Candy Kid (23 page)

“I’m awake. Hold on.” He came slowly out of bed to open the door.

“Why the barricade?” Adam’s shaggy brows lifted.

He couldn’t say why. “Maybe I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Sorry to be the one. But you have company.”

“Captain Harrod?”

“Yes. He was waiting in the patio. I just got here.”

“Keep him company,” Jose requested. “Tell the kid to fix some coffee for all of us.”

“Haven’t seen her.”

Of course he hadn’t. She’d hide out with Harrod around.

“Juana and her tribe are just arriving.”

“What time is it?”

“After nine.”

“Ask Rosie to fix the breakfast. She makes the best coffee. I won’t be long.”

He was fully awake after he sloshed cold water on his face. He’d had enough sleep, more than usual. Only the emotional weight of last night had kept him under. A cotton pullover, slacks, guaraches, and he was dressed. He joined Adam and Harrod in the patio.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Harrod apologized.

He said, “I should have been up. It’ll be a heavy day.”

“I figured it would. That’s why I came early.”

Nancita was bringing a tray. She was subdued, more by the strange man in the patio than by death in the Aragon house. Death was no stranger. She whispered, “Rosie say what else you want, Jose?”

There was orange juice and coffee. “More cups. You’ll join me?” he asked the others.

Nan was in a hurry to get away. She brought two more cups and scuttled.

Harrod said, “I’m seeing the Farrars at eleven.”

“Tim?”

“Yes.”

“I want to go with you.” Jose’s jaw set.

Adam pursed his mouth. “What good will it do, Jo?”

He was as stubborn as he’d been with Dan Moreno. “I want to.”

Harrod humored him, “Okay, okay. If you have time for it.”

“I have time for it.” The coffee wasn’t bitter, the others were drinking it. “Will Struyker be there?”

“He’s gone fishing.” Harrod was annoyed. With himself. “Sunday, I forgot. I called Los Alamos early but he’d gone earlier.”

Adam asked, “You mean Struyker at the Lab? What do you want with him?”

Jose had forgotten how little Adam knew. Adam had left Juarez too early, before things started. Better that he remain ignorant for the present, Adam’s temper was slow to rise but it was powerful. Some day when this was over and done with, Jose would tell him the whole story.

He said, “Beach was with him yesterday. He was the friend Tim Farrar wanted to visit on the Hill.”

Adam said laconically, “You’re putting yourself through a lot of grief, Jo.”

Only then did he flare. “I’m looking for it. I want to carry it with me as long as I live.” Because deliberately he had involved Beach. Factually, he stated, “Beach was with Struyker before he started home. He was with him at a cocktail party. He was in his room.”

Adam didn’t say anything more. He, too, humored.

“I’ll get you the perfume,” Jose nodded to Harrod. At any other time he’d have laughed at the expression that burst on Adam’s big face. Adam was baffled, knocked for a loop. It did sound peculiar without a background; Harrod, the border patrol bloodhound, getting up early for a bottle of perfume.

Harrod didn’t make a point of it but he was accompanying Jose. Adam’s curiosity brought him along.

Jose said, “I stached it in my mother’s room.”

“In the secret drawer, I bet,” Adam rumbled.

“Sure.” Jose had to smile.

Adam explained to Harrod, “Jose’s mother is so tickled with that secret drawer of hers, she shows it to everyone.”

“Uh-uh,” Jose denied. “Only to friends. And not all of them—only to friends she can trust. Unless you know the way to open it,” he told Harrod, “it is secret.” He was talking up, in case the
sorbita
was in the corridor; she could hide herself before they entered the wing. No one was in sight when they appeared.

He opened the door into his mother’s room.

“That’s a fine credenza,” Harrod said. He was close behind Jose.

“I guess it’s safe for you to know the secret. Nothing any safer than the police.” But like his mother, even when she displayed the drawer to the most trustworthy of friends, his fingers hid the secret. The panel moved and there was a sweet familiar smell before he opened the drawer. The smell was there; the drawer was empty.

He was the one who made the groan of disbelief. The others peered silently over his shoulder into the emptiness. “God—” He broke the curse, shoved the drawer at Harrod, and ran for his sister’s room. It was neat and clean and empty as the drawer.

Adam and Harrod had followed. They watched him as if he’d gone berserk.

“What gives?” Adam demanded.

