by Alice Duncan
“I know that, dear,” said Ma, patting his hand.
“Richard’s an all-right guy,” said Mayberry, who seemed to like everyone. That’s probably why everybody liked him. “Although I know what you mean. But he’s not really snooty. He just has to dress up and act that way for his job.” He swallowed a bite of cake and a sip of milk. “Speaking of which, Zilpha and Hannah have been on the telephone most of the day today talking about Mr. Calhoun’s murder. Hannah’s scared to death the police are going to pin it on Richard, and that’s flat stupid.”
“I agree,” said I. I was going to go on and say I was doing some investigative work on the case myself, but common sense smacked me upside the head and I held my tongue. Neither Ma nor Pa would countenance me going around asking snoopy questions of Rosedale’s citizens, even if my rudeness was for a good cause.
Pa shook his head. “I don’t think Richard even owns a gun. He never goes hunting. Besides, he would no more shoot a man in cold blood than I would.”
“Exactly,” said Mayberry. “Say, Susanna”—Ma had told both of her sons-in-law and her daughter-in-law to call her Susanna, mainly because that was her name—“I don’t suppose I could take a piece of that wonderful cake home to your daughter, could I? She might like a little snack. If it don’t make her sick, of course, but she’s mainly sick in the mornings.”
Even after I’d had an adventure or two, succumbed to the inevitable and married Phil, I was going to think long and hard before I had any kids. Not only was the process of getting them into this world sickening and painful, but with my luck, I’d end up with a monster like Jack. I’d have to discuss this matter with Phil when the time seemed appropriate.
“Of course. I’ll pack up two pieces. One for Zilpha and another for you, Mayberry. You deserve it after coming to the rescue with that rubber stripping.”
“Thanks. I hope it does the job.”
“Me too,” growled Pa, who didn’t like having his regular routine messed up by storms and floods and so forth.
After Mayberry left for home, Ma and I cleaned up the cake plates and glasses, and I finally retired to my room. I’d finished Powder and Patch and moved on to The Breaking Point, by Mary Roberts Rinehart, the last book in my stack. Time for another trip to the library. Maybe tomorrow. After I talked to Armando Contreras.
Chapter Eight
Ma solved the problem of dessert Friday night by making floating island, which consisted of fluffy little baked meringues on a sea of soft custard. Another of my favorites. Not only that, but there was enough coconut cake left over from last night’s snacking to have at lunch that day. Life was good. So was lunch. And there was still one teensy piece of coconut cake leftover.
However, that didn’t negate the problem of clearing my brother-in-law in the case of Mr. Calhoun’s murder.
Therefore, in the early afternoon when I asked Ma if I could take off for a little bit and walk to the library, praying the streets between our house and the Carnegie Library on Third and Richardson were dry enough to walk upon, and she agreed, I made a wee stop at Armando Contreras’s business on my way. At the moment, Armando and Josephine ran the only gasoline station in Rosedale, but they were soon to open the Contreras Motor Works, which would actually sell automobiles. Before Richard made the loan to Armando, if you wanted to buy a machine, you had to go all the way to El Paso, Albuquerque or Santa Fe, and everyone was looking forward to the grand opening in January 1924.
I was lucky in the mud department. A brisk wind had blown through overnight and dried up most of the remaining water. The unpaved streets now looked as if they were built of big, uneven brown paving stones, all cracked and ragged. There were a few muddy spots toward the curbs, but I managed to o’erleap them, as Shakespeare might have said. Or maybe that was Charlotte Bronte in Jane Eyre. Well, I don’t suppose it matters. Leaping wasn’t much fun, since I carried a heavy bag full of books, but I did it anyway.
Armando’s wife Josephine, who looked as if she’d been trying to pick up leftover storm debris, met me at one of the gasoline pumps when I walked onto what was planned to be the car dealership’s lot. It might be fun to own an automobile, but at the moment I was happy to be allowed to drive my parents’ Model T when I could. Jack resented the fact that I was allowed to drive and he wasn’t. But, for heaven’s sake, he was only twelve. And it wasn’t as if we lived on a ranch or a farm where kids were allowed to drive tractors and things because they were actually helping their parents with the family business. Jack just wanted to drive for the heck of it. He was such a louse.
