Mystery in Arizona Page 6

  “But why?” Di and Honey asked in one voice.

  “Because she’s run away from school,” Trixie told them. “Or maybe she was expelled or flunked all her subjects.”

  “Something like that must be the answer,” Honey agreed. “But it’s hard to believe.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Di said flatly.

  Trixie shrugged. “She told us herself that her parents don’t know that she’s working here. Unless she’s done something wrong, why should she keep it a secret?”

  “I can’t answer that question,” Di admitted, “but nobody as sweet and pretty as Rosita is could have done anything really wrong. Maybe she left school because she got sick and tired of studying. Goodness knows, you and I feel like that about school most of the time, Trix.”

  “Don’t mention the word,” Trixie moaned. “Not in connection with me, I mean. Between our chores and the assignments Jim and Brian are going to give me, I don’t suppose I’ll ever get a chance to do any riding.”

  Mart chose that moment to deposit his tray on the girls’ table. There were two platters on it and they were heaped high with delicious-smelling food.

  “Eat while the eating’s good,” he advised them. “Wait until you see what awaits you gals in the kitchen. What this establishment needs is an electric dish-washing machine. A giant model—a twin giant model to be exact.”

  He placed one freckled hand on the table, leaned on it, and added conversationally, “How I pity you squaws! We males et like hosses ’fore the crowd arrived and now that our chores are done we’re going for a moonlight ride across the desert.”

  “Have fun,” Trixie said sarcastically. “I hope every one of your hosses steps into a gopher hole and throws you. Would serve you right.”

  “Oh, no, Trix,” Honey objected, her hazel eyes twinkling. “The hosses might git hurt thataway. What I hope is that the foreman gives every one of the boys a real bucking bronco so that they’ll all get ditched, thrown, or whatever the correct word is, right off the bat.”

  Mart straightened. “Is them yer sentiments, ma’am?”

  “Them is,” Honey replied.

  “And don’t bring yer broken bones back here for us-all to fix,” Trixie added, trying hard not to laugh. “I hope you all get ponies like the one in that old cowboy song,” and she chanted:

  “One little pony and his name was Patch,

  Never saw his equal, never saw his match—

  Buckin’ all mornin’, an’ pile-drivin’, too,

  Thinks a cowpoke’s fav’rite colors is black an’ blue!”

  Then to Trixie’s amazement she realized that someone standing behind her was singing softly with her, to the accompaniment of a guitar. She whirled around to find that a handsome young cowboy was standing there. He winked one merry blue eye at her and went right into the last lines of Trixie’s favorite chorus:

  “Buckin’ all mornin’, an’ pile-drivin’, too,

  Thinks a cowpoke’s fav’rite colors is black an’ blue.

  Ride ’im down the river, ride ’im up the hill,

  But you can’t ride ’im home an’ you never will!”

  As he finished the last line the cowboy slid into the vacant seat next to Trixie.

  “Howdy,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet folks who know the same songs I do. Now that the chuck wagon seems to be emptyin’ of dudes, shall we go on singin’?”

  Trixie was so thrilled to find herself seated beside an honest-to-goodness cowboy that for a moment she was speechless. The others, too, were apparently stunned, because nobody said a word for quite a while.

  The cowboy was in full regalia, including beautifully decorated chaps and cuffs, boots, spurs, and a bright red-and-green bandanna. With the poise that comes from sincere friendliness and hospitality he introduced himself.

  “I know you-all are the Bob-Whites, or most of ’em anyways. I’m Lionel Stetson; no relation to the famous hatter, but because of which I go by the name of Ten Gallon—Tenny for short.”

  Honey, as usual, was the first to rise to the occasion. “We’re awfully glad to meet you, Tenny,” she said with her lovely smile. “I’m Honey Wheeler. This is Di Lynch, Mr. Wilson’s niece, and you’re sitting between Trixie and Mart Belden.”

  Tenny bowed to each one in turn. “I sure am pleased to make yer acquaintance. To tell the truth, I snuck in through the side door for the very purpose. Heard tell that you boys and girls are a-goin’ for a moonlight ride this evenin’ so thought it might be a good idee to sort of wise you up to things.”

