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 takingseriously 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
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 takingseriously 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
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