The Mamo Murders by Juanita Sheridan

Author:Juanita Sheridan [Sheridan, Juanita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-24T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Leslie’s perplexed expression indicated that she was also wondering about Howard. She made a gesture as if dismissing it from her mind, and sank into the chair before Don’s desk. She took a notebook from a drawer, read some figures, and put it back again.

“I have to open the safe in the morning,” she explained, then bit her lip. “Oh—I forgot to tell Karl about the auditors. I must do that before tomorrow.”

“Isn’t a desk drawer a rather obvious place to hide your combination?” I asked.

“Don doesn’t keep much money there, except on payday. The safe’s for ranch records, in case of fire.”

Lily took the chair recently picked up by Karl. “You feel better now?”

Leslie looked surprised. “Yes, I do.”

“Adrenalin,” Lily murmured, “is sometimes a great help.”

I sat down by the window. I was tired. “I could use a good fight right now,” I announced. “Or—a good drink.”

Leslie rose immediately. “I’ll see Hong, he’s an expert bartender. And I’ll send a message asking Karl and Mele to eat dinner with us.” She hesitated. “Is there something you prefer to drink, or will you leave it up to Hong?”

“Hong?” Lily looked interested.

“He’s the cook,” I told her. “He’s a thousand years old but he makes the best curry in the world.”

“Then whatever he gives us—”

While we waited I glanced around Don’s office. It had the air of a place where business was efficiently conducted, while it also bore the imprint of time and Farnham personalities. The desk front was polished from the oil of many hands, the cowhide seat of the chair before it curved from the weight of masculine okoles. On the walls were pictures of horses and of Farnhams: Don standing with the Maui polo team, mallet in hand, Don’s father erect on a big black horse, eyes smiling into the camera, Don’s mother in a white dress, sitting in the garden with flowers in her arms.

There was a shelf of reference material pertaining to ranch management: books on animal husbandry and veterinary pharmacology, bulletins on agricultural subjects; next to it was a glass-floored locked cabinet which contained medicines and ointments. Branding irons hung on the wall, and beside them hung other articles which made me remember the bawling of outraged bull calves I’d heard when we visited the ranch during a roundup long ago.

Lily had picked up something from Don’s desk; she showed it to me. A picture of Leslie and Don riding a surfboard; it had been enlarged from a snapshot and put into a leather frame.

“So this is what she’s like, normally,” Lily said, and I detected a note of worry in her voice. She studied the picture and I looked at it a second time, trying to see what Lily saw there. Leslie looked different—balanced with arms outstretched, she was laughing at a wave which crashed toward them as if she felt secure in her element. Don’s tanned face was serious under its smile; he had placed both hands protectively on her shoulders .

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