The Desert Thieves (3 page)

“Take your hands off me!” the man exclaimed, struggling against Joe's firm grip. “You've got no—”

“What's the deal?” Joe said. “Why were you spying on us like that?”

“I wasn't spying,” the man said. “I was taking some shots of that cactus by your motor home. Let go of my arm!”

Realizing that other campers were watching curiously, Joe released the man but stayed poised for another sprint. Just then Frank caught up to them.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Why were you spying on us?”

“I just told this other guy, I wasn't spying,” the man insisted again. “My name is Raymond Perez. I'm a landscape painter. Perhaps you've heard of me?”

“No,” Frank said. “We haven't.”

Perez looked a bit wounded at that. “Well,” he went on, “I take pictures of objects and scenes I want to use as subjects for paintings. I was shooting that cactus when you startled me.”

“Why did you run?” Joe asked.

“Because of the tone in your voice when you shouted,” Perez said. “Wouldn't you run, if someone yelled at you that way?”

Joe smiled confidently and said, “I don't think so.”

“You still haven't said why you were listening to our conversation,” Frank said.

“I told you, I was not listening,” Perez said, his voice rising angrily. “I was trying to take a picture. I'm shooting that plant at different times of the day, because the light changes and it looks slightly different each time. But now,” he added, waving his hand, “you've spoiled it. The light is different and I've lost my chance.”

Joe glanced around at the sky. “I guess the color of the light is your business,” he said, “but next time, announce yourself.”

Perez smiled and said, “You mean so you can stop talking about whatever's such a secret?”

“I thought you said you weren't eavesdropping,” Joe said.

“I wasn't,” Perez replied, “but I did catch a few words. What was that you were saying about a case you want to solve? Are you guys detectives or something?”

Grish was right about the tourists having big ears, Frank realized. “You must have heard us wrong,” he said, then tried to change the subject. “So, are you an expert on desert plants? Or do you just take pictures of them when the light is pink?”

Perez grinned. “I get it,” he said. “You're cleverly changing the subject so you don't have to answer my question. That tells me you probably
are
detectives, in which case you must be working under cover and don't want me to blow your cover.”

A glance at his brother's face told Frank that Joe didn't know what to make of Perez either.

“Who are you, anyway, since you don't want to tell me whether you are detectives?” Perez inquired.

“I'm Frank Hardy and this is my brother, Joe,” Frank said.

“Nice to meet you,” Perez said, shaking hands. “And to answer your earlier question, no, I'm not an expert on cactus or anything. I'm just an artist, lost in the desert. I want to do a painting of that cactus at your campsite and call it
Nature Hangs In There.
That plant has put up with so much, and it's still hanging in there. You'd think by now somebody
would have run it over or kicked it accidentally or something.”

Joe laughed and said, “I hope your paintings are better than your titles. How long have you been staying here?”

“A couple of months, off and on,” Perez said. “The place gets a little dull, if you know what I mean. I head back to California every couple of weeks for a few days. But overall, I've been here longer than just about anybody. Even longer than that old professor in the campsite next to yours.”

“You mean Professor Townsend?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, him,” Perez replied. “He's a crab, but his daughter is nice. Her name is Diane.”

“What does the professor do here?” Joe asked.

“I don't know,” Perez said. “He— Hey, why are we standing out here in the middle of the road? You guys want to come over to my place and have a soda? It's right over there.”

The three walked over to Perez's campsite as he continued to talk about Professor Townsend. “I'm not sure what he does around here,” Perez said. “He and Diane go off almost every day. I see them here and there in the park. Or rather I see their truck pulled over on the side of the road. I guess they're out in the desert someplace, doing research or something. I tried to talk to him one day about what he does, but he almost snapped my head off.”

“What about Diane?” Frank asked. “Is she easier to talk to?”

Perez shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “But she seems a little afraid of him.”

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“I mean she clams up when he's around,” Perez said.

