Mystery in Arizona (12 page)

Jim stepped aside and Brian strode into the small room. “And how about your theme on the Navahos? Any progress to report? I gather that Di and Honey did your dish-washing for you so you could bone. Just what have you accomplished?”

Trixie collapsed on the lower bunk, utterly deflated. “Oh, go away, slave-drivers,” she moaned. “Forget that I ever wanted to ride. I’ll spend the afternoon studying. I’ll spend the night studying, too. That’s why I came out here to Arizona: just to study all the livelong time. Or didn’t you know that?”

Jim, grinning now, reached out and pulled her to her feet. “Listen, Trix, we don’t like to pick on you, but we promised your parents that we’d tutor you. If you’d just concentrate on your assignments instead of trying to solve mysteries that are purely figments of your imagination!”

Di burst in then from her own room. “It’s all settled. Mr. X. W. is going with us tonight. He can hardly wait. I told him that we had decided to adopt him and—why, what’s the matter, Trixie? Have you been crying?”

Instead of replying, Trixie cried out, “Oh, gosh! I forgot that I was supposed to talk my Calammy into going to
La Posada
, too. Did you have any luck with Mrs. Sherman, Honey?”

Honey shook her head. “There wasn’t time. Speaking of which, we’d all better get down to the corral fast or they’ll go off without us.” She gave Trixie a quick hug. “I’d stay with you but I know you wouldn’t be able to do any work with me hanging around.”

After they had all gone, Trixie sat down again at the small desk and this time she did concentrate. By three o’clock she had finished the problems and was fairly sure that the answers were correct. So she started on her Navaho theme, but the very word reminded her of Rosita and her thoughts began to wander again.

Maybe a dip in the pool will clear my brain
, she thought, and donned her bathing suit.
Jim and Honey are right. If I’m going to have any fun at this ranch I’d better stop worrying about other people’s problems and concentrate on my own
.

But deep down inside she knew that she would never have any real fun until she had solved some of the mysteries—or at least what seemed like mysteries to her.

The pool, like everything else in Arizona, was enormous, and the water in it seemed to reflect the bright blue of the cloudless sky. Around the edge of it were groups of chairs and tables which were painted in colors to match those in a desert sunset, and everything gleamed in the dazzling sunlight.

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 stenographer 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.”