The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (136 page)

“When I was here before I should have questioned more people,” she thought. “It never occurred to me then that Dad would fail to show up.”

Noticing a candy store which fronted the street close to the bent lamp post, Penny went inside. A friendly looking woman with gray hair came to serve her.

“I’m not a customer,” Penny explained. She added that her father had been injured in the car accident, and that she was seeking information.

“I’ve already been questioned by police detectives,” replied the owner of the candy shop. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much.”

“Did you witness the accident?”

“Oh, yes, I saw it, but it happened so fast I wasn’t sure whose fault it was.”

“You didn’t take down the license number of the blue hit-skip car?”

“Was it blue?” the woman inquired. “Now I told the police, maroon.”

“My information came from a small boy, so he may have been mistaken. Did you notice the woman who offered my father a ride?”

“Oh, yes, she was about my age—around forty.”

“Well dressed?”

“Rather plainly, I would say. But she drove a fine, late-model car.”

“Would you consider her a woman of means?”

“Judging from the car—yes.”

Penny asked many more questions, trying to gain an accurate picture of the woman who had aided her father. She was somewhat reassured when the candy shop owner insisted that Mr. Parker had entered the car of his own free will.

“Did he seem dazed by the accident?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, he did. I saw your father get into the car sort of holding his head. Then he asked the woman to stop at the curb.”

“Why was that?”

“He’d forgotten something—a leather carrying case. At any rate, he returned to his own auto for it. Then he drove away with the woman.”

As puzzled as ever, Penny went out on the street once more. The weather had turned colder, but she scarcely felt the icy blast which whipped her face.

It was silly to worry, she told herself sternly. Why, all the facts supported Police Chief Jalman’s belief that her father soon would return home. Mrs. Weems was confident he would be found safe—so was Mr. DeWitt. After all, only five hours had elapsed since the accident. A disappearance couldn’t be considered serious in such a short period.

But try as she might, Penny could not free her mind of grave misgivings. She could not forget the mysterious telephone call, the threatening letter, and Harley Schirr’s cocksure opinion that her father would not be found.

She stood disconsolate, gazing into the whirling snow storm. At the end of the street the railroad station loomed as a dark blur, reminding her of Jerry. If only he hadn’t gone away! Jerry was the one person who might help her, and she knew of no way to reach him.

CHAPTER 8

A FEW CHANGES

Next morning, Penny, red-eyed because she had slept little, walked slowly toward the
Star
office. Throughout the long night there had been no word from Mr. Parker.

At every street corner newsboys shouted the latest headlines—that the publisher had been missing nearly twenty-four hours. Even the
Star
carried a black, ugly banner across its front page.

Penny bought a copy, reading with displeasure the story of Mr. Parker’s disappearance.

“I can’t understand why Mr. DeWitt let this go through,” she thought. “If Dad were here, he’d certainly hate it.”

Entering the lobby of the
Star
building, Penny pressed the elevator button. A long time elapsed before the cage descended. To her surprise she saw that it was operated, not by Mose Johnson, the colored man, but by the janitor.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Penny,” the man apologized. “I’m not much good at operating this contraption.”

“Where is Mose this morning, Charley?”

“Fired.”

Penny could not hide her amazement. The old colored man had been employed ten years at the
Star
plant. Although not strictly efficient, Mose’s habits were good, and Mr. Parker had taken an affectionate interest in him.

“It’s a shame, if you ask me,” the janitor added.

“What happened, Charley? Who discharged him?”

“That guy Schirr.”

“Harley Schirr? But he has no authority.”

“An editor can fire and hire. I think he was just tryin’ out his stuff on poor old Mose.”

“During my father’s absence, Mr. DeWitt is in full charge here,” Penny said emphatically.

“DeWitt
was
in charge. But they hauled him off to the hospital last night with a bad pain in his tummy. Seems he had an appendicitis attack. The doctor rushed him off and didn’t even wait until morning to operate.”