When they reached Perez's campsite, Joe saw litter under the picnic table—a banana peel and some used paper plates. Maybe he's a famous artist, Joe thought wryly, but he needs to learn some housekeeping skills. And he doesn't seem to have much respect for the great outdoors.

“Does Diane talk much when her dad isn't around?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Perez said, opening an ice chest. “You guys want a cola? That's all I've got.”

“No, thanks,” Joe said.

“A cola would be fine,” Frank said. “So, what does Diane have to say when her dad isn't around?”

Perez handed a cold, wet can to Frank and said, “Well, she told me he's doing some kind of medical research. Something to do with using cacti and other desert plants as sources for medicine. I couldn't get her to be more specific than that. I do know they leave every few days, always at night.”

“At night?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” Perez said. “They take off about sunset in their pickup, and they leave the camp trailer behind. They come back a day or two later.”

“When was the last time they left?” Joe asked.

Perez looked thoughtful for a moment. “Three days ago,” he said. “They came back about noon today, just before you arrived.”

“Man,” Joe said, “you notice everything, don't you?”

Perez brightened. “Arists are observant. I keep my eyes and ears open. That way I don't miss any of the action.”

“Who else besides you and Professor Townsend has been here for a long time?” Frank asked.

Perez thought for a moment. “Nobody, really,” he said. “There's a couple down on the end who were here for a week and then gone for maybe a month. I think they were in Mexico. They've been back about a week now. But that's about it. Everybody else is just passing through, more or less.”

Frank looked carefully at Perez, trying to guess what he was thinking. Frank wondered if he was just a busybody or if his nosiness had some other purpose. “Well,” Frank said, “we'd better get back. Joe, I think you've got some hot dogs to put on the grill. That charcoal should be the right temperature by now.” He shook hands with Perez. “Thanks for the soda.”

On the way back to their campsite, Frank said, “That guy could be a good source of information if we need it.”

Joe nodded. “But I'm not sure I trust him,” he
said. “For somebody who is trying to locus on his art, he seems to know an awful lot about other people's business.”

“True,” Frank said. “We'll have to keep a close watch on him. I think there is more to Raymond Perez than meets the eye.”

Fenton was inside the motor home when they arrived, washing his hands at the sink.

When Joe and Frank stepped inside the door, Fenton said, “Well, I'm glad you boys got back in one piece. What happened with our eavesdropper?”

Frank and Joe told Fenton about their conversation with Perez, and Fenton agreed that Perez needed watching. “But in the meantime,” he said, “somebody better get out there and do some cooking or I'm going to starve to death.”

“Right, Dad,” Joe said, heading for the door. “Time for some dude food.”

After Joe set the hot dogs and the pot of beans on the grill, he dusted off the table. Just as Frank emerged from the motor home with plates and silverware, Kidwell drove by in his blue pickup.

“Hmm,” Frank said. He set out the silverware and plates on the table. “I wonder what he's up to.”

“I don't know,” Joe said, “but I have a feeling it's something.”

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Frank asked.

“Follow him?” Joe asked.

“Yup,” Frank said. “Let's go.”

“Hey, Dad,” Joe called through the door of the motor home. “Watch the hot dogs. We'll be back in a minute.”

Frank started the car and sped up until he came within sight of the blue pickup.

“Hang back,” Joe said. “We don't want him to spot us.”

“Right,” Frank said, slowing to keep some distance from the truck. “He seems to be headed to the office.”

“That's what I would guess,” Joe said.

They followed as the pickup led them another half mile down the curving road to Grish's office. Kidwell pulled up beside the office and got out. Frank stopped the car far enough back so that Kidwell didn't seem to notice them as he walked into the office. Then Frank drove on and parked the car on the other side of the building.

“Now what?” Joe asked.

“I'm not sure,” Frank said. “I guess we wait to see what happens. It's getting dark, so we can follow him when he leaves.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “If he's the cactus thief, he might just head to some other part of the park to steal another one.”

