The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (138 page)

Penny found her new duties exacting, but surprisingly easy. Over the years it was astonishing how much she had learned about the workings of a newspaper plant. At different times she had served as reporter, society editor and special feature writer. As for the editorial policy of the
Star
, she was thoroughly familiar with it, for her father frequently aired his views at home.

Shortly after the noon edition rolled from the press, the buzzer in Mr. Schirr’s office sounded. Mr. Parker’s private secretary did not answer. The buzzer kept on for nearly five minutes. Then the door was flung open.

“What the blazes is the matter with everyone?”Schirr shouted.

His gaze fastened upon Penny at the copy desk.

“Meet our new editor, Mr. Schirr,” said Salt, who had that moment come out of the camera room.

Schirr ignored Penny. Snatching up one of the noon editions, still fresh with wet ink, he glanced at the front page. His eyes flashed.

“Eckert,” he said to the head copy man, “come into my office. I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure,” said Eckert, but he did not follow Schirr into the adjoining room.

Soon the ex-editor came storming out to learn what was wrong. This time his expression was baffled.

“Mr. Eckert,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “Will you please step into my office?”

“Sorry,” replied the copy reader. “You may as well know right now that you’re not giving the orders around here!”

“We’ll see about that!” cried Schirr.

Darting to one of the speaking tubes, he called the foreman of the press room.

“Schirr talking!” he said curtly. “Stop the presses! Kill that noon edition! We’re making over the front page!”

“Can’t hear you,” was the reply, for word had been passed to the men in the pressroom. “Louder!”

Schirr shouted until he was nearly hoarse. Then suddenly conscious that he was making a spectacle of himself, he slammed into his office. A minute later he reappeared, hat jammed low over his eyes.

“This is a very clever scheme, Miss Parker,” he said, facing her. “Well, it won’t work. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back. With a lawyer!”

He strode from the newsroom, banging the door so hard the glass rattled.

“Don’t worry about that egg,” Salt advised Penny. “He’s mostly bluff.”

“I think he does mean to get a court order,” she returned soberly.

“He may try,” Salt shrugged. “We can handle him.”

Following Schirr’s departure, everything moved smoothly at the
Star
plant. One edition after another rolled from the presses. Penny was kept busy, and frequently she was worried and in doubt. Nevertheless, everyone made the way easy for her, and as the day wore on she gained confidence.

Throughout the afternoon, news stories kept pouring into the
Star
office, but no encouraging information came in regard to Mr. Parker. Several times Penny called the police station and also talked with Mrs. Weems. The housekeeper, fearful that the girl would become ill, insisted upon bringing a hot evening meal to the office.

“Penny, you’ve been here all day,” she chided anxiously. “You must come home with me.”

“I can’t just yet,” Penny replied. “There’s too much to do. By tomorrow, if Schirr doesn’t make trouble, things will smooth out.”

“You’re working so hard you’ll be sick abed!”

“I want to work,” Penny said grimly. “It keeps me from thinking. Anyway, Dad would want me to do it.”

Mrs. Weems sighed as she gathered up the lunch basket and thermos bottle. Penny barely had tasted the food.

“When will you be home?” the housekeeper asked.

“I can’t say exactly. After the night editions are out. Don’t sit up for me.”

“You know I couldn’t go to bed until you are home,” Mrs. Weems responded. “You’ll take a taxi?”

“Of course,” promised Penny.

After the housekeeper had gone, she plunged into her duties once more. With the force short of two men, DeWitt and Schirr, there really was too much work for the desk men to do unassisted. Penny wrote headlines, copy-read stories, and passed on all matters of policy. So busy did she keep, that when at length she glanced at her watch, it was eleven-thirty.

“Gracious!” she thought. “And Mrs. Weems will be waiting up for me!”

Saying goodnight to the men who would carry on in her absence, she went down the back stairs to the street. As she glanced about for a taxicab, she saw Old Mose Johnson shuffling toward the loading dock.

“Good evening,” she greeted him. “I’m glad to see you’re ahead of time tonight.”

“Good evenin’, Miss Penny,” the colored man said, doffing his tattered hat. “Yas’m. I’se heah, but I seed dat same ghost a-lurkin’ behind de gate!”

“I hope that ghost isn’t becoming a habit with you, Mose.”

“Deed Miss Penny, he’s mo’ dan a habit,” the colored man sighed. “He’s a suah-nuff live ghost. De fust time I seed him I thought he wasn’t no imagination ghost. But when I saw him agin’ tonight I was dead suah of it.”

“What happened this time, Mose?”

“Well, Miss Penny, I was a walking along dat same road, down by de ole Harrison place when I seed him again. He was a-cavortin’ behind dat same iron gate. And he was dressed de same too, in a long white robe.”

“And you ran the same too, I suppose?” smiled Penny.

“Ah made myself scarce around dat gate, but I didn’t run home dis time. I was a-skeered of mah ole woman. I beats it to de restaurant on de co’ner and waits dere ’till a bus comes. Oh, I’se gettin’ good, Miss Penny! I can see a ghost and git to work on time, all de same evenin’!”

“Well, keep up the good work,” Penny said jokingly as she turned away.

The meeting with Old Mose had served to divert the girl’s mind from her own difficulties. Riding home by taxi, she caught herself reviewing the details of the colored man’s outlandish tale.

“Mose couldn’t have seen a ghost,” she thought,“but he’s honest about being frightened. If I didn’t have so many serious troubles, I’d be tempted to investigate the old Harrison estate myself.”

Penny alighted at her home and walked wearily up the shoveled path. Snow was falling once more. Already the exposed porch was covered with a half-inch coating of feathery flakes.

