by Cliff Black
“I’m doing great, Dad. How could I not be? I’ve got a fun job. I have a boyfriend. I’m going back to college, and I’ve got a new red convertible. I miss Mom a lot, but I still have you, and I see you’re getting around without crutches.”
“Yeah, I am. Doc Bell said I should use the cane for a while, and I do, if I have to walk very far.”
After a few minutes of silence she said, “Tell me about these people I’m trying to find.”
“Finish up there, and let’s sit down in the living room. It’s a long, complex story. Telling the whole thing might help with your search, and it will help me clarify what I know.”
I sat in my recliner with the footrest up. Nat came in and flopped on the couch with her head propped on a pillow. I decided to leave out parts that would worry her.
I said, “A. A. McLaughlin and his wife want me to find their granddaughter. Here’s the story:
“I found two strips of microfilm in our sheriff’s sale trailer. That’s what started this whole thing.”
“What was on the microfilm?” Nat asked.
“Two photographs and some documents. I’ll get to that. A woman, Candace or Candy Appleton, brought the trailer to Cortez last November. She disappeared in January.”
Nat broke in again, “Candy Appleton sounds like made up.”
“Yeah, it does,” I said. “Probably a stage name. Candy worked as a show-girl in Nevada. Anyway, I got prints made from the microfilm and found a mystery that started eighteen years ago.”
“Great. I like a good mystery.”
“Yeah, I do too, but it tends to get me in trouble. Here’s what I’ve learned so far: In 1979, a young woman named Mary McLaughlin had a baby in Louisville, Kentucky. She wasn’t married, but shortly before the birth she moved in with a Jimmy Smith. About a year after the baby was born, Jimmy Smith, Mary, and the baby were in an auto accident. The car slid off the road, rolled down a slope and caught fire. Jimmy got out and got the baby out. Mary was killed. I believe the baby was cared for initially by her grandparents, Arthur, that’s A. A., and Alice McLaughlin.
“Maybe a year later, Jimmy Smith came to the McLaughlins with a woman he said was his wife. He had documents to prove he was the baby’s father, so the McLaughlins let him take her.”
“I presume this was before they were rich?” Nat asked.
“That’s correct. Arthur says he should have hired a lawyer and contested Jimmy’s claim. Jimmy Smith has collected Social Security payments on behalf of the girl for the last sixteen years.”
“Why would Social Security pay him?”
“I don’t know the details. It has to do with the mother’s death. Two years ago, the McLaughlins hired a detective agency that located Jimmy Smith. Before the investigator could find his daughter, now going by Eileen, Smith died in a fire at his vacation cabin near Hawthorne, Nevada. That’s when Candy Appleton took the trailer. It had belonged to Jimmy Smith.
“McLaughlin tells me Jimmy Smith was a con artist. He thinks Jimmy sold the little girl shortly after he took her. Documents pictured in the film strips lead me to believe that if someone bought Eileen, it was Jose Alfredo and Maria Virginia Teresa Castillo Gil of Nogales, Mexico.”
Nat looked at me with raised eyebrows. “And now, sixteen years later, all I have to do is find them for you?”
“Yeah, Nat. I’m counting on your magic with the Internet. My gut tells me you won’t find them in Nogales, though. If you do find them, or even a good trace, it will be decision time. I haven’t yet agreed to take the case.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“Talking with you about it makes me realize your question should be, ‘What’s in it for us.’ Alice McLaughlin offered to pay $250 a day plus expenses. Keep track of your time. You’re my research assistant, part of my expense.”
“You don’t need to pay me, Dad. You’ve already been way generous giving me Mom’s car. I think I got a real good trade-in on it.”
“This isn’t generosity, Nat. I expect you to earn what you get. If your computer magic can find the Gils, you’ll save Alice McLaughlin a lot more than your wages.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll be your silent partner, but I think you should trust me with the rest of the story.” I must have looked surprised. She said, “Oh, don’t look so innocent. You’ve told me about a disappearance, a death in Kentucky, a kidnapping, an illegal sale and adoption, and a suspicious death in Nevada. Then there’s the McLaughlin’s millions and you with a bruised cheek and a scab on your nose. Tell me the rest.”
