Mystery in Arizona Page 9

  But to Trixie’s surprise there were hardly any people there at a time of the day when it was really quite hot. Some of the guests, she knew, were riding with the first group; others were getting dressed to go with the second group. The tennis and squash courts were all occupied and several men and women were playing golf. But even so, a lot of guests were unaccounted for.

  “Guess they’re still taking siestas,” Trixie decided, “so they’ll be wide-awake at the fiesta this evening. But how anyone over six can take naps in the daytime is beyond me.”

  The word naps reminded her of Bobby and then of Petey and she began to wonder who Tio was. As though in answer to her question she spied a Spanish-English dictionary which someone had left on the sand under a large multi-colored beach umbrella. Maybe “Tio” was a real Spanish word, and not just someone’s name, as she had been thinking. Trixie promptly decided to look it up. She soon found it and the definition: “Uncle. Man (denoting contempt). Good old man.”

  “That’s a big help,” she said to herself. “Was Petey talking about an uncle or a man he despises or a kind old gentleman?”

  The strange Mexican who had argued so loudly with the Orlandos the night they left didn’t sound much like a good old man. The second definition seemed to fit him best, except that if you were afraid of someone you didn’t describe him with a word denoting contempt.

  “I give up,” she muttered, and wandered on to the edge of the pool. She tested the water with her toes, decided it was just right, and dived in to swim the length.

  When she emerged, dripping but cool and refreshed, at the other end, she discovered that Uncle Monty and Mrs. Sherman were sitting together under an umbrella. Stretched out on a red chaise longue a few yards away was “Calammy” Jane Brown. And seated in a folding canvas deck chair was a plump, middle-aged man with thin gray hair who Trixie guessed must be Mr. Wellington.

  She had never seen Mrs. Sherman before but she was sure that there couldn’t be two guests at the ranch who looked so silly in a cowboy costume. Just then the woman raised her voice and Trixie heard her say:

  “I’m telling you, Mr. Wilson, the situation has become intolerable. I paid in advance for service and I’m not getting any. The Orlandos were all excellent. If you can’t replace them, you shouldn’t have let them go.”

  Uncle Monty looked unhappy, but he said mildly, “I didn’t; they just went, Mrs. Sherman. I consider myself fortunate that my niece’s young friends who came out here to be my guests have—”

  “That’s the point,” Mrs. Sherman interrupted. “The boys are obviously amateur waiters and the girls—well, the one who did my room today told me herself that she learned how to make beds at boarding school. When she told me her name and where she lives it didn’t take me long to figure out that she is the daughter of Matthew Wheeler, the New York millionaire. Of all things—”

  “My niece’s father is a millionaire, too,” Uncle Monty said with the ghost of a smile.

  “Well, it’s intolerable,” Mrs. Sherman continued hotly. “Having heiresses wait on me makes me feel very uncomfortable. I found that Mexican girl, Isabella, very satisfactory, and I could grow fond of Rosita if I ever saw her for any length of time. But—”

  “Isabella,” Uncle Monty pointed out quietly, “is the direct descendant of an Aztec noble. And Rosita’s grandfather was a great Navaho chief. He’s written up in all of the history books. I just don’t see why you object to Honey. But if you like, I’ll ask Trixie Belden to do your room after this. She’s as poor as a church mouse.” He raised his voice, frankly laughing now. “Aren’t you, Trix?”

  Trixie joined in his laughter. “Poorer than that,” she said, coming closer and squeezing water out of her curls. “I’d be glad to switch with Honey, Mr. Wilson.” She smiled in Calammy’s direction. “Honey can do Miss Brown’s room instead.”

  At that, to Trixie’s amazement, Miss Brown scrambled ungracefully to her feet. “Well, that doesn’t suit me at all,” she fairly shouted at Uncle Monty. “I’ve worked hard all of my life, and if Mrs. Sherman is uncomfortable with an heiress waiting on her, imagine how I would feel.”

  “So you’ve worked hard all of your life?” Mrs. Sherman bellowed. “How about me? When I was your age I couldn’t afford to spend two weeks loafing around a dude ranch in expensive clothes! Those boots you have on must have cost forty dollars. When I was your age I went barefoot except on Sundays and there were so many holes in my go-to-meeting pumps that I had to line them with cardboard.” Very red in the face, she stopped suddenly and patted her dyed black curls.

