by Donis Casey
“Or maybe the murderer did know where the money was, but not that Mr. Carleton aimed to destroy the building today.”
“Where do you reckon our Yaqui handyman got himself a bag of money and what do you figure he aimed to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Could be he’s been saving it for a long time. Elizabeth said he was a lover. Maybe he expected to run off with somebody. Or maybe it had to do with the revolution. Does it matter?”
Shaw was not going to let her get off that easily. “Or more likely, the stash isn’t Bernie’s, the killer didn’t know anything about the money, and Bernie got done in for some different reason altogether.”
Alafair smiled. “Anything is possible.”
“Anything is possible inside your head, honey,” he teased.
An Afternoon Drive
Since Webster had decided to take the day off on Thursday, the family enjoyed a lovely homestyle dinner late in the morning consisting of fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, Elizabeth’s own canned green beans, and a spring salad of baby lettuce, green onions, and radishes fresh from the garden, dressed with hot bacon and its drippings. They ate outdoors, taking advantage of yet another warm, dry, sunny, March day.
The Carrizals were taking the air in their own back yard, and it was not long before Artie Carrizal joined Blanche and Chase in a rousing game of kick-the-can on the Kemp side of the fence.
“This would be a nice afternoon to take a drive, don’t you think?” Alafair posed the suggestion innocently enough, but Shaw gave her a suspicious look along his shoulder. He had no reason to suspect her motives, since Alafair had not bothered to tell him that Bernie Arruda’s funeral was today. It was just that Alafair seldom did anything innocently enough.
Elizabeth jumped at the idea, always up for any activity that took her away from the house.
“I’d just as soon stay home,” Web said, and Alafair looked over at him, startled. Oh, yes, Web! She had forgotten him, and he was sitting right next to her.
He was still talking. “I like to read my paper of an afternoon. But y’all go on ahead if you’ve a mind.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “I expect Blanche would rather stay here and play with Artie, if I’m any judge of girls.”
Shaw came to the rescue. “I’ll stay here with Web and keep an eye on the young’uns. I reckon I’ve had enough of gallivanting about for a day or two.”
Now it was Alafair’s turn to give Shaw a considering look. She quickly dismissed the thought that he might be on to her and seized her chance. “Good, then! Elizabeth and me will meander around a while, just us two sisters. She can show me some of the countryside.”
***
They bundled up in their travel dusters, hats, and scarves, and lowered the Hupmobile’s top, all the better for sightseeing. Elizabeth had barely pulled the vehicle out of the garage shed and turned onto Willow Street when Alafair spilled the beans.
“Yesterday, when you and Shaw were off fetching the auto after we had dinner at Matt’s place, I had a word with Tony Arruda out in the alley. He told me that the family is holding Bernie’s funeral today out in Guadalupe.”
Elizabeth gave her a shocked glance, but when she spoke her voice was bubbling with laughter. “Why, Alafair, you are full of surprises! Can you be suggesting that we make a call upon the bereaved and incidentally see if we can glean any information that could help solve the mystery of Bernie’s murder?”
Elizabeth had encompassed her entire less-than-savory purpose in the blink of an eye. Alafair’s discomfort at having her unbecoming curiosity unmasked made her contrary. “Why, Elizabeth, how could you be so flip about it? A man has died and his family is in pain. I feel bad since I was the one found him, and I want to express my condolence. That is all.”
Elizabeth’s conscience was not quite so tender, but she governed her expression of delight for Alafair’s sake. “You’re right, sister. I apologize for my callousness. I wish we had thought to bring something for the family, though. I hate to show up empty-handed.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Alafair retrieved her carpetbag off the floorboard and drew out a square wicker basket containing Cindy Stewart’s little white cake from the open house, so pretty that the guests had been loath to cut it.
“How thoughtful of you,” Elizabeth said drily.
