The Wrong Hill to Die On: An Alafair Tucker Mystery #6 (Alafair Tucker Mysteries)

by Donis Casey

  If the schoolhouse shards had rained on the spectators at such a distance, what had happened to the movie crew, she wondered as she ran? But she did not take the time to turn and look.

  Everyone was yelling. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she recognized Blanche’s high-pitched squeal and Shaw’s baritone yelp. They sounded more excited than alarmed. Alafair did not know whether or not she herself was hollering. It was too noisy to tell.

  Ouch! It felt just like hail pounding her arms and shoulders, big hail, or even stones. She cracked open an eye as she ran to check on Blanche, clutched in Shaw’s arms, but the child was completely shielded by her father’s hunched body.

  It took Alafair a moment to realize that what was falling from the sky was more than bits of vaporized schoolhouse the size of nickels and dimes.

  It was nickels and dimes.

  Money was raining down on them from heaven, and the squealing she was hearing had more to do with delight than pain and fear.

  By the time they reached the bottom of the rise, the storm of money was over, and the ground around them was covered with scattered bits of silver and copper. Multicolored scraps of paper were floating gently to the ground. Alafair bent over and scooped up a couple of coins—a penny, and something she did not recognize. The silver coin was about the size of a quarter, but instead of Lady Liberty, the front was stamped with the image of an eagle clutching a snake in its talons and the inscription “Daily Newsa Mexicana.”

  Many in the crowd of spectators had run straight for their buggies and autos and headed for home when the blast went off. Some were standing at the side of the road in a daze, rubbing their bumped and bruised arms and heads. Those who had managed in time to realize what was falling from the sky were now scrambling around on the ground like a flock of hungry birds, laughing in awe and relief and stuffing their pockets. She spotted Elizabeth and Cindy among the mob, scooping up coins in high good humor.

  An Honest Bunch

  Shaw patted Blanche down before he gave Alafair the once over. “Everybody all right?”

  Alafair was glad to see that Blanche looked stunned and excited rather than stunned and terrified. “I declare, Shaw! I never seen anything like that in all my born days! Looks like everyone here is in one piece. I hope the actors and filmers didn’t get hurt!”

  Still holding Blanche in his arms, Shaw managed to wipe his dusty face with one hand. “I’m guessing they miscalculated how much dynamite to use on that little wooden building. I hope that director got a good shot, because there sure ain’t nothing left to try again.”

  Blanche was squirming. “Put me down, Daddy, I’m all right. My ears are ringing. Wasn’t that something?”

  Alafair barked out an ironic laugh. “That was something all right, though I’m not prepared to say what. Law, I think motion pictures must be a dangerous business to be in!”

  Elizabeth, red-cheeked and heaving, dashed up and took her arm. “Y’all uninjured? Us, too. Cindy went back to the chairs for a sit-down. She needs to get her breath. Come on, sister, Shaw, let’s us make sure that all the actors and them didn’t get hurt by the blast.”

  Alafair had no desire for Blanche to see if someone in the crew had been horribly injured. But before she was able to forbid her from going back up the hill, Blanche thrust her hand into Elizabeth’s and the two adventure-seekers were gone. Shaw and Alafair followed hot on their heels.

  When they topped the rise, they could see a haze of dust hanging in the air over the shallow crater where the schoolhouse used to be. The crew and actors seemed to be uninjured and in good spirits. Some were checking themselves and their friends for bumps and lacerations, but others were picking up money and carrying it to the director, who was gathering it together in a big burlap feed sack. Everyone was covered from head to toe in white dust, perfect camouflage against the pale desert. Small, spear-like shards of board lay all around the shooting area. It was a wonder no one had been impaled.

  Some of the actors, including Bosworth himself, were checking the welfare of the remaining spectators. “Is everyone in your party all right?” he called, when he saw the Tuckers’ little group coming down the rise toward him.

  “Looks like everyone made it through unscathed,” Shaw called back.

