The Trap (12 page)

I wasn’t happy with his sense of humor. Indignantly, I said, “Someone may have washed that paperweight and buried it wet. It’s caked with dirt. But it could still have traces of blood on it.”

He raised one eyebrow as he said, “We’ll send it to the lab in San Antonio and see what they tell us. If
they
say it had blood on it, we can take it from there.

“Julie, you seem like a nice kid. I hate to mess up your dreams of single-handedly solvin’ a crime, but it’s not murders that’s takin’ place here. There’s somethin’ else. Everybody’s figured out that there’s been some pilferin’ goin’ on here at the ranch. Your uncle’s empty Dime Box bank turned up in a flea market in San Antonio, which is how I came to know that some of the things reported missin’ had been stolen.”

I was surprised. “Uncle Gabe reported it stolen?”

“That he did.”

“Who brought the Dime Box to the flea market?” I asked.

“Nobody knew. At least, that’s what they said. That’s usually the case when people don’t want to be involved. Course, to give them their due, at a crowded flea market sometimes it’s a quick transaction and nobody pays enough attention to be able to give a description later.”

He glanced back at the house as he said, “Mrs. Barrow’s also missin’ her husband’s gold cuff links and a diamond ring. Those are things that people could think got mislaid, not stolen, because nothin’ else was taken.”

“When did she miss them?” I asked.

“When? I dunno. She’s not sure herself. Her husband hasn’t worn cuff links for years. She just noticed they were missin’ while she was puttin’ up some of his things.”

“What about her diamond ring?”

“It’s a dinner ring she wore only once in a while. She doesn’t remember when the last time was.”

The deputy turned his glance on Louis as he said, “The way I see it is the thief thought he’d get a few bucks for the paperweight, but then the company logo on it scared him off. So he dropped it under the bush, dug a hole, and thought no one would ever find it. You agree, Luis?”

Luis’s face reddened. “Are you asking me if I took those things?” he demanded. He held out his arms. “Search me,” he said. “Go ahead. You’ll find I don’t have the cuff links or ring.”

“No call to get riled,” Foster said. “I’m just thinkin’ of possibilities. The thief has to be someone who has access to the houses around here.”

Indignant that the deputy was embarrassing Luis, I broke in. “How about delivery men or workmen who have jobs on the ranch?”

“That’s another possibility,” he answered. “Only problem is that Mrs. Barrow hasn’t hired any special outside help lately. Far as I know, neither have your aunt and uncle.”

Foster was being unfair to Luis. And he wasn’t taking
seriously my concern that the paperweight might be stained with blood. I snapped, “Maybe you aren’t asking the right questions of the right people.”

He gave me a steely look and said firmly, “Speakin’ of asking questions—the next time you come to the office, follow the rules. Myrtle got real ticked off the last time you were there and walked right in without askin’ her.”

“Your door was open.”

“Never mind whether my door is open or closed. You go through Myrtle.”

“Who’s Myrtle?” Luis asked.

“Secretary, office manager, you name it,” Foster said, and, surprisingly, he chuckled. “Myrtle claims she really runs our branch office. Maybe she does, with that computer of hers. She sure won’t let anyone go near it, not that anyone would want to. For all I know, she can boil eggs with it.”

He began laughing at his own humor and added, “Myrtle’s the smart one in her family—a whole lot smarter than any of them by a long shot. You met Damien.”

Startled, I asked, “Myrtle’s related to Damien?”

“He’s her nephew. She stepped in when he was takin’ the wrong path back in his teens and straightened him out. She’s like a mother tiger where Damien’s concerned.”

I thought about Myrtle at her computer. I remembered my visits to the deputy’s office. Myrtle had listened to my conversation with Foster on my first visit. And she’d obviously asked him what I’d said during my second visit. Maybe she was the mystery person who had sent me a warning by e-mail.

