The Desert Thieves (10 page)

“That's what I was thinking,” Joe said. “I wonder what Perez is up to tonight.”

“So do I,” Frank replied. “So do I.”

They fell silent again, each looking out into the darkness.

•  •  •

The next thing Joe knew, Frank was pulling at the foot of his sleeping bag, trying to wake him up. Sleepily, Joe jerked his foot away and mumbled, “What time is it?” He pulled up the sleeping bag over his face and tried to go back to sleep.

Then he remembered Frank was stuck on a ledge partway down the cliff. How had he gotten up in the darkness? Joe yanked the sleeping bag down to say something to Frank—and found himself staring into the icy eyes of a coyote.

Joe froze. Then he realized the coyote looked as startled as he felt. The coyote backed up a few steps and then dashed away. Joe started to laugh, then stopped. Up close, the coyote at first looked like a neighbor's dog. But it was a wild creature, its eyes fierce with wily intelligence.

The morning light was gray, as dawn was just beginning to light the sky. The silvery blue sky threw an odd light on the desert. The rocks, the plants, and even the mountains themselves looked like images on a video screen, not quite real. Joe climbed out of his sleeping bag and into the cold morning air.

“Guess what?” he yelled to Frank. “I just met a coyote.” He walked to the edge and looked down.

About thirty feet below, Frank waved his end of
the rope. “Well,” he called up, “this shouldn't come as a surprise to you. The rope's been cut. We've been sabotaged again.”

Joe pulled up the rope and examined it. The end had been cut a little more than halfway through. He checked the rest of the rope, and then dropped a length to Frank, who quickly climbed to the top.

As they anchored the rope and prepared to rappel down, they saw the tan Toyota coming along the road.

“I'll bet Dad was worried about us,” Frank said. “You never did raise him on the CB, did you?”

“Nope,” Joe said, glad to see Fenton coming after them so early. He looped the belt through his harness and let himself carefully over the edge of the cliff. Then, leaning back against the rope and walking slowly down the face of the cliff, he rappelled to the bottom. Frank came after him. They coiled up the rope and then jogged out to the road, where Fenton stood by the car waiting for them.

Not until they were in the warm car did they realize how chilled they'd been in the cold desert air. As they sipped the hot cocoa Fenton had brought for them in a thermos, they told him about the events of the night. He had been listening on the CB but hadn't picked up any of Joe's transmissions.

“In fact,” he said as he drove, “all I could pick up was static. I didn't even hear the transmissions you heard. Finally, about four o'clock in the morning,
I went out with a flashlight to check the antenna. It was broken off.”

“I wondered what was wrong,” Joe said.

“Did you figure out whose voice you heard on the CB?” Frank asked him.

“No, but I hope to,” Joe said. “Maybe I'll recognize it if I hear it again.”

“Maybe it was the person who cut the rope,” Frank said, “and who broke off the antenna on the motor home.”

“Well,” Joe said, “we know Raymond Perez could have cut the rope when we went into the camper to pack,” Joe said.

“But he didn't have a knife,” Frank said.

“Not that I saw,” Joe said. “And Professor Townsend was also near the ropes. Grish was there, too, but he doesn't count,” Joe said.

When they pulled into the campground, Grish was waiting for them at their campsite, standing beside his official truck. He grew angry when they told him someone had cut the climbing rope.

“That does it,” he said. “You guys are off this case. I don't want anyone getting hurt, especially over some cacti. They aren't worth the risk. I'm going back to the office to call the state agricultural investigators. No offense, Fenton, but I'm beginning to think it would be a good idea if you guys just packed up and went back to Bayport.”

Fenton nodded. “I'll stop by the office in a little while and we'll talk.”

Grish hesitated as he was getting into his truck,
then said, “Seriously, Frank and Joe, this is getting too involved and dangerous. I want you to back off. Do I make myself clear?”

“Loud and clear,” Joe said.

“Good,” Grish said. “See you at the office, Fenton.” He got into the truck and drove off.

“Well?” Fenton said. “What do you boys think?”

