The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (71 page)

Penny climbed the creaking stairs and was followed by Mrs. Weems.

“This is his room,” said the housekeeper, opening a door. “I haven’t made the bed yet.”

She busied herself smoothing covers while Penny wandered about. The room had no rug. It was furnished with an old fashioned dresser, a wash stand and a bed with a high headboard.

Penny opened the closet door. The hangers were dangling together, without clothing. Everything had been packed into two suitcases which stood against the wall.

“I’ve already inspected the luggage,” said Mrs. Weems as the girl bent to open one of the bags. “You’ll find nothing except clothing. I tell you, Peter Fenestra is a very cautious man.”

“I can believe it,” agreed Penny. “This room is as bare of evidence as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”

“Just what do you hope to find?”

“Well, I don’t know. What’s this?” Penny picked up a sheet of notebook paper from the dresser.

“Don’t get excited over that,” laughed Mrs. Weems.

“It’s only a grocery list which Fenestra made up. He doesn’t trust anyone to spend his money for him.”

“Is this Fenestra’s writing?” Penny studied the paper with intense interest.

“Yes, it is.”

“Mrs. Weems, I’ve seen this writing before!” Penny exclaimed. “I’m almost certain of it. There’s a marked resemblance!”

“A resemblance to what, Penny?”

“Why, to a threatening note I received. I guess I never told you. Someone left a message on my desk at the newspaper office, warning me to give up my paper.”

“And you think Peter Fenestra left it there?” inquired the housekeeper, smiling.

“This looks like the same writing.”

“Probably you are mistaken, Penny. Why should he have any interest in your paper?”

“He came to the office one day, questioning me about a story I ran concerning John Munn. I shall keep this and compare it with the note.”

Carefully folding the paper, Penny slipped it into her dress pocket. Mrs. Weems had finished making the bed and was ready to leave.

“I’ve learned everything I can for you,” she said. “Now I hope you’re willing to let me return home.”

“Please stay another day,” pleaded Penny. “I feel in my bones that we’re about to make an important discovery.”

“Those bones of yours!” complained the housekeeper. “Tell me, how is Tillie Fellows getting along?”

“Well, she tries hard, but I’ll admit Dad doesn’t like the arrangement.”

“Then I must return. It’s nonsense for me to stay here.”

Penny was paying no attention to Mrs. Weems’words. She had picked up the waste paper basket and was examining the contents. There were a few advertising circulars, an unaddressed envelope and a crumpled ball of paper. The latter, Penny carefully smoothed.

“Mrs. Weems!” she exclaimed. “Look at this!”

The housekeeper hastened to her side. Curiously, she examined the paper. It bore no writing, only a crude drawing of an octopus.

“This must be the paper which Anchor Joe left on the doorstep only a few minutes ago!” cried Penny excitedly.

“You think it may have been intended as a warning to Peter Fenestra?” The housekeeper regarded the drawing rather dubiously.

“I’m sure of it, Mrs. Weems! Don’t you see? The drawing is a copy of the tattoo which both Anchor Joe and John Munn had on their backs!”

“Yes, it does look the same as Joe’s marking,” conceded the housekeeper. “But what does it mean? Why was it sent to Fenestra?”

“I wish I knew.”

“One thing is clear. That boatman your father hired is a downright scamp.”

“He’s wanted by the government. We know that. But Fenestra may be a rascal, too. Why should Anchor Joe threaten him unless he’s done something he shouldn’t?”

“Why indeed? This is a case for the police, not one for you or me,” declared Mrs. Weems with finality. “I am ready to leave here whenever you are. I’ve decided not to bother giving Fenestra notice.”

“You can’t go now. You can’t!” moaned Penny. “Stay until after Thursday, at least. I’m positive everything will be cleared up by then.”

“Why Thursday?”

“Well, I have a little matter coming up on that day. Besides, I’ve sent off a letter which may help solve the mystery. Please, Mrs. Weems, do this one favor and I’ll never ask another.”

“Until next time, you mean. But to please you I’ll stay until Friday. Not a day longer. However, I warn you, if I see Anchor Joe prowling about, I shall summon the sheriff.”

“That’s all right with me,” grinned Penny. “I must skip now before Fenestra gets back from town. Just keep your eye on him and report to me if anything unusual happens.”

CHAPTER 20

PICNIC BY MOONLIGHT

Penny had never found it necessary to explain fully to her father what had become of Mrs. Weems. She had mentioned rather carelessly that the housekeeper was helping out at the Fenestra home for a few days, and he had accepted the substitution of Tillie Fellows without too many questions.

At breakfast on Wednesday morning, the publisher waited until Tillie had gone to the kitchen, and then asked in an undertone:

“How much longer is this to continue? When is Mrs. Weems coming home?”

“Friday morning, Dad. Don’t you like Tillie’s cooking?”

“It’s awful,” he whispered. “These eggs taste as if they had been fried in lard.”

“They were,” chuckled Penny. “Tillie was brought up to be frugal. She never wastes butter.”

The discussion was brought to an abrupt end by the appearance of Tillie. Mr. Parker immediately switched to another subject, that of a barbecue picnic which he gave each summer to the
Star
employes. Penny had forgotten that the outing was scheduled for that night at the cottage.

“I’m glad you reminded me, Dad,” she said. “I’ll be there with bells to eat my share of roast beef. Mind if I bring Old Horney?”

“Invite him if you like,” replied Mr. Parker. “But no others. This is a newspaper picnic, not a bread line as you made it last year.”

After school that afternoon Penny worked as usual at the
Times
office. She was busy figuring advertising space when she glanced up and saw Fred Clousky standing in the doorway.

“Are—are you busy?” asked the boy diffidently.