  Trixie found her voice then. “We girls aren’t going, Tenny,” she said bitterly. “We’ve got to wash a million dishes.”

  Tenny chuckled. “Wal, now, I think it’s all fer the best. Howie—he’s the boss foreman—he ain’t a-goin’ to like letting the hosses out at this time o’ night anyhow. Right crotchety, Howie is. I s’pect he has liver trouble or somp’n. He ain’t a-goin’ to take to the idee of a bunch o’ kids wantin’ hosses ’cept at the regular times. Seems as though he jist had a mighty fine argyment ’bout same with Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson, he says, endin’ the argyment, ‘Them kids is goin’ to work. When they ain’t workin’ they is goin’ to ride, be it night or day.’

  “Howie, he don’t say nothin’ more, but he is good and sore. Jist thought I oughter warn you.” With that Tenny slipped out of his chair and disappeared through the side door.

  Again there was a long silence.

  “Wow!” Trixie finally got out. “I never thought I’d be happy about missing a moonlight ride across an Arizona desert, but since Foreman Howie seems to be an ogre, I’d much rather wash dishes than face him at the moment.” She stood up. “He’s yours, all yours, Mart, and I’ll bet you get the bucking bronco to end all bucking broncos. Let’s go, girls!”

  Chapter 8

  Sobs in the Night

  Mart, with a shrug, wandered off to join the other boys at the far end of the dining-room.

  Honey announced firmly, “I don’t care what happens—I’m going to finish eating. This rice dish is delicious and so is the salad.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” Di complained. “If the foreman doesn’t like us we aren’t going to have any fun at all.”

  “We probably won’t do much riding,” Trixie agreed. “Even though this ranch belongs to your uncle, the foreman is always the boss of the horses. But anyway, that nice cowboy seems to be on our side. Maybe he’s the assistant foreman. If so, things won’t be so bad.”

  After dinner they stacked dishes on the huge trays and carried them out to the kitchen. It was the largest kitchen Trixie had ever seen and she couldn’t help gasping with amazement. There were two long sinks, a giant freezer, a gigantic refrigerator, and an elephant-sized stove. The slim young Mexican woman who was working at one of the sinks seemed to be dwarfed by the appliances and fixtures.

  As Trixie gasped she turned to smile at them. “I know just how you must feel,” she said. “You’ll have to get used to it. Everything in the Southwest is on a large scale. When you have gone for a horseback ride you will get the feeling of expansiveness. I am used to this kitchen now, but it never fails to make me feel small.”

  She dried her small brown hands on her apron and moved slowly toward them. “I’m Maria Orlando, and you are Trixie and Honey, yes? The only Bob-Whites I have not yet met.”

  Her costume was exactly like Rosita’s except that her hair was completely covered by a gay bandanna which she wore tied under her chin. She looked much more like a high-school senior than the mother of a six-year-old boy, and there was not the trace of an accent in her voice.

  The girls introduced themselves and shook hands with Maria, who said, “I want you to meet my Pedro—Petey—very soon, but he is asleep in our cabin now. I do not permit him in the kitchen when I am preparing a meal. He is very mischievous and could so easily cut himself with a sharp knife or turn over a pot of boiling water or fat on himself.”

  “I know all about boys of that age,” Tr
ixie said. “My kid brother, Bobby, if he’s alone in the kitchen, can create a shambles in three minutes flat.”

  Maria’s lovely white teeth flashed. “They are little devils at that age, but very lovable, yes?” Then she frowned. “Now we must get to work, girls. I am truly sorry that you cannot be like the other guests and have a real holiday. If only my husband’s family were not so—so—”

  Her voice dwindled away and she briskly began to rinse the plates and stack them in one of the sinks. “The flat silver and glasses must be washed separately, you understand. If one is a girl, not yet married, she should always try to protect the beauty of her hands. So you must use these long-handled brushes instead of dishcloths and when everything has been scrubbed you place them in one of these racks, so. Now we attach this little hose to the faucet and spray everything thoroughly with scalding water. After they have drained, it is very easy to dry them, yes?”

