The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (112 page)

“Will you agree to it?” she asked the girl, her eyes twinkling.

“Will I?” Rhoda laughed. “I love Rose Acres, and Ted and I will be together again! Mrs. Breen was kind to us, but she has her own family. Mrs. Marborough needs someone to care for her.”

“I think the arrangement will be an ideal one,”Penny declared. “Oh, yes, I meant to tell you. Judge Harlan has promised to look after your legal interests. With him working on the case those oil rights are the same as yours right now!”

As the night wore on, additional guests arrived at Rose Acres, crowding the spacious rooms. Nevertheless, shortly before midnight, Penny was surprised to see her father’s car drive up to the door, for she had not expected him to attend the party. Mr. Parker was accompanied by a reporter, Jerry Livingston.

“What brings you two news hawks here?” Penny asked, running outside to greet the newcomers. “You must have heard about Mr. Coaten and the pearl necklace!”

“Yes, but that’s not why we came,” Mr. Parker tersely replied. “There’s been a break in the dam above Cedarville and the river is rising fast!”

“Rose Acres isn’t in danger?” gasped Penny.

“The water shouldn’t come this high, but the flats will be inundated within a few minutes. Everyone is being warned to get out fast!”

“We’ve not been able to telephone Truman Crocker,” Jerry added. “His shack has no ’phone.”

“Can we drive down there?” Mr. Parker asked anxiously.

Penny shook her head. “Not without going miles around. The quickest way is to take the trail at the rear of this property. Wait, I’ll show you!”

Darting into the house for a coat, she led her father and Jerry to the hillside. Then, deciding to accompany them, she went on ahead down the steep incline.

“There’s a light burning in the shack,” Mr. Parker observed a few minutes later. “Crocker must be up.”

Reaching the building, the editor thumped once on the door of the workshop and then pushed it open. Truman Crocker was busy at his bench. Startled by the unexpected intrusion of the three visitors, he backed a few steps away from them.

“You can’t do nothin’ to me,” he mumbled. “All I did was what I was told to do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr. Parker cut him short. “We’re here to warn you! The dam at Cedarville has let go, and the river is rising fast.”

“The river—” the stonecutter faltered.

For a fleeting instant the man’s gaze had roved toward a large object covered with a piece of canvas. As Crocker’s words came back to Penny, she suddenly knew why he had been so startled to see her father. Impulsively, she darted across the room and jerked the canvas from the object it covered. Revealed for all to see was a large rounded rock, bearing a carving which had not been completed.

“A record stone!” she cried. “Truman Crocker, you are the one who planted those fakes! You’ve been hired by someone!”

“No, no,” the man denied, cringing away.

Mr. Parker strode across the room, and one glance at the rock Penny had uncovered convinced him that his daughter’s accusation was a sound one. Obviously, the stone had been treated with acid and chemicals to give it an appearance of great age. Several Indian figures remained uncompleted.

“Who hired you?” he demanded of Truman Crocker. “Tell the truth!”

“I ain’t tellin’ nothing,” the stonecutter returned sullenly.

“Then you’ll go to jail,” Mr. Parker retorted. “You’ve been a party to a fraud. It was the publicity agent of the Indian Show who hired you. He probably gave you a hundred dollars for the job.”

“Not that much,” Crocker muttered. “An’ you can’t send me to jail because all I did was fix the stones and put ’em where he told me.”

“You won’t go to jail if you testify to the truth,”Mr. Parker assured him. “All you’ll have to do is tell what you know—”

“I ain’t going to tell nothing,” Crocker said sullenly.

Moving so quickly that both Jerry and Mr. Parker were caught off guard, he wheeled and ran out the open door.

“Get him!” the editor barked. “Unless he’ll testify against Bill McJavins we may lose a big story!”

Penny waited anxiously at the shack while her father and Jerry pursued the fleeing man. Ten minutes later they stumbled back, completely winded, to report their failure. The laborer had hidden somewhere among the bushes dotting the hillside, and they could not hope to find him.

