“Oh,” Colleen said.
The girls pushed through the tall weeds, following the paths that crossed the big lot. Every so often, Jennie stopped and looked around. Toward the rear of the lot was a stand of brushy trees, and she gradually led the the girls closer to that area.
“What’s that big lump over there?” Colleen asked the next time they stopped. She pointed to the right.
Jennie strained her eyes in that direction. There was a big brownish something in the thicket of trees. She pushed closer. “It looks like …”
“A junk car,” Colleen finished.
Sure enough, the rusting hulk of an old car rose out of the weeds and brush. Silly as it seemed, it looked to Jennie as if it had grown there. The tires had long since flattened into puddles of rotted rubber, and the rust patches made the light-brown paint look spotted.
“Wow! This would make a ton of scrap,” Jennie said.
“Are you crazy?” Colleen asked. “How could we get this out of here, and who does it belong to anyway?”
“Problems to be solved, that’s all.” Jennie grinned. “It could be done.”
“I guess nobody must want it, or it wouldn’t be rusting away out here,” Colleen said.
“We’d try to find the owner.” But Jennie couldn’t imagine any owner who wouldn’t be glad to get rid of such a big piece of junk.
“How would we get it to the collection center?” Colleen pushed through the brush to look at the front of the old heap. “The boys could never find something this big. We’d be sure to win the contest.” Her eyes lit up.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jennie said. “Not that it matters, of course.” She peeked inside the broken side window of the car. The backseat’s stuffing had been pulled out and scattered. “Looks like some field mice have been living in here. I guess they’ll have to move.”
“If we can figure out how to get this car out of here,” Colleen said.
“Oh, we’ll think of something. We always do.”
The girls backtracked through the weeds to the street and started the trek to the bus stop, talking all the way.
“We’d need some way to pull it out of that lot,” Jennie said.
“Once it was out, maybe it could be dragged to the collection center,” Colleen said.
“A tow truck is what we need,” Jennie said, “but where could we come up with that?”
Colleen stopped short and snapped her fingers. “Stan’s father has some kind of a winch on his truck. It’s like what they use on tow trucks. I think he just puts it on when he needs to lift or haul something for his job.”
“We could ask him if he’d help,” Jennie said. “He probably would. He’s done lots of war work around the neighborhood.”
“Only one problem,” Colleen said and started walking again.
“Yeah,” Jennie said. “The boys. We’d have to tell them, and we’d have to share the scrap.” The girls walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Maybe we could make a deal,” Colleen said. “Give them some of the credit, but we get more because we found it.”
“Maybe,” Jennie said doubtfully. Tommy was way too intent on winning this contest to agree to any kind of deal.
“Look, there’s Boeing,” Colleen said. The huge factory complex sat off to one side with parking lots around it. “I heard that the roof is camouflaged to look like a little town.”
“I couldn’t say,” Jennie said. The war made lots of talk off-limits, and the fact that the big airplane factory had been disguised to look like a village fell in that category. Sometimes Jennie imagined what would happen if the enemy managed to find out important things about Boeing, like how it was camouflaged or what kind of planes it made. Maybe they’d do something drastic to try to get rid of the factory. That was a scary thought.
“We sure can’t see anything from here,” Colleen said.
“Too far away from the main buildings,” Jennie agreed. They were near the front gate of the complex, which was guarded by several security guards. Outside the gate, men and women milled around, waiting for buses or other rides. Dad said there were always people coming and going because of the different shifts for different production lines.
“Maybe we can catch the bus here,” Colleen said.
Jennie nodded. She was tired of walking. They pushed through the crowd until they found a sign for the bus they needed.
“Let’s wait right here.” Jennie sank down on the street curb.
The girls sat quietly for a few minutes just looking and listening. A couple of buses arrived and departed while Jennie and Colleen watched.
Jennie noticed a familiar figure that stood in a group of uniformed workers across the street. She jabbed Colleen in the ribs. “Look at that! Over there.”
“Well, what do you know,” Colleen said. “It’s good old Pietro.”
