The Mystery in Arizona

living room, and at first glance it seemed to Trixie to be so cluttered with both large and small tables that it would be impossible for anyone to move around, let alone act in the capacity of a waiter. But Rosita met them when they trooped in from the patio.
    “The paths between the tables look impossible until you get used to them,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Actually, there is plenty of room. Now, in this old walnut chest is the linen. The flat silver is in these drawers above. If you three will be so good as to set the tables, I shall return to the kitchen to help Maria and the boys.”
    She scanned all of their faces for a fleeting second and then said to Honey, “I think it would be best if you were the one who is always responsible for seeing to it that there is a glass of cold water by each guest’s plate.” She waved one slim hand. “The crystal goblets are in that wall cupboard over there.”
    Then she disappeared through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen.
    Trixie moaned. “Well, I’m glad you’re the water carrier, Honey. I just couldn’t cope with crystal goblets.”
    Honey giggled. “I can’t cope with them, either, until you and Di have put the cloths and flat silver on the tables.”
    “Forks on the left,” Trixie mumbled feebly. “I’m dying of starvation right now, but I don’t suppose we’ll get a bite to eat until after the last guest has been served.”
    “That’s right ” Di told her. “The boys are gorging in the kitchen right now on all sorts of delicious things called tortillas, which are made out of Indian cornmeal, and frijoles, which is the Spanish word for beans. Mart figured out a way to make what he calls a Mexican sandwich, using the tortillas instead of rolls and the frijoles as a filling. Instead of butter, mustard, and relish, he’s using real red-hot southwestern chili sauce. It’s so very hot,” she added, chuckling, “that he has to take a sip of cold milk after every mouthful.”
    “Don’t tell me about Mart and his problems,” Trixie said as they laid the bright-colored cloths on the tables. “He and Brian learned how to make tamales in camp last summer, and they’ve never been the same since. They do them with leftover meat, cornmeal, and com shucks on our outdoor grill. Moms,” she confided, “can make them so they taste almost as good, although she does them indoors. She wraps the stuff in foil or parchment paper and cooks them in boiling water, just as though they were dumplings.”
    “It’s a good thing your brothers and Jim are such good cooks,” Di said. “Who knows when Maria may suddenly decide to leave and join the rest of the family wherever they have gone?”
    “That’s right,” Honey put in. “If it was a family emergency, why didn’t she go with them?”
    “Because she’s not really an Orlando,” Trixie pointed out. “She’s just an in-law.” She helped arrange glasses of ice water on the three-tiered tray table. “I can’t help wondering what the family emergency was. Do you suppose it was a wedding or a funeral or something like that?”
    “No!” Di glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the girls were alone in the dining room; then she added in a whisper, “I think they were frightened away!”
    Trixie gasped. “What makes you think so?”
    “Because of what Uncle Monty told me a while ago,” Di explained. “He said that late yesterday afternoon a Mexican man he’s never seen before arrived at the Orlandos’ cabin, which is not far from the side door to the pantry. Uncle Monty was in there for some reason when he heard loud voices coming from the cabin. Señor Orlando and the stranger were shouting at each other in Spanish, and Uncle Monty couldn’t understand much of what they said except that he gathered the stranger was threatening the señor.”
    Trixie gasped again. “Oh, oh! Maybe the stranger will come back and threaten Maria!”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Di said. “If so, she’ll depart just as suddenly and as mysteriously as the others did.”

Trixie Is Suspicions • 7

    ABELL BANG then, and shortly afterward the guests began to troop into the dining room to take their places at the various tables. Rosita signaled to the girls that they should seat themselves at a small table near the swinging door to the kitchen.
    “It is not the ideal spot,” she admitted as she joined them a minute later. “But we cannot be underfoot while the boys serve the meal. I