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

by Donis Casey

  Natividad slid Alafair a speculative look. “Did you know my papa well?”

  It was Elizabeth who answered. “Not well, darling. He helped my family with things at our home many times over the past few years. He was a nice man, and we liked him. We felt very bad when he died.”

  Natividad’s gaze wandered back to middle space. “No one tells me anything,” she stated. “I know they want to protect me. They say it was an accident, but I know Papa was killed.”

  So this is why she wanted to talk to us on her own. She wants to find out if we know anything. Dangerous ground, though. Alafair figured it was not her place to gainsay the girl’s family. “Why do you think that?”

  Natividad’s expression did not change, but a dark shadow passed over her eyes. “I hear things. Everyone in town is talking about it. Besides, that marshal came to our house twice. The second time he asked my uncles all kinds of questions about Papa, and if he was working for Pancho Villa and the revolution. Why would he ask about that?”

  Alafair put a hand on Natividad’s shoulder. “We don’t know anything about that, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “Padre Lucius said you found Papa’s body that morning.”

  Alafair nodded. “That is one reason my sister and I feel bad and wanted to come by.”

  If the comment was meant to distract Natividad from this line of inquiry, she was not having it. “Was my father murdered?”

  This time Alafair hesitated before she answered. The girl’s determination touched her, and she was not inclined to lie to her. She did want to protect her feelings as best she could, however. “I don’t know what happened, darlin’, I really don’t. The marshal thinks it looks suspicious, though. That is why he’s asking so many questions.”

  Natividad considered this for a moment, and when she spoke again, she seemed to have made a decision. “I was only seven when we came here. I don’t remember very much about our home in Mexico. Soldiers took my mama and some of my aunts and cousins away when I was very small and made them slaves. They would have taken me, too, but they tell me that Mama hid me in the hay rack, and Papa found me after the soldiers were gone. He and my uncles and grandfather joined up with Villa, then, and my grandmother and others of my kin who were left hid in the mountains for a long time. All I remember about that is that I was frightened and hungry all the time. Finally Papa and two of my uncles came back from the war and we all walked many many days to cross the border. He said he was tired of fighting, that all the generals and presidents were bad men. Then Papa and my uncles made a society that has helped many people, Indians and Mexican both, to get out of Mexico, to get away from the war. They ask people to give them money and then use it to sneak into this country those who are persecuted or have lost their homes and families. Papa said the Anglos in Arizona were good because they gave us land for this town. That is all I know.”

  The three dark-eyed women stood over Bernie Arruda’s grave in silence for a long moment after Natividad finished her story.

  “That is a lot to know,” Alafair said at last.

  “If you come to know something as well, Señoras, is it possible I too may learn of it?”

  Alafair drew a breath to answer, but Elizabeth beat her to it. “I doubt if my sister and I will be able to learn anything that will help you. But if we do, I promise to tell you. You are a smart, brave girl, Natividad, and deserve the truth.”

  The Yaqui Railroad

  Elizabeth and Alafair said little to one another on the drive back to Tempe. They had turned off the Baseline Road and were heading up Mill Avenue when Alafair finally broke the troubled silence.

  “It’s no wonder Bernie wanted to be in that motion picture. He and his family lived the story. To all intents, he was Tambor the Yaqui.”

  Elizabeth was shaken. “I had no idea. I’ll tell you, sister, I think a heap better of Bernie than I did. I thought him no more than a flirt and a lightweight.”

  “I reckon that is just the kind of behavior that would keep you from suspecting he was a smuggler of human beings.”

  “A hero, more like.” Elizabeth’s tone was forceful. “I’m put in mind of the underground railroad—delivering folks from oppression, violence, and slavery.”

  “I told Shaw that I had a suspicion that it was Bernie who hid the money in the schoolhouse…”

  Elizabeth took her eyes off the road long enough to give Alafair an incredulous glance. “It makes sense!” she interrupted. “He and his compatriots would have to raise money to bring people north.”