Inside the house a light flashed on. The bright beam shining through the window drew Penny’s attention to a series of freshly-made footprints criss-crossing the porch.

“Mrs. Weems must have had a visitor,” she thought, observing that the heel marks were made by a woman’s shoe.

As Penny reached for the door knob, her glance fell upon a long, narrow envelope which protruded from the tin mailbox. She removed it, wondering why the housekeeper had neglected to do so.

Mrs. Weems opened the door.

“Thank goodness, you’re home at last, Penny. I fell asleep on the davenport. There isn’t any word—”

“Not a scrap of news,” Penny completed.

Dropping the letter on the center table, she removed her wraps and flung herself full length on the davenport.

“You poor child!” Mrs. Weems murmured. “You’re practically exhausted. Please go straight to bed. I’ll fix some warm milk and perhaps you can sleep.”

“I don’t feel as if I’d ever sleep again,” Penny declared. “I’m tired, but I feel so excited and tense.”

Mrs. Weems picked up the girl’s coat and cap. Shaking them free of snow, she hung the garments in the closet.

“Did you have a bad time of it today?” Penny asked after a moment.

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Mrs. Weems replied. “Reporters and photographers came from every paper in Riverview. The police too—although I was glad to have them. And the telephone! I counted twelve calls in an hour.”

“You must be dead. You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”

“I wanted to, Penny. About an hour ago I thought I heard your step on the porch, but I was mistaken.”

Penny sat up. “Haven’t you had a caller during the last hour, Mrs. Weems?”

“No, I’ve been alone.”

“But I saw footprints on the porch! And I found this in the mailbox!”

Penny snatched the long envelope from the table. Holding it beneath the bridge lamp, she noticed for the first time that it bore no stamp. Strangely, it was addressed to her.

“Why, where did you get that letter?” cried Mrs. Weems.

“Found it in the mailbox.” Penny’s hand trembled as she ripped open the flap.

A sheet of writing paper, high quality and slightly perfumed, slid from the envelope. The message was terse and bore no signature at the end. It read:

“Offer a suitable reward and information will be provided as to the whereabouts of your father. Make your offer known in the
Star
.”

CHAPTER 11

BY A CEMETERY WALL

Penny and Mrs. Weems reread the anonymous message many times, analyzing every word.

“Plainly this note was written by a woman of some means for the paper is fine quality,” Penny commented. “She must have sneaked up on the porch about an hour ago.”

“Call the police at once,” urged Mrs. Weems. “They’ll tell us what we should do.”

“Whoever left the note may be watching the house.”

“We must risk that, Penny. I’ll call the station myself.”

While Mrs. Weems busied herself at the telephone, Penny switched off the living-room light. She could see no one loitering anywhere near the house. Slipping on her coat, she went outside to inspect the footprints left on the porch. Only a few remained uncovered by snow. There was no way to tell in which direction the writer of the anonymous message had gone.

Mrs. Weems had completed her telephone call by the time Penny reentered the house.

“Two detectives will be here in a few minutes,” she revealed. “You keep watch for them while I run upstairs and get into something more suitable than a lounging robe.”

Within ten minutes a car drew up in front of the house. Penny already was acquainted with Detectives Dick Brandon and George Fuller, and had great confidence in their judgment. Anxiously she and Mrs. Weems waited while the men scanned the anonymous message.

“This might be only a crank note,” commented Brandon. “Someone who’s read of Mr. Parker’s disappearance, and hopes to pick up a little cash.”

“Then you don’t think it came from the tire-theft gang?” Penny asked.

“Not likely. A professional kidnaper never would have sent a note like this. The handwriting hasn’t even been disguised.”

“Will it be possible to trace the person?”

“It should be if we have a little luck.” Detective Brandon pocketed the letter. “Now this is what you must do, Miss Parker. Offer a reward—say five thousand dollars—for information about your father.”

“I’ll get the story in every edition of the
Star
tomorrow. And then what am I to do?”

“You’ll likely hear from the writer of this anonymous message, either by letter or telephone. If you contact the woman, arrange a meeting. Then notify us immediately.”

The discussion went on. When at length the two detectives left, Penny and Mrs. Weems were hopeful that within another twenty-four hours they might know Mr. Parker’s fate.

In the morning, after only five hours of sleep, Penny was back at her desk. Her first act was to dictate the story offering a five-thousand-dollar reward for information about her father. Not even to Salt Sommers did she confide that she had received an anonymous message.

“Everything’s going well here at the plant,” he assured her. “Harley Schirr hasn’t so much as stuck his nose through the door.”

“I hope we’re through with him,” replied Penny soberly. “However, I don’t feel that we are. By the way, no telegram has come from Jerry?”

“No message yet. Guess he didn’t get your wire.”

Throughout the morning, Penny worked tirelessly at her desk. Although her father’s office now was vacant, she did not take possession. Even when she occasionally entered to get papers from the file, it gave her a queer, tight feeling. Her father’s old neck-scarf still hung on the clothes tree. The rubbers he hated to wear stood heel to heel against the wall.

“Dad is alive and well,” she told herself whenever her courage faltered. “By tomorrow he’ll be back. I know he will.”

At noon Salt brought Penny a sandwich which she ate without leaving her desk. As she struggled with the last mouthful, the telephone rang.

“Is this Miss Parker?” inquired a woman’s voice.

Penny gripped the receiver tightly. Her pulse began to pound. Although she had no real reason for thinking so, she suddenly knew that she was in contact with the mysterious writer of the anonymous message.

“Yes,” she replied, keeping her voice calm.

“You offered a reward in your paper today. Five thousand dollars for information about Mr. Parker.”

“True. Can you tell me anything about his disappearance?”