Mystery of the Moss-Covered Mansion (3 page)

The three had left in such a hurry they had neglected to bring flashlights. As they progressed deeper into the grove, the searchers could see practically nothing under the trees.

“We’ll never be able to find the orange packing house,” George remarked.

They went on for several seconds, then Nancy stopped. “I guess you’re right. We’ll come back in the morning and find out if there is an extension in the packing house. I’m inclined to believe it was Antin calling from there. What do you two think?”

Mr. Drew agreed, but George said, “It might have been Tina. Don’t forget, Nancy, that you heard a door close softly.”

Nancy made no reply. She had turned to go back to the house but suddenly realized she did not know which direction to take. She consulted her companions.

Mr. Drew laughed. “I should think a detective like you could find her way in the dark,” he teased.

“Just for that,” said his daughter, “I’ll lead you right back to the Billingtons’ ”

She began to feel the tree trunks, saying to herself, “We came north and that would be the roughest side of the tree.” Presently she found the south side and then said, “Follow me!”

The trees, though planted in straight rows, were not in lines parallel to the compass. Nancy felt the bark of each tree she came to and kept veering slightly eastward. In a little while the lights of the Billington house came into view.

“You did it!” George praised her friend.

Nancy laughed. “I played leader this time but either of you could have found the way.”

When the three came into the kitchen they were greeted by Hannah and Bess. “Mission accomplished?” Mrs. Gruen asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Nancy replied. Then she whispered, “Has Antin come in?”

Bess replied, “Yes. He rushed past the two of us without saying a word and went upstairs. He sure is a weirdo.”

In low voices the group discussed the Resardos. While they had no proof the couple was dishonest, each of them had a feeling of mistrust. Hannah suggested that as a safety precaution the visitors lock their bedroom doors. Everyone looked at Mr. Drew. Would he agree to lock his?

To their surprise he did. He said no more, but the others were sure Nancy’s father was taking no chances with the caretaker and his wife in the house. The night passed peacefully, however.

When the Drews and their friends assembled for breakfast, Antin and Tina had not yet come downstairs. Just as the group finished eating, the couple appeared. They said good morning but carried on no conversation. They helped themselves to the food Hannah had left on the stove and ate in the kitchen.

Presently Antin went out the rear door. Tina announced she was going shopping and did not offer to help with the housework. She hurried away.

Hannah Gruen was exasperated. “How long does that woman expect me to wash her dirty dishes and prepare meals?”

“I’ll speak to them later,” Mr. Drew promised. “I’m leaving now in Mr. Billington’s car to see Mr. Datsun, the lawyer I engaged to help me on the case.”

Tina had already left in the Resardos’ car. Was she going grocery shopping or on some errands of her own?

“I don’t know whether to buy any supplies or not,” said Hannah. “What do you think, girls?”

Bess, who was hungry most of the time, answered, “I vote we buy some food and not depend on that awful creature.”

“But how are we going to get it?” George spoke up. “We have no car.”

Mrs. Gruen sighed. “I guess we can make out until your father returns and you can borrow the car.”

As soon as the necessary housework was finished, the girls set off through the orange grove to find the packing house. It was a good distance ahead. On the way Nancy and her friends saw many men picking oranges and putting them into baskets. A small truck would pick them up.

The packing house at the far end of the grove was a long, rectangular building. It contained machinery for sorting oranges by size, cartons for mailing fruit, and net sacks for local delivery. Men and women were busy picking out defective fruit.

There was a glass-partitioned office in one corner. On the desk stood a telephone!

Nancy walked up to one of the men and inquired if Antin was around. She learned he had not been there all morning.

“I can’t say when he’ll be back,” the workman continued. “He stays away from here a good deal nowadays. But that’s all right. We get along without him.”

The girls looked questioningly at one another but made no comment. Nancy asked the man, “Is the telephone here on a separate line or is it an extension of the one at the house?”

