The Desert Thieves Page 2

  “What makes you think he has accomplices?” Joe asked.

  “Because the specimens he’s taken are large,” Grish answered. “Removing them requires heavy equipment, and I doubt that one person could do it alone.”

  “Who’s handling the investigation?” Fenton asked.

  “I’m supposed to be working in conjunction with the state investigators in Phoenix,” Grish said. “But so far they’ve been swamped with other cases and haven’t been able to make a trip out here.”

  “So who is helping you?” Joe asked.

  “I’ve been pretty much on my own,” Grish said, braking to avoid hitting a jackrabbit. “I check the sites myself as soon as we find them. I take photographs, make measurements, keep records, that sort of thing. Gather evidence.”

  “Have you checked on Kidwell’s background to see if he has a record?” Frank asked.

  “I didn’t think of that,” Grish said.

  “I’m sure all this interferes with your other duties,” Fenton said.

  “Yes, it does,” Grish said with a nod. “But it’s part of my job.”

  “What about the tourists?” Frank asked. “Don’t people notice the holes in the ground and the damage from the trucks running over the plants?”

  “Sometimes,” Grish said. “If they report anything, we tell them that, yes, there has been some damage and we are investigating. That’s all they need to hear.”

  “Well, it sounds to me as if you could use a little help,” Joe said. “We—”

  “I appreciate the offer,” Grish said, glancing at Joe in the rearview mirror. “But why don’t you relax, enjoy yourselves, and take in the sights?”

  As he turned the car into the campground, Grish became quiet. They drove between rows of large motor homes, each parked at a designated campsite with a picnic table beside it. Couples and families sat around the table at most of the sites.

  “Some of these campers look as if they’ve been here for a while,” Fenton said.

  “Some of them stay for weeks,” Grish said. “Most move on after a day or two, though.”

  “Have any of them been here for longer than a few weeks?” Joe asked.

  Grish nodded as he pulled up behind the Hardys’ motor home. “As a matter of fact, this guy right next to you has been here quite a while. His name is Townsend. He’s a university professor. He and his daughter are doing biological research of some kind—she’s his assistant. She’s nice enough, but he’s a little hard to talk to. They aren’t here all the time, though. They leave for a couple of days every week or two.”

  “Is there anybody besides Kidwell who might be involved in the cactus thefts?” Joe asked. “Any of the tourists?”

  “No,” Grish said. “But listen. I know you’re dying to get involved. I’m sure you are all very good detectives, but I don’t want word of my suspicions to get out. There are just too many big ears around.”

  “Grish, we are experienced investigators,” Frank said, “and we know how to keep our mouths shut. We could be a lot of help to you.”

  Fenton joined in and said, “That’s true. It’s your business, if you don’t want our help. But you know as well as we do that we can keep things confidential.”

  Grish turned around in his seat and said, “I appreciate the offer, but let me handle it. If I need help, you’ll be the first to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do at the office.”

  Putting the car into gear, Grish paused. “This job used to be fun,” he said. “Now we’re looking at budget cuts, downsizing, people losing their jobs, and now all this thievery. I’m getting tired. Is that dinner invitation still open?”

  “We’ll be waiting for you,” Fenton said.

  As the Hardys got out of the car, Grish said, “Great. And if you come by the office in the morning, I’ll show you a map of the very best places to see in the park.”

  He drove away. Frank and Joe watched him go, then looked at each other.

  “Now, guys,” Fenton said with amusement, “I know that look in your eyes. But you’ve got to remember, this is Grish’s concern. Let’s do as he asks and stay out of it. If he wants help, he’ll ask.”

  “Right, Dad,” Joe said, with a wink at Frank. “It sounds interesting, though. Cactus rustlers?”

  “It does,” Fenton said as he took a seat at the picnic table. “In the meantime, who’s cooking? I’m starved.”

  “It’s Joe’s turn to cook,” Frank said, taking a seat beside him.

  “That’s right,” Joe said. “Tonight we’ll be having Joe Hardy’s Gourmet Beans and Wienies.”

  “The last time we had Joe Hardy’s Beans and Wienies,” Frank said with a laugh, “they were burned to a crisp.”

  “That,” Joe said, opening the door of the motor home, “is because you weren’t paying attention when I stepped out and asked you to watch them.” He disappeared inside to get the food and drinks, then poked his head out for a moment.

  “I love this motor home,” he said. “I still can’t get over it. It’s got a bathroom, beds, a dining room, and a living room with a TV. It even has a complete kitchen. It’s just like a house on wheels. Hey, we could go into business selling wienies and live out here like real cowboys. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Yeah, right, dude,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. “We’re your first customers, and we’re not terribly impressed with the service.”

  “Hey, you just gave me an idea, Frank,” Joe said. “We could call our company Food for Dudes! What do you think?”

  Fenton laughed. Frank shook his head and said, “Dream on, bro.”

  Fenton had rented the motor home in Phoenix on their way to Organ Pipe, and at first the feeling of driving a house down the road was strange. But they’d adjusted quickly, enjoying the idea that whoever was not driving could walk to the refrigerator anytime to get a cold drink or even work out with the weights they’d brought along.

  At the dealer’s suggestion, they had also rented a small car to tow. That way, once they got to Organ Pipe, they could leave the motor home parked at the campground and drive around in the car. And since the motor home came equipped with a two-way CB radio, Fenton had also rented a CB walkie-talkie to keep in the car.

  Frank opened an outside cabinet door on the side of the motor home and pulled out a bag of charcoal. As he sprinkled the chunks in the raised brick barbecue, he said, “You know, Dad, I was thinking. Joe and I could work on this case while we’re here, and Grish wouldn’t even have to know about it.”

  “Oh?” Fenton said, popping open a can of soda.

  “If we could figure out where the other theft sites have been,” Frank continued, “we could do our own investigating. This park covers thousands of square miles, so Grish wouldn’t even see us. We could get tire measurements, check out the damage, look for footprints, whatever. Plus, we could get to know some of the people here at the campground and get a feeling for whether any of them are involved. I’ll bet there are clues Grish has missed.”

  “That’s right,” Joe said. He had come back out and was trying to light the charcoal. “I don’t think he has any training in detective work.”

  “And he wouldn’t have to know we were involved until after we’ve solved the case,” Frank said. “Dad, you could visit with him and keep him busy while we check things out. Meanwhile, we can trail Kidwell to figure out what he’s up to, and we can call to find out if he has a criminal record. And while you’re hanging out with Grish, he might even accidentally give you some information we could use for solving the case.”

  “Grish has asked us to stay out of this affair,” Fenton reminded Frank. “We don’t want to cause any trouble for him. Personally, I think he can probably solve this case on his own, given enough time.”

  Joe was admiring the flames curling around the charcoal when he noticed that a young man had squatted down behind the Hardys’ motor home, almost out of view. He was pointing a camera at a small cactus near the right rear tire, but his eyes were on the
Hardys. As soon as Joe spotted him, he straightened up and started fiddling with his camera. He looked about eighteen or nineteen, tall and thin, with a long blond ponytail. Joe had a strong hunch he’d been eavesdropping.

  “Excuse me,” Joe called loudly. “What are you doing? Do you need something?” Joe walked around the corner of the motor home, a frown on his face.

  The man turned and walked off, as if Joe hadn’t even spoken.

  “Hey!” Joe shouted. “I asked you what you were doing.”

  At that, the man took off, running fast in the other direction. And just as fast, Joe was after him.

  3 A Suspect Arrives

  * * *

  Sprinting after the intruder, Joe caught up with him two campsites away. He grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, whirling the guy around to face him.

  “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.