  “We would like everyone to come down and wait under that tree.” Bosworth pointed toward a stringy eucalyptus overhanging the boys’ privy. “Mr. Carleton wants to speak to you before you leave, please.”

  Shaw waved his hat in acknowledgment and Bosworth moved on.

  One thing you could say about Director Lloyd Carleton and his company—they were an honest enough bunch. Carleton sent a couple of assistants through the small group of civilians and actors to offer first aid, a drink of water, a damp cloth, and ask that they return any money they had picked up. Carleton was addressing the group of dusty listeners through his megaphone.

  “I have no idea what foolish person decided it would be a good idea to stash his life savings in an old school building in the middle of the desert, but I do think the right thing to do would be to turn this loot over to the law and let them try and determine how it got there and to whom it belongs.”

  He paused, expecting comment, but got none from the dazed spectators. He continued.“I have sent Mr. Martin back to town to fetch the marshal. I hope he will come quickly and you won’t be inconvenienced long. In the meantime, if you will be so good as to turn any coins or paper you have just found over to Miss Weston or young Nick, we will see that it gets to the proper authorities. You’re more than welcome to stay and watch us deliver it into the marshal’s hand. If you would like to petition the marshal for the eventual return of your found bounty, we will be glad to give you a receipt that I shall sign personally.”

  Alafair leaned in to murmur in Shaw’s ear. “He puts paid to the idea that moving picture folks are naturally immoral, don’t he?”

  His hazel eyes crinkled. “It does go to show you can’t believe everything you hear, darlin’.”

  Questions

  Alafair was resigned to spending the rest of the day in enforced idleness, chatting with actors and movie fanatics under the eucalyptus tree, but the marshal did not keep them waiting long at all. Chris Martin had torn out in the company’s roadster the moment he received his assignment from Carleton, raising a cloud of dust that limned his route almost all the way back into Tempe. He apparently found the marshal the moment he got into town, for he was back within an hour. Alafair was amazed. He had to have driven a good thirty miles an hour both ways.

  Martin’s auto came to a halt in a cloud of dust. Joe Dillon unfolded his lanky self from the passenger’s seat and cast a narrow gaze over the knot of actors and spectators sitting under the eucalyptus on canvas chairs, rocks, empty crates, each other’s laps, or wandering the area and trailing after playing children. He paused momentarily when his eyes lit upon Elizabeth’s party, then continued his inspection with no change of expression.

  Bosworth and Carleton both came up to meet him, and the three men stood with their heads together for some minutes. When they broke from their huddle, Carleton called for his megaphone.

  “Mr. Dillon has asked that if anyone has any information about this explosion of treasure, please come forward. Otherwise, those of you who are unaffiliated with our enterprise and only drove out from town to pass a pleasant morning can leave your names and where you can be located in case the marshal needs to contact you later. Kindly form a line over there and allow Miss Weston to take your information, after which you can leave. If after our adventure here at the Rural School, you would like to watch the filming of more scenes of The Yaqui, shooting will resume after dark tonight near the Double Buttes in Tempe.”

  ***

  As they stood in line waiting to give their particulars to the ubiquitous Miss Weston, Alafair kept an anxious eye on Blanche, who with a dark-haired girl about her own age was wandering around the lot scouring the ground for stray coins that may have been missed. Alafair was concer
ned about the effect of the dust and debris on the girl’s fragile lungs, but Blanche seemed to be none the worse for wear. In fact over the past day or two, she had been entirely her charming, manipulative self. Alafair shook her head in amazement. She resolved not to leave Tempe without Mrs. Carrizal’s recipe for healing tea and a bag-full of eucalyptus leaves for making vapor pots.

  They had made their way to the head of the line by the time Alafair turned her attention to the matter at hand. Elizabeth and Cindy had already moved on and Shaw was giving their information to Miss Weston. Marshal Dillon stood beside the woman’s chair with his hands clasped behind him, silently giving everyone the once-over from under the wide, downturned brim of his Stetson. Alafair realized to her discomfort that she was the object of the marshal’s interested observation. She blinked at him and his lips curved upward in a smile that was far too sardonic for her taste.