Jewelry had been stolen—maybe much more than had been reported. Two men had died. Uncle Gabe could have been killed. Why? Did any of these things connect with each other? My head hurt as I tried to fit all the pieces together.

As Foster climbed into his car and drove away, I decided the best thing I could do was stick close to Uncle Gabe, as Luis had advised me. I returned to the house.

Since Uncle Gabe was sleeping peacefully in his big recliner, I went looking for Glenda. I found her poking into the freezer.

“Oh, hi, Julie,” she said, boredom slowing her words to a drawl. “I can’t decide whether to bake some frozen lasagna again or steam a package of frozen low-fat chicken tamales. Which sounds better to you?”

I opened the door of the refrigerator and glanced inside. Although she usually cooked something from the freezer, her refrigerator was well stocked. “I can cook,” I said. “And I’ve got a couple of specialties. Why don’t you let me make dinner?”

Her eyes widened with surprise, and she smiled. “Really? You’ll make dinner?”

She looked as though I’d told her Santa Claus had just arrived, and I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t made the offer earlier. “I’ll make do with what I can find for tonight, and tomorrow I’ll drive into Kerrville and stock up on some of my favorite ingredients. Will that be okay?”

“That will be heaven,” Glenda said. “You just don’t know how tired I am of a lifetime of cooking.”

I pulled eggs, milk, and a package of grated cheddar from the refrigerator. “We’ll have dinner in a little over one hour,” I told her. “It takes time for a cheese soufflé to rise.”

“Cheese soufflé!” she murmured happily.

I half expected Glenda to pull up a chair and backseat-drive my journey through her kitchen, but she left me to my work, and I got busy.

By the time I called Glenda and Gabe to dinner, I had discovered the location of every kitchen appliance and tool, knew where to find the seasonings, and had made a thorough inspection of the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Glenda owned just about every cooking device ever invented and a nice assortment of cookbooks. Uncle Richard would be happy because there was no sign of ginseng or ginkgo biloba. Cooking here would be a snap.

The cheese soufflé was light and airy, and I served it with gingered carrots and a salad of romaine lettuce garnished with mandarin orange sections, toasted almonds, and a light vinaigrette dressing. Dessert was a medley of bite-sized pieces of apples, oranges, and pears.

Glenda savored every bite with a blissful expression on her face. Gabe ate quickly, then told me I was a good cook. “Almost as good as Glenda,” he said gallantly.

Glenda blushed with pleasure, but she said, “As good as I
used
to be.”

They settled into their chairs in front of the television set while I did the dishes. But I didn’t join them after I’d turned on the dishwasher. The program they were watching was a rerun of a situation comedy I had never thought was funny.

I made sure that the flimsy lock on the back door was locked. I pocketed the back-door key, the key to the front door, and the key to the observatory. Then I asked Gabe, “May I visit the observatory again?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anytime. You don’t have to ask permission.”

I didn’t worry about leaving Gabe and Glenda, because I’d have a full view of the front door, but I still locked it carefully behind me as I left. I ran to the stairs that led to the observatory.

The long summer day was swiftly slipping into darkness as I climbed the stairs and opened the door. I knew my way around the room by this time, so I didn’t turn on a light. I opened all the blinds, raising them to the tops of the windows, and stood back, staring in wonder at a sky filled with brilliant stars. With no city lights to dim the picture, the stars seemed to have drifted closer to earth, each one a magnificent burst of light.

I was about to adjust the telescope when a movement near the carport caught my attention. At first, I thought it might be one of the deer, come to graze, or one of the stray cattle, looking for more tender shoots on which to munch. But the movement came again, and my heart began to thud as I made out an unfamiliar outline. It wasn’t an animal. It was a person.

The windows gave me a good view in every direction. I saw no sign of a car or pickup truck. I guessed that the person had arrived by horseback or on foot.

Although my legs were shaking, I left the observatory, soundlessly locking the door, and crept down the stairs. Hoping I hadn’t been seen, I paused at the foot of the stairs. Then, slowly, carefully, in the meager light from a thin moon, I took a few steps toward the front of the house.