“You know what we think, Dad,” Frank said. “How can we give up in the middle of a case? How can we . . .” He hesitated, distracted by the sight of Professor Townsend sitting in his pickup, trying to get it started. “You need some help, Professor?” Frank called.

Townsend didn't respond, perhaps because he couldn't hear inside the truck with the window rolled up. With Diane in the seat beside him, he was trying to start the engine, but it wouldn't quite catch.

“Sounds like he's out of gas,” Joe said. “I think we should give him a hand, don't you?”

“Absolutely,” Frank said.

They walked over together. Townsend rolled down his window, looking flustered and not at all happy to see them.

“Can we help?” Joe asked. “Is your gas gauge working?”

“Of course it's working,” Townsend said with a snarl. “There should be plenty of gas.”

“But it isn't getting to the carburetor,” Joe said. “If you'll pop open the hood, I'll take a look.”

Eventually they realized that the problem was a clogged fuel filter. “It's simple to fix,” Joe said, “if we find a replacement.”

After talking things over, they decided Joe would drive Diane and Fenton into Ajo, the nearest town, to pick up a filter. Fenton wanted to stock up on groceries, and so did Diane. Frank planned to put away the camping and climbing gear and maybe take a short nap after his cold night perched on the cliff.

“And,” Frank added as they talked over their plans, “I should have a little talk with Perez. I want to see his paintings, to see if he's for real.”

“Good idea,” Joe said.

“What'll you do if you see something that links him to Kidwell?” Fenton asked.

“If Perez and Kidwell are partners in crime,” Frank said, “they're smart enough not to let me see anything in the camper that would incriminate them.”

“So you don't expect to get in?” Fenton asked.

“Not if there's anything in there that points to the thefts,” Frank said.

“What are you guys talking about?” Diane asked, standing by the door of her father's truck. “What is this crime you're discussing?”

Frank looked at her, then at Joe. “It's a long story,” he said. “You'd better get on the road, Joe. We've got things to do.”

“You bet,” he said. “Diane?”

With a quizzical look, Diane got into the front seat, and Joe climbed into the driver's seat. Fenton got in back, and they drove away.

Frank walked over to Perez's camper. Perez met him at the door. “So,” Perez said, “how was your climb?”

“Funny you should ask,” Frank said.

“You mean it was eventful? Did you spot the cactus rustlers?” Perez asked.

“I'll tell you what,” Frank said. “You show me your paintings and I'll bring you up to date on our adventure.”

“What?” Perez said. “Why do you want to see my paintings?” When he saw that Frank was serious, he licked his lips and glanced inside the camper. He wasn't his usual cocky self, Frank noticed.

“What can I say?” Perez said. “No one else has ever shown any interest, and . . . well, okay.” He stepped back and waved Frank in.

Frank looked at the groups of three and four paintings stacked together, leaning against the walls, on the kitchenette table, even hanging from open cupboard doors. The paintings were of desert sunsets, mountains, cacti, and shrubs.

“So these are your paintings?” Frank said at last.

Perez chewed his lower lip and nodded. Frank looked at the painting on the top of each stack and leafed through the most prominent stack closest to the door. Some were on canvas. Others were on
wood. Propped up by the sink was a large dinner plate painted with a scene of a cactus garden. Frank let his eyes casually glance over everything in the trailer but could see nothing that tied Perez in with Kidwell or the thefts.

“There sure are a lot of paintings,” he said finally.

“I know. I know,” Perez said. “Actually, I'm supposed to be in art school at the university in Tucson, but I ran out of money. A friend lent me this old camper and I moved here. This is the cheapest place I could live until I can go back to school.”

“Couldn't you get a job?” Frank asked.

“I looked, but I couldn't find anything,” Perez said. “I figured an artist starving in the desert was more romantic than an artist starving in the city.”

“They're not bad,” Frank said, waving his hand at the paintings around him. “I like them.” Obviously Perez was an artist, but Frank still couldn't get a sense of whether he was involved with the cactus thieves. A starving artist might stoop to stealing plants from a national preserve.