“He won't be loading a giant cactus into that little pickup,” Frank said.

“No,” Joe said. “But maybe he'll have a rendezvous
with his accomplices. You know, I was thinking—”

At that moment they heard someone yell angrily from inside the office. A second man shouted, and Frank and Joe exchanged a glance, recognizing the voice as Grisham's.

Then they heard glass shattering.

“Let's go!” Joe said, throwing open his door. Together he and Frank raced for the office. Joe reached the door first and opened it.

Kidwell had Grish backed up against the wall, with a grip on the ranger's shirt. The younger man's fist was raised, ready to slug Grish. Kidwell looked around as the Hardys entered. His grip on the ranger slowly relaxed as he realized what he was doing, and after a few tense seconds he released Grish.

“What's going on?” Joe asked.

The men looked away from each other, straightening their clothing. “It's over,” Grish said. “Everybody's okay. Mr. Kidwell and I just had a little disagreement. Right, David?” Grish let out his breath slowly and said, “Frank and Joe, why
don't you two wait outside for a moment?” He waved toward the door.

Frank exchanged glances with Joe, then followed him outside, shutting the door behind them.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” Joe asked.

“Who knows?” Frank said. “It probably had to do with what happened this afternoon on the road.”

Another shout came from inside, but before the Hardys could decide whether to interfere, the door flew open and Kidwell stomped out. He turned and shouted, “And you know what I'm talking about!” Then he marched straight to his pickup, got in, started the engine, and drove away, spinning his tires as he went.

Inside the office, Grish was sitting at his desk. He looked up as Frank and Joe entered. “I'm not sure what made you boys show up when you did,” he said, “but I guess it was a good thing. Kidwell and I were about to go at it.” Grish smoothed back his sandy hair and wiped his brow.

“What happened?” Frank asked.

Grish explained that when he'd said something to Kidwell about his irresponsible driving, Kidwell had come after him.

Joe asked whether Grish had mentioned the shovel.

“I did bring up the shovel,” Grish said, nodding. “But as soon as I mentioned it, he blew up. And then, after you left the office, I tried again to talk to
him. When I mentioned the shovel, he up and quit his job. Just like that.”

“What did he mean when he said you knew what he was talking about?” Frank asked.

Grish spread his hands. “I wish I knew,” he said. “That's the puzzle. I mentioned his driving and then the shovel. And I just barely touched on that.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Joe said.

“You're right,” Grish said. “Anyway, after all of this, I'm not feeling very sociable. I'd like a rain check on dinner, if you don't mind.”

“Sure thing,” Frank said. “We totally understand. Besides, the hot dogs Joe was fixing are either burned to a crisp, if Dad forgot to watch them, or else they're ice cold.”

“Good thing the motor home has a microwave,” Joe said. “If the wieners are cold, we can reheat 'em in the nuke box.”

Grish smiled wryly. “Sounds delicious,” he said, “but I'll pass.” He reminded them to come by with Fenton in the morning. “I'll give you guys a map and instructions for finding the best hiking and climbing spots in the park,” he said.

“I think Grish needs our help more than we thought,” Joe said as Frank drove them back to the campground. “But what are we going to do about Kidwell? It'll be kind of tough to keep an eye on him now that he's quit.”

“Tough, if not impossible,” Frank said.

As Frank pulled the car into the campsite, Joe
suddenly said, “Whoa, Frank. Back up and shine the headlights over that way.” He pointed toward Professor Townsend's truck, which was parked at the next campsite. Frank backed the car around and shone the beams toward the truck.

“Hold it right there,” Joe said. Something shaped like a log, about two feet long and four inches thick, was lying under the truck. Joe got out and looked more closely. In the glare of the headlights, he could see that the object was actually the broken-off limb of an organ pipe. He reached under the truck and tried to grasp the limb without getting thorns in his fingers.