“Yes, I am,” said Penny with discouraging brevity.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Fred murmured, “but I was wondering—do you have a job for me around here? I’d like to work on a real paper. Being editor of
Chatter
is okay but you don’t get any practical experience.”

“Oh, so you want a job?” inquired Penny. Inclined to give him a short answer, she thought better of it. “Everything considered,” she said, “what you need, Fred, is to learn about different kinds of type. It’s so easy to get name-plates and various headlines mixed!”

Fred kept his gaze on his shoes.

“I have just the job for you,” resumed Penny. “You can sort and clean the type when it’s broken out of the page forms. If you do that well, perhaps you can work up later on.”

“When do I start?” Fred asked in a crushed voice.

Penny was surprised for she had expected him to decline such a dirty, menial job. In a far more friendly tone she directed him to seek Old Horney who would be found in the composing room.

“Fred isn’t so bad after all,” she thought after he had gone. “I’ll give him an office job next week.”

Penny returned to her work. In need of an extra sheet of paper, she tried to open the lower drawer of her desk. It was stuck fast. She tugged at it several times, finally pulling it out entirely. A folded newspaper clipping dropped to the floor.

Wondering what it might be, she picked it up. The torn sheet, yellow with age, bore the picture of a young man. The face was vaguely familiar although the name beneath it read, Matthew Jewel.

“Matthew Jewel,” she whispered. “But it’s Matthew Judson! Judson as a young man. He must have changed his name!”

The two column headline drew her attention.

MATTHEW JEWEL BEGINS TEN YEAR SENTENCE IN NEW YORK PRISON FOR MISAPPROPRIATION OF BANK FUNDS

The clipping, she noted, had been cut from a New York paper and was dated twenty years earlier. It reported Matthew Jewel’s conviction, following an admission that he had stolen two thousand dollars belonging to the Berkley Savings Bank.

Penny studied the picture again. Not the slightest doubt entered her mind that the young man of the story and Matthew Judson were the same individual. Evidently the clipping had been saved by the former publisher, and in some manner had become lodged beneath the drawer.

“I’m sure no one in Riverview ever knew that Judson served a term in prison,” she thought. “He came here years ago with his daughter, and to all appearances had led an upright life.”

After perusing the item again, she returned it to the drawer which she carefully locked. She knew that the information was of utmost importance. Was it not possible that she had stumbled upon a motivation for Judson’s strange behavior of the past year? Could not the data contained in the clipping have provided an unscrupulous person with a basis for blackmail?

“But why should Judson ruin his career rather than face exposure?” she reflected. “Other men have made mistakes in their youth and started over again. The truth might have humiliated him, but Riverview people would have taken a charitable attitude.”

Deeply troubled, Penny gathered together her belongings and went in search of Old Horney. Finding him initiating Fred Clousky in his new duties, she discreetly invited him to attend the picnic.

“Thank you mightily,” responded the pressman,“but I’m not dressed for it. These pants are so shiny you could use ’em for a mirror.”

“Don’t you worry about your clothes, Horney. Besides, it will be so dark no one will notice. Dad gave you a special invitation.”

“Did he now?” The old pressman could not hide his pleasure. “Well, if you think he really wants me, maybe I’ll go.”

“You wash up while I get the car,” Penny urged. “We’re rather late.”

Within ten minutes, Old Horney met her at the front entrance. His hair was combed, he wore a frayed coat, and had contrived to polish his shoes.

“Horney,” Penny said abruptly as they drove toward the river, “did you ever hear that Matthew Judson had been in trouble before he gave up his paper?”

“You mean financial?” the pressman inquired.

“No, I meant of a personal nature. I’ve been thinking over your theory that Judson was blackmailed.”

“Maybe I oughtn’t to have said what I did. It was just my own idea.”

“I’m inclined to believe there may be something to it, Horney. Now supposing that Judson had stolen money or had been in prison—”

“It couldn’t have been that,” interrupted the pressman. “Why, Judson was so honest he bent over backwards.”

Penny was tempted to tell Horney about the clipping, but refrained from doing so. However, she was satisfied that employes of the
Morning Press
had gained no inkling of Mr. Judson’s prison record.

The picnic was well under way by the time Penny and the pressman arrived at the river cottage. A caterer had taken complete charge, and with his crew of helpers, prepared to serve nearly two hundred boisterous, hungry newspaper employes.

Always a favorite, Penny immediately was surrounded by a group of friends. Assured that Horney had found welcome with pressmen acquaintances, she entered wholeheartedly into the frivolity.

Jerry Livingston, frowning away all other young men, became her escort for the evening. After supper had been served, he guided her firmly away from the group.

“We don’t want to hear any speeches,” he said. “Let’s go look at the moon.”

“Can’t we see it here?” countered Penny.

“A moon to be appreciated properly must be seen from a sandy beach,” chuckled Jerry. “Preferably from a nice comfortable shoulder.”

Breaking away, Penny raced ahead of him, along the beach to the suspension bridge. She was halfway across when he overtook her, rocking it so violently that she had to cling to him for support.

“Stop that, Jerry Livingston! You’ll break the bridge!”

“Then don’t try to run away from me. Will you let me show you the moon?”

“No, I know you, Jerry. You show it to all the girls.”

“If I do, it’s just as a rehearsal. You see, Penny, I’ve hoped that someday I might get a chance to show it to you.”

“What a line you have,” laughed Penny. “But I won’t play. As a moon-shower your technique is terrible. Better practice some more.”

Jerry chuckled and slipping his hand in hers, led her on across the bridge.

“If you won’t look at the moon,” he said, “then take a squint at Old Man River.”

“I believe I prefer the moon after all,” Penny returned, raising her eyes to the disc of light sailing serenely through the star-pricked sky. “It
is
beautiful.”