  Suddenly Trixie felt sorry for her and guessed that Mrs. Sherman was now more embarrassed than she was angry. She had revealed more about her past than she intended, and now she must feel as silly as she looked. The richly decorated cowboy boots she was wearing were obviously brand-new and must have cost a lot more than forty dollars. And her green satin shirt was much more expensive-looking than the checked silk one Jane Brown was wearing.

  If anybody, Trixie reflected, has a right to make critical remarks, it’s Calammy. She’s so small and slim she looks cute in Levi’s.

  “Well, anyway,” Mrs. Sherman was saying exasperatedly, “the service here is terrible, Mr. Wilson. For the past hour I’ve been trying to get someone to bring me a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade. I’ve tapped the bell on that table until my fingers are sore, but does anybody come?”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Uncle Monty replied. “I haven’t been able to hire anyone to take the place of Juan Orlando who used to serve soft drinks at the pool between meals. But I’ll be glad to—”

  “No, no, let me!”

  It was Mr. Wellington, who was heaving himself out of his deck chair as he pleaded, “Let me. Let me.”

  Trixie was so surprised that she almost did a back-flip into the pool. Loco was the only word she could think of to describe the behavior of the three difficult guests.

  “I’d like Juan’s job,” Mr. Wellington puffed as he hurried toward Uncle Monty. “I’m used to serving soft drinks to a crowd. Got three teen-age kids whose friends practically lived at our house … until they got TV sets of their own. I can make the best lemonade you ever tasted.”

  Uncle Monty shook his head as though he were trying to overcome an attack of dizziness. “But surely, sir, you aren’t applying for a job?”

  “Why not?” Mr. Wellington demanded. “If your niece’s young friends can work some during their vacation, why shouldn’t I?” He chuckled. “I’m too fat to squeeze into any of the boys’ costumes, but maybe that outfit Señor Orlando wore would fit. He had a sort of Santa Claus figure like mine.”

  Still shaking his head in bewilderment, Uncle Monty held out his hand. “It’s too good to be true, of course, but if you really mean it, sir—”

  “Of course he means it,” Jane Brown interrupted suddenly. “He’s probably just as bored as I am. I came out here to have fun. For years and years I saved a little out of my salary just so I could spend two weeks at an Arizona dude ranch and be dressed properly. But I’m not dressed properly. I look silly in these clothes and I feel silly in them. And I don’t know how to have fun.” She clenched her small thin hands into fists. “If you give Mr. Wellington a job you’ve got to give me one, too. Otherwise, I’ll pack up and leave at once.”

  Uncle Monty, his mouth wide open with surprise, was obviously speechless. Trixie said quickly, “Oh, Miss Brown, I’m so glad you want to help out. We kids want to go to La Posada this evening, but we can’t go without a chaperon. Will you go? Please!”

  Calammy’s mousy-brown eyes were wide. “Of course I’ll go if you want me. I’ve never been wanted by anyone since my parents died when I wasn’t much older than you, Trixie.” And then she, too, as though ashamed of revealing so much of her life to strangers, flushed. She looked very pretty, Trixie thought, as she turned to Uncle Monty and said, “Anyway, I do want a job. I’m a very good secretary. I should be. I started out with the same firm I’m with now as a stenographe
r when I got out of high school about ten years ago. Couldn’t I help with the business management end of the ranch?”

  “You certainly could,” Uncle Monty replied enthusiastically. “I’ve had to let a lot of things go since Señor Orlando left. But, Miss Brown, are you sure—”

  “Positive,” she interrupted.

  Mrs. Sherman stood up. “I never heard of such foolishness in all my life. Just because a few boys and girls decide to work during their vacation is no reason why all of the guests should follow suit. Frankly, Mr. Wilson, your home should not be called a ranch house. It’s a madhouse. I am packing up and leaving at once!” She turned and stalked away.

  “Good riddance,” said Trixie to Uncle Monty. “Now there won’t be any guests here tonight for dinner, so you and Rosita can go to La Posada with the rest of us.”