  The girls nodded soberly and set to work. Trixie was very impressed by Maria’s efficiency, but she couldn’t help wondering what the Mexican girl had meant when she said, “If only my husband’s family were not so—so—”

  So what? Trixie kept asking herself. Had they left suddenly because they were afraid of something—something which Maria herself was not at all afraid of? Had the strange Mexican really threatened them? If so, with what, and why?

  To Trixie’s surprise, the mountain of dishes dwindled rapidly and an hour later the last piece of silver was dried and put away. With everyone helping under Maria’s cheerful supervision it had turned out to be more fun than a chore.

  “That is all for tonight,” Maria told them, smiling. “You chulas—pretty ones—had better go right to bed, for I am sure you’re tired after your long trip. Tomorrow you will have to get up at six for you must tidy your own rooms, set the tables, and have breakfast before the guests’ breakfast is served at eight.”

  Trixie thought, There goes my hope of studying for an hour early in the morning, but she said nothing.

  “Most of the guests,” Maria was saying, “linger over breakfast and then go on to some form of amusement, so often they do not return to their rooms until it is time to freshen up before lunch. But there are three guests who eat almost no breakfast and return immediately to their rooms where they spend most of the morning. As you can understand, those rooms must be done first and quickly.”

  “Oh, woe,” Trixie moaned. “I’m always all thumbs when I try to hurry.”

  “Who are those three guests?” Honey asked, curiously. “Why don’t they eat breakfast, and why do they mope indoors when it’s so beautiful outdoors all the year round and there are so many wonderful things to do?”

  “I don’t quite understand it myself,” Maria admitted. “It is true that Mrs. Sherman is so fat that she is wise to take only black coffee for breakfast. And a woman of her age cannot be expected to be as active as a younger person. But that is no reason for her to act so bored. Because of that, and also because I understand that she is very rich, we call her Lady Astorbilt.” Maria smiled. “I think it would be for the best if you did her room, Honey. She may well return to it before you have finished because she is rather untidy, and I think you would know how to please her better than Trixie or Di would.”

  “She doesn’t sound like my type at all,” Honey protested. “I’m so inexperienced I’d better not go near any of the difficult guests.”

  Maria led the way out of the kitchen to the moonlit patio. “It is not so much that they are difficult,” she said in a low voice. “I honestly think that they are troublesome simply because they are lonely. If they are present when you go to tidy their rooms they will keep you there indefinitely, just for company. That is my opinion.

  “You take Miss Jane Brown—she came here to have fun but she does not know how to enjoy herself. She does not know how to ride or swim. She does not care for Mexican food, and so of course she is sulky and cross most of the time.” Maria laughed softly. “I think perhaps Trixie would be good for her. You could perhaps make her relax and laugh occasionally, Trixie, yes?”

  “Ugh,” said Trixie. “She is definitely not my type, but if Honey will cope with Mrs. Sherman, I’ll try to be nice to Miss Jane Brown.”

  “Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Di wailed. “That leaves me with the unknown quantity. Is it a Mr. or Mrs. or Miss X, Maria?”

  “Mr. X,” Maria replied, “is a middle-aged man who came here for some reason which I cannot fathom. He never goes near the pool or the corral, nor does he seem at all interested in getting to know the other guests of his age who manage to have good times playing cards, or taking walks, or watching television. Your Mr. X, Diana—his name is Wellington—does nothing but sit around all day with the saddest expression in his eyes. It is so strange. He had reserved a family-sized cabin, but he arrived alone Saturday and is occupying a small room in the ranch house. He will not give up the cabin although I know the patrón could easily rent it to others who have wanted to spend Christmas here.” She shook her head. “If he were a child I would say that he was suffering from homesickness. But that cannot be so; otherwise he would go back home, wouldn’t he?”

  Trixie blinked. “He is certainly the mysterious Mr. X. I’m glad he’s your problem, Di.” She turned to Maria. “What about the guests who are here because they suffer from asthma? Aren’t they awfully fussy?”