Not even now could he give her away. She’d explain when she came out of hiding, when he got rid of Harrod. She’d explain if he had to chase her back across the border and beat it out of her. His face tightened and Adam repeated sharply, “What gives?”

She was just a kid. She could have been hiding in the shadows watching when he secreted the stuff. She didn’t know right from wrong, she’d never had a chance to find out. He said to Harrod, “I’ll get it for you.” It was a vow. “I’ll get it.”

Harrod had learned patience. He said, “All right. You get it.” He left the room first. At the front door he stopped. “Meet me at the hotel around eleven if you still want to talk to Tim.”

He’d be there. He and Adam returned in silence to the patio. The coffee was yet hot enough, standing in the sun in a silver pot. Jose poured for both of them.

“You think the kid you brought from the ranch has light fingers,” Adam remarked.

He didn’t say yes or no. Although it wouldn’t mean anything to Adam without the background, he said it. “She’s not from the ranch. She’s from Juarez. One of the Praxiteles girls.”

Adam’s face again exploded. “You mean old el Greco?”

“Yeah.”

“My God.” He slopped his coffee as he came to his feet. “My God, you turned one of those girls loose in your house! With something important—” He broke off. “I take it this perfume was important?”

“Yeah.”

Adam paced. He stopped at Jose’s chair. “Where is she?”

“How the hell do I know?” Jose flared back. It hurt. Not that it hadn’t occurred to him she’d steal the stuff but because he’d believed, last night he’d believed it, that she’d wanted the kindness he was offering. Or because he’d been fool enough to think she couldn’t find the hiding place. “Maybe she’s gone back to the boss.”

Adam subsided in the swing. “Praxiteles is a mean character. What are you mixed up with, Jo?”

He attempted a smile, his thanks for Adam’s concern. “It’s too long a story to go into now. I’m an innocent bystander.” The smile went away. Beach was the innocent one. He said, “Beach was murdered.”

It hit Adam between the eyes. “For God’s sake, Jo!” Maybe he was certain now that Jose was off his rocker. “Beach was in a car accident.”

“Beach was murdered,” he repeated. “I don’t know how it was worked—there are plenty of ways. Moreno doesn’t believe it. Perhaps Harrod does.” He’d had enough coffee. “Tim Farrar may know. Or this Struyker. Or Tim’s friend from Chapala. I’m going to find out.” He stood up. “Give me a lift to town? It won’t take me a minute to change.”

Adam said, “What about the perfume? And the girl?”

“I haven’t forgotten. One thing at a time.”

He changed to Sunday clothes and returned through the kitchen. Juana mourned,
“El pobrecito! El pobrecito,
Beechee. Oh, la madre, pobrecita….”

She would have gone through the whole family, poor one by poor one, but he cut her off. “You needn’t stay around. I don’t know when I’ll get back.” He smiled at the girls, touched Juana’s thin old shoulder. He didn’t want them in Francisca’s way if she decided to return.

Adam led to the truck. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Jose said fast. He wasn’t bringing anyone else into this. “Harrod might object.”

“The hell with Harrod.”

“Look, Adam, you want to help me, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Then go up to Aunt Cat’s. The clan will be there. Tell them I’ll be along as soon as I can. Explain how it is.”

“How is it?”

Jose hesitated. “The police—” At the quick angle of Adam’s head, he said, “Not this business. Just Danny Moreno and the accident. So much to be done. You can fix it.”

“I’ll take care of it while you’re at church. I want to hear what this Farrar has to say.”

Jose sighed. Maybe Harrod wouldn’t permit it. It was a foolish hope. No one unmade Adam’s mind. Harrod didn’t say a word when they found him in the hotel lounge. He merely rose to meet them and headed for the elevator. As if he thought Jose had brought Adam for support.

“Does he know we’re coming?” The palms of Jose’s hands had begun to sweat. Not because of Tim; because he had to wring her again. She wouldn’t let baby brother be tackled alone.

“I called early and suggested he be here.” Harrod rapped on the door, a sharp, demanding rap.

“Is Danny Moreno coming?”

“He’s busy.”

It was she who opened the door. She was surprised, not pleasantly, when she saw that Harrod wasn’t alone. She hadn’t slept much, there were purple swatches under her eyes. She was wearing the same checkered suit she’d worn that first morning in El Paso. She could be dressed for traveling.

She said, “Good morning, Captain Harrod,” and nothing more.