  “No, no, Trixie, you don’t understand,” he replied worriedly. “I can’t let Mrs. Sherman leave. I don’t mind refunding her money but it would be very bad for the reputation of my dude ranch. I’ll have to do something to make her happy—but what?” He waved his hands expressively. “It seems to me that I have provided my guests with every form of amusement: tennis, golf, squash, swimming, riding. Once a week the cowboys put on an informal rodeo which is followed in the evening by square dancing. Besides all that there are sight-seeing tours, bridge tournaments, and—” he interrupted himself with a hopeless sigh. “Never before have I had a dissatisfied guest. It’s very upsetting.” He hurried off toward the house.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Jane Brown said shamefacedly. “How selfish I’ve been! When I refused to enter into any of the activities I never thought about Mr. Wilson. What a disappointing guest I turned out to be!” She added to herself, “I could have at least tried to play some of the games they offered to teach me.”

  “Well, cheer up,” said Mr. Wellington jovially. “I’m a duffer at golf but I could teach you enough so we could spend a pleasant hour on the course whenever you like.”

  “Honey is a marvelous swimmer,” Trixie put in. “She’d be glad to give you some lessons. And you really should join the morning riding class, Miss Brown. You’ll have fun and learn very quickly.”

  “You’re very kind,” Miss Brown said, smiling. “I realize now what my trouble was. I thought that in a place like this I’d have a good time simply because I wasn’t working. Now I realize that you have to work at having a good time just as you do anything else.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Mr. Wellington. “We’ll start out by having a good time this evening. The young folks who are going to La Posada with us will see to that.”

  Trixie left them then and hurried back to her room. Honey, Brian, and Jim were there waiting for her.

  “Oh, don’t scold her,” Honey began, but Brian interrupted sternly.

  “Your theme consists of one short sentence in which two words are misspelled.”

  “You got the wrong answers,” Jim added, “to every one of your problems. Your mistakes were in simple addition and subtraction which certainly proves that you weren’t exactly concentrating.”

  Trixie felt cold in her damp bathing suit but her cheeks were burning hot. “I did so concentrate,” she said stormily.

  Brian raised his dark eyebrows. “In the pool?”

  “Oh, leave her alone,” Honey cried out. “Can’t you see she’s shivering? After she gets dressed I’ll show her the mistakes she made in her math and then she can work on her theme until it’s time for us to leave for town.”

  “Okay.” The boys left and Trixie quickly brought Honey up to date on events.

  “You’ve got to do something about Mrs. Sherman,” she finished. “Don’t bother about those silly old problems. I’ll find my own mistakes. But for Uncle Monty’s sake we can’t let Mrs. Sherman leave. You’re the tactful one of the gang. Go and talk her into staying.”

  Honey shook her head. “She doesn’t like me. You heard her say that I made her feel uncomfortable. When I was tidying her room this morning I was pretty sure that she knew I was trying hard not to laugh at her. But I couldn’t help it, Trixie. She’s so silly. Why don’t we just let her go? Nobody likes her.”

  “Well, go and talk to Di about it anyway. Maybe she’s got some ideas.” Trixie sighed and sat down at the small desk. She longed to tell Honey that she suspected that the cowboy, Tenny, was a phony and why. But there wasn’t time for that now. If she wanted to go to the festival that evening she had better buckle down and work—and forget everything else.

  Chapter 13

  Cowboys and Questions

  Trixie finished correcting her problems and was on the second page of her theme when Maria tapped on the door and came in. “Fresh blouses for tomorrow,” she said, and hung them in the closet. “Fortunately, my sisters-in-law washed and ironed everything like that before they left.”

  “Why did they leave, Maria?” Trixie blurted. “They were happy here, weren’t they?”

  “Oh, very happy,” she replied. “So much so that they did not want to go. But they had to go.”

  Trixie frowned. “I don’t understand why they didn’t give Mr. Wilson notice ahead of time so he could have hired someone else to take their place.”

  Maria thought for a minute. “This much I guess I can tell you. They did not plan to go until the last minute and then they were afraid. One year they did not go and that was the year in which my husband died.”

  “Oh.” Trixie stared at her in surprise. “But you’re not afraid?”