Guadalupe
The village of Guadalupe was less than six miles from downtown Tempe, but Elizabeth had never been there and was only reasonably sure of their route. She took the Hupmobile south down Mill Avenue out of town and across two tree-lined canals that cut through fields of newly planted cotton, all the way to its end at a wide dirt road called Baseline that stretched straight as a plumb line east and west. She turned west on the Baseline road and drove for about a mile out into the desert, past bean fields, a cow or two, and some fence, toward a long, treeless mountain that Elizabeth called South Mountain, since it was south of Phoenix.
Alafair was beginning to feel uncomfortable and glanced at Elizabeth, who was staring grimly down the road in front of her as she drove.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Alafair asked.
Elizabeth’s tone was untroubled. “It’s around here somewhere. Look, there’s a road!”
“More like a footpath,” Alafair said.
Elizabeth downshifted and they rolled over the ruts slowly enough to be able to read the handmade sign stuck on a pole at the intersection. The paint had faded from black to a rusty brown, but they could make out the word “basline” over the horizontal east-west arrow, and “ave de yaqui” beside the vertical north-south arrow. “This must be it.” Elizabeth sounded confident as she turned south toward the unknown, the long, bare South Mountain looming over them on their right.
They could see the settlement for ten minutes before they arrived, set as it was on a slight rise and shaded all around by palms and lacy desert mesquites. Guadalupe was a scrappy-looking place, but well-kept and homey. It even looked familiar, Alafair thought, since it was set up like a Cherokee village, with small thatched houses arranged in a rectangle around a large, open, packed-earth plaza. Only here the thatch was made of palm fronds instead of branches and cornstalks, and the walls were adobe brick instead of wattle-and-daub. The yards sported fences and shady ramadas fashioned from the tall ribs of ocotillo cactus. The air was perfumed with the aroma of parched corn, beans, and roasting meat. And unlike a Cherokee village, sitting side by side in the center the huge plaza were two beautiful mission-style church buildings instead of a council house. Both were painted dazzlingly white, and both sported three flower-draped crosses on the roof, one on each of the two bell towers that rose at either front corner, and one over the large central doorway.
The plaza was empty except for a pack of small brown boys playing ball. Elizabeth came to a stop in front of the larger of the churches, and the children quit their game and stood gaping at them as though they were some species of alien life.
Alafair and Elizabeth, feeling quite as alien as the boys suspected, gaped back.
“Do you suppose it would be all right if we went inside the church?” Alafair ventured at length.
She was speaking to Elizabeth, but the boys instantly took to their heels and disappeared around the church building toward a tiny house barely visible in the back.
Elizabeth swung one leg out of the car, but sat with her foot suspended over the ground. “I’m almost afraid to get out,” she admitted. “I feel like an intruder.”
A small black mongrel dog hoisted itself up from its resting place under one of the lacy trees and trotted up to sniff amiably at Elizabeth’s boot. She drew her foot back into the vehicle, so the dog peed on one of the tires and returned to his roost.
The mob of chattering children reappeared from behind the church leading a man of close to Alafair’s own age dressed in a long brown robe that was belted by a piece of rope with a long string of wooden beads suspended from it. The man was tall and thin and brown as a nut, but the eyes that ga
zed calmly at the two women were a clear light grey. He was clad in an outfit that Alafair could not explain at all, but his kind eyes instilled trust.
“Can I help you ladies?” He had a slight accent, but it did not sound to Alafair like Spanish. “I’m Father Lucius, the priest here.”
Both women dismounted and shook his proffered hand. Elizabeth took it upon herself to speak first. “I’m Elizabeth Kemp from Tempe, and this is my sister, Alafair Tucker. We heard that Bernie Arruda’s funeral was to be today. We were acquainted with him.”
“Yes, it was. I’m sorry but you have missed it. The funeral Mass was at dawn this morning and Bernie has already been laid decently in his grave. How did you know Bernie?”
“For the past few years he has done odd jobs for my family. I liked him. And I am sorry to say that his body was found in the canal directly in front of my house.”