  “Miz Tucker,” he said. “We meet again.”

  “So we do, Marshal.”

  They gazed at one another for a moment, both unwilling to be the first to look away.

  Alafair decided she might as well use the stare-down to good advantage. “How do you suppose the money got into the schoolhouse, Marshal?”

  Dillon was willing to speculate. “I’m guessing that somebody was using the abandoned building as a cache for his savings. Or his ill-gotten swag.”

  “How much money do you reckon was there?”

  The marshal shrugged. “There’s no way to tell, now. Most folks around here are honest enough, and I reckon most of the money they picked up got turned in when Carleton asked for it. But I’m sure a lot of those coins ended up in pockets and handbags. Carleton’s man is still counting it, but he thinks they retrieved around two hundred dollars worth of U.S. and Mexican currency.”

  Shaw finished his business with Miss Weston, tipped his hat to Dillon, and took Alafair by the arm.

  “How are you going to find out whose money it is, Marshal?” Alafair asked over her shoulder as they moved out of the way of the next person in line.

  “Well, somebody will have to be able to prove that it’s his before we turn it over, and I don’t rightly see how that can be done. Even so, we’ll keep it in the City Hall safe for a spell, just to be fair. Then I suspect that the money will end up going to the town for improvements.”

  They retrieved Blanche and joined Elizabeth and Cindy, who had already walked back to the Hupmobile and were buttoning up their dusters. Elizabeth was still red-cheeked with exhilaration as she handed the Tuckers their protective wear from the back seat. “I told you this would be an adventure, didn’t I?”

  Matt Carrizal’s Restaurant

  The trip back to Tempe was rife with speculative chatter. Elizabeth drove along at an easy pace that raised little dust and allowed her passengers to enjoy the sparkling winter day and the company. Cindy was laughing and bright-eyed, her unhappy situation momentarily forgotten. Blanche’s elbows were perched on the back of the front seat so she would not miss a word of what her aunt and Cindy were talking about. Alafair had little to say. Shaw recognized her absorbed silence. She was not thinking things over. No, her silence was deeper than that. She was quieting that active mind and letting things think themselves over. It was a rare and rather odd talent she had which her husband accepted without trying to understand.

  “My goodness, look at the time!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “It’s near to two o’clock. Y’all must be about to faint from hunger. Say, would you enjoy to have dinner at Matt Carrizal’s restaurant? He has the nicest little place on the corner of Fifth and Ash.”

  Cindy clapped her hands. “Oh, let’s! I haven’t had dinner at Matty’s restaurant in I don’t know how long.”

  In the few days they had been in Arizona, Shaw had developed a taste for Sonoran-style cooking, so he agreed enthusiastically and at once. Alafair was more interested in seeing how Matt Carrizal made a living.

  The route back into town was nearly the reverse of the way they had driven out. Elizabeth turned west off of Canal Street onto Eighth, then north again when they reached Mill Avenue. Then a left turn onto Fifth Street and only one block to the corner of Fifth and Ash. Carrizal’s Restaurant was located in a free-standing adobe building with a pitched shingle roof. It looked like a converted cottage with a large, multipaned picture window in front and practically an entire garden of herbs and flowers in big clay pots all along the front. A hand-painted sign directed them to a graded area for customers to park their conveyances, horse-drawn and otherwise, in a vacant lot half-way down the block.

  The interior of the restaurant was just as homey and inviting as the exterior. Some ten tables were scattered around a large dining room, all covered in cheerful lemon-colored cloths with vases of little red petunias in the center. Alafair looked around with approval. The place was clean and bright and welcoming, like sitting down to eat at a neighbor’s home. Still, she wished she could inspect the kitchen.

  Matt Carrizal himself greeted them at the door. The dining room was empty at this late hour, so he pulled together two tables for them next to the sunny picture window.

  “I am so honored you have decided to grace my humble establishment!”

  Elizabeth gave him an insouciant wink. “Why, Matt, I couldn’t let my kinfolks spend any time in Tempe without treating them to your delicious fare.”