  “I am not an Orlando,” Maria replied, “except by marriage.”

  “But Petey is an Orlando,” Trixie pointed out.

  “It is true,” Maria said after a moment of silence. “And it is also true that I am afraid. But I am more afraid of losing my job. Here I have such a nice home for Petey. The patrón has arranged it so that he is driven to and from school every day. He is allowed to wade in the pool and to ride on a pony. And as for me, the work is pleasant and the pay is good. I have only a few small expenses, so some day my savings will amount to a great deal—enough so that Petey can go to college.”

  She started for the door and added softly, as though she were thinking out loud, “But still I am afraid—very afraid. If something happened to Petey I would never forgive myself.” She was gone before Trixie could say anything.

  Honey and Di came in then through the adjoining bath. They had been swimming and chattered their teeth at Trixie. “It sure gets cold suddenly out here,” said Di. “Me for a hot shower.”

  Honey quickly changed into a sweater and skirt. “We’ll be leaving in half an hour,” she told Trixie. “Our group is going in the station wagon. Tenny is going to drive.”

  “Do you like him?” Trixie asked suddenly. “I mean you got to know him pretty well while you were riding this afternoon, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Honey said enthusiastically. “He’s simply darling. The foreman is an old crosspatch. Wouldn’t even speak to us girls, but he never goes along on the rides so who cares about him? Tenny is the boss of the dudes and he’s so patient about answering questions and all.”

  “But he’s not an honest-to-goodness cowboy,” Trixie said.

  Honey was scrabbling through her bureau drawer trying to find the wool socks which matched her blue sweater. “I know I packed them,” she said. “At least, Miss Trask did. I saw her—” and then she interrupted herself. “What did you say?”

  “Tenny is a phony,” Trixie said briefly.

  “You’ve lost your mind. Ah, here they are.” Honey sat down on the lower bunk and began to pull on her socks.

  “You’ve simply got to stop suspecting people all the livelong time, Trix,” she said. “And if you’re going to have any fun out here, you’d better forget about mysteries. I mean it. Jim and Brian were furious when you did such poor work today. They’re not going to let you get by with that kind of thing. You know it.”

  Trixie had been feeling very forlorn because it seemed to her that she had been glued t
o that desk most of the day. And now her best friend was scolding her. It was too much. Her round blue eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, I wish we’d never left home,” she sobbed. “I hate it here. All I do is work like a slave and then when I take a dip in the pool you all treat me as though I’d committed a crime.” She folded her arms on top of her papers and buried her face in them. “If I were home now I’d be having fun.”

  “You’d still be going to school every day until Friday,” Honey reminded her. “And you’d have a lot of homework to do every day, also chores. You could have a lot of fun here if you’d just stop wasting so much time on so-called mysteries.” Then she relented and gave Trixie a quick hug. “All right, I give up. Tell me why you suspect Tenny.”

  Trixie raised her head. “Because I heard him talking to Rosita out on the patio when I guess he didn’t think anyone could hear them. He didn’t talk at all like a cowboy.” She repeated as much as she could remember of the conversation.

  “Why, that is mysterious,” Honey admitted. “I mean the Rosita part of it. Somebody hurt his hand in an accident and she feels responsible. Who? Do you suppose it was an automobile accident and she was driving?”

  “I have no idea,” Trixie said. “But she’s in an awful scrape and in disgrace with her family, too. When she said she couldn’t go back she must have meant she couldn’t go back to her hogan. Whatever happened was so awful that they probably expelled her from school. Maybe she was driving a car and hasn’t got a license.”

  “But I don’t think she stole that hundred dollars,” Honey said staunchly. “Maybe Uncle Monty loaned it to her.”

  Trixie shook her head. “In that case she would have to pay it back. From the way she talked I could tell that she has to earn only four hundred dollars more.”

  Di came in then wearing a pretty wool suit which matched her violet eyes. “I forgot to tell you, Trix, that Mrs. Sherman isn’t leaving until tomorrow after lunch. She couldn’t get a plane reservation until then. She and Uncle Monty are going to have supper together in his suite, so maybe he can persuade her not to leave after all. Anyway, we’d better go. The others must be waiting for us in the station wagon.”