“Hey, Annabelle. Wasn’t that a storm we had?”
“It sure was. Did you guys have any damage?”
Josephine gave a grimace and waved at the lot, upon which sat several automobiles already, although the Contrerases didn’t aim to begin selling them for another couple of months. “I’ll say we did. The hail dented a Ford and an Oldsmobile in several spots. Armando is trying to figure out how much we’ll have to reduce the prices on them so people will still buy the machines.”
“Golly, Josephine, I’m sorry to hear that.” It had never occurred to me that an automobile dealer’s business might be hurt by hail, but it made sense.
“Some days this place leaks money,” she said in a sour voice. “Other times it’s a gold mine. We about break even, all things considered. When the dealership opens, I expect we’ll start making more money.”
“I’m glad of that, and discounting for dents is probably better than losing sales altogether. Say, is Armando here? I have a couple of questions to ask him.”
Josephine, a nice woman, who was plump and friendly—and whom I’d believed had been carrying on a torrid affair with my brother-in-law Richard only a month before, about which I was glad to have been proved wrong—said, “Sure is. Go along to the office. Buying a car, are you? We can give you a good deal on a Ford with hail dents on the hood.” She laughed heartily.
I joined in. We both knew that clerking at my parents’ store didn’t pay me enough to afford a car, even a dented one. “Sure. I’ll buy one for me, and maybe I’ll get one for Jack. With any luck, he’d drive himself off Mescalero Ridge and we’ll be rid of him forever.” Unkind, Annabelle. Still, one couldn’t help but dream of happier times.
“You only wish,” said Josephine, who had a younger brother of her own. “Say, Annabelle, Armando said you’re the one who found Mr. Calhoun’s body. That must have been a shock.”
“It was. Actually, that’s why I want to talk to Armando.”
“About finding the body?”
“No. I’m afraid the police are thinking about accusing Richard as the killer, and I need to find out more about Mr. Calhoun’s business dealings. So far, I’ve heard he was a real crook.”
Josephine snorted. “You can say that again. Go ahead. Mando can tell you all about the loan Richard got us for this dealership and how Mr. Calhoun tried to take it over and nearly made us lose the place.”
“Good Lord, really?”
“Really. And we’re not the only ones in town he messed with. The man was a criminal and should have been locked up. Of course, then his family would have been humiliated. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of them bumped him off before the cops could get at him.”
“Interesting theory, and one I’ve considered. All I know for sure is that Richard didn’t do it.”
Shaking her head and grinning, Josephine said, “No. I can’t quite picture Richard shooting anybody.”
She chuckled, and I walked over to the office where Armando sat, working on a long row of figures. Ugh. Math. My least favorite subject in school. Too bad I had to use it at work. He glanced up from his figures and seemed relieved to see me. Guess he didn’t care much for math either.
“Hey, Annabelle. Whatcha got in the bag?”
He waved me to a chair in front of his desk, and I sat, plunking my book bag on my lap. What a relief! My poor arm was aching. “Books. I’m on my way to the library, but I wanted to stop by here and a
sk you a few questions about Mr. Calhoun.”
“That son of a b—buck.”
No hiding his feelings in the Calhoun department. “Josephine said something about him taking over the loan Richard arranged for you to buy the car dealership.”
“He sure did. Then he called in the loan. It took Richard and me both, along with Mr. Jaffa—”
“The lawyer?”
“That’s the one. I had to hire him, but he was worth the money. Calhoun backed off once I got a lawyer on my side. I don’t think Calhoun fiddling with Richard’s loan sat well with your brother-in-law.”
“I’m sure it didn’t, although I didn’t know about it until you and Josephine told me.”
“Well, we’re not the only folks in town Calhoun tried to cheat, believe me. I don’t blame somebody for shooting the bast—buzzard in the back.”
“Yeah, Mr. Tindall said Calhoun cheated him out of his ranch. Do you have any idea how he might have done that?”