Sure enough, Mr. Romano’s cousin was talking earnestly to a couple of Boeing workers. As the girls watched, Pietro led the pair over to a black car parked on the street nearby. All three climbed into the backseat of the car, but the car didn’t pull away.
“What’s he doing?” Jennie asked. “He doesn’t have a car that I know of. And why isn’t he at work at the shipyard?”
“It’s not the first time he’s skipped work,” Colleen said.
“I was up early this morning and saw him leave for work with his lunch pail.” Jennie watched as the two Boeing workers climbed out of the car and walked away. In a minute another worker walked up and stuck his head in the open back door of the car, then climbed in and shut the door. What was Pietro up to?
Another figure approached the car but didn’t open the door. It was the woman Jennie had seen before, the one dressed in black who had asked for Pietro at the hotel. This time she still wore black but without the long coat and hat. A cigarette dangled once more from a holder she grasped loosely between her fingers, and she leaned against the car’s fender.
“Is she with Pietro?” Colleen leaned over to talk in Jennie’s ear.
“I’ve seen her before.” Jennie told Colleen about the woman coming to the hotel looking for Pietro.
As they watched, the worker climbed out of the backseat, followed by Pietro. The woman in black walked over to Pietro, who opened the front car door for her. She slid in, and Pietro started around the car. Just then another man in a Boeing uniform stopped him.
About the same time the bus pulled up at the stop. With a last glance at Mr. Romano’s cousin, Jennie and Colleen climbed aboard.
“Quick,” Jennie said. “Get that seat over there.” She pointed to an empty seat halfway back on the bus. They tumbled into their place and scrambled to stick their heads out the window. Pietro was still talking to the worker. As the bus slowly pulled away from the curb, Jennie saw the man shove something into Pietro’s hand and receive some kind of paper in return. Someone shouted from behind Jennie and Colleen on the bus. Pietro’s head jerked up at the sound, and in the next instant he looked straight at the bus.
“Duck!” Jennie yelled, and the girls fell back to the seat and stared at each other.
“Do you think he saw us?” Jennie asked. In a moment she sat up enough to peek out the window again as the bus picked up speed. “He’s still looking.”
“I don’t think so,” Colleen said. “I think he was looking at the back. What was that all about?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Jennie answered. There was just so much about Pietro that didn’t make sense. What was he doing with the Boeing workers, and why was that woman with him? Jennie frowned as she remembered the paper that had changed hands, the paper that looked like a folded envelope. What could a Boeing worker be giving to Pietro?
There were so many questions and no answers. At the back of Jennie’s mind, a prickly thought kept coming back. What if the Boeing workers were giving Pietro information about the factory? Was it possible that Mr. Romano’s cousin was a spy?
CHAPTER 10
More Clues
J
ennie and Colleen had a lot to mull over for the next week or so. They traipsed through neighborhood after neighborhood, looking for scrap that would be easier to retrieve than the old car. It seemed there wasn’t any decent scrap metal left anywhere in Seattle. The other Girl Scouts complained of the same problem and said they were going to collect newspapers instead. Jennie and Colleen weren’t ready to give up yet, especially when Tommy and Stan gave no sign of quitting.
Jennie couldn’t stop thinking about Pietro, the woman in black, and the Boeing workers. Jennie wanted to go right up to Pietro and ask him what he had been doing at the Boeing gate, but she was sure that wasn’t the way to approach a spy. Jennie had decided that the facts pointed in that direction. No, a better plan would be to do a little spying herself with Pietro as the object. To do that she needed to talk to Mr. Romano alone.
“If it isn’t my good friend Jennie.” Mr. Romano smiled when he opened his front door the following Friday. “Come in and have a piece of biscotti. It’s freshly baked.”
“Sounds great.” Jennie sat down at Mr. Romano’s tiny kitchen table.
“I haven’t seen you for a week or more.” Mr. Romano placed a plate of biscotti in front of Jennie. “You’ve been a busy girl.”
