This one is especially for those who have read Fried Chicken Castaneda.
June 1929. Hotel Castañeda, Las Vegas, New Mexico
“Mornin’, Clara,” the tall, lean man in the deputy sheriff’s uniform greeted the young woman behind the reception desk. He leaned casually on the counter, his cowboy hat tipped back on his head.
“Good morning, Jim,” she responded, smiling. “And to you, as well, Mr. Simmons.”
“Good morning, Miss Morgan,” replied the young man in the grey suit, as he tipped his grey fedora.
“I forgot you’d know Bob,” Jim said.
“He’s been staying with us for the past several days,” Clara reminded him.
“Well, then you know he’s with the Bureau of Prohibition.”
Clara nodded. “Yes, I read about that in the Optic.” She looked at Bob. “That was quite a coup, arresting that gang of bootleggers.”
Bob grinned. “Just doin’ my job.” He winked at Jim. “With a little help from my friends.”
“So, how can I help you gentlemen?”
Bob laid a sheet of paper on the desk. “Do you recognize any of the names on this list?”
Clara wrinkled her brow as she perused it. She stopped at one name and glanced at Jim, then continued reading. “No, just this one, Prudence Bates.” She looked at Bob. “She was staying here for the past week, but she left this morning on one of the three-day Indian Detours.”
“Any idea where they’re headed?”
Clara reached over and picked up a folded brochure from a stack on the desk. “I know they are spending tonight in Santa Fe. I think they stop at the Apache Inn for lunch and the Pecos ruins after that. This brochure has the complete itinerary.”
Bob glanced through the leaflet and nodded. “Thanks. This is helpful. Now, back to the names on the list. We have reason to believe that some of them were guests at the hotel last night. Mind checking? And which rooms.” He didn’t make it a question.
Clara looked at Jim. He nodded.
“It’s official business,” he confirmed.
“All right,” Clara said slowly. She turned the registration book around to face her, then began writing numbers next to some of the names on the list. “These are the room numbers of the people who stayed here last night. It looks like they all came in on the 10:10, except for Prudence,” she said, handing the paper back to Bob. “She came in last week, as you probably know.”
“Have the maids cleaned the rooms yet?”
She shook her head. “They don’t start until noon, after the last guest checks out.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. We’d like to search the rooms they occupied last night, if you don’t mind.” Again, he didn’t make it a request. “You can just give us the keys to the rooms. No need to leave your work.”
Clara laughed nervously. “You’re not suggesting that we’ve had a Chicago gangster staying here?”
Bob grinned but didn’t respond. Clara looked at Jim.
“Official business,” he repeated.
She reached under the desk and pulled out a key. She paused, then handed it to Jim. “That’s a master key. I’m making you responsible for it, Deputy Sheriff.” She smiled to soften the statement.
“You know you can trust me,” Jim said, grinning back. He turned to Bob. “Let’s go.”
“When we’re finished searching the rooms,” Bob said to Clara, “we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly. I’ll be here.”
Bob saluted with two fingers to his forehead, then he and Jim headed up the stairs. Clara slowly polished the shining countertop as she strained to hear their sotto voce conversation until they were completely out of earshot.
When the men returned an hour later, Clara was sitting on a stool at the desk, reading a large, thick book. She quickly closed it and looked up at them.
“Looks like one of my old college textbooks,” Bob chuckled.
Clara nodded. “I’m studying teaching at the Normal University here. The manager doesn’t mind if I do a little reading when it’s quiet. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Jim handed Clara the master key and ignored her question. “I’ll be getting back to the station. Bob here has a couple of questions for you. It’s all official business,” he reiterated. He turned to Bob. “Stop by the station when you’re finished. We’ll grab some lunch and you can fill me in.”
“You got it, Chief,” Bob said, saluting with two fingers. Jim laughed as he walked away. Bob watched Jim leave the lobby, then turned back to Clara. He placed the list on the counter in front of her.
“You might have gathered that this is a list of people who left here this morning on an Indian Detour.”
Clara nodded. “I assumed they must be, since the ones who stayed here only stayed the one night. I’m guessing the others came in on this morning’s train.”
“You guess right.” Bob grinned. “What time did they leave on their Detour?”
“About nine o’clock, more or less,” Clara answered. “One of the passengers was late, but the other cars left on time.”
Bob consulted his watch. “So, about two hours ago. Any idea how many cars?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying too much attention. A couple of cars, I think. At least two, maybe three, of the buses. They hold eleven passengers each,” she added before he could ask. “And, yes, the lobby was crowded.”
“Any idea who went in which car — or bus?”
“No, the Couriers take care of all of that. You’d have to check with the office at the La Fonda in Santa Fe. We just give them a bed for the night, if they come in on the night train, and breakfast in the morning.”
“Pretty decent breakfast, I have to say,” Bob smiled. “Do you know anything about any of the people on this list, other than Prudence Bates? We know all we need to know about Miss Prudence Bates.” He grinned.
“No,” Clara shook her head. “They either arrived on the Navajo at 10:10 last night, after my shift was over, or they came in on the California Limited at 6:50 this morning.” She paused and quirked a smile. “I do remember one woman very upset about not being able to take all of her luggage on the HarveyCar. Her husband tried to bribe the porter.”