“It’s an intercom system with four extensions on this one number. Two of them are in the house. A third is at the side of this building. Would you like to make a call?” he asked.

“Yes, I would,” Nancy replied, glad of the chance to let her eyes roam around the office desk for a clue to the mysterious phone conversation.

She was disappointed not to find any, but Hannah Gruen had a message for her.

“Mrs. Nickerson called. She said something of interest has come up and she wants you to stop over as soon as possible.”

“She didn’t say what it was?” Nancy queried.

“No,” Hannah replied.

Nancy said the girls would visit Mrs. Nickerson when they could use Mr. Billington’s car. “We’ll see you in a little while, Hannah.”

She and her friends watched the sorting and packing operation. Nancy spoke to several of the workers. Not one of them could give any information about the identity of the man who had delivered the oranges with the explosives in them. All the men declared they knew nothing about it except what had been in the newspapers. One thing they were sure of—Mr. Billington was innocent. They hoped he would soon be exonerated.

The girls heard a truck arriving and went outside to watch it being unloaded. Baskets of oranges were lifted onto a belt which carried them to a chute where the fruit was dumped into the washing and sorting machine.

Nancy stood near the truck, gazing at the man who was lifting out the baskets. Suddenly one slipped from his hands and came tumbling directly toward Nancy’s head!

“Look out!” cried Bess behind her.

Fortunately Nancy had seen the basket and leaped out of the way. The fruit smashed to the ground. Her first thought was that the man had dropped it on purpose, then she rationalized what possible purpose could he have in harming her? He did not apologize. Nancy went inside and asked a workman his name.

“It’s Jackson,” he replied. “We call him Old Clumsy Fingers.” Nancy smiled and said that explained why she had almost been hit with a basket of oranges.

Nancy, Bess, and George walked back through the grove, disappointed that they had learned nothing to advance their sleuthing.

As they approached the house, Nancy told the girls about Mrs. Nickerson’s call. “But we can’t go there without a car. It’s too far. I hope Dad will be back soon.”

When he had not returned by late morning, Nancy became restless. She was on the verge of telephoning Mrs. Nickerson, when George, who had been exploring the grounds, dashed into the house.

“Guess what I saw!” she explained. “The Billingtons’ boat. It’s neat! Why don’t we go to the Nickersons in that?”

“Great idea!” Bess spoke up. “Let’s see if it will run.”

Nancy told Hannah where the girls were going, then the three hurried through the Billingtons’ lovely garden to the waterfront. Only a few motor-boats were purring along the shores of the Indian River.

The end of the garden was several feet above the water level and had a bulkhead to keep the soil from washing away. A boathouse extended into the river. Inside it was a sleek speedboat, the
Starbeam.
The key was in the ignition.

“What a beauty!” Bess cried out. “But it looks powerful. Nancy, would you dare take it out?”

The young detective smiled. “Of course.”

She made sure there was sufficient fuel and familiarized herself with the various gadgets. Her eyes twinkling, she said, “Here goes!”

In a few seconds the motor was throbbing quietly and she steered the craft into the river. Twenty minutes later she pulled alongside a dock which bore the name Nickerson. The girls tied the boat securely and went up to the house.

Ned’s mother was a very attractive woman. When greeting Nancy she showed the deep affection she held for the girl.

“What I wanted to tell you,” Mrs. Nickerson said as they all sipped glasses of cola, “is that friends of ours who have gone North to live have put their house on the market. It’s listed with Mr. Gilbert Scarlett, a local realtor. I was thinking how wonderful it would be, Nancy, if your father would buy the place.”

“I’d love to see it,” Nancy replied. “Is it far from here?”

“No, we can walk there easily.”

Mrs. Nickerson led the girls to a charming place about a quarter of a mile away. The house stood halfway between the river and the road. It was a two-story building with attractive, well-kept grounds.

“How lovely!” Nancy exclaimed.

“The owner, Mr. Webster,” said Mrs. Nickerson, “has all kinds of unusual trees and shrubs on the place besides an orange grove. He even has a sausage tree. It is rarely seen in this country.”