  “It makes more sense now that we know what Bernie was doing. Earlier on I just figured it was odd that Bernie was the one who chose the schoolhouse location for the flicker and then ended up dead just before money rained down from the sky. Made my thumbs prick. Too many peculiar happenings one upon the heels of another are like to be connected no matter how unrelated they seem at first blush.”

  “Why would he hide the money so far away from where he lived, and in a place he knew was going to be destroyed eventually?”

  “Shaw asked me the same question. All I can figure is that he aimed to fetch it away before the explosion but never got the chance. Or it could be it wasn’t Bernie who put it there. Maybe it was one of the brothers or someone else connected to Bernie who knew about the abandoned building but didn’t know about the planned explosion.”

  “If that was money for the Yaqui railroad, like we suspicion, how do you think they came by it?”

  “It was all sorts of money, American and Mexican, mostly small bills and change. I reckon they raised it slowly, maybe donations from working folks who sympathized with their cause.” Alafair smiled. “We are making whole cloth out of a few scraps, here, Elizabeth.”

  That fact did not bother Elizabeth. “I know, but I like the look of it. I wish we could go back to Guadalupe and have a word with Tony.”

  “We’d be about as welcome as smallpox. You saw how he looked at us when we turned up so soon after his brother’s funeral. The Arruda brothers are not going to be inclined to confide in the likes of us.”

  Elizabeth drove and pondered for a few minutes before she said, “You told me that Tony lit out from the restaurant after we told Matt about the money.”

  The Hupmobile shuddered over a bump and Alafair clapped her hand over the crown of her hat. “I did.”

  “Well, then, I expect we both know someone else who knew about this Yaqui railroad. Are you up for a little detour?”

  The Cause

  Alafair was surprised when Elizabeth drove past Eighth Street and turned left on Fifth toward Matt Carrizal’s restaurant. “Won’t Matt be busy with customers, Elizabeth?”

  “It’s nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, Alafair. Too late for dinner and too early for supper. He’s more than likely working on the books or cleaning up for the supper crowd now, so he’s bound to be there. All the better for us to talk to him in private.”

  She parked the Hupmobile on the street directly in front of the restaurant and the two women got out. They could see through the front window that no one was seated in the dining room.

  “It looks empty.” Alafair sounded doubtful.

  “Come on.” Elizabeth walked down the alley with Alfair on her heels and knocked briskly at the back door through which Tony Arruda had made his earlier escape. “Matt,” she called, “open up! It’s Elizabeth Kemp and Alafair Tucker. We want to talk to you for a minute.”

  The door opened to reveal a perplexed Matt Carrizal staring at them from behind the screen. “Ladies,” he managed, not too surprised to be polite. “What on earth are you doing at the back door? May I show you to a table in front?”

  “We just come back from paying our respects to Bernie Arruda’s family in Guadalupe. Had a chat with Bernie’s daughter, and she told us about her daddy’s sideline as a rescuer of the oppressed. We were wondering if you and Bernie happened to maintain a few interests in common.”

  As Elizabeth spoke, Matt’s expression changed from puzzled to
guarded. He stood silent for an instant after she finished, considering. He pushed the screen open and stood aside. “Y’all better come in.”

  ***

  “Yes, I am involved with a network of good people who conspire to bring those displaced by the war out of Mexico and help them get settled in the United States.” Matt had led the women through the kitchen, past the dark-haired waitress they had seen the day before and a cook who was a stranger to them. The three of them were now arranged around a table in the middle of the empty dining room. The only illumination was coming through the big picture window, but it was a sunny day and weary sadness showed clear on his face as he spoke.

  “Me, the Arruda brothers, and a very few other people are involved in helping those who have lost everything to the revolution get out of Mexico and make a new start in this country. We have help in all three communities, Yaqui, Mexican, and Anglo, though we have tried to keep the project as small and quiet as possible. Our operation is secret—or was, until y’all figured it out. We don’t want anyone thinking we are raising money for Villa’s army or any other faction.”