Tim was sprawled in the best chair, he didn’t bother to get to his feet. Rags stood in the farthest corner. The boys were dressed for tennis, it was a wonder they weren’t holding the rackets in their hands. They made it that clear how little time they intended to give to this intrusion.

No one offered hospitality. Dulcy had retreated to the windows, then quickly away from them to the other side of the room. Harrod stood firm. “Tim Farrar?”

Tim said insolently, “Captain Harrod, I presume.”

Adam made deliberate tracks across the rug and sank down on the couch. He said, “Have a chair, Captain. Sit down, Jo.” His voice was disgusted.

Harrod said, “Thanks.” He pulled up a chair to a position where he could observe all of the faces. Jose didn’t accept the invitation. He stood behind Harrod. He too wanted the faces.

Harrod continued, “I am here for Captain Moreno of the State Police, investigating the accident in which Beach Aragon was killed yesterday.”

Disinterest was the only response.

“What do you know about it?” he directed to Tim.

“Nothing at all,” Tim said idly.

“The car was in good condition when you drove up to Los Alamos?”

Tim fingered a yawn. “Really, I have no idea. I’m not a mechanic.”

Harrod’s lips thinned. He nodded to Rags. “What about it?”

Rags wasn’t insolent, nor was he glib. “We got there all right. No trouble.” He thought of something and added it, “It wasn’t raining then.” He thought of something else and added it quick, “He drove pretty fast.” He’d been coached; he was pleased with his performance.

Jose couldn’t hold his tongue. “The car was in perfect condition. I keep it that way.” Beach drove fast but he was a good driver. He wouldn’t take chances on a slick hill in a rainstorm.

Harrod took over again. “All right, you got there. No trouble. Then what did you do?” His eyes fixed on Tim.

“Beg pardon?” Tim was bored.

Dulcinda said coaxingly, “Captain Harrod wants to know what you did up there?”

“How ridiculous,” Tim sneered at her.

“That’s what I mean,” Harrod said sharply.

Tim stroked his decadent beard. “Nothing interesting, I assure you, my dear Captain. We sight-saw. All the dull routine, and we dutifully murmured, ‘How interesting.’ The compleat tourists, weren’t we, Rags?”

Rags said nothing. His knuckles were at his mouth.

“Decidedly dull,” Tim repeated, “although it’s considered quite a historical monument, you know. It’s where they created the atomic gadget.”

Harrod said briefly, “I know.” After a long moment he continued the questions. It was slow going but he got through lunch, the meeting with various Los Alamosans, the impending storm, and the drive to Struyker’s house.

“He simply insisted we stay over for someone’s cocktail party. Quite tedious people, I can’t remember who they were. Then the storm. It was electric and so were the drinks. Cheap liquor is so potent. It was then that Alvie—Alvie Struyker, our host—decided he’d take us to dinner. We didn’t have anything to say about it, actually! He wanted us to meet a perfect character, Adamsson was the name—” He glinted a nasty smile.

Adam burst, “So you’re what he wanted to bring to dinner!” He explained to Harrod and to Jose, “This Struyker called and asked if he could bring some friends to dinner. I told him no.” He addressed Jose alone, “I was expecting you and Beach, you remember?”

“He invited Beach too,” Tim inserted loftily.

Harrod said to Adam, “You know Struyker?”

“I’ve met him a couple of times, someone brought him to my place for a drink. We’re informal in the Valley. He must have got the idea I kept open house.” He was burning with rage.

Jose knew the type, party parasites, Santa Fe was full of them as well as the Valley. They insinuated themselves into your house, bumming drinks, brazening friendship. But it might have been something else. Someone might have known that the Aragons were having dinner at Adam’s; someone might have planned to get rid of both of them. Two nosy Aragons.

Tim was bored. “Beach embraced the idea. He claimed to be a great friend of this Adamsson.”

“He was my friend,” Adam thundered.

The golden eyebrows lifted at him. “Your friend insisted he must drive back to town for my sister. For some reason or other, he wanted her to join us for dinner.”

Jose gritted, “Which one of you went with him?”

“My dear!” Tim exclaimed softly. “Did you think the rest of us were insane?”

Harrod quieted Jose with a glance. “You mean he went alone?”

“Quite.”

“Was he drunk?”

Jose’s hands tightened.

Tim sighed hopelessly at Ragsdale. Rags said, “Everybody was drinking plenty. It was a cocktail party.”

“And you’d had drinks at Struyker’s before you went to the party?”