooped in from the patio.

  “The paths between the tables look impossible until you get used to them,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Actually there is plenty of room. Now, in this old walnut chest is the linen. The flat silver is in these drawers above. If you three will be so good as to set the tables I shall return to the kitchen to help Maria and the boys.”

  She scanned all of their faces for a fleeting second and then said to Honey, “I think it would be best if you were the one who is always responsible for seeing to it that there is a glass of cold water by each guest’s plate.” She waved one slim hand. “The crystal goblets are in that wall cupboard over there.” Then she disappeared through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen.

  Trixie moaned. “Well, I’m glad you’re the water-carrier, Honey. I just couldn’t cope with crystal goblets.”

  Honey giggled. “I can’t cope with them either until you and Di have put the cloths and flat silver on the tables.”

  “Forks on the left,” Trixie mumbled feebly. “I’m dying of starvation right now but I don’t suppose we’ll get to eat a bite until after the last guest has been served.”

  “That’s right,” Di told her. “The boys are gorging in the kitchen right now on all sorts of delicious things called tortillas, which are made out of Indian corn meal, and frijoles, which is the Spanish word for beans. Mart figured out a way to make what he calls a Mexican sandwich, using the tortillas instead of rolls and the frijoles as a filling. Instead of butter, mustard, and relish, he’s using real red-hot southwestern chili sauce. It’s so very hot,” she added, chuckling, “that he has to take a sip of cold milk after every mouthful.”

  “Don’t tell me about Mart and his problems,” Trixie said as they laid the bright-colored cloths on the tables. “He and Brian learned how to make tamales in camp last summer and they’ve never been the same since. They do them with leftover meat, corn meal, and corn shucks on our outdoor grill. Moms,” she confided, “can make them so they taste almost as good, although she does them indoors. She wraps the stuff in foil or parchment paper and cooks them in boiling water just as though they were dumplings.”

  “It’s a good thing your brothers and Jim are such good cooks,” Di said. “Who knows when Maria may suddenly decide to leave and join the rest of the family wherever they have gone?”

  “That’s right,” Honey put in. “If it was a family emergency, why didn’t she go with them?”

  “Because she’s not really an Orlando,” Trixie pointed out. “She’s just an in-law.” She helped arrange glasses of ice water on the three-tiered tray table. “I can’t help wondering what the family emergency was. Do you suppose it was a wedding or a funeral or something like that?”

  “No!” Di glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the girls were alone in the dining-room; then she added in a whisper, “I think they were frightened away!”

  Trixie gasped. “What makes you think so?”

  “Because of what Uncle Monty told me a while ago,” Di explained. “He said that late yesterday afternoon a Mexican man he’s never seen before arrived at the Orlandos’ cabin which is not far from the side door to the pantry. Uncle Monty was in there for some reason when he heard loud voices coming from the cabin. Señor Orlando and the stranger were shouting at each other in Spanish, and Uncle Monty couldn’t understand much of what they said except that he gathered the stranger was threatening the señor.”

  Trixie gasped again. “Oh, oh! Maybe the stranger will come back and threaten Maria!”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Di said. “If so, she’ll depart as suddenly and as mysteriously as the others did.”

  Chapter 7

  Trixie Is Suspicious

  A bell rang then and shortly afterward the guests began to troop into the dining-room to take their places at the various tables. Rosita signaled to the girls that they should seat themselves at a small table near the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “It is not the ideal spot,” she admitted as she joined them a minute later. “But we cannot be underfoot while the boys serve the meal. I am afraid that at first they will behave like a herd of buffaloes and will not bring us a thing to eat. We shall have to be content with these rolls and the water Honey provided us with.”

  Trixie snorted. “Cells—bread and water. So this is Arizona in December!”

  Dimples appeared on both of Rosita’s brown cheeks. “It will not always seem like prison to you, Trixie. It is just that Maria and I felt that the boys should be left alone to make all of their mistakes this first evening. They are accustomed to serving a great many young people at camp, but it is different here. They must learn the difference the hard way. If we girls should offer to help them they might turn in their uniforms and quit.”