  “We have no intention of telling anyone,” Elizabeth assured him, and he managed a grateful smile before he continued.

  “I am in charge of logistics. We have a message system through which I connect those who provide supplies, services, help for the newcomers to get settled. I coordinate bribes. There are always bribes. Bernie sometimes carried messages for me, but more importantly he was the banker, you could say, in charge of keeping safe the money that we raised, then meting it out as we needed. One other person always knew where Bernie stashed the bank. He was very careful to choose unlikely hiding places and to change them frequently.”

  “Was the other person his brother Tony?” Alafair asked.

  Matt hesitated, but it was too late to put that particular cat back in the bag. He shrugged and nodded. “Bernie must have moved the money just before he was killed, for when Tony went to look for it, it was not where it was supposed to be. We had no idea where Bernie had put it.”

  Elizabeth propped her chin on a hand. “Could it be that someone got the idea that Bernie had made away with the money?”

  Matt laughed. “No one who was acquainted with Bernie would credit that notion. He was passionate for the cause, Bernie was. If you talked to his family then you may have some idea what they suffered in Mexico, before the revolution and during. No, I am sure Bernie simply never got the chance to tell anyone where it was. It makes sense that he would hide it there, at least temporarily. He was the caretaker at the old Rural School until it closed.”

  “It doesn’t sound to me like y’all were doing anything illegal by collecting money to help refugees.” Alafair observed. “Are you going to make a claim to the marshal to have your money returned?”

  The very idea caused Matt to gape at her. “I think not, Miz Tucker! We are smuggling noncitizens into this country, which is hardly legal. Besides which, the law and the citizenry around here tend to get riled up if they suspect you’re raising money for revolutionaries and terrorists, and after the raid on Columbus, things have gotten even worse. We are like to get clapped into jail, if not strung up, before we can do any explaining.”

  He sighed and slumped back into his chair. “And it’s not like the Mexican government or the Villistas would have any sympathy for our endeavor, either. Villa was like a saviour to the Yaquis at first, and Bernie was a great loyalist to his cause. An officer in his army, in fact, and close to Villa personally. But he and all his kin had a belly full of Villa’s depredations in the end and deserted. And Villa is harsh on people he considers traitors.”

  “Dillon seems to have suspicions that Bernie was a Villista,” Elizabeth said. “But I guess he wasn’t after all.”

  “No, not any more. In fact I reckon that if Villa knew where any of the Arrudas were, especially Bernie, he would send assassins across the border to do them in.”

  “Maybe that’s just what happened.” Alafair speculated.

  Matt looked defeated. “That is what Tony suspects. He’s casting a doubtful eye on everyone of Mexican blood, looking for Villista spies everywhere. I just don’t know. It seems likely that the money is involved somehow. Elizabeth, do you know how much money they finally picked up after the explosion?”

  “Last I heard, it was close to two hundred dollars U.S. Do you know how much there was in the first place, Matt?”

  His answering smile was without humor. “More than that. Sounds like some of the folks the money fell on can afford to travel to the mountains this summer.”

  “How did you get mixed up in all this?” To Alafair, Matt Carrizal seemed far too open and straightforward to be involved in even such well-meaning intrigue.

  “One step at a time, Miz Tucker,” Matt told her. “When the Indians began to escape slavery and make their way into the Arizona Territory, there were a lot of people who wanted to help. My father was one of them. He was involved with helping Father Lucius acquire the land where the village of Guadalupe is now, so the Yaquis could have their own place to live together. I met the Arruda brothers through my father when I was only a youngster. Papa helped them find work and later they helped me start this restaurant. I have always sympathized with their plight and was more than happy to assist when they asked me.”

  “You said Tony has become suspicious of Mexican people. Do you think he suspects you of being a secret spy?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I don’t think so. I hope not. I am of Spanish descent, but I am an American and have lived in Arizona all my life. I have no sympathy for any warmonger. Tony knows that.”

  “You are the man in charge of communications between the Anglo and Mexican communities?”