Jennie nodded and chewed her cookie. Mr. Romano pulled a milk bottle out of the small refrigerator and motioned to it. Jennie nodded again and gratefully accepted a glass of milk. Now that Jennie was here to check up on Pietro, she wasn’t sure how to go about it.
“How are you these days?” she asked.
“I’m just fine,” Mr. Romano replied. “I love this sunny weather we’ve been having almost as much as my geraniums do.” He nodded his head in the direction of the window where geraniums and other plants stretched toward the afternoon sun.
“Does Pietro like the sunny weather, too?” Jennie asked. It seemed as good a way as any to switch the conversation to the cousin.
“Can’t say that Pietro notices things like sunshine all that much,” Mr. Romano said. A slight shadow passed over his face at the mention of his cousin. “Besides, he spends most of his time indoors when the sun is out.”
“Is he still on the day shift?” Jennie was sure she knew the answer, but a detective should double-check her facts.
“Has been for months now,” Mr. Romano replied. “Lately he’s been working twelve-hour shifts again.”
“Does he work on weekends, too?”
“All the time. I think most shipyard workers do,” Mr. Romano said. “Say, you’re quite interested in old Pietro’s schedule. Why?”
Jennie shrugged and grinned at her friend. “Just wondering, that’s all.” She didn’t want to say anything to Mr. Romano about Pietro’s comings and goings until she knew more facts.
“So tell me about the latest contest with the boys,” Mr. Romano said. “Knowing you children as I do, I’m sure there is one.”
Jennie took one last drink of milk before telling Mr. Romano about the junk car and her hopes to get it for the scrap drive. The older man listened and nodded once in a while.
“So what do you think?” Jennie asked. “Do you have any ideas about getting that car to the collection center?”
“Sounds to me like you already have a good idea,” Mr. Romano said. “Stan’s father would be your best bet. I’ve met him before at Civil Defense meetings. I think he’d help you.”
“But then we’d have to let the boys in on the plan and probably have to share the scrap with them, too.”
“So you said,” Mr. Romano replied, “but maybe it’s more important to get all that scrap for the war effort than it is to beat the boys. At least you should think about it.”
“I will,” Jennie promised as she got up to leave. Getting the old car was one thing, but what about Pietro? Catching a spy would be even more important for the war effort, but Jennie was a long way from having enough information to do that.
Memorial Day was the following Tuesday, and Jennie still didn’t know anything more about Pietro by then. Colleen had gone to visit some cousins before they could decide what to do about the car, but she said she’d be back for Tuesday’s ceremonies. Then they’d decide what to do.
Tuesday turned out to be yet another sunny day, perfect for the Memorial Day observances that were planned all over Seattle. Jennie dressed carefully in her Girl Scout uniform about noon and went with Tommy, who was in his Boy Scout uniform, to meet the rest of the family in the hotel lobby. Even Dad had a half day off from work. Jasper’s dad had volunteered to watch the office so the whole Fleming family could attend. Aunt Irene and Mr. Romano had gone on ahead in Aunt Irene’s car to save a place for their picnic.
“Don’t you two look official,” Dad said. He and Art stood by the office door.
“I get to carry a flag in the procession,” Jennie said proudly.
“My troop will be there, too,” Tommy said.
“But without flags,” Jennie said and saw her brother make a face.
“No arguing from either of you,” Mama said as she came out of the office carrying a picnic basket. Behind her, Trudy carried a smaller basket. “This is a day for us to enjoy being together.”
“And honor our fighting men and women,” Dad added. He took Mama’s basket from her, and Art took Trudy’s. In a few minutes the family was out the door and squeezing into the DeSoto for the trip to the cemetery.
“Why is the Memorial Day ceremony held at the cemetery?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah,” Jennie said, “why is that? A cemetery doesn’t seem like the right place for a celebration.” She had thought about that last night before she went to sleep. A cemetery was a place of death, but they were going there for a picnic.
“Depends on how you look at it,” Dad said over his shoulder as he steered through the traffic. “We’re celebrating our country and what it stands for, but we’re also honoring the men and women who have died to protect it.”