“McLaughlin’s millions?”
Don’t try to get me side-tracked. Tell me the rest.”
“Dang, Nat, maybe I should be the silent partner. Okay, here’s the bad news. The detective who found Jimmy Smith came up missing at the same time Jimmy died in the fire. His partner thinks it was the investigator who died in the fire, not Jimmy Smith. Then a few days ago, Candy’s remains were found just over the Utah border. She was murdered. As for my face, I had a little disagreement with Philo Carter, the man who thinks his partner died in Jimmy smith’s cabin. He thought I was Smith because I was in Smith’s old Airstream trailer.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Staked him over an ant hill.”
Nat looked at me solemnly for a minute then grinned and said, “The Apache blood, right?”
“You got it, Missy. Right now, I need to go to the Post Office or somewhere and find out what I need in the way of a Visa in case I have to make a trip to Mexico. What time do you leave for work?”
“I have to be there at one o’clock. I’m gonna put a roast in the crock pot before I go. If you’ll put a couple of potatoes in the oven about seven, we can have a great dinner when I come home”. Nat smiled at me and said, “I need the practice. One of these times I want to invite Brian over for dinner so you can meet him. I wouldn’t want him to like gag on the food.”
“You put things so delicately.”
“Oh, check the garage before you leave.”
“Why do I need to check the garage?”
“Just do it.”
I went out and limped back to the garage, unlocked the passage door, and turned on a light. There next to my Model A, glittering in new paint and chrome, was a brand-new three quarter ton, four-wheel-drive, GMC pickup truck–blue and silver–and with the shell and running board package, exactly like I’d ordered. I checked it over to see if all the right parts were in the right places, then shut off the light and walked back to the house–cane swinging and almost no limp.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to take it for a spin. For now, I’d drive the Toyota to town, take care of the visa thing, and turn-in the little pickup. I could probably talk someone into giving me a ride home.
“How come that truck is here instead of at the dealers?” I asked when I got to the kitchen.
Nat said, “Gorgeous truck, huh? Yesterday was new car day at our house. The guy that brought it said people kept trying to buy it. The dealer got tired of the disappointed looks when they’d tell people it was sold and they didn’t have another one like it. You need to go down there and sign some papers or something.”
After our roast beef and baked potato supper that night, I went to my study to check my email and copy notes from my laptop into my desktop computer.
I had only one email of interest. It was from Natasha. This was all it said: Alfred Hill, Colonia Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico.
“Nat,” I shouted. “What the heck is this?”
Nat came in drying her hands on a towel. She looked where I pointed and said, “Think Spanish, Dad. That’s Alfredo Gil. He may not be the right one, but whether you spell it G-I-L or H-I-L-L they sound the same, and it’s not a very common name.”
“Brilliant, Missy. How did you come up with that?”
“Work was like really slow today. And as you say, I’m smarter than the average bear.” She gave me a big smile. “Incidentally, if you catch the first Rio Grande Air flight to Albuquerque tomorrow, you
’ll be in time to catch a plane to El Paso. From there you’ll have to rent a car and drive. You’re gonna have to get up before breakfast if you need to do anything else before you leave.”
“Hey, Missy, I’m tired. Can’t I take the day off tomorrow? I’d like to get up late and then go to Cortez and get the trailer.”
“The trailer will wait, Dad. If Jimmy Smith is alive, he has a head start on you.”
“I’m paying two-hundred and fifty bucks a month to park that trailer in Cortez. I can’t afford that.”
“Charge it to McLaughlin. He’s worth like half a billion dollars.”
I looked to see if she was serious. “Half a billion? As in five hundred million?”
“Yeah, but technically half of it belongs to his wife.”
“You mean like community property?”
“I don’t know what community property means. What I do know is when he wanted to start his own software company his wife put up the money. She owns as much company stock as he does.”