Suddenly, someone stepped directly into my path.

I WAS TOO FRIGHTENED TO SCREAM OR YELL. ALL THAT CAME
out was a gasping, gargling noise.

The figure came closer and gripped my shoulders. “What’s the matter with you, Julie?”

“Luis?” I whispered.

“Yes, Luis,” he said.

I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he said. I could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t have a telephone. I worked late, cleaned up, and ate with the men. Then I thought I’d come by and see if you were busy.”

“I didn’t hear your truck.”

“It’s parked down the road.”

“Why?” I demanded.

I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment. Why should I have been so quick to mistrust Luis? Before he
could answer, I tried to make up for what had sounded like an interrogation. “I’m sorry, Luis,” I said. “I guess I’m just jumpy.”

He smiled. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Not tonight,” I said quickly. “It’s … uh … getting late.” It wasn’t late. Why had I given such a dumb excuse?

Luis waited a moment before answering, then said, “Okay, then. Some other time.”

Unable to think of something sensible to say, I only nodded.

Luis turned and soon disappeared into the night. A twig snapped near the carport, and I ran like a shot to the front door of the house.

I let myself in, locked the door, and hurried to the kitchen, hanging the keys on their hooks. I sank into the nearest kitchen chair, propped my elbows on the table, and rested my head in my hands, trying to sort out the thoughts that zoomed and collided inside my head.

Luis had said he had come to see me, but he hadn’t driven up to the house. He hadn’t rung the doorbell. If I hadn’t been in the observatory, I wouldn’t have known he was there.

To make everything worse, I clearly remembered Deputy Foster telling Luis that instead of digging up the paperweight, he could have been burying it. I had been angry with Foster at the time, but what if he had guessed right?

I liked Luis, and liking him confused me. I had thought of him as a friend, and suspicions were uncomfortable. “Don’t trust anyone,” Robin had warned.

I don’t want to be suspicious of you, Luis, I said in my mind, but I can’t help it.

That night I didn’t get much sleep.

On Sunday morning I drove the three of us to church in Kerrville. As a big change from the casual clothes she wore at home on the ranch, Glenda had put on a smart navy-blue dress and again wore her beautiful pearls. Uncle Gabe was learning to handle his crutches pretty well, and I think he enjoyed being fussed over by some of his friends.

“Now, don’t you dare tell people that you think someone tried to trip you,” Glenda had warned him.

He had looked ready to argue, but before he could say a word, I’d interrupted. “That’s police business—information they may not want to make public.”

Gabe had pursed his lips and stared down his nose as he thought. “Yeah,” he’d said. “You may be right, Julie.”

“I tripped on the stairs” was all he told his friends. He didn’t say how or why.

As we drove toward the supermarket where I intended to pick up a few things I needed for the dinner menu, Glenda said, “There’s going to be a memorial service for Eugene tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock, since Ann will be driving to Houston on Tuesday. The funeral will be in Houston on Wednesday.”

Surprised, I asked, “Have the authorities released his body?”

Gabe, who was seated next to me in the front seat, turned toward me in amazement. “What do you mean, ‘released his body’? The funeral home in
Kerrville will transport Eugene’s body to Houston. It’s that simple.”

I just nodded. No matter what Gabe thought, it wasn’t simple. If there was any possibility that Mr. Barrow had been murdered, his body should be in the hands of a medical examiner. Robin had told me that. After we got home, I’d call Foster and ask him what was going on. Maybe he’d received the lab report. I was afraid, though, that no matter what the results were, he wouldn’t tell me. As far as he was concerned, I was just a kid playing detective.

Glenda stayed in the car with Gabe while I shopped for the ingredients I needed. When we arrived home, I prepared sandwiches for lunch, eager for Dad’s aunt and uncle to take their afternoon naps so I could call Foster.