Mystery in Arizona by Julie Campbell Page A

all,” she said flatly. “A lot ofpeople get temporary jobs during their vacations.”
    “True,” said Trixie, “but why doesn’t she wear some jewelry? And why did she look so sad when Uncle Monty mentioned her jewelry?”
    “I didn’t notice that she did,” Di said, slipping on her cardigan. “And she probably isn’t wearing any jewelry because she feels it wouldn’t be in good taste.” She started for the door and lowered her voice. “There
is
something mysterious going on but it has nothing to do with Rosita.”
    “What?” Trixie demanded excitedly.
    Di shook her head. “There’s not time to talk about it now. Come on. Honey must have sent those wires by this time.”
    The dining-room turned out to be even larger than the huge 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 Ishall 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 to eat a bite 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 corn meal, 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 veryhot,” 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, corn meal, and corn 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,