The Trap by Joan Lowery Nixon

Since Uncle Gabe was one of the men who had fallen, I was more sure than ever that there would be another attempt on his life.
    Myrtle had told me to leave the investigation to Deputy Sheriff Foster. Luis had told me the same thing. At the moment, since I didn’t have a clue what to do next, I decided to pay the deputy another visit, tell him about the warning I’d just received, and convince him he had a duty to look into Eugene Barrow’s and Albert Crouch’s deaths so he could protect Uncle Gabe.
    After lunch, while both Glenda and Gabe were napping, I again drove to the deputy’s office. Foster’s door stood open so I smiled at Myrtle, walked into his office without even asking if I could, and firmly shut the door behind me so Myrtle couldn’t listen in.
    I perched on the chair opposite the deputy’s desk and told him about the warning I’d received through an instant message.
    He gave me a look of disgust and asked, “Which one of your little buddies was playin’ games this time? Robin again? Or are there a bunch of you in on this Nancy Drew thing?”
    “We’re not playing detective. Who is PDQ? I don’t know. I’m trying to protect my great-uncle.”
    “That’s
my
job,” the deputy answered. “But I seem to be havin’ to protect myself from
you.
” He stood up and motioned to me to leave. “I don’t want you runnin’ back and forth to my office anymore with foolish ideas. Be a good girl and stay with your aunt and uncle and help them like you’re supposed to.”
    As I walked out of his office, Myrtle not only gave me a hostile look but she made a beeline for the closed door—obviously to find out what I’d told him.
    I stopped on the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the clear air to help me think. I had to face the fact that I wasn’t going to get the deputy’s help. It was going to be up to me to find out whatever I could to protect Uncle Gabe.

AS I DROVE BACK TO THE RANCH, I TRIED TO PLAN WHAT I should do and decided the first thing was to get answers to my questions. That brought me back to Mrs. Barrow. She hadn’t had time to tell me what I wanted to know about Mr. Crouch. Also, by this time, she would have missed Mr. Barrow’s company paperweight—or maybe found out where she’d misplaced it. I needed to know.
    At the entrance to Rancho del Oro, I eased the car over the ridges in the cattle guard and began the climb across the stream and through the hills. When I reached the Barrow house, I parked in the driveway and walked toward the front door.
    As I approached the steps, a pair of familiar legs shot out in front of me. Giving a yelp, I leaped to one side, barely catching my balance.
    Luis rose up on his knees and stared at me. “I didn’t know you were there,” he said.
    “What are you doing under the bushes?” I asked.
    He put down the trowel he was holding. “Digging up weeds,” he said.
    He was gripping something in his left hand—something metal, something shining. “What is that?” I asked.
    Luis held it up. “It looks like a paperweight.”
    “Where was it?”
    He got to his feet and handed the paperweight to me. “I saw some freshly turned earth under the bushes next to the porch steps. I poked around with the trowel and hit something hard, so I dug it up.”
    Dried mud was caked on the paperweight, as though it had been wet when it was buried. I scraped off some of the dirt and saw Mr. Barrow’s company logo.
    Mrs. Barrow walked onto her porch and leaned over the railing. “I heard voices,” she said.
    I handed the paperweight to Mrs. Barrow and said, “Luis found this buried under the bushes.”
    She took it, turning it over in her hands. “How very strange,” she said. “What was it doing there?”
    “Mrs. Barrow,” I said bluntly. “Please don’t try to clean your paperweight. I think the deputy sheriff will want to see it.”
    “The deputy sheriff?” Luis echoed.
    “Why?” Mrs. Barrow asked. She must have answered her own question, because