The news stunned Penny. She murmured that she hoped Mr. DeWitt was doing well.

“Reckon he is,” agreed the janitor. “We all chipped in and sent him some flowers—roses. Mose gave fifty cents, too.”

Penny’s mind came back to the problem of the colored man.

“So Mr. Schirr discharged him,” she commented. “I wonder why?”

The janitor pressed a button and the cage moved slowly upward.

“Mose was due on at midnight,” he explained. “He didn’t get here until after two o’clock.”

“Didn’t he have a reason for being so late?”

The cage stopped with a jerk. “Sure, Mose had a pip this time! Something about being detained by a ghost! Schirr didn’t go for it at all. Swelled up like a poisoned pup and fired Mose on the spot.”

“I’m sorry,” Penny replied. “Dad liked Mose a lot.”

“Any news from your father?”

Penny shook her head. As far as possible she was determined to keep her troubles to herself. Turning to leave the cage, she inquired:

“Where is Mose now? At home?”

“He’s down in the boiler room, sittin’ by the furnace. Says he’s afraid to go home for fear his old lady will give him the works.”

“Will you please ask Mose to wait there for me?”Penny requested. “I want to talk to him before he leaves the building.”

“I’ll be glad to tell him,” the janitor said. Hesitating, he added: “If you’ve got any influence with Schirr, you might speak a good word for me.”

“Why for you?” smiled Penny. “Surely your job is safe.”

“I don’t know about that,” the janitor responded gloomily. “This morning when Schirr was comin’up in the elevator he said to me: ‘Charley, there’s going to be a few changes made around here. I’m going to cut out all the old, useless timber.’ He looked at me kinda funny-like too. You know, I passed my sixty-eighth birthday last August.”

“Now don’t start worrying, Charley,” Penny cheered him. “We couldn’t run this building without you.”

Deeply troubled, she tramped down the hall to the newsroom. Reporters were in a fever of activity, pounding out their stories. Copy boys had a nervous, tense expression as they ran to and fro on their errands. Harley Schirr, however, was not in evidence.

“The Big Shot has sealed himself in your father’s office!” informed one of the copy desk men in a muted voice. “Guess you heard about DeWitt?”

Penny nodded.

“The Great Genius has taken over, and how! This place is operating on an efficiency-plus basis now. Why, he’s got me so cockeyed, I compose poetry.”

Penny crossed to her father’s office, tapping on the frosted glass door.

“Who is it?” demanded Schirr, his voice loud and unpleasant.

Penny spoke her name. In a moment the door opened, and the editor bowed and smiled. As if she were a guest of honor, he motioned her to a seat.

“We’re doing everything we can to trace your father,” he said. “So far, we’ve had no luck and the police admit they are baffled. I can’t express to you how sorry I am.”

To Penny’s ears the words were words only, lacking sincerity. Determining to waste no time, she spoke of DeWitt’s sudden illness.

“Oh yes, he’ll be off duty for at least a month,” replied Mr. Schirr. “Naturally in his absence I have assumed charge. We put out a real paper this morning.”

“I saw the front page.”

Penny longed to say that the story about her father had displeased her. However, she knew it would do no good. The account, once printed, could not be recalled. Far better, she reasoned, to let the matter pass.

“I hear Mose Johnson has been discharged,” she remarked.

“Yes, we had to let him go.” Mr. Schirr opened a desk drawer, helping himself to one of Mr. Parker’s cigars. “Mose is indolent, irresponsible—a drag on the payroll.”

“My father always liked him.”

“Yes, he did seem to favor the old coot,” agreed Schirr with a shrug. “Well, thank you for dropping in, Miss Parker. If we have any encouraging news, I’ll see that you are notified at once.”

Well aware that she had been dismissed, Penny left the office. Schirr’s attitude angered her. He had made her feel unwelcome in her own father’s newspaper plant.

