The Mystery in Arizona

talking to herself rather than to the Bob-Whites, “there’s plenty of flour and butter. Mr. Wilson said a buffet supper. That means cold turkey will be okay. So I guess I’ll roast two of those birds today and take care of the other two tomorrow.”
    She stopped and stared at the boys and girls as though she had just realized that they were cooking and eating breakfast. “Scram,” she yelled. “What on earth are you doing in my kitchen?”
    Jim’s redheaded temper flared. “It happens to be our kitchen,” he said evenly. “You know as well as we do that Maria would never have left if she hadn’t known that we boys could take her place.”
    Mrs. Sherman sniffed. “Wrapping fried beans around a sausage is not my idea of cooking. It’s obvious these people have no taste buds; they were all burned off by chili four hundred years ago.”
    Jim laughed. “You win, Mrs. Sherman,” he said humbly. “You’re the boss of this chuck wagon from now on.” He marched out, followed closely by Brian and Mart.
    “Oh, oh,” Honey moaned. “Jim’s as mad as anything. He always laughs like that and pretends to be meek when he’s really wild with rage.” She darted off after the ousted boys.
    Di shook her head. “We know you can fix the turkey dinner tomorrow night, Mrs. Sherman,” she said, “but what about the meals which have to be served between now and then?”
    “Breakfast, for instance,” Trixie added with a grin. “We’ve had ours, but the guests will be trooping into the dining room soon for theirs. Uncle Monty has probably been telling everybody to expect fried eggs and tacos.”
    “So what?” Mrs. Sherman demanded. “With these big skillets I can fry a dozen eggs at a time. And I can make a batch of baking powder biscuits in the twinkling of an eye. Nobody wants one of those red-hot Mexican dishes for breakfast, anyway. What are tacos?”
    Di laughed. “All different kinds of meat wrapped in tortillas. The boys, I imagine, were going to use these tiny sausages and omit the chili. I really think you ought to let them go ahead with the menu they planned.” She added tactfully, “You’ll have enough to do getting things ready for the Christmas Eve party.”
    “You’re right,” the elderly lady replied. “Call the boys back and tell them I’m sorry.” She chuckled. “I am sorry, too. Because I’m going to need their help before I’m through, and that’s a fact.”
    Di helped her out of the apron. “But you will come back after we’ve cleaned up the breakfast dishes?”
    “Just let me know when the coast is clear,” Mrs. Sherman said cheerfully.
    She left through the door to the dining room just as Honey and Jim came in through the other door.
    “The kitchen is yours, all yours,” Trixie said hastily. “And Mrs. Sherman is sorry.”
    “She’s got nothing to be sorry about,” Jim said sheepishly. “It’s my temper that’s ashamed of itself.” Brian and Mart returned then, and they all set to work preparing breakfast. The boys admitted that they were glad Mrs. Sherman was going to supervise the turkey dinner and promised to help her as much as they could. Then the talk turned back to the Orlandos and the family’s sudden and mysterious departure.
    “I was just wondering,” Honey said thoughtfully. “In the book on Mexican customs which I’ve been studying for my theme, I discovered that there is a special fiesta called Día de los Muertos, the ‘Day of the Dead.’ The Mexicans bring a sort of picnic lunch to the graveyards and spend the day there feasting. When they go home they leave behind all sorts of delicacies for the dead. They even bake a special sort of sweet bread for the fiesta called pan de los muertos— bread of the dead.’ And candy in the shape of skulls for the children. Maybe,” she finished, “the Orlandos left in order to visit the graves of their ancestors in Mexico. What do you think?”
    “That’s a thought,” Mart said. “Maria, being the daughter-in-law, wouldn’t necessarily go to the same graveyard. Her ancestors might be buried right here in Tucson.”
    Jim shook his head. “I happen to know that Día de los Muertos is on November first.”
    “I don’t care,” Trixie interrupted. “Honey’s got something there. I feel pretty sure now that the Orlandos left for some reason which is connected with their ancestors. Maybe their own special family Day of the Dead is today or tomorrow.”
    “Could be,” Jim admitted. “That