Ivar Jorgensen

Summary

Ivar Jorgensen Mystery at Mesa Flat

There were desert-worn women, sun blackened children, leather-faced men.
The two Security men had been silent. Now Frank Brooks spoke suddenly. "If you're thinking about Quislings or traitors, Tom, it just doesn't make sense. These people aren't intelligent enough. An invader would go where—"
"I'm not thinking about that. Let's eat."
They went into the restaurant and were served by a fat woman who waddled back and forth from the kitchen, wedging herself through the doorway each time. The food was acceptable, exactly what could be expected in a place like this.
Source: Gutenberg

Ivar Jorgensen Mystery at Mesa Flat

Tom Brazier signed. Frank Brooks looked about, trying to find something wrong. Failing in this he tried to conjure up the uneasy feeling that something might be wrong. He failed again. He said, "How long have you been running this place, Pop?"
"Nigh onto ten years now. And the name's Frank Sibley, son. Never did get me a wife so o'course I ain't nobody's pop."
Frank Brooks grinned but as there was no rancor in the oldster's tone he didn't apologize.
"How is the food in the restaurant?" Tom Brazier asked.
"Fair to middlin'. Frijoles and beans. Ain't nobody can spoil frijoles and beans."
Source: Gutenberg

Ivar Jorgensen Mystery at Mesa Flat

Let's take a walk around the whole town—look at it from all angles."
They walked. They climbed into the jeep and rode the slopes and the arroyos. No one paid any attention to them. No one bothered them. They spent the day and returned to town and ate again in the bleak little restaurant. The same woman pushed endlessly through the too-narrow doorway. When they went to their room the lamp cast such an unsatisfactory light that they put it out and went to bed.
This arrangement satisfied Frank Brooks completely.
Source: Gutenberg

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