Ed was intrigued by the news. “Looks as though you may be getting mixed up in this ruby mystery yourself, Tom,” he remarked.
Tom gave a dry chuckle. “I hope not. I am right in the middle of a hot experiment.”
“In that case, I’ll hang up.” Ed laughed. “But keep me informed of developments.”
“Right. So long, Ed, and thanks.”
After working at a frenzied pace through most of the week end, with only time out for a church service, Tom decided on Monday to accompany Bud and the girls to Taos to pick up Sandy’s ring. He wondered if Garth, or the police there, might have fresh news about Mirza.
Chow, too, begged to go along. “Reckon I’ll mosey around town a bit while you buckaroos are gettin’ that ring,” he said. As soon as their station wagon arrived in town he hurried off.
“Don’t buy any Indian shirts with purple-and-orange thunderbirds on them!”
Bud called.
Chow turned to give a dignified sniff. He had hardly taken two steps forward again when a plump woman with orange-yellow hair and jan-56 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR
gling silver earrings pounced on him with a glad cry. She wore a paint-smeared artist’s smock.
“O-oh! What a colorful character!” she shrilled in a piercing voice. “A perfect old Western type! Such rugged, sun-bronzed features!”
“Huh?” Chow gulped. “Beg pardon, ma’am?”
His remark sent her into fresh gales of excitement. “You positively must pose for a painting!” she declared. “Naturally I’ll pay you the top model’s fee!”
Chow’s face took on a pleased smirk as he realized that she was an artist and wished to paint his portrait.