A Dime a Dozen

by Mindy Starns Clark

  He barely acknowledged me with a nod before turning to stare out of the window again. I wondered what was going on with them, if she had been able to make plans for the children to go to Texas and stay with her sister, but I didn’t know if I should ask in front of the boy.

  “Pepe and Adriana are going to take a trip,” Luisa said, as though reading my mind. “They’re going to visit their cousins back home.”

  “Really?” I said, giving her a significant glance. “When are they leaving?”

  “My brother just finished up a job in Tennessee,” Luisa said. “He’s coming by to get them any day now, and then they will drive down together.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” I said, hoping the man would come soon and that they would be safe until then. The boy didn’t even acknowledge my comments with a glance, so I spoke directly to him. “Hey, Pepe, maybe you could help me out here. All you have to do is go down the line, take one of each, and put them in an envelope.”

  Without speaking, he slowly rose from his chair and shuffled over to the table, sighing as if it all required a Herculean effort on his part. Looking embarrassed at her son’s impertinence, Luisa excused herself for a moment and left the room.

  “It gets kind of tedious,” I said chattily as we worked, though he didn’t reply. I tried to think of some common ground we could find, some point of conversation. Racking my brain, I pictured the only other kid near his age I interacted with on a regular basis, a young friend I had made during an investigation last fall named Carlos. Carlos was now 13, and most of our e-mails revolved around elaborate discussions of video games.

  “I can’t do this for long,” Pepe said finally as he inched his way down the row. “I’m supposed to meet my math tutor online at five o’clock.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” I said, “going to school online.”

  “Yeah, it’s all right,” he replied.

  “So do you ever go online and pretend you’re doing schoolwork,” I asked, thinking of Carlos, “but really you’re playing Time Warrior Challenge?”

  He looked at me suspiciously.

  “No,” he said.

  “Dragon Search Five is good too,” I said.

  He shrugged and said, “Nah, Time Warrior Challenge is the best. If you can get to the third level, there’s a secret passageway that gets you around the Door of No Entry.”

  “I have a shortcut for that,” I said. “Shift F8 gives you the Golden Key without having to go down the passageway at all.”

  “No way!” he said loudly.

  “Yes, way,” I said. “But it doesn’t work unless you already have the Silver Sword.”

  “I always have the sword by then. I pick it up on level two, when I go around the herdmaster.”

  Pepe grew more animated as we talked, and I silently thanked the Lord for sending one teenage boy into my life to help me get through to another. We continued to talk as we worked, throwing around terms like “health points” and “transport packs” and “food replenishment.”

  “So how do you know about all this stuff?” he asked finally. “You’re kinda old to be playing video games.”

  “Not really,” I said, laughing. “I play online with a friend, and we’re always looking up the cheats and shortcuts.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you and your buddies trade tips like that?”

  He slid a stack of animal cutouts into an envelope, his shoulders suddenly sloping downward.

  “Not really. My buddies don’t have computers, so they wouldn’t really know what I was talking about.”

  “Who doesn’t have a computer in this day and age?” I asked. I regretted my words the instant they were out of my mouth. His buddies were migrant children, many of them with needs far more significant than mere technology. Ignoring my own question, I added, “Guess you’re lucky to go to school here, then.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay. Although I’d rather go home to Texas and go back to school there. I miss my friends.”

  My heart ached for the boy as I thought of his missing father and these three lives in limbo.

  “Anyway, Mrs. Weatherby lets me earn video game time. Like, if I get an A on my spelling test, then I get a full hour of Time Warrior Challenge. Wish I could play more, though.”

  “I have a computer up at my cabin,” I said, describing where my home was located. “Your mom is welcome to bring you up there to play anytime—until you go to Texas, I mean.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “That would be awesome.”

  “Or, if you go into the game here, let me know and maybe I can go on myself and meet you online. That’s what I do with my friend Carlos. In fact, maybe I could give him your e-mail address and the two of you can do tournament play, even with you here and him in Pennsylvania.”

  “Cool.”

  Pepe was animatedly recounting his highest-scoring game when Karen and Luisa came back into the room. They both seemed a bit surprised by Pepe’s demeanor, and I realized he probably played the sullen teen most of the time these days.

  “Next time,” I told him, ignoring their surprised faces, “try holding the F9 key when you reach level twelve.”

  “You’ve been to level twelve?” he yelled. “No way!”

  “Pepe!” Luisa reprimanded, thinking the boy was being rude.

  “Way,” I said, hoping his enthusiasm wouldn’t dim. “If you do that, you get to go into the fourth dimension.”

  “Oh, man,” he cried, “do you know any other good tricks?”

  “Hmm. Not off the top of my head.”

  “Then I gotta go study my spelling!”

  “Good idea.”

  “Do you mind?” he asked me, gesturing toward the piles that still remained on the table in front of us.