“And?” Bob asked.
“He wasn’t successful. There simply isn’t room for that kind of baggage. She had to transfer her jewel case to her valise.”
“Anything else unusual?”
“Oh, that isn’t unusual. There’s always at least one.” She paused and pursed her lips. “No, not that I can think of. They seemed to be the usual mix of middle-aged retired couples, college students on summer vacation, and foreign tourists.”
Bob raised his eyebrows. “Foreigners?”
“Yes,” Clara nodded. “I definitely heard some people speaking French — I took a couple of years in high school — and, I think, German. Spanish, of course, but whether they were foreigners, I can’t say.” She wrinkled her brow again. “And a few English accents. Martha—”
“The Harvey Girl waitress here?”
“Yes, she told me that one of the women asked for tea, rather than coffee. That isn’t so unusual, but Martha thought she sounded English.”
“Any Italians?”
“No, not that I noticed. Does that mean that this is to do with the Chicago mobs?”
Bob shrugged. “Tell me about this passenger who was late.”
Clara frowned at his refusal to answer her question, then sighed. “Oh, she came charging down the stairs about five minutes after nine, still in the clothes she’d worn the night before, lugging her valise with her. Practically threw her key on the desk. She looked as if she had quite a night last night.” She smiled at the memory.
“Sounds like my kinda’ gal,” Bob laughed. “I’d love to meet her. Any idea what her name might be?”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize her and I didn’t pay any attention to the room number on the key.”
“Could you guess at who she was?”
Clara shook her head. “There are several single women on the list. The only one I know is Prudence.”
Bob nodded. “Gotcha’. So you’re saying she left without paying her bill?”
“No, the Detour is paid in advance, so that’s no help in identifying her.”
Bob nodded again. “Well, that’s all my questions. Thanks for being so helpful.”
“Do you mind if I ask what this is about? Is it about bootlegging?”
Bob shook his head. “You can ask, but — as Jim would say, official business.”
“Can you at least tell me whether Prudence is in danger?”
Bob shook his head. “I don’t know. It depends on who else is in that HarveyCar with her.” He grimaced for a moment, then grinned, patted the desk, and saluted. “We’ll just hope for the best! Thanks again, doll!”
He stepped jauntily through the lobby. Clara wrinkled her brow and pursed her lips as she watched him walk down the street in the direction of the sheriff’s office. When he was out of sight, she shook her head slightly, then opened her textbook and started to read.
***
“Hi, honey. Ready to go?” John asked. Clara nodded.
“I’ll be off now, Dan,” she said to the man behind the desk.
“You kids have a good evening,” he replied.
“Thank you.”
John put his arm around Clara’s shoulders as they left the hotel and she slipped her arm around his waist. “Have a good day?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded.
“Where do you want to get dinner?”
“Oh, let’s just go to my place. I’ll rustle something up, even if it’s just scrambled eggs. I want to talk to you about something strange that happened today.”
“Hmm?”
“Bob Simmons, that prohibition agent, remember him?”
“Yeah.”
“He and Jim searched the rooms of the Detourists who stayed with us last night.”
“That is strange. Any idea why?”
“They wouldn’t say. I tried to listen in on their conversation, but I could only catch a couple of words. John, Prudence’s was one of the rooms they searched.” She looked up at him, concern on her face.
“Really?” He shook his head. “I wonder why. She can’t be mixed up with anything illegal. Not Prudence.”
“I wonder if it has anything to do with the bootlegging gang that Simmons arrested.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Our Prudence? A gangster’s moll?”
“No, silly,” Clara laughed. “She’s hardly the type. Besides, you know her heart belongs to that Navajo school teacher. But, Simmons is a prohibition agent, and you know that he was here investigating bootlegging.”
“That’s true,” John agreed, “but Prudence wasn’t involved with any of that.”
“Not that we know of, but the newspaper did say that there was an unnamed ‘undercover agent.’”
“And you think that might have been Prudence? Her story about coming out here to be a Courier for the Indian Detours was just a cover? Seems like a pretty elaborate ruse. And if that were the case, why would Simmons be searching her room?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” Clara exclaimed. “It does sound unlikely when you put it that way. But what else could it be?”
John slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. As you say, Simmons is a prohis, so bootlegging seems reasonable, but, Prudence as an undercover agent?” He frowned. “If she is one, she’s a good one, because no one would ever guess she’s anything but a former librarian.”
“I thought I heard Simmons say something about ‘pot smuggling.’ Could it be to do with marijuana?”
John laughed loudly. “Prudence is even less likely to be mixed up with bootleg dope, honey! Not that someone else on the Detour might not be, but not Prudence. She doesn’t even smoke legal cigarettes.”
“No, of course not, but you know how she likes to poke her nose into anything that looks like a mystery. If it is Chicago gangsters or the Mexican mob, she could be in over her head.” Clara sighed. “Well, whatever it is,” she said, as they approached the steps to her house, “I hope she’s not in danger.”
“So do I, honey, so do I,” John said as he held the door open for Clara to pass through.