  Cindy agreed. “Matty serves the best Mexican food in Tempe.” She placed a hand on Matt’s arm and turned to address Shaw and Alafair across the table. “Did you meet Matt at the pot luck the other night? Matty and I have known one another ever so long, since we were teens, really. We had a poetry class together at the Normal School. Then when I married, I discovered that Geoff’s house is neighbor to Matty’s parents’. Can you imagine?”

  Matt reddened as she gushed. Embarrassed at how she was fussing over him, surely, but Alafair noted how the pupils of his dark eyes widened as he gazed at her.

  He emitted a laugh. “As you can see, Cindy and I are good enough friends that I allow her to call me Matty.” His tone was teasing.

  Elizabeth was too hungry for banter. “Well, Matt, we’ve been out and about all day and I dare say there’s no one at this table who couldn’t eat a horse. What do you have cooking this afternoon?”

  “Leave it to me, Elizabeth. I’ll serve you up a feast.”

  He served them himself, though judging by the way he was dressed, in a dazzlingly white shirt, sharply creased twill dress trousers and matching waistcoat, he usually acted the host and left the waitressing duties to the apron-clad young woman with dark hair who handed the dishes out of the kitchen into his hands. He brought out dish after dish, starting with a steamy, meatball-filled soup he called albondigas. The Tuckers had already had their first taste of tamales and enchiladas at Elizabeth’s open house and attacked the main course with gusto. Matt supplemented the meal with a piled-high platter of corn tortillas fresh off the grill, and a delicious green dish he called nopal.

  “This tastes like green beans,” Alafair observed.

  “It’s fried-up prickly-pear cactus pads,” Elizabeth told them gleefully.

  The food was delicious, but foreign, and Alafair worried that in the way of children, Blanche would refuse to eat it. At first she did appear to be skeptical, but gamely tried each dish and decided she liked it. Not for the first time Alafair was glad that none of her kids were picky eaters. They ended with dishes of sweet, custardy flan smothered in a creamy caramel sauce. When the last dishes were taken away, there was a long contented silence as everyone contemplated the feast they had just enjoyed.

  Matt came out of the kitchen and stood sleek and satisfied as his guests plied him with compliments.

  An Upsetting Matter

  Elizabeth placed her yellow-and-white checked cotton napkin on the table. “Sit down with us for a spell, why don’t you, Matt? Tell us what you had to say to Marshal Joe Dillon when he came by to talk to you about poor Bernie Arruda.”

  Her change of topic cast a chill
over the merriment. Alafair cast a quick look at Cindy, who sagged back into her chair, still too weak to hold on to her good humor in the face of an upsetting matter. Elizabeth obviously cared for Cindy, but Alafair thought her sister was not as sensitive to her friend’s fragility as she ought to be. Not everyone was as emotionally tough as Elizabeth Kemp.

  Matt sat down readily enough, not as much upset as willing to trade information about the untimely death of his late employee. “Yes, Mama told me what you said about Mr. Dillon’s visit with y’all. I cannot think of who might have killed Bernie, can you? When Dillon came here early on the morning after Bernie died, I told him that Bernie worked for me sometimes. He did repairs and clean-up around the restaurant, sometimes played his guitar and sang in the evenings. He even waited tables once in a while. Dillon asked me about my relationship with Bernie, of course, but I didn’t have much to tell him. I know his brother Tony much better. He is my head cook. In fact, he’s in the kitchen right now.”

  “He made this delicious meal?” Shaw asked.

  Matt smiled. “He did. Tony is the one who first told me Bernie was dead, that next morning when he came in for the breakfast shift. It is sad.The brothers were close. Dillon showed up right after to talk to me.”

  “Did he ask if you and Bernie had a fight that evening at the open house?” Elizabeth asked.

  Matt rared back, surprised. “No, he did not. Did someone say so?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “All I know is that when he came by to question us, he asked if we’d seen you and Bernie get into a fight.”

  “A ‘scrape,’ is what he said,” Shaw corrected.