  “Not at all,” I said. “Go ahead. Learn those spelling words. Just don’t be late for your math tutor!”

  He ran out of the room and his mother and teacher stared at me, their mouths open.

  “Video games,” I said, grinning widely. “The universal language.”

  Eighteen

  As the two children settled into their studies, Luisa went about cleaning the building. I realized that she and Karen must have some sort of special arrangement, like housekeeping services in exchange for some extra education time for the kids. Karen had excused herself to handle a computer problem, so I finished up the last of the packets for her and then went in search of her to tell her I needed to run. My tour of the orchard was scheduled to start in 20 minutes.

  “Callie,” Karen said as I walked into the computer room, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to abandon you back there. We have a printer jam.”

  “That’s fine,” I replied. “But I need to get going.”

  “Are you sure you can’t stick around and observe the kids at work?”

  I glanced at my watch.

  “Well, maybe for just a few minutes. I’m supposed to tour the orchard at five.”

  “Good. You can just watch them, ask them questions, or whatever,” Karen said, gesturing toward the two children, who were sitting, absorbed, in front of computers.

  As Karen turned her attention back to the malfunctioning printer, I walked over to Adriana, who was playing a game that looked kind of like Pac-Man. Upon closer inspection, however, I saw that the munching creature was eating a series of numbers. The top of the screen said “Multiples of Ten” and Adriana was clicking on each number that didn’t end in a zero. When she clicked, the little monster came over and gobbled up the number.

  “What happens if you click on the twenty?” I asked.

  “I won’t—that’s a multiple of ten,” she said, absorbed in her game.

  “Right. But what if you get it wrong?”

  “Then it makes me start all over again.”

  “What if you get them all right?”

  “Watch,” she said. One by one, she clicked on the numbers that weren’t multiples of ten: 18, 7, 42. When she clicked
on the last number, the little creature ran over, ate it up, and then exploded into a screen full of fireworks while a triumphant tune played in the background.

  “That’s great!” I said. “Do you always get it right?”

  “No, ten’s the easiest,” she said. “And five, I guess, and two. But some are really hard. Seven and eight are tough.”

  She babbled on about the game as a new screen came up, this time headed “Multiples of Three.” She started playing again, and I crossed over to Pepe to watch him work. He seemed to sense my presence, because he turned to look at me, pulling the headphones from his ears.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “What are you working on?”

  “Right now, history,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I had to put away my spelling to write a report on Egyptian pharaohs. Like that has anything to do with me and my life at all.”

  The screen in front of him featured a website with photos of sphinxes and tombs. Next to the keyboard, I could see that he had scribbled a page of notes about the subject.

  He asked Karen a question about the history unit, and as I listened I began to understand her function. Though she wasn’t their teacher, she was in charge of their course of study, and it seemed as though it was up to her to give tests, grade papers, and clarify instructions.

  “I know you need to go, Callie,” Karen said to me, brushing off her hands as she closed the lid to the printer. “I’ll walk you out.”

  I told the children goodbye and walked with Karen back to the entranceway.

  “Hey, Mrs. Webber!” Pepe called. “I’ll talk to my mom about coming over, okay?”

  “Okay,” I called back. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  At the door Karen spoke softly.

  “This is the most animated I’ve seen Pepe in a long time,” she said. “You seem to have a real way about you.”

  I thought of her own personality and how her natural reticence became a calm sort of centeredness that was attractive to Adriana. Different traits drew out different children, I supposed, and a woman like Karen offered a gentle spirit I knew most kids would find appealing.

  “Thanks,” I said. “So do you.”

  We shook hands, and I was struck with the thought that if I lived here, she and I would probably become friends.

  “You enjoy your tour of the orchard,” she said. “Danny’s new there, but he’s really catching on. You’ll find it all very interesting, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, I know I will,” I replied. “Thanks for suggesting it.”

  I thought about Karen and Danny, wondering again if they were a couple. They had seemed friendly enough at the Webbers’ party.

  “Hey,” I said, “would you like to come on the tour with me, by any chance?”

  To my surprise Karen’s demeanor immediately changed. She stiffened, and her face flushed bright red.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said, taking a step back. “Danny can show you around by himself. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said, wondering about her odd reaction. “Well, thanks again for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “It was my pleasure.”

  As I stepped out and she shut the door behind me, I saw that her face had tightened into an expression I simply couldn’t read. I wondered what on earth that was all about, and if I had somehow said something wrong.

  I reviewed our final conversation in my mind as I walked toward the car. I finally decided her odd reaction must have something to do with either Danny or the orchard. Either way, I didn’t have time to worry about it now. I had more important things going on—not the least of which was a visit to Tinsdale Orchards, the place where Enrique Morales had last been seen alive.

  Nineteen

  I turned into the orchard at 5:05 p.m. Hoping Danny wasn’t a stickler for punctuality, I slowed significantly as I drove up the long and winding driveway, past the big house, and up the hill to the group of buildings that was there. Once I reached the parking lot, I saw that this wasn’t some small-time apple farm. This was big business.