“Thanks,” Perez said. “Do you want to talk some more? You still have to tell me about last night.”

“Sure,” Frank said, “but first tell me how you met David Kidwell.”

“What?” Perez asked.

He seemed to have been caught off guard, so Frank pushed the point. “I said, tell me how you
met David Kidwell. You two are obviously old friends.”

“Oh, I don't remember exactly,” Perez said. He hesitated for a moment, then added, “We just got to talking one day when he was working around the campground.”

“What were you two doing yesterday when you went down the hill?” Frank said. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” Perez said. “I was just taking a look, like I said.”

“Don't give me that, Perez,” Frank said. “I know you and Kidwell had a talk.”

“How did you . . .?” Perez said. “Man, you guys are good. Okay, here's what happened. Kidwell and I got to be friends from just hanging out around the park. He's a hard guy to know because he's so quiet. When I overheard you and Joe talking the other day, I went to Kidwell and told him he was a suspect. Yesterday, when you were trying to spy on him, I went down the hill and told him. And while you and Joe were out looking for the professor, I put up that little rock pile to throw you off and make you suspect Townsend.”

“Why'd you do that?” Frank said, opening the door.

“ 'Cause I knew Kidwell was innocent, and I wanted to keep him out of trouble. He's a loner, like me, and we've got to watch out for each other.”

“Perez, I can't believe what I'm hearing,” Frank
said. “If Grish finds out that you've discussed the case with Kidwell, that'll be the end of me. Now, listen, we're officially off the case under orders from Grish. So don't breathe a word to anyone about this investigation. Enough damage has been done already.”

Frank sighed in frustration. No wonder Grish was so adamant about secrecy, he thought. There are wily coyotes all over this desert.

•  •  •

Meanwhile, halfway to Ajo, Joe apologized to Diane for the way Perez had accused her father of being responsible for the rattlesnake.

“I know Perez was being a jerk and not you guys,” she said. “You and Frank are both very sweet.” Without looking in his rearview mirror, Joe knew his father was grinning in the seat behind him.

“My father's been working very hard,” Diane said. “My mother has a rare form of arthritis and is in a nursing home, which is very expensive. I'm used to Dad, but I always feel sorry for people who don't know him and don't know why he's like that.”

“It's okay,” Joe said, resisting the impulse to say that he and Frank were used to dealing with jerks.

Just outside of town they found an auto parts store and purchased a filter for the professor's truck.

Back in the car, Diane said, “I'm still waiting to hear your long story, Joe. What thieves were you
talking about? Does it have something to do with the rattlesnake in your RV?”

Joe tried to think of something to say. Diane seemed innocent, but he and Frank had seen a lot of innocent faces on people who later turned out to be guilty. He decided to take an indirect approach. “Listen,” he said. “You didn't happen to see anyone around our campsite yesterday afternoon, did you?”

“I was trying to tell you yesterday, when Perez interrupted, that I saw a tall, lean man wearing a cowboy hat hanging around your campsite just before you got back. He could have been the one who put the rattler in there. He'd have to be really knowledgeable about the desert, though.”

“Why do you say that?” Fenton asked.

“Only a real desert rat would know how to find a rattler in January,” Diane said. “They hibernate.”

“Well,” Joe said, “unless you can spot him again, you've given us a description that could fit a lot of men around here. Just take a look.”

They were on the main street of Ajo, heading toward a rectangular plaza with shops around it. Adults strolled across the brown grass lawn and children played there. All the men wore blue jeans, even the ones in business jackets. Many were Native Americans. Most of the men wore cowboy hats. And any man who wasn't wearing a cowboy hat wore a baseball cap.

“That guy getting into the Jeep fits the description
you just gave us,” Joe said. “So does that guy crossing the street, and even that guy going into the restaurant.”

“Why would anyone put a rattlesnake in your motor home, anyway?” Diane asked. “It just doesn't— Oh!” she cried out, and pointed. “Joe! That's him, right there!”