Father Lucius looked startled at this pronouncement, so Alafair stepped in. “We wanted to express our condolences.”
The priest turned his arresting gaze to her face and apparently liked what he saw, for he smiled. “Would you ladies like to speak to his family? They are all gathered at his mother’s home after the funeral.”
“We would hate to intrude,” Elizabeth’s lips said, though her eager expression said, “more than anything.”
“I would be very glad to escort you. His mother’s house is just a little way from the playa here. I am sure the family will be comforted to know that you held Bernie in enough regard to make the long trip all the way out here from Tempe.”
“I do not wish to put you out, sir,” Alafair said, and meant it.
“Not at all!” Father Lucius spread his arms and began herding the women and his flock of urchins toward the south side of the square. “Besides, you will be in need of a translator, since Señora Arruda is a Yaqui and speaks neither English or Spanish.”
Alafair was glad he offered to come, though she knew from experience that at least one of Señora Arruda’s surviving sons spoke English very well.
The Arrudas
Mrs. Arruda’s house was more than just a little way from the playa. They set off on foot in the general direction of South Mountain, following a well-worn footpath that led between the houses lining the square, past a few truck gardens and a smattering of small adobe homesteads. Many families were outside on this pretty afternoon, adults sitting in kitchen chairs under the trees and children dashing hither and yon with dogs at their heels.
Their party gathered more than its share of stares, though none were unfriendly, due mostly, Alafair expected, to the presence of Father Lucius. He had a wave and a word for everyone he saw, and was always rewarded with smiles and a jovial word in return. He had not bothered to dismiss their accompanying hoard of juvenile ball players, who were still trotting along behind, beside, and before them, occasionally breaking off one member to dash into a yard in passing and chatter out an explanation to the curious family as to why the good father had a couple of strange white women in tow. These outliers more often than not returned with one or two barefoot additions to the parade, so that when they finally arrived at the forlorn group of adobe huts hunched together behind an ocotillo fence crowning the top of a small bare hill, Alafair figured that like the Pied Piper they had gathered up half the under-ten population of the town.
At a sharp word from Father Lucius the mob of ragamuffins halted at the front gate, which the priest opened before standing aside to allow his charges to pass through in front of him. The yard was already full of its own children, all of whom halted in mid-game, frozen by curiosity, as the visitors walked up the path. A large group of men of all ages, all dressed in their Sunday best, were gathered around the front door of the house, some standing, some sitting on benches and chairs. All rose when the priest approached.
Father Lucius explained his mission to the elders in a language the like of which Alafair had never heard. But even though she did not understand a word, she recognized it as an Indian tongue by its nasal tone and guttural accents. The elder nodded and the sea of men parted to make way for their visitors to go into the house.
She cast her eye quickly around the room. The lime-washed walls were covered with hand-loomed blankets, woven palm frond crosses, and sepia-tinted family photographs. A beehive fireplace had been built into one corner of the room, and a tall wooden cabinet, painted green with cheerful hand-painted decoration on the doors stood in another. Atop the cabinet sat a strange white cloth dome topped by the horned head of a small deer, its white-rimmed, black glass eyes gazing into the distance, preoccupied with the afterlife.
The scene in the tiny parlor was familiar to anyone who had attended as many funerals as Alafair had. Several women sat together in the corner, grouped around a worn armchair that practically swallowed up the tiny woman perched therein. They did not have to be told that this was the dead man’s mother, surrounded by her daughters. The two or three young men who stood sentinel behind the armchair would be her sons, one of whom was gaping at them with even more astonishment than his brothers.
Alafair acknowledged Tony Arruda with a nod before Father Lucius drew her and Elizabeth forward and introduced them to the matriarch of the Arruda clan. She was incredibly small and brown, with sharp black eyes embedded in a mass of wrinkles. Even so, she was not so old as all that, Alafair reckoned. Not much older than herself. She did not appear to have been weeping. Resigned, more like. Alafair had seen that stoic expression on the faces of most of the country women she knew after they had endured a lifetime of what came with surviving on the frontier. For a moment Alafair forgot everything but her feeling for a woman who had just lost her son. Elizabeth blinked in surprise as Alafair handed her the carpetbag she was carrying, dropped to one knee and took the little woman’s hand in her own.