“Without Crocker’s story we have no more evidence than we ever had,” Mr. Parker declared in disgust.

Penny tapped the big rock with the half-completed carving. “You have this stone, Dad. If you could photograph it in this unfinished state, wouldn’t it tell its own story?”

“We have no camera here, and the river is rising fast. How long would it take you to get to town and back, Jerry?”

“I might make it in thirty minutes.”

“Before that time, this shack will be under water.”

Anxiously, Mr. Parker gazed at the dark, angry flood which swept so close to the door of the cabin. Inch by inch it was eating away a board walk which led to a pier and a boat tied to it.

“Dad!” Penny suddenly cried. “If only we could get this stone into the boat we could float it to Riverview!”

“Not a chance,” Mr. Parker returned briefly. “Both would sink.”

“We’re completely out of luck,” added Jerry. “At the rate the water is coming up, this shack will be awash in another fifteen minutes.”

“Dad,” Penny went on determinedly, “if we could make a heavy raft, couldn’t the stone be floated? It might be towed behind the boat.”

“A raft? There’s nothing from which to make one.”

“Yes, there is!” Penny pointed to several barrels, up-ended in a dark corner of the shop.

“It’s an idea!” cried Jerry. “We have Crocker’s tools! This story means a lot to you, Chief. Isn’t it worth a try?”

“Maybe it is,” Mr. Parker conceded, and then with sudden enthusiasm: “Let’s get to work. By moving fast we may yet outwit Old Man River!”

CHAPTER 25

PRECIOUS CARGO

Working with feverish haste, Mr. Parker and Jerry constructed a raft of eight empty barrels, wiring them together into one solid unit. Penny aided the two men as best she could, holding tools and offering suggestions which were not especially appreciated.

“Run outside and see that the boat is all right,” Mr. Parker instructed her. “We mustn’t let it float away.”

Obeying, Penny discovered that already the river was flowing in a shallow, muddy stream over the pier. The swift current tugged at the underpinning, threatening to carry it away. Wading through the water, she reached the boat and drew it close to the shack where she retied it.

By the time she finished, her father and Jerry had completed the raft.

“How will you ever get the stone on it?” Penny asked anxiously. “It must weigh several hundred pounds.”

“Just watch,” grinned Jerry.

During Penny’s absence, he and Mr. Parker had constructed a small square platform of rough boards, equipped with four tiny rollers. Getting the stone on it, they were able to trundle it outside to the raft with a minimum of exertion.

“Now dump her on easy,” Mr. Parker ordered Jerry. “If she sinks, our story sinks too.”

Together they rolled the heavy stone from the platform to the raft which immediately began to settle beneath the great weight.

“It’s going under!” Penny screamed.

As the three watched anxiously, the raft steadied and rode just beneath the surface of the water.

“She floats!” Jerry cried jubilantly. “Now unless we have an upset or strike an object in the river, we should make it to the Adams Street pier.”

“We’ll have a
Star
paper truck meet us there, and haul the rock to the newspaper plant,” Mr. Parker added with satisfaction. “Let’s shove off!”

Penny had untied the rowboat. However, as she prepared to step into it, her father pulled her back.

“This little trip isn’t for you, Penny. We might upset.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dad,” she argued. “You know very well I can swim circles around you. If the boat does go under, you’ll be glad to have me along.”

“Maybe you’re right,” the editor conceded. “Jump in.”

Water was flowing over the floor of the Crocker shack as the boat and the cumbersome raft started downstream. Jerry, who had elected to steer, found himself hard pressed to keep the prow nosing into the waves. Mr. Parker pulled without much enthusiasm at an extra oar supplied him, content to allow the swift current to do most of the work.

“Isn’t it fun?” Penny demanded, snuggling close to her father. “Just look at the beautiful stars!”