  “I thought I heard a car out here,” Danny said, coming around the corner with a smile. “I’ve been listening for you.”

  We shook hands as I apologized for being a few minutes late.

  “No problem,” he said. “Usually, the orchard is deserted by this time of day, but tonight a lot of the workers are on overtime. They’re trying to pack up the last of the apples to make room for the ones that’ll be coming out of storage in the morning.”

  “Do you have time to do this now? I could always come back later in the week.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” he said. “Really, I’m just hanging out to help monitor the room as it equalizes. We got a new fan in there, and we’re not sure how it’s going to affect the timing.”

  “Okay.”

  He gestured toward the side of the building.

  “Come on,” he said. We’ll use the cart.”

  He led me around the corner to a waiting golf cart, albeit one that had been modified for farm use. I made a joke about my backswing as I climbed into the passenger seat. He laughed, slipping behind the wheel and starting it up.

  “Before we begin the official tour,” I said. “I’d like to ask a favor.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I wonder if you’d mind taking me to the high block.”

  “The high block? Way up there? I can show you trees like those right here.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I want to go up there because that’s the place where Enrique Morales supposedly disappeared.”

  He studied me oddly for a moment.

  “You’re not one of those thrill-seeker types, are you?” he asked. “Like, a crime junkie?”

  “A crime junkie?”

  “Sure, every crime scene has them. You know, people who hang around and put flowers on the ground and cry for people they never met.”

  “No,” I said. “My request is purely logical. The Webbers are friends with Luisa, and they’ve asked me to look into her husband’s disappearance.”

  “Well, okay,” he said. “But it’s been a long time since it happened. I don’t think you’ll find anything.”

  He put the cart in gear and followed a paved path that ran uphill between rows of trees.

  “I’m not sure of all the details,” he said over the sound of the motor, “but it was my understanding that this guy skipped town. Didn’t he send his wife a ‘Dear John’ letter or something?”

  “Yes, but that letter is highly suspect,” I said. “It’s doubtful it actually came from him. They think foul play was involved.”

  Danny turned from the paved path onto a dirt one, and we bounced along potholes and ruts, still climbing upward. Eventually, we got to the highest tier of cleared land, and then Danny swung the cart around and pulled to a stop.

  “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said, “this is the high block.”

  We got out of the cart, and I watched as he pointed out the perimeters of this section of the orchard. In front of us, the boundary stretched to the end of the tier, just to where the ground dropped by about ten feet. To our left and behind us, the block was bordered by dense woods thick with kudzu, and to our right, it was lined by the road that went down the mountain. The little Su Casa building, which sat nestled against the side of the hill, was in the next tier down.

  “I didn’t realize that building was on Tinsdale property,” I said.

  “Oh, sure, orchards donate space all the time. The McKinney Orchards gave an even bigger piece of their land for one of the migrant dormitories.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Anyway, as you can see,” Danny said, “there’s not much to look at up here.”

  “Did you help with the search?” I asked, walking back toward the woods.

  “No, I didn’t move here until a month or two after it happened. But people still talk about it. It’s like this big mystery. ‘What happened to the migrant man?�
�� I say he took a powder on the wife and kids and is living the high life down on some beach in Mexico.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied sarcastically. “Those migrants sure live the high life there.”

  We reached the end of the property, and I stared up at the deep, dense woods.

  “I’m sure they searched up in here,” I said. “Though it couldn’t have been easy.”

  “They did two searches, didn’t they?” Danny asked. “The orchard workers first and then the next day the cops? Neither search turned up anything.”

  I wondered if it would be worth returning to this place alone, later, and digging around a bit in the brush. After all this time, there probably wouldn’t be any clues remaining, like torn clothing or bodily tissues. But I kept feeling there must be a well or a hole or some fissure in the earth that had simply swallowed Enrique up. For all we knew, his bones were mere yards away from us, hidden by soil or kudzu.

  “Well,” I said, turning around, “I guess you were right. There really isn’t much to see here. Except, of course, that gorgeous view.”

  We walked together back to the cart, looking at the mountains in the distance topped with cloudy cotton puffs.

  “So why did the Webbers ask you to look into this? Are you, like, a cop or something?”

  “No,” I said, hesitating. I never liked to play up my private investigator qualifications because they usually put people on their guard. “I’m not a cop, just a very detail-minded person. I came here to help out with some of their migrant programs, and they thought I might be able to come up with an angle no one had thought of before.”

  He was about to ask me another question when static burst from the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.

  “Danny, you there?” a voice crackled.

  Danny pulled the walkie-talkie loose, held it up to his mouth, and spoke.

  “This is Danny. Go ahead.”

  “The tractor broke down again. I need you to come and get me. I’m down by the house.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Danny clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt and gave me an apologetic smile.