The Bootlegger’s Legacy by Ted Clifton Page B

mentioned that it also looked like there was a bank account that was paying the taxes on the property, and that that might also be part of his mother’s assets.
    “It just doesn’t make any sense. My mother was a stay-at-home-mom who had absolutely nothing to do with money or business. It doesn’t seem possible. My dad took care of everything—there’s no way she owned real estate and had bank accounts in New Mexico. But, anyway, I got the guy’s name and number and told him I’d get back to him to find out more. Mostly I just wanted to get off the phone so I could have time to think. I really don’t get it.”
    Joe got a strange feeling. He’d known Mike’s mom, and there was no way she owned secret property or had secret bank accounts. This woman was an almost perfect “normal” Mom. She scolded children for keeping secrets—she would never have any herself. It would be against her mom code.
    “It has to do some way with your dad. That’s the only explanation. Maybe this is connected to the other stuff.” Joe hadn’t thought this through real well—just kind of spit it out. But, no doubt, that had to be what it was—Pat Allen, the bootlegger, had a secret cabin located in New Mexico, hidden under his wife’s maiden name. Now if that wasn’t a mystery, what the hell was?
    “Mike, you had said your dad went on business trips a lot—where did he go?”
    “Not real sure. I guess I always thought it was some place in Texas. He would be gone for a few days at a time. My mom and I had adjusted to those trips, so we hardly paid any attention to when or how long he was gone. He never discussed them with us, as far as I can remember. Although I do remember one thing. After one trip he brought my mom and me some stuff from New Mexico. I’d completely forgotten that until now. It was from some little town—Mesa, Mesilla, something like that. I remember now because my mom was so surprised—he’d never brought us anything from one of his trips before. It was tourist kind of stuff, souvenirs from this little town in New Mexico. It was strange—it didn’t seem like something my dad would do.”
    It was odd to Joe that he seemed to be more curious about Mike’s father’s past than Mike was. Joe hadn’t been real close to his own father, who’d always been predictable and reliable—there were no mysteries in his dad’s past. He’d worked at the post office until one day he dropped dead. Joe would have considered it a wonderful day if he’d suddenly learned that his dad had been more than he’d seemed. But Mike’s dad was involved in
multiple
mysteries. He was, or maybe was not, a bootlegger who had hidden millions. There was the strange key to nothing and now a cabin in New Mexico nobody knew about, not to mention the bank account. From Joe’s point of view this was just great.
    “Trinkets from New Mexico would at least
seem
to suggest that he had been there, right?”
    “Well, I guess that would support the idea of my father having business dealings in New Mexico, at least. As you say, he was there once. So that probably means he was the one who owned the cabin. Still doesn’t explain why he owned a cabin he never mentioned, or why it was in my mother’s maiden name. Guess I’ll call the realtor back and ask some more questions.”
    “Of course, you should, Mike! Who knows, maybe this is somehow a clue to his letter or the key.”
    A few days later Mike did call the New Mexico real estate person to get more information. And Joe did some research and determined where Las Cruces and T or C were. He also found the town of Mesilla, or Old Mesilla, which was right next to Las Cruces.
    Any time Mike and Joe got together they would discuss every possibility they could think of about the cabin and Mike’s dad’s travels to New Mexico. The mystery seemed to loom larger every day, even without much more concrete information. Joe was very anxious to find out more, while Mike seemed hesitant. Joe began