“Probably some fancy financial footwork like he tried with me. Josephine and me, we’re lucky because the gasoline station’s done real good—until that damned storm, anyhow. Sorry, Annabelle. But we could afford to hire Mr. Jaffa. But Tindall . . . well, most of the ranchers hereabouts are only hanging on by their fingernails. I know there are some big outfits, like your friend Phil Gunderson’s place, but most of ’em are small potatoes, and it wouldn’t take much to make ’em lose everything. It makes me sick to know that folks like Calhoun, who already have everything, try to cheat people who don’t have the bucks to fight back.”
“Me too.”
He shook his head, and I shook my head, and we sat there in silent contemplation of the evils of certain people, until I decided I’d rested long enough and stood, heaving my bag up with me.
“You must read a lot,” Armando commented.
“I do. But I think I’m going to go a little easier on the books today. I don’t mind walking to the library more often if it’ll lighten my load on the way back. I’m going to have shoulders like a football player’s pretty soon if I keep this up.”
“You any good at arithmetic?” he asked out of the blue.
“Lousy,” I said with the utmost truth.
“Too bad. Do you think if I reduced the price of a machine ten dollars per dent, folks would go for it?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds like a good deal to me. If you find one that has five or six hundred dents in it, let me know, will you?”
Armando laughed, and I left his office, walked across the lot, waved good-bye to Josephine, who waved back, and tramped on up the street to the library, where I didn’t go easier on the books, darn it. Then I had to carry them all back home again.
“I think I’m going to sew another handle on my book bag,” I told Ma when I reentered the store. “That way I can sling a handle over each shoulder and maybe this bag won’t feel so heavy.”
Ma shook her head. “I swear, Annabelle, I’m surprised that little library has enough books to satisfy you, you read so many of them.”
“Naw. They manage to keep up with me. Miss Whitesmith is always holding new books for me, bless her.”
“I’m glad you have a friend in Miss Whitesmith. I suppose there are lots of worse habits a person can have than reading.”
Yeah. Like trying to cheat innocent people out of their livelihoods. I didn’t say that, because the comment might have prompted questions from Ma that I didn’t want to answer.
“Take over the counter now, please, Annabelle. I’m going to the house to get dinner started. I made the floating island this morning, but I have to cut the okra and get the potatoes ready to go in the oven. I’ll slip the ham in now.” She glanced at the clock, which said it was now two-thirty in the afternoon. “It’s a big one and will take some time. And those potatoes take a lot of time, too.”
“What time’s dinner?”
“Six.”
“Oh, boy, I can hardly wait. In fact, I’m hungry now.”
“Well, eat a pickle from the barrel,” said Ma as she bustled off.
Hmm. I was hoping for that last teensy piece of coconut cake, but you can’t have everything. A pickle and a couple of crackers from the appropriate barrels staved off the pangs of starvation, and I managed to make it through the rest of the day.
That evening shortly after Jack and I locked up the store and closed the shutters—Jack’s job, and he did it for once without complaint—Hannah and Richard showed up at the house, Richard carrying a bouquet of chrysanthemums for Ma.
“Oh, how nice!” said Ma, taking the flowers and glancing at me.
I went to the cupboard and got down a vase and filled it with water. Then, while Ma fussed around the kitchen—I’d already set the table in the dining room, but, by informal tradition, everyone in the extended family gathered in the kitchen before meals—I snipped stems and stripped leaves and listened as Richard told us about his harrowing couple of days at the bank.
“It was pretty awful,” said he. Hannah held his hand, to give him comfort I suppose. “The shock of Mr. Calhoun’s death affected all of us. The trustees met to go over the books, and they balanced out all right.”
I noticed, from my position at the sink that his brow furrowed, so I asked a pointed question. “You don’t look as if you believe the trustees or the books, Richard. Why is that?”
Shooting me a frown, he nevertheless answered my question. “Well, I don’t suppose it’s a secret any longer that Mr. Calhoun and I have been having our differences lately. I’d have been willing to swear that he’d been doctoring the books somehow, but it looks as if I was wrong about that, because the bank’s records balanced perfectly.”