“I knew he had money. Carter tried not to tell me that, but I was thinking more in terms of a couple of million.”
“The money’s like all in the company. The five hundred million is an estimate of what the stock would be worth if they went public. As of two years ago McLaughlin was still in his old house and didn’t have any servants.”
“You got all that off the internet?”
“Yeah, it took a while, but I found a two-year-old programmer’s newsletter that had an article about him and his company. They expressed concern about the future of the company if something happened to McLaughlin. He’d just had part of a lung removed, cancer. He’s the brains behind their software, and there’s no board of directors or any other structure to take over if he were to like die.”
I thought about that for a minute, “Maybe the lung cancer is why he’s decided to find his granddaughter. I’d better call Alice McLaughlin and tell her I’ll take the case.” I checked the time and said, “No, I’d better not. It’ll be past eleven o’clock in Kentucky. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
When I finished transferring my notes I went looking for Natasha again. I found her standing in the middle of her room reading a book of math puzzles while trying to juggle a soccer ball on her knees.
“Nat,” I said–when she looked up and lost the ball. “The lady that had my trailer worked somewhere while she was in Cortez. Ezzy learned she worked in Nevada as a dental assistant in between dancing jobs. There’s not much work in the Four Corners for an aging show girl. Try to find out if she worked for some dentist. You’ll have to go by the time she was here and by her description. She probably used another name for real work.”
“Sounds like a piece of cake.”
“Maybe not. The Cortez cops never found an employer.”
“Yeah, Dad, but maybe they weren’t as motivated as I am.”
Yeah, I thought, and there likely isn’t any two of them, or maybe all of them put together, that’s quite as smart as you are. I had to wonder where this girl came from. I joked with her about ‘being smarter than the average bear,’ but on another level I knew she had an intellect that was one in a thousand or maybe one in a million. The college had given her a battery of tests when she applied for admission at age fifteen. Through faculty connections I learned she had scored above 150 on the IQ portion.
Nat followed me back to the study and plunked herself down in front of my computer. I wanted to make a private call, so I went to the living room and called Shelly on my cell phone.
“Hi, Shelly,” I said, I’m home in Durango, but not for long.”
“Have you found me a hit man yet?” Shelly asked.
Why was she back to that? “No, but I have a lead on two of them. They’re busy running from the cops though.”
“Why do I think you’re only half joking?” she asked.
“Am I supposed to think you’re serious?”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds; then she changed the subject. ”Where are you going?”
“My daughter dug up a lead. I’m off to Mexico in the morning.”
“Are you feeding me a line again? What’s your daughter got to do with this?”
“Natasha is a computer geek. I asked her to find someone for me. Maybe she has.”
There was a pause until Shelly said, “I thought I wanted to meet this daughter of yours, Daniel. Now I’m not sure.”
“You’d like her. She doesn’t bite.”
“Maybe not but she sounds awfully smart. She might see right through me. Tell me she’s not pretty, too.”
“What can I say? I think she’s gorgeous.”
“Allllll right. Tell me she doesn’t play softball.”
“Not much. Softball would interfere with soccer. That’s her first love.”
“But she is athletic! How can I compete with that, Daniel Corbin?”
“Why would you need to?”
“Don’t you know there’s always competition between females? Even if they’re semi-females like Tanya Bearcluff. Not to change the subject, but Bearcluff sent me a package yesterday. It had a very dead duck in it and a note that said, ‘You, next time.’”
“Are you serious?” I asked. When she didn't answer I said, “She’s just trying to rattle you.”
“No, Daniel. She means it.”
“Anything else new in your life?” I wanted to change the subject.
“I think I’ve got a serious nibble on the house. I don’t know whether to be sad or glad. Getting used to money and luxury is easy. I’m not gonna like being poor again. Which reminds me, you really need to come over for a barbeque while I still have a yard for it. We could invite Evelyn and Ezzy–swim, sit in the hot tub, pig out–or maybe just the two of us. How does that sound?”
