Barbara agreed that the proposed excursion sounded like an ideal way to spend a Sunday. On the way home they speculated on what sort of place the Cafe El Gato might prove to be, and what sort of arrangement might be made with the owner for the sale of his equipment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Shortly after noon the following day, Barbara and Whit set out along the barren coastal road. Although ominous-looking clouds glowered on the horizon, the predicted rain squalls did not materialize. Several times Barbara asked Whit to stop the car so that she might photograph some of the majestic rock formations which jutted up from the frothing surf.
'You shutterbugs!' Whit said indulgently as she clambered out on the ledge and teetered precariously while focusing on her target. 'Anything for a good shot. You ought to get together with Rog Nelson, my partner. Now there is a camera addict. Never goes anywhere without a couple of bulging cases strapped over his shoulder. He looks like a tourist even in his home town!'
Barbara stuck out her tongue at him and climbed back into the car. 'He ought to have a grand collection by the time he returns from the Orient,' she remarked, thinking vaguely of cherry trees and Balinese dancers.
'Right now, he's on destroyer duty, but last time he wrote they were about to start for home, and he was hoping the ship would put in at Hong Kong and Tokyo long enough for him to shoot up a few yards of film.'
Urged on by Barbara, Whit described some of the places he had visited during his hitch in the Navy. Almost before he knew it, the little car was toiling up the steep winding road which led to Amigos.
The buildings which fronted the town's main street were ramshackle and unpainted. Few pedestrians were to be seen on the sidewalks. The gutters were clogged with debris, and the gloomy weather only intensified their impression that the place was really a ghost town and the sparse population figments of their imagination.
'Amigos looks a little short on friends at the moment,' Barbara commented as Whit pulled up to the curb in front of the only whitewashed building they had seen so far.
A decal of a stalking black cat was embellished on the door of the cafe. When no one appeared to answer their tentative knock, Whit tried the latch. Finding it unlocked, they stepped inside. Barbara was quick to notice the scrubbed appearance of the floors and counters, and that the furnishings were solid and unmarred.
A slender, black-haired boy of about sixteen emerged through the swinging door at that moment. Whit asked if he might speak with the proprietor, and the boy nodded shyly, answering that he would bring his uncle.
Manuel Rodriguez was a hospitable little man with a quick smile and a hearty handshake. 'Senior, senorita, come in-my house is yours,' he said, giving them the traditional Spanish greeting. 'You will not mind coming into my kitchen? I am my own cook, and the food must be tended.'
Seated in the homey room surrounded by penetrating odors of garlic, onion, and cheese, Whit stated his errand. Senior Rodriguez listened politely.
'I see. You weesh tables and chairs for this new business of yours.' He smiled, white teeth flashing against his olive skin. 'That is good. I must sell. The mill, you see, which gave work to most of the people in this town has gone-closed down. My customers went with it.' He shrugged philosophically. 'So my nephew, Felipe, and I go back to Guaymas.'
While the two men discussed details of the sale, Barbara wandered over to the huge iron range and watched as Felipe stirred the contents of one bubbling pot, added a pinch of salt to another. With an amused grin, he reeled off the names of the dishes.
'Frijoles, tamales, enchiladas,' he said. 'You like them?'
'They smell wonderful,' Barbara told him.
'You must dine with us, you and your friend.'
Manuel Rodriguez promptly seconded the invitation. Barbara and Whit, their appetites whetted by the tantalizing aromas, readily accepted, and were doubly glad of the decision when at the close of the meal Felipe took up his guitar and began to strum the melodies of old Mexico.
'Why don't you hire Felipe to play on the Albatross?' Barbara asked dreamily. 'Between his music and your cooking, you'd have to turn the cabins into extra dining rooms in no time.'
'Good idea, but I'm afraid he is going back to Mexico with his uncle,' Whit answered.
Felipe had been listening with interest. He would, he said, prefer to stay in California, at least for the rest of the summer. Had they a job for him?
'Not a very profitable one, I'm afraid,' Whit said, explaining that his budget would make a shoestring look fat.
'But lots of tips, maybe?' Felipe grinned, his black eyes sparkling. 'I sing and play the guitar. I clear the tables, I wash the dishes. You won't be sorry.'
Whit promised to think it over and let the boy know in a week's time, when he would return with the Albatross to collect the furniture. He and Manuel Rodriguez had had no difficulty in coming to an agreement, and a receipted bill of sale was in his pocket when at last they left the Cafe El Gato.
Stepping out into the street was like wading into the soft center of a marshmallow. The gray-white fog obscured even the closest objects. Barbara clung tensely to the window handle while Whit cautiously maneuvered around the sharp curves and turns. Then, suddenly, they were able to see again. The fog lay above them, hovering over the hill and the town of Amigos like a ceiling wispy with patches of flaking plaster.
'Scared?' Whit asked, removing his eyes from the road for the first time in fifteen minutes.
'Not now. I was, a little, ' Barbara admitted. Settling back, she closed her eyes. What a wonderful day it had been! Not even the fog could spoil it. With a warm feeling of happiness, she thought of the fire lit kitchen, of Felipe's fingers whispering across the strings of his guitar to bring forth those poignant melodies.
'Oh Whit, thank you for bringing me!' she cried. 'I've never spent such a perfect day!'
The glow of the dashboard was their only illumination, but she could see his face light up with pleasure. 'Neither have I,' he agreed enthusiastically. 'Your being along-well, it made all the difference.' For a time, he drove in silence. Then he burst out, 'It must be the very dickens being a Captain of Industry!'
Barbara stared at him. 'What brought that on?'
'Even trying to get a small business like mine established takes nearly every minute I have.'
'But think how nice it will be when the customers start flocking in.'
'Guess you're right. Maybe then I'll be able to relax and concentrate on something really important.' An alarming thought struck him. 'You're not going to leave Santa Teresa once the wedding is over, are you?'
'It all depends. I-I hope not.' More-than ever Barbara dreaded the move back to the city. If only she could find an apartment!
The return journey consumed more than an hour. By the time they drove up to the Prescott house, the sidewalks were deserted, and the only sign of life was the parade of yellow street lights glowing mistily through the darkness.
'Nobody home,' Whit remarked, eyeing the darkened windows. 'Gallivanters, these Prescott's. As bad as the Egan's and Torrances.'
'It's nearly ten.' Barbara smiled as she looked at the dashboard clock. 'They'll be home soon. Greg went with them to visit Regina's grandparents.'
Whit walked around to open the car door for her. 'Just the same, I don't like-'
He stiffened, staring at the house.
Her fingers tightening over his, Barbara followed his gaze. A bulky shadow flickered away from the enclosure of the porch. An instant later, a form materialized, solidly, at the head of the driveway.
The man continued to move toward them, not pausing in his measured tread until he-had reached the curb.
'You wouldn't,' he said with more than a hint of truculence in his tone, 'be Gregory Maiden, would you?'
Barbara's heart resumed its normal beat. How silly, she thought shakily, to have been so afraid. As if, in Santa Teresa, there was anything to fear. As if, she added reluctantly, men like Alexei Litvinov still prowled the streets.
'Nope,' Whit said. 'You wanted to see him?'