As she closed the door behind her, she realized that nearly every eye in the apparently-busy newsroom, had focused upon her. Deliberately, she composed herself. Acting undisturbed, she swept past the rows of desks to a rear stairway leading to the basement.

The janitor had delivered her message to Mose Johnson. She found the old colored man curled up fast asleep on a crate by the warm stove.

Penny touched Mose on the arm. He straightened up as suddenly as if someone had set off a fire-cracker.

“Oh, Miss Penny!” he beamed. “I’se suah su’prised at seein’ you down heah in dis dumpy fu’nace room. But I thanks you just the same fo’ wakin’ me up out o’ dat ghost dream.”

“Were you having a ghost dream?” echoed Penny.

“Yes, Miss. Yo’ see I was dreamin’ about dat same ghost I saw last night on de way to work.”

Penny, fully aware that Mose was directing the conversation where he wished it to go, hid a smile.

“I heard about that, Mose,” she commented. “It must have been quite a lively ghost to make you two hours late.”

“It suah was a lively ghost,” Mose confirmed, bobbing his woolly head. “Why, it walked around jest like a live pu’son.”

“Aren’t you being a bit superstitious, Mose?”

“Deedy not, Miss. You is supe’stitious when you sees a ghost dat ain’t dar. But when you sees one dat is dar you ain’t supe’stitious. You is jest plain scared!”

“Suppose you tell me about it,” Penny invited.

“Well, Miss Penny, it was like dis,” began the old colored man. “At half past eleven I starts off fo’ work same as always. I picks up mah lunch box de ole lady packed fo’ me, an’ scoots off toward de bus stop to get de 11:45. But I nevah get dar. When I was goin’down dat road runnin’ past de old Harrison place, I seen de ghost.”

“The Harrison place?” interrupted Penny. “Where is that?”

“You know de road that winds up Craig Hill? It’s out towa’d de boat club.”

“You don’t mean that big estate house with the fence surrounding it?”

“Dat’s de place! Well, I seed dis heah ghost a cavortin’around behind de big iron gate dat goes in to de old Harrison place. De ghost nevah sees me, but I gets a good close-up of him. He was dressed in white and he was carryin’ his own tombstone around in his arms jes’ like it doan weigh nothin’.”

“Oh, Mose!” protested Penny. “And then what happened? Did the ghost disappear?”

“No, Miss,” grinned the colored man, “but I did! I turns tail an’ runs as fast as a man half mah age could go, an’ I nevah stops fo’ nuthin’ till I gits back to mah own place.

“When I tells mah ole lady what was goin’ on she says, ‘Mose, you sees white ghosts ’cause you been a drinkin’ some mo’ o’ dat white-eye. It’s twelve o’clock dis minute and you’se missed de last bus. Now you start walkin’! And if you is fired, don’t nevah da’ken dat do’ no mo’.’”

Old Mose drew a deep sigh. “And dat’s jest what happened, Miss Penny. I ain’t got no job an’ no mo’home than a rabbit. I’se suah bubblin’ oveh with trouble. It all come from seein’ dat ghost you says I didn’t see.”

“I’m sure you thought you saw one,” replied Penny. “If you’ll promise to attend strictly to your duties hereafter, I’ll ask Mr. Schirr to reinstate you on the payroll.”

Old Mose brightened. “I suah nuff will!” he said jubilantly. “I won’t have no mo’ truck with dat ghost. No sir!”

To face Mr. Schirr once more, was a most unpleasant ordeal for Penny. Nevertheless, she sought his office, apologizing for the intrusion.

“I
am
busy,” the editor said pointedly. “What is it you want?”

Penny explained that she had talked with Mose Johnson and was convinced that his offense would not be repeated.

“I want you to put him back on his old job,” she requested.

“Impossible!”

“Why do you take that attitude?” inquired Penny, stiffening for an argument. “Dad always liked Mose.”