“I have a few flowers to decorate some graves,” Mama said. “I’m just sorry that it’s too soon for our Victory garden zinnias to be in bloom.”
“But we don’t know anyone who is buried in this cemetery,” Tommy said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mama said. “We’ll just decorate some graves that don’t have any flowers already.”
Jennie leaned back in the seat, where she sat wedged in between Art and Tommy. She wondered if Mrs. Hoffman was decorating her husband’s grave today. Their teacher had moved the day after school dismissed for the summer. She had gone back to her hometown in Missouri, the place where she had met her husband. Jennie thought about that for a few moments before she remembered that Mrs. Hoffman couldn’t decorate her husband’s grave. His body hadn’t been brought back to the United States.
It didn’t take long to get to the cemetery, but they had to park a long way from the platform that had been built for the ceremony.
“Jennie,” a voice hollered, “over here!” Colleen waved at Jennie from behind a stone wall that surrounded a group of graves. Jennie hurried over to join the rest of her Girl Scout troop.
“We thought you weren’t going to make it,” Colleen said. “It’s almost time to start.”
“We had to wait for Dad,” Jennie said. “Where do I stand?”
“Here,” Colleen said and handed Jennie a small American flag. “Walk behind me.”
A band up ahead began to play, and the girls fell into step. They marched up the center aisle between crowds of people who sat on wooden folding chairs. When they got to the platform, they stopped and lined either side of the stairs. Jennie saw Tommy and Stan with the other Boy Scouts off to one side of the platform, where they stood in salute to the flags.
The dignitaries marched down the aisle and up the steps between Jennie and Colleen and the others. Jennie saw several older men in military uniforms, World War I veterans, she was sure, and two younger uniformed men. One of them was on crutches and slowly made his way up the steps while the other young man walked beside him. The second man’s uniform coa
t sleeve was empty, pinned up so it wouldn’t dangle. Both men must be wounded veterans of this war, Roger’s war.
Bringing up the rear were a couple of other men in suits. One of them was a minister, who grinned at Jennie before mounting the platform. After all the dignitaries were lined up on the stage, the Girl Scouts filed down to stand in front of chairs on the front row, and the band finished with a flourish.
The ceremony got under way with the Pledge of Allegiance, after which everyone sank into their chairs. There were speeches from the older veterans and speeches from the young ones. Finally the talking was over, and Jennie sat up straighter. It was time for the reading of the roll of honor. That job had been given to the minister.
He read the names of soldiers from Seattle who had been killed in the past year. His deep voice hesitated between each name as if to give that soldier his due. It was a long list, but no one in the audience stirred. At last Jennie heard what she had been waiting for—Mr. Hoffman’s name. She had made sure that Mr. Hoffman was on the minister’s list.
The last name hung in the air for a moment before the sound of a bugle pierced the silence. Jennie tilted her head to listen. It was coming from a little hill among the gravestones a hundred yards away. Jennie had heard “Taps” played before but never like this. Her heart felt torn apart as she listened to the clear notes of the bugle that surged across the cemetery. It played in honor of Mr. Hoffman and all the others dead in countries far from the one they defended. The bugle seemed to hold all that pain and send it floating out over the crowd. As the last note faded, Jennie heard sniffs and sighs all around her and some quiet sobbing, too.
Then it was over, and everyone began to talk and laugh and look for their picnic baskets. Jennie realized that she was starved, and she and Colleen set off to find their families.
Mama had spread a couple of blankets on the grass near the platform. Many other people had done the same, so there was a big crowd. Colleen’s family joined the Flemings, and in a minute Stan and his family came up to spread their blanket next to the others. Aunt Irene and Mr. Romano were already settled and pulling food out of their baskets. It was a great big party, and Jennie feasted happily on fried chicken, potato salad, pickles, and lots of other goodies. She and Colleen had to lie back on the blanket to rest before they could dig into the cake that Colleen’s mother had brought.
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