The visitors were intrigued by the wide variety of trees and shrubs. Each had a plaque attached that gave its Latin botanical name and the English equivalent. Finally they came to the sausage tree.

It was about thirty feet tall with a profusion of leaves. From the branches hung greenish sausage-shaped fruit that resembled rough-textured melons. These were nearly six inches wide and twelve inches long.

George felt one. “Wow! This would make a real swinging weapon!” The others laughed.

Mrs. Nickerson said the fruit was not edible and the pollen was carried in the spring from one flower to another by bats.

“Ugh!” Bess exclaimed.

The tree was near a high wire-mesh fence which looked strong enough to stop a large, fast-moving truck.

Bess remarked, “That place next door sure is spooky with all those old oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. Who lives there?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Nickerson replied.

At that moment a chilling scream came from inside the grounds!

THE piercing scream was not repeated. Nancy and her friends peered through the wire-mesh fence for a glimpse of a house. The jungle of trees with their long streamers of Spanish moss concealed whatever buildings might be on the property.

Nancy turned to Mrs. Nickerson. “Have you ever been in there?”

“No,” Ned’s mother replied. “The place is so forbidding I never tried to get acquainted with the occupants. Besides, I suspect whoever lives there owns some wild animals!”

George said she was curious to find out what she could. “If this fence doesn’t go around the whole property, let’s look for an opening and go in.”

Bess objected at once. “Not me!”

Nancy settled the matter. “Actually we don’t have time,” she said. “Dad will be home, I’m sure, and I want to see if he has any news for us. But we’ll come here the first chance we have.”

Mrs. Nickerson teased, “Now I understand how you girls become involved in mysteries.”

Nancy smiled. “Sometimes we do stumble upon them.”

The group walked back to the Nickerson home, said good-by, and hurried to their boat. When they reached the Billington house, Mr. Drew was there. He was smiling and Nancy was sure he had had a successful morning.

“I like Mr. Datsun very much. It didn’t take long to talk over the case,” the lawyer said.

Mr. Drew delved into a breast pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out an envelope. “Surprise for you girls,” he announced.

He handed the envelope to Nancy. She opened it and took out six badges on which the word PRESS was printed.

Mr. Drew explained, “As an accredited writer I was given badges at the news center for you and the boys to watch the moon shoot next week.”

Bess and George stared at Mr. Drew. “You are an accredited writer?” Bess asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “I have a number of publications to my credit. Of course they’re all on legal matters.”

“How exciting!” said George. “Now we can see the lift-off and be as close as anyone is allowed.”

“Right.” Mr. Drew asked Hannah and the girls if they would like to make a tour of the Kennedy Space Center that afternoon. All were enthusiastic and Nancy said, “It will give me a chance to get acquainted with the place where the explosive oranges were taken. I might pick up a clue.”

As soon as luncheon was over they set off for the vast, well-kept government grounds that stretched along the ocean for miles. Mr. Drew parked the car near a sprawling building with a large roofed-over patio area. Under it were benches. Nancy and the others sat down to wait for a bus while her father bought tickets.

“This is the Visitor Information Center,” Mr. Drew remarked when he came back.

Nancy was impressed by the large number of European and Asiatic tourists who were there.

“The Kennedy Space Center means a lot to the whole world,” she thought, then walked up to the adjoining building to peer inside. There was a room with illuminated wall pictures of the various types of missiles. Here visitors could purchase books, postcards and souvenirs. Nancy saw an intriguing miniature model rocket. “I must come back and buy that,” she decided.

“All aboard!” called George, and Nancy hurried to join the others.

The two-hour tour began, and the driver announced that they would cover fifty miles. Nancy and her friends were fascinated by the mock-ups of missiles and rockets stretching ahead of them in long rows. Most of them were in the familiar cone shape.

The guide said that the very first missile sent up from the Cape was a two-stage Bumper.