  “Uniforms—?” Trixie began, and then she saw what amounted to the answer to her question. Jim came through the swinging door expertly balancing a tray on the fingers and thumb of one hand. But this balancing feat was not what amazed Trixie. What made her blink rapidly was the fact that he was dressed in what appeared to be a bullfighter’s costume: a white silk shirt with flowing sleeves, a richly embroidered red velvet vest, and tight-fitting pants to match. He was followed closely by Brian and Mart, both of whom were wearing similar costumes and bearing aloft laden trays.

  Dark-haired Brian looked very handsome and rather Spanish, but redheaded Jim, and Mart with his close-cropped sandy hair, looked so funny that Trixie burst out laughing.

  “Sh-h,” Honey counseled, and Trixie quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. “Rosita’s right,” continued Honey in a whisper. “If we interfere in any way they might quit and then we’ll have to do everything.”

  Trixie immediately sobered. In a minute or two she admitted in an awed tone of voice, “Why, they’re really wonderful. You can see that the guests are impressed. How did they ever learn to be such experts?”

  “Maria,” Rosita replied, “has been rehearsing them. They catch on quickly, your brothers. Especially Jim and Mart. They like to act. I think they could have a career on the stage as comedians. Brian—he has natural grace and skill with his hands. He is the one who is going to become a doctor?”

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. She pointed with her little finger. “Look at your father and uncle, Di. They’re even more impressed than the guests.”

  Di sighed. “Dad’s so happy that the whole thing has been worked out. He’s leaving right after dinner to continue on to the Coast. In a way I wish he wouldn’t. Suppose we girls are flops? If we are, Uncle Monty will have to let us stay on anyway. It’s going to be awfully embarrassing.”

  Honey giggled. “I’m the only one who should worry about being a flop, Di. You and Trixie have had plenty of experience doing household chores. But don’t forget that my mother never made a bed or washed a dish or dusted a table in her life. What little I learned about such chores was at camp and boarding school. I’m really no good at all.”

  The Indian girl turned slightly to smile at Honey. “I, too, learned what I know about housekeeping in boarding school … here in Tucson. My home on the reservation is not like this. My ancestors were great chiefs so we live in a hogan as they did. Like the Orlandos we feel that it is important to live up to the letter of old customs.”

  Honey smiled back at her. “Uncle Monty said that your father was a famous silversmith. You must have some truly beautiful je
welry, Rosita. Will you let us see some of it this evening?”

  Rosita shook her head, rather sadly, Trixie thought. “Your uncle is mistaken. I have no jewelry.”

  It was all Trixie could do to keep from crying out, “Why? What happened to it? You must have been wearing it this morning when you applied for the job here, otherwise Uncle Monty wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  Was there some mystery connected with Rosita? Was it just a coincidence that she had arrived, badly in need of a job, so soon after the Orlandos’ departure?

  Before she could stop herself, Trixie blurted, “Why did you leave school in the middle of your senior year, Rosita?”

  Honey kicked Trixie under the table and said tactfully, “Will you teach me what you learned in school about housekeeping, Rosita? I know how to dust and make beds but—”

  “That’s all you need to know,” the Indian girl replied. One slim hand moved restlessly up and down her bare arm and Trixie could almost see the bracelets which should have been there but weren’t. “You are sure, Honey, that your parents will not object when they learn that you are working here as a maid?”

  “Of course not,” Honey told her, laughing. “Why should they?”

  Rosita’s dark eyebrows shot up. “My parents would object very much; that is why I cannot let them know why I am here. They only know that I am here as the guest of Maria for the holidays.”

  “Oh,” Trixie said, “then you’ll go back to school when the vacation is over?”

  “No.” Rosita’s voice was very sorrowful now. “That I cannot do.” She jumped up, her small brown hands clenched to her sides. “If the Orlandos come back I do not know what I shall do or where I shall go.” And she slipped away through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

  The three girls stared at one another in amazement. “Well,” Trixie said, “at least one mystery is cleared up. She couldn’t get a job at just any ranch. She had to go someplace where her parents will think she is a guest.”