“That’s odd, because I hear he’s been cheating people right and left,” I said, earning another frown from my brother-in-law. “Armando Contreras said Mr. Calhoun bollixed up the loan you arranged for the car dealership, and that it took you and Mr. Jaffa to straighten everything out.”
This time Ma and Pa frowned at me, too. “Have you been nosing around about this Calhoun thing, Annabelle?” Pa demanded. “Because, if you have—”
“No!” I lied. Passionately, by gum. “But I saw Josephine and Armando on my way to the library today, and we naturally talked about Mr. Calhoun, because Armando was there when I bumped into the body.” The mere notion of which still made me break out in gooseflesh.
But then I began to think about Armando Contreras. He’d told me his problem had been solved via Mr. Jaffa and Richard, but what the heck had he been doing at the scene of the crime when I discovered the body? For that matter, how long had Mr. Calhoun been in the water? It was possible that Armando had visited Gunderson’s for some supplies he needed to fix something other than hail-battered vehicles. Or he might have been taking breakfast at the Cowboy Café, but I didn’t know either of those things for a fact. Which meant I was a really rotten investigator. Heck, I could have asked Phil if Armando had been in the hardware store that morning, and I could have asked Armando himself if he’d taken breakfast at the café. I sure had a lot to learn about this detective stuff.
“Anyway, Armando isn’t the only one. Mr. Tindall told me that Mr. Calhoun cheated him out of his ranch, right there with Mr. Calhoun floating on Second Street.”
“Annabelle!”
“Sorry, Ma. But it’s the truth. The more people I talk to, the more of Mr. Calhoun’s enemies seem to pop out of the woodwork.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Annabelle,” said Richard with what sounded like a heartfelt sigh. “And I’m afraid the police think I’m the main one.”
“Oh, Richard, please stop saying that!” cried Hannah, squeezing the hand she held.
“I’m worried anyhow, sweetheart. Chief Vickers grilled me like a fish. Fortunately, the trustees don’t seem to share his opinion, because they’ve made me interim president of the bank.” He couldn’t suppress a smile of triumph.
“Richard! That’s wonderful!” Ma cried.
“Congratulations, so
n,” said Pa, sticking out his hand for Richard to shake. Richard had to get it back from Hannah first, but that didn’t take long.
“That’s my Richard,” cooed Hannah. From which, I presumed the presidency of the bank brought with it a raise in pay. Not that I’d ask or anything. Besides, Hannah loved Richard. She didn’t just love his money.
“I only hope I can keep the job and not be arrested for murder. So far it doesn’t seem to me as though the police are looking awfully hard for suspects other than me.”
“That’s not quite fair, Richard,” I said, carefully placing chrysanthemums in the vase. They were really pretty, and I took them out to the dining room and put the vase in the center of the table. “I’m sure they’re looking at everyone. Heck, I’ve heard lots of people say they didn’t like Mr. Calhoun because Mr. Calhoun cheated them in one way or another.”
“That’s true, although in a way I don’t blame the chief for suspecting me,” said Richard as if he didn’t like admitting it. “Any number of people would have told him that Mr. Calhoun and I have been having words—loud words—at the bank recently. Now I wish I’d kept my voice down. But it made me so darned mad to know he was swindling people.”
“He swindled people?” Pa quirked an eyebrow. “Can you prove that? If that’s so, you should have gone to the police before somebody took the matter out of your hands and shot the son of a gun.”
“But I couldn’t find any proof,” Richard said, his voice kind of whiny.
Since I read a lot of detective fiction and had seen this sort of thing in books, I said, “If he was a crook—and so far everyone thinks he was—and if the bank’s books look pristine, maybe he was keeping his crooked records somewhere else. Could he have been embezzling money from the bank too?”
“Annabelle!” cried Ma, appalled that I could even think such things.
But Richard, who looked kind of pale, said, “I thought he was, actually. Embezzling money, I mean. But there again, the bank’s books were clean, so I guess I was wrong.”