“Look at the river,” Mr. Parker retorted. “Do you realize that if we should strike a floating object—if that big rock should shift—”

“And see the lovely moon,” Penny went on dreamily. “I think it’s laughing at the joke we’re going to play on Jay Franklin in the morning.”

“That old coot will get a shock when he reads the
Star
,” Mr. Parker admitted, relaxing. “So will the publicity agent of the Indian Show. When I get through, the outfit won’t dare put on a performance in Riverview.”

“Do you suppose Franklin had any part in hiring Truman Crocker to fake those record stones?” Jerry asked, steering to avoid a floating box.

“Not in my opinion,” the editor replied. “He merely thought he would profit by selling them to the museum at a fancy price. It was immaterial to him whether or not he sold fake stones or real.”

“You’ll certainly ruin his little business transaction,” chuckled Penny. “What will be done about Truman Crocker?”

“We’ll find him tomorrow and force him to tell the truth—that he was hired by Bill McJavins. With this stone as evidence, he can’t deny his part in the hoax.”

“Can’t you just see that special edition of the
Star
?”Penny asked gaily. “A big splashy picture of this Pilgrim Rock we’re towing, with a story telling how Truman Crocker faked the writing. Then, in the next column, a yarn about Mr. Addison’s arrest, and the recovery of the Marborough pearls.”

“It will be a real paper,” Mr. Parker agreed heartily. “By the way, how were Mr. Coaten and Carl Addison trapped? Our reporter got the story from the police, but he was a bit vague on that point.”

“I’m far too modest to tell you,” Penny laughed. “If you’re willing to pay me at regular space rates, I might be induced to write the story.”

“Trust Penny to drive a hard bargain,” grinned Jerry. “We might have guessed who was responsible, for she never fails to be on hand for the final round-up.”

Penny smiled as she gazed down the dark, turbulent river. Close by she heard the deep-throated whistle of a tug boat. Along the bank, tall buildings began to appear, and far ahead, she could see the twinkling lights on the Adams Street pier.

“We’ve worked on some dandy stories together,” she murmured, “but this one tops them all for a thrilling finish. Mrs. Marborough regained her pearls, Rhoda won a home, the two men from Texas are behind bars, and the wishing well is equipped with a brand new microphone! You know, I’d like to make one more wish down its moist old throat!”

“What would you ask for this time?” Jerry asked banteringly. “A safe arrival in port?”

Penny shook her head. “We’re almost at the pier now. I’d wish that Dad’s hunk of granite would turn into a lump of pure gold. Then I’d truly feel as if I were the captain of a treasure ship sailing home with precious cargo.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t ask for a better cargo than we have right here,” Mr. Parker responded heartily. “At this moment I would rather have our old rock than all the gold in the world!”

SABOTEURS ON THE RIVER

CHAPTER 1

TROUBLE AFLOAT

A girl in blue slacks, woolen sweater and tennis shoes strode jauntily along the creaking boards of the dark river dock. A large white cotton bag slung carelessly over one shoulder added to the grace of the lithe young figure.

“Hi, Penny!” called a young man who tinkered with the engine of a motorboat. “Out to bury the body?”

Penny Parker chuckled and shifted the bag to the opposite shoulder. “Just thought it would be a good night for a sail, Bill. Have you seen Louise Sidell sneaking around anywhere?”

Before the young sailor could answer, a voice shouted from the darkness, “Here I am!”

Turning her head, Penny glimpsed her chum, a chubby silhouette in the moonlight. Louise, warmly dressed, already was comfortably established in one of the small sailing boats tied up at the wharf.

“Time you’re arriving,” she said accusingly as Penny tossed the sail bag into her hands. “You promised to meet me here at eight o’clock. It’s at least eight-thirty now.”

“Sorry, old dear.” Penny leaped nimbly aboard and with practiced fingers began to put up the mainsail. “After I ’phoned you, I got hung up at home. Dishes and all that sort of thing. Then Dad delayed me ten minutes while he lectured on the undesirability of daughter taking a moonlight sail.”