The Mystery in Arizona

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    “Well,” explained Uncle Monty, “you may not know that in Mexico everyone has a special day set aside for him or her—or them, for that matter, because it includes everyone from schoolteachers to trash collectors. Día del cartero, for instance, is the day of the mailman, and he expects a present on that date. Perhaps today is the day of the cook, and, since we forgot to give Maria a little gift, she may have decided to take a half-holiday instead.”
    “Oh, I don’t think that’s the answer, Uncle Monty,” Trixie objected. “Maria is so very Americanized that she almost—but not quite—makes fun of Mexican customs. She didn’t want to join the other Orlandos, wherever they’ve gone, but when Petey tried to run away again yesterday afternoon, she realized she had to.”
    Uncle Monty shrugged with despair. “I suppose you’re right, Trix, and we’d better face the facts. Petey did try to run away last week and again yesterday. So we can be sure that Maria has taken him to his grandparents. In that case, heaven knows when she’ll be back, if ever.”
    He collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs. “There go our plans for tomorrow and for Christmas Day. As a matter of fact, lacking a cook at this time of the year means that I’ll simply have to close up the dude part of my ranch and refund all the money that the guests paid me in advance.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, sir,” Jim said easily. “We boys can take Maria’s place temporarily. She’s been teaching us how to prepare all sorts of swell meals— you know, the foolproof kind.”
    “That’s right,” Brian added. “I even know how to make the chocolate sauce which Mexicans always serve with their Christmas turkey.”
    “Wait till you taste my guacamole,” Mart said smugly.
    Uncle Monty stared at them in amazement, and Trixie thought, “Maria hasn’t been teaching the boys how to cook just for fun. She planned to take Petey to his grandparents from the very moment that I told her he had told me he was going to run away. She’s been giving the boys cooking lessons ever since so they could take her place while she’s gone.”
    “Well, if you boys really think you can—” Uncle Monty was saying dubiously.
    “Easy as failin’ off a hoss,” Mart said cheerfully. "We won’t be able to cook and wait on the tables, of course, but if we serve everything buffet style from now on, I’m positive none of the guests will object.”
    “We’ll start right out with a hunt breakfast a la jolly old England,” Jim said, grinning. “We’ll set up the sideboard and put eggs and bacon on one platter, tacos on another. If we fill the big silver urn with coffee and let everyone serve himself, who can possibly object?”
    “Nobody,” Uncle Monty agreed in a relieved tone of voice. “As a matter of fact, I think the guests will enjoy the whole idea tremendously.” He hurried off.
    The moment he was out of hearing, Honey said in a loud whisper, “You boys are crazy. Maybe you can cook a few Mexican dishes, but you haven’t the faintest idea how to fix an enormous turkey dinner.”
    “Enormous is right,” said Trixie. “You’ll need four turkeys, weighing at least twenty-five pounds apiece. And heaven knows how many loaves of stale bread for the stuffing.”
    Jim looked grim. “Do we have to have turkey?”
    “Of course,” Di told him. “And cranberry sauce. You can buy that in cans, but you’ll have to make the gravy. Do you know how?”
    Jim shook his head. “Do you?”
    “No,” all of the girls said in one voice.
    “Well, I do!”
    They whirled around to discover that Mrs. Sherman had come in quietly from the dining room. She was beaming happily as she donned an apron.
    “So my prayers were answered!” she exclaimed. “Maria has gone! Now I can have some fun around here.”
    The Bob-Whites stared at her wordlessly as she bustled over to the refrigerator. It was then that Trixie remembered something.
    “Oh,” she cried out, “now I know why you kept saying you hoped Maria would leave. You like to cook. When you and your husband had that restaurant, you must have done the cooking.”
    “That’s right,” said Mrs. Sherman, without turning around. “Fixing a turkey dinner for this crowd will be a cinch. Ah, good for Maria. She must have bought these nice plump hens yesterday. The stale bread is probably in the freezer, and I’m sure that there are plenty of spices and herbs.
    “Let’s see,” she continued,