“I will pray for your son,” Alafair said, unconcerned that the lady could not understand her words, “and pray for your heart’s ease.”
Father Lucius translated and Mrs. Arruda’s lips barely curved. No matter that they did not have the same language, she recognized a fellow traveller on this path of bereavement. Elizabeth offered her own sympathy, and the two women stood quietly as Father Lucius took a moment to explain their presence to the assembled group.
Mrs. Arruda spoke, but before the priest could translate, a young girl, twelve or thirteen years old, appeared from behind one of the men to stand beside the armchair. “My grandmother thanks you for coming.” The girl’s English was barely accented. Her wealth of blue-black hair hung over her shoulders in two plaits as thick as her wrists, and her eyes, so black that her irises and pupils were undifferentiated, seemed to take up half her face. She was clad in an understated gray dress with a white ruffled yoke and small white flowers embroidered around the neck. She gazed at the visitors, straightforward and innocently curious.
“This is Natividad Arruda.” The priest’s voice was warm as he made the introduction. “Bernie’s daughter.”
Alafair felt her eyebrows lift. Bernie’s daughter was older than she would have expected. She had not pegged Bernie as being much over thirty.
“Grandmother would like to offer you some refreshment.” The girl delivered the invitation solemnly.
Alafair and Elizabeth exchanged a lingering look. What were they doing here? What had they expected would happen? Did they really think they were going to be able to walk into a man’s funeral gathering and casually question the grieving family about their loved-one’s murder? Even if they had had the gall to try, many of the Arrudas could not even speak English, and the ones who could, like Tony, were gazing at them with expressions half-way between thunderstruck and affronted at the intrusion. All but Natividad, who was waiting for their answer as though she really hoped they would stay.
The sisters arrived at a silent agreement and Alafair addressed Mrs. Arruda directly. “Ma’am, I think we have imposed on you enough this sad day.” She retrieved her carpetbag from Elizabeth and drew the cake out of its little basket. One of
Mrs. Arruda’s daughters stood and took it from her with a nod.
“We came only because we are very sorry about what happened,” Elizabeth said, and as Father Lucius translated, the two women stepped back in anticipation of leaving.
“Would you like to see where Papa is buried?” Natividad asked.
One of her uncles—Jorge, Alafair thought—said something in a sharp tone, but Mrs. Arruda held up a hand and the murmuring stopped as she spoke two quiet words. Natividad smiled and took Alafair’s hand in one of hers and Elizabeth’s in the other.
A Nice Place to Rest
Many volunteers offered to come with them, but in the end Natividad had her way and led her unlikely callers to the graveyard on her own. The land rose gently but steadily as they walked away from the village and toward the mountain. The little family cemetery sat on the side of a small hill, encircled by a rough fence and shaded by half-a-dozen green-barked palo verde trees that were just beginning to show tiny, piercing yellow flowers at the ends of their branches.
Natividad led them to a flower-covered mound. “Oh, it has been filled up!” she said, matter-of-fact. “When we left this morning, the grave was still open. Papa was in such a nice coffin…look, here is the wreath I made for him!”
Elizabeth caught her bottom lip between her teeth and blinked at her unbidden tears as the girl talked, unsure of how to react.
Alafair was not so reticent. “Thank you for letting us see where your papa is. This is a very nice place to rest.”
Natividad smiled. “Papa will like it here.” She turned around and pointed into the distance. The land fell away into a long vista, over the rooftops of Guadalupe and the distant green expanse of trees that covered Tempe. “Papa and me used to come up here sometimes at night. You can see all the way to the lights twinkling in Phoenix when the weather is clear. I like to pretend that it is the light of heaven, and someday I will be able to go there.”
“I’m sure you will.”