A Country Catastrophe: A Jane Carter Historical Cozy (Book Five) (Jane Carter Historical Cozy Mysteries 5)

by Alice Simpson

  “We can’t possibly delay the dedication another week,” another member of the board chimed in. “The summer is nearly over now.”

  “At least postpone making the final payment until after I have had another report from my lawyers,” my father pleaded.

  “Very well, we’ll do that,” Mrs. Vanhee agreed. “Mr. Bronson is so obliging I am sure he will allow us to set up equipment on the land, even though we don’t actually possess the title.”

  The entire transaction seemed very unbusinesslike to my father, but he did not attempt to force his opinion upon the members of the board. Plans went forward for the grand opening of the camp. Stories appeared regularly in the Examiner, playground equipment and floored tents were set up on the campsite, and the dedication program was announced.

  “You might know Mr. Bronson would be invited to make the main speech,” I said to Flo as I read the latest story of the coming affair. “Every day, in every way, Mr. Clark Bronson gives me a bigger and bigger pain!”

  Throughout the week, both Florence and I were very involved in helping at the new campsite. The land was cleared of underbrush, trails were constructed, and a well dug. While supervising the setting-up of slides, merry-go-rounds and teeter-totters, I upon several occasions had had disagreements with Mr. Bronson. The man haunted the site like a lovelorn ghost, imposing his wishes upon everyone.

  “A great deal of time and money has been spent getting that place ready for the dedication,” I commented to my father. “If anything should happen so that the final papers aren’t signed, it would be a pity.”

  “I’ve had no report from the lawyers, as yet,” Dad said. “Adams tells me he’s never delved into a more involved case.”

  “What does Mr. Bronson think about the investigation?”

  “He seems to be agreeable. However, I suspect he’s been working on the various board members, behind the scenes, trying to get them to conclude the deal without waiting.”

  “How long will it be before you’ll have a final report, Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I expected to get it long before this.”

  In the flurry of preparing for the camp dedication, I had no opportunity to give much thought to other affairs. I did not see Sam McKee, the sheriff had nothing to disclose concerning Sidney Dorner’ disappearance, and the Black-Hooded Hoodlums seemed to have become an extinct organization.

  On the morning of the camp dedication, I was out and about early. Florence and I planned to drive to the ceremony together. We made plans to arrive before the grounds were congested. I ate breakfast in a hurry. While we were at the table, my father was called to the telephone. He was gone from the dining room nearly fifteen minutes. As he returned to the table, I pushed back my chair, ready to leave.

  “Well, I’ll see you at the campgrounds, Dad.”

  “I don’t know what to do about the dedication,” my father said in a sober tone. “By rights, there should be none.”

  I stared at him.

  “I’ve just heard from my lawyers,” my father explained.

  “Then, there is a flaw in the title as you suspected!”

  “Decidedly. It’s a very mixed-up mess, and, as yet, we’re not sure what it may mean.”

  “Tell me about it, Dad.”

  “Seth Burrows—whoever he may be—doesn’t own the camp property.”

  “Then in whose name is it?”

  “The property doesn’t belong to anyone.”

  “Doesn’t every piece of land in the world belong to someone?”

  “Actually, the heirs of Rosanna and Joseph Shultz own this particular property. But there are no heirs.”

  “What you say doesn’t make sense to me, Dad.”

  “The whole affair is very involved,” Dad said. “In tracing the history of the land, Adams found that originally it was owned by Rosanna and Joseph Shultz, an elderly couple, who had no known relatives. They sailed for Germany more than fifty years ