by Steve Laracy
“Okay, I’d like to look around back later if you don’t mind, see if I can find anything.”
“Help yourself,” Hilda offered. “There’s nothing much back there but some garbage cans and the old water tank and heater that used to supply water to the diner.”
“It won’t disturb Frank if I go poking around out there?”
“Oh, no. He sleeps all day and then takes the night shift.”
“That’s quite an arrangement you two have.” I wanted to find out more about their relationship but didn’t want to appear to be prying. “How long have you owned the diner?”
“We’ve owned this thing forever. We bought it in New Jersey and ran the diner in Secaucus for many years. When Frank’s health deteriorated, and the neighborhood followed, we decided to move to a healthier climate.” It seems everybody came to Cordoba for the climate. “So we hitched up the diner and headed west, traveled Route 66 and ended up here, bought the house out back and settled in.
“In Secaucus, we used to run the diner together but were always fighting and getting under each other’s skin, so Frank got the idea while driving out here to open the diner up as a bar in the evening. I run the diner during the day, and he runs the bar at night. We each keep our own profits, and we only see each other in passing. We eat a quick dinner together between shifts, but I’m in bed by the time Frank closes the tavern, and he’s sleeping when I come down here in the morning. We seem to get along better with those arrangements.” Hilda winked.
Hilda asked about my life, and I told her about living in San Diego and enthralled her with the many baffling mysteries I had been involved with, including the case of the missing dog and the mysterious disappearance of the six of hearts from my deck of cards. By that time, I had finished my coffee and told Hilda I would have a look around.
I left the diner, turned left, and proceeded down the sidewalk to the end of the diner, looking for any signs of disturbance along the way. In the dry dirt of the desert, there was little chance of finding footprints. I wondered where Sam had located some. At the end of the diner, I took another left and walked along a gravel pathway that ran along the side of the diner. The gravel went all the way to the end of the street and may have been intended to be a primitive parking lot before Frank and Hilda realized there were few cars in Cordoba, and those were only used to go to faraway places like Bell City and Chiquita.
Again finding nothing, I made another left and headed around back. There I came across the water tank, which was about five feet high and about four feet across. The tank was covered in rust and had obviously not been used in several years. The pipes that connected the tank to the diner were lying in a pile next to the tank. There was a door near the bottom I assumed was used to add coal or wood to heat the water. The door was rusted shut.
The garbage cans were some distance down, next to the back door of the diner. They were battered and dented, and there was nothing remarkable about them.
I turned and directed my attention to the yard leading down to the house. There were several windows in the back of the house that looks out on the diner.
Below Frank’s house, I could see the Flagg sisters’ house on the other side of the street. It looked like they had a clear view of the diner from their upstairs windows. I thought I saw the glint from the telescope lens in the attic window.
At the top of the slope and close to the back door of the diner was a small vegetable patch that was evidently used to grow vegetables for the diner. There were a few tomatoes and cucumbers struggling to survive in the desert dirt, although the ground was well watered by a garden hose connected to a spout on the back of the diner. As I looked through the garden, I thought I noticed footprints around a smashed tomato. The prints looked like they had been there awhile and must have been the prints Sam was referring to. I had to agree with Sam that the prints were made by a man’s shoes.
I peered under the diner, which was raised about two feet off the ground by wooden blocks. There could have been something hidden in the dark areas, but I was in no mood to crawl underneath to find out. I completed my circuit, finding nothing else of interest, and entered the diner again. Hilda placed another cup of coffee before me without asking and said, “Find anything?”
“Not much,” I replied. “I noticed your little garden in the back. There were footprints in the middle.”
“Yes, Sam pointed them out. They don’t belong to Frank or me. The prints are too big, and we walk around the outside so as not to disturb the vegetables. The garden is small enough so we can reach just about anything from the edges.”
“When do you water it?”
“In the morning before work, but the water evaporates during the heat of the day, so Frank will give it more water when he leaves the tavern.”
“What time does he close up?”
“Whenever the last customer leaves, around nine-thirty or ten, though sometimes Lucky will stay late and fill Frank’s head with dreams of finding his gold mine. Frank seems to believe the stories. I even saw him driving out to the desert early in the morning last week. He threw a shovel and a sack in the pickup, drove off, and came back a couple hours later.”
Getting back to the garden, I said to Hilda, “If those footprints don’t belong to you or Frank, they may be the intruder’s. He would be unfamiliar with the back of the diner and may have stumbled into the garden while searching for something. But what? There’s nothing but garbage and the rusted tank out there, and they don’t seem to have been disturbed. I take it by the looks that the tank is no longer in use.”
“No, that hasn’t been used since we moved from New Jersey. When the diner was first built, the tank was used to provide hot water. Water was pumped in the top part, and coal was burned in the bottom to heat the water. This was replaced by a more sophisticated system. We thought of leaving the tank in New Jersey when we left, but the town of Secaucus threatened to charge us to remove it, so we threw it in the diner when we left and took it out when we got here.”
“Well, the other option, if he wasn’t interested in anything around the diner, is that he was trying to gain access to the inside of the diner or to the back of your house. Anything peculiar happened around there lately?”
“Not a thing. I don’t know why anyone would go snooping around our house. We live quiet lives and don’t have enough money or belongings to attract thieves.”
At that point, Ben walked in and Hilda wandered off to get him a cup of coffee.
Ben sat down next to me. As we began to talk, Phil Childers entered and sat next to Ben.
“Before I forget,” said Phil, “Sam asked me to tell you to stop at the store so she can update you on her investigations. Have you and the junior detective made any progress yet?”
“Not much,” I said. “I spent time looking around the back of the diner but didn’t see much.”
“Sam says you’re also onto the case of the purloined periodicals.”
“Yes, Doc is missing a few magazines from his collection.”
“Oh well, our little problems are not that important,” said Ben. “Why don’t you relax and enjoy the rest of your visit?”
“The snooper around the diner is probably nothing, but I’d like to help Doc if I can. I think I’ll run out and see Indian Charlie this afternoon. He was in Doc’s office the day the magazines went missing. You know, there used to be a pretty good racehorse named Indian Charlie.”
“I don’t think this is the same Indian Charlie,” said Ben with a straight face. “He’s fast but he’s not that fast.”
“Stepping on cactus all the time has slowed him down some,” added Phil.
I didn’t laugh since I wasn’t sure if they were joking.
Ben said, “You can take my car again. The ranch is about three miles out of town to the west.” He gave me directions to the ranch.
“How’s your car coming along?” Phil asked.
“Maybe I’ll take another trip into Bell City later to check on it. Not that I�
��m anxious to leave town,” I joked.
“No offense taken,” Ben said. “Visitors never seem to stay long in Cordoba for some reason.”
“That Mr. Costello has been here a week or two,” said Phil. “If you’re asking me, he’s behind any funny doings in town. Why would he hang around for so long?”
“For one thing, he likes Felicity’s cooking,” I said.
“That’s just what I’ve been telling you,” said Ben. “Stay around long enough and you’ll never want to leave.”
“I don’t think I’ve reached that point yet, but the town does sort of grow on you. I guess I’ll be off to see Sam and pay a visit to Indian Charlie.”
“Car’s parked in the same place. Keys are in the ignition,” Ben hollered as I left. “And watch your step when you get out to Indian Charlie’s. Oh, and don’t forget the fair this afternoon.”
I assured Ben I would be back in plenty of time and headed out.
> CHAPTER 12
INDIAN CHARLIE
I walked across to the general store and stopped to see Sam.
When she saw me, she said, “I checked out the magazines at the boardinghouse, but none of them matched the missing ones. I asked Aunt Felicity if Mr. Costello had been reading a lot, and she said he only reads a newspaper that was sitting on the table. It was called the Daily Racing Form, and it had a lot of strange names in it, and a few of the names were circled. I figure it was some sort of code, but I didn’t want to take the paper since it might look suspicious, and besides, it’s not mine.”
“That’s okay. It’s probably nothing. I’m heading out to Indian Charlie’s place to talk to him.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You can take the afternoon off.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll tail Mr. Costello again, or that creepy lightning rod salesman.”
“Okay, but don’t make a pest of yourself.”
I found Indian Charlie’s ranch without much trouble. The midday heat was uncomfortable, especially since the air-conditioning in Ben’s car didn’t work. I was forced to leave the windows open, and by the time I arrived at the farm, both the car and I were covered in dirt and dust. To be fair, the car was already in that condition when I took off, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
The farm consisted of a few acres covered by small cacti growing in rows. There was a small wood-frame house in the back I assumed was Indian Charlie’s residence and a good-sized toolshed. A little way down the rows, I saw Fred Dobbs hoeing a row, and a little further on, another man was bent over a cactus. I walked over to Dobbs.
“Hello, Kid, how’s it going?”
“Hello, Milo. Didn’t expect to see you out here. Sorry if I made a nuisance of myself last night.”
“Not at all. I enjoyed the company. Do you work out here much?”
“Whenever Indian Charlie needs me. I also work jobs around town. I keep up the grounds for Miss Felicity for my board. Sometimes I do work for Mrs. C that her man can’t handle, cleaning out wasp nests and things like that. Are you here to see Charlie?”
“Yes.”
“That’s him over there.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you on the way out.”
I walked over to Charlie, who stood up as I approached. He shook my hand when I introduced myself and said, “Do you want to buy a cactus?”
“I’m not in the market for any right now, but I’ll keep you in mind.”
He was well built and not tall and had the color and look of a Native American, with longish, straight black hair and black eyes. We walked along the rows as we talked, and every so often he would stop and stoop and inspect a cactus. He had a slight limp, which I guess was an occupational hazard. As we talked, I discovered he was well-spoken and intelligent.
“People come out here sometimes and expect to have a powwow with a tribal chief. They seem somehow disappointed when I mention my botanical degree from Stanford.”
“I’m impressed. How did you end up out here?”
“I lived on a reservation across the border in Nevada, then worked my way through college and had a job doing botanical research, but after a while I became tired of living with all the well-intentioned people, and some not so pleasant, who perpetuate the stereotypes of the Native American, so I came back here. I wanted to work with the land, but not much grows in these parts. Not even the cactus grows to full height, so I grow small ones for houseplants. Besides, the weather around here suits me.”
“For all the dry, hot, dusty weather I’ve endured since I’ve been here, it seems like half the population of Cordoba has come here for the climate.”
Indian Charlie laughed. “At least we know what to wear every day without looking out the window in the morning. But you didn’t come out here to discuss the weather. What can I do for you?”
I explained about the magazines that went missing the day of his visit to the Doc.
“Did you see anything unusual while you were there?” I asked.
“Is that a polite way of asking if I took them?” He smiled. “No, Doc’s magazines aren’t the type of reading I enjoy. I use the library at the boardinghouse. If Felicity should ask about the copy of Crime and Punishment I borrowed last month, tell her I’m almost finished and will return it by next week. I’m sure there’s a waiting list.
“But back to your question, I saw nothing unusual at Doc’s office. The only other patient present when I was there was Mrs. Cavendish. She arrived after I did, but the Doc saw her before he saw me. This was not a slight on me but more of an acknowledgment of Mrs. C’s status. She goes in before everyone in Cordoba. Leo gave me a slight smile of apology, but it was not necessary.
“I saw Mrs. C reading magazines, but I can’t imagine her taking them, except maybe by mistake.”
“Well, thanks anyway. It was nice to meet you, Charlie.”
“Maybe I’ll see you at the tavern sometime,” Charlie said. “I stay away from the fire water, but Frank keeps a decent merlot he orders for me.”
I said good-bye to the Kid on the way out and took a dusty ride back to town.
> CHAPTER 13
TRAGEDY AT THE FAIR
I drove to Bell City to find out there had been no progress on my car. It was midafternoon by the time I got back to Cordoba. I dropped Ben’s car off at the mayor’s office and stopped in to talk to Ben. He said he would be leaving for the fair in about an hour and would pick me up at the boardinghouse.
I returned to the boardinghouse and took a bath to wash off the dust from my trip to the farm. I would have preferred a shower, but the bath was relaxing and gave me time to think about the mysteries and complexities of the town of Cordoba. Although I couldn’t imagine living in this town for an extended period, I had to admit that in some ways, I was enjoying the relaxed pace of the place.
As I got out of the tub, the knob on the locked door turned.
“Be right out,” I shouted. “I’m just finishing up.”
“No rush,” said the voice on the other side of the door, which I recognized as Costello’s. “I can wait.”
I wrapped a towel around myself and opened the door.
“It’s all yours,” I said.
“Thanks. See you at supper.”
I dressed and went downstairs and found Felicity sitting in the parlor. She was wearing a bright sundress, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She started to explain that she was also waiting for a ride to the fair when the front door burst open and Sam ran in.
“Here we are, Aunt Felicity!” Sam shouted.
“My ride’s here,” Felicity rose from the chair and headed to the door. “See you there.”
“Do you need a ride, Milo?” Sam asked. “We can squeeze you in our car.”
“No thanks, Sam,” I replied. “Ben’s giving me a ride.”
I walked out to the porch with them and saw that the car was already full with Sam’s parents, brother, and a scruffy-looking dog. Sam and Felicity squeezed in and waved as they left. I sat in a
chair on the porch and waited for Ben.
About five minutes later Ben pulled up in front of the house. Phil was sitting in the passenger seat next to Ben. I headed for the car and took a seat in the back.
“Buckle up for fun,” Phil half turned around and said.
I had no response to that comment, so Ben jumped in.
“The Tri-County Fair is the big event of the summer. Everybody in the surrounding area shows up.”
“Yesterday, they had a miniature rodeo, only for the kids,” Phil said. “They had to lasso little pigs that were let loose on the football field.”
“That was a hoot,” said Ben. “Today, there’s a parachute jump.”
“Not a pig, I hope,” I said.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Ben continued. “No, Billy Webster from over in Bell City. But it still should be exciting.”
Ben turned on Third Avenue and headed east out of town, heading in the opposite direction on the same road I used to get to Indian Charlie’s. As we drove, Ben and Phil gave me the layout of the tri-county area. Cordoba is in Culver County and is the county seat by virtue of being the only town in the county. Bell City is in Bell County to the north of Cordoba, and to the east, where we were heading, is Chiquita County. Bell City, Chiquita, and Cordoba were the only towns of any size, if you call a population of seventy-three a size. There were several outlying areas where isolated populations lived and a few ghost towns in the desert.
Like the route to the cactus farm, the road quickly turned to dirt. Other than some small trees I couldn’t identify and some cactus a little larger than Indian Charlie’s, there wasn’t much scenery. As we got further out of town, the land became hilly and sloped, but the features were the same, sort of like a carpet of the same material where a few dogs had crawled underneath.
After about a half hour, we reached a crossroads where another dirt road intersected the road we were traveling at a right angle. A rusty street sign on the intersecting road identified it as County Line Road. Another sign pointing in the direction we were traveling read “Chiquita 5 miles.” We continued this road for another mile until we came to a large field on the left with a wooden fence in front. A little past it, I saw a stadium. To the right was a large parking lot, which wasn’t really a parking lot but was just more desert where everyone was haphazardly parking their cars.