“When I get back from Mexico.” I said. “I shouldn’t be gone more than two or three days.”
I called the McLaughlin residence about 6:30 my time the next morning. Arthur answered.
“Mister McLaughlin,” I said, “Your wife wants me to find your granddaughter. She made a better presentation than you did. I’ve decided to accept the case. She offered $250 a day plus expenses, and I expect the twenty-five thousand bonus if I find her. Any objections?”
“So, you do know where she is.”
Why did I waste time trying to talk to this idiot? “May I speak to Mrs. McLaughlin?”
Arthur didn’t answer, but after about thirty seconds Alice said, “Mister Corbin?”
“I have a lead on Alfredo Gil, Mrs. McLaughlin. I’ll take the case if you still want me.”
“I do, but I wish you hadn’t told Arthur. He’ll be very unpleasant until he gets used to the idea.”
“He might be more unpleasant if he found out on his own.” She didn’t respond, so I said, “I’ll need some operating capital.”
“I can arrange a wire transfer. How much should I send?”
“I’m about to leave for Mexico. How about three thousand?”
Chapter Fifteen
I was completely taken aback by the town of Juarez. It looked like it had been picked up in central Utah and dropped in the middle of the Sonora Desert. Wide, straight, tree-lined streets, square blocks, and brick or frame houses.
On my map, the town was simply Juarez. The city across the Rio Grande from El Paso was Ciudad Juarez. They were not the same place by about 250 miles and 75 years. Nat had given me some information she'd pulled off the Internet. I read it while I was on the plane to El Paso. The little Mormon community of Juarez was often called Colonia Juarez, because that was its original name. Juarez and several other colonies were settled by exiled Mormon polygamists when the United States outlawed polygamy in the late 1800's.
Most of the Mormon settlers were driven back to the United States during the Mexican revolution in 1911. Their smaller settlements were abandoned. Only Colonia Juarez and Colonia Dublan remained with their turn-of-the-century Utah style homes, lawns, and orchards to remind the occasional visitor of what
once had been.
It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon when I got to the town. After traveling all day, I was looking forward to getting out of the car and stretching my legs.
I found Alfred Hill where he’d said I could find him–in his hardware store. Except that the signs were in Spanish and prices in pesos, I felt like I’d stepped back fifty years into a Midwest mercantile store.
I’d called Alfred from home before I left. When he’d asked what I wanted, I said I had business to discuss with him and ended the call. I knew if this Alfred was the same person as the Jose Alfredo on the Mexican birth certificate, disclosure would have to be done face-to-face.
Alfred was a trim, handsome man about my own age. His full head of hair was dark brown and wavy. He appeared to have no native American blood, and he spoke English with only a slight accent.
Alfred suggested we go next door and talk over a cold drink. Having spent the last four hours driving across the desert with the sun blazing through the windshield of my rental car, the suggestion appealed to me. When I found I could get an old-fashioned milkshake, I was even more enthusiastic.
After the waitress took our orders, Alfred said, “Mister Corbin, on the phone you said you had business to discuss. We don’t rush business south of the border, but maybe now you can tell me the reason for coming all this way to see me.”
I didn’t say anything, but I handed him one of my cards and watched his face. All I saw was puzzlement.
Alfred turned the card over, turned it back, read it again, and then said, “You are a private investigator from Durango, Colorado. Why should Alfred Hill be of interest to you?”
“Tell me about yourself, Alfredo–” I used the Spanish form to see what reaction it got. It didn't get any. “–your business, your wife, your family.”
“Ah, Mister Corbin, I think first you tell me about yourself, your wife, your family. What is your business here in Mexico.”
“Fair enough. I’m thirty-nine years old. I teach mathematics at Fort Lewis College in Durango. Investigative work is a side line. I am a widower. My wife, Camille, died of cancer a year ago. I have one daughter, seventeen, and soon to be a sophomore at Fort Lewis College. I am here looking for a girl named Cherish McLaughlin.”