  “Oh, yes,” Maria agreed, “but you will have little to do with them. Our resident nurse, Miss Girard, and her assistant, Miss Mall, make their beds and keep their rooms and baths tidy.” She smiled encouragingly. “So you see, it is not such a big chore after all, keeping house here. You will be all through with the rooms before luncheon which is served at one. Dinner is served at eight. So between the hours of two and seven-thirty you will be free to do exactly as you please. And now, adiós, chulas. It is getting late.”

  She slipped away into the shadows which lay across the path that led down to the cabins.

  “She’s simply darling,” Honey breathed, “and so is Rosita. I love them both.”

  “So do I,” Trixie and Di chorused, and Trixie added, “If it were not for Rosita and Maria I’d be scared to death. I’m scared half to death as it is. We’re sure to make all sorts of horrible mistakes tomorrow. We were awfully dumb to let the boys get by with just waiting on the tables and helping Maria prepare meals. They’ll have a lot more free time than we will. And poor me, I’ll have practically no time for fun at all, what with having to study at least an hour a day.”

  “Oh, Trixie,” Honey cried sympathetically. “I forgot about that angle. It’s not fair. Since you do have to be tutored, you shouldn’t have to do as much work as we do. Don’t you agree, Di?”

  Di nodded and, arms entwined, the girls strolled inside and to their suite. “Let’s arrange it this way, Honey. Trixie doesn’t have to help with the luncheon dishes. She can study during that hour.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Honey agreed.

  Trixie sank tiredly down on the bottom bunk and kicked off her moccasins. “No,” she said. “I myself personally got those bad marks in school, so I’m the one who should suffer—not you two.”

  Di yawned. “Well, let’s not worry about that until we have to, Trix. Somebody like Rosita may turn up any day wanting a job. That would make things a lot easier for all of us.”

  Trixie began to undress. “I wonder why she quit high school in the middle of her senior year. I wonder why the Orlandos left so suddenly and why Maria didn’t go with them. And why Mr. X. Wellington seems so homesick. And why Miss Jane Brown is so sulky. And why Mrs. Astorbilt Sherman is so bored. It’s all very mysterious.” Her blue eyes sparkled and she didn’t feel the least bit weary or depressed any more.

  Di yawned again. “You and your mysteries! Me for bed.”

  After she had gone Honey asked, “Do you want the upper bunk, Trixie? You did when we went on that trailer trip.” Without even waiting for Trixie’s reply she climbed into the lower bunk. “This is one night,” she mur
mured sleepily, “when I am not going to brush my teeth. I don’t care if they rot out of my head—I’m that tired.” She fell asleep almost immediately.

  Trixie, feeling very wide awake, did brush her teeth and then she wandered over to peer out of the window which opened onto the west patio. It was as bright as day out there except for one shadowy corner.

  Trixie stared unseeingly into those shadows, wondering if the boys had come back yet from their moonlight ride. The lucky ducks, she thought enviously. They’ve probably already made friends with the foreman and are teacher’s pets by now. But I’ll bet it’ll be different when we girls want to go riding tomorrow. Old crosspatch Howie probably won’t let us ride anything but a sawhorse.

  And then she heard rather than saw that somebody was hovering in the shadows. A soft sighing sound rose and became a sob.

  Somebody was out there and that somebody was crying. Who could it be—and why was he, or she, so unhappy?

  Chapter 9

  Calamity Jane

  The next morning as they dressed hurriedly and tidied their rooms, Trixie said, “I heard somebody crying out on the west patio last night. Who do you suppose it could have been?”

  Honey frowned thoughtfully. “The homesick guest, Mr. X. Wellington?”

  Trixie shook her head. “I got the feeling that it was a girl, or a quite young woman. It might have been Rosita or Maria. In spite of the fact that they smile a lot of the time I don’t think either of them is very happy.”

  “I know what you mean.” Honey folded her patchwork-quilted comforter into a neat triangle and placed it at the foot of her bunk. “I think Maria sort of wishes she had gone off with her in-laws wherever they went. And Rosita, since her parents don’t know that she’s working here as a maid, and wouldn’t approve of it if they did, is certainly unhappy. Any girl as nice as she is would be miserable under the circumstances. Why on earth do you suppose that she’s here under, well, false pretenses?”