  “I am, Elizabeth, because I speak Spanish and English, and have many connections in both worlds.”

  “So you know the names of the other people involved in your society?”

  The corner of Matt’s mouth quirked. He knew Elizabeth was about to pump him for more information than he was willing to give. “Yes, I have said so.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “I would not say if I thought you did.”

  Elizabeth put on an innocent expression. “I would never betray your confidence.”

  “I will not betray my friends, Elizabeth. My contacts are right to keep in the background. Anglos especially must be careful how they go about helping colored people. No matter how sympathetic they are, you never know what whites will do if you…” He stopped abruptly.

  He was looking at Alafair, but she did not think he was seeing her. Her first thought was that it had suddenly dawned on him that he was speaking to white women and he did not want to offend them. She started to reassure him that she and her sister were not as white as all that, but his expression forestalled her. Something had occurred to him that had nothing to do with them. She leaned forward. “What is it, Matt?”

  He snapped back into the present. “I just had an idea, Miz Tucker.” He stood up. “I am sorry, ladies, but if you will excuse me, there is something I must do.”

  The summary dismissal took them by surprise, and neither woman moved for a moment. “Does this have to do with Bernie’s murder?” Elizabeth managed at last.

  “Never mind, Elizabeth. I don’t want to say anything until I have investigated, but it is probably nothing.”

  He herded them out the front door so quickly that they did not have time to do more than sputter in confusion. They found themselves standing in the street, staring at one another.

  “What was that about?” Elizabeth asked.

  Alafair cocked her head. “Looks like he’s unwilling to share his idea with us until he gets a better handle on it. I reckon we have heard all we’re going to hear from Matt Carrizal today.”

  The Sombrero

  Blanche could not help but feel sorry for her cousin Chase. Neither of his parents seemed to pay much attention to him, even though he was an only child. Blanche thought this extremely odd, since she bel
onged to a virtual mob of siblings and her parents watched her every move like a couple of nosy hawks. She had always been especially irritated by her mother’s unflagging surveillance, but all in all, she supposed she would rather be paid too much attention than none at all.

  Even so, Blanche had to admit that most of the time Chase was quite an annoying little boy. Artie Carrizal had come to play after dinner and Blanche would have enjoyed being in his company a lot more if Chase did not keep getting in the way.

  Artie was great, though, and did not seem at all put out by Chase’s continual clamoring and interruptions. And Artie was not nearly as big a teaser as her brothers. He actually seemed to like being around her, talking about school and what they both liked to do. He would even play games with her without once tripping her, or pulling her hair, or pinching or punching when no one was looking. That fact alone was enough to make Blanche like him very much indeed. Not to mention his good looks.

  The middle of the afternoon found them playing baseball in Aunt Elizabeth’s back yard. Artie was pitching, Daddy was catching, and Blanche was at bat. Uncle Webster and Artie’s big sister Elena were sitting together in chairs under the ramada, drinking ice tea and cheering them on. Chase was the outfielder for this round, though Blanche had her doubts about how long that was going to last.

  Blanche had not been able to play baseball with the others on the night of the party, and if Mama had not been on a drive with Aunt Elizabeth, she was not sure she would have been allowed to play now. So she wanted to give a good account of herself while she had the opportunity.

  Artie stood sidelong on the mound, holding the ball at the small of his back as he eyed her along his shoulder. He gave her a long, speculative once-over and she smiled. She knew he was trying to break her concentration. She had too much experience with tricky siblings to fall for that. She adjusted her stance and glared back at him.

  Chase was dashing about the outfield, and behind her, her father was traitorously calling encouragement to the pitcher. Artie reared back, lifted a leg and let it fly. It was a rocket, but she had been watching his performance and was prepared. She stepped into it and connected, the crack of the bat reverberating like a gunshot. She headed for the rug fragment that served as first base amid whoops of approbation from Uncle Webster and Elena, from Daddy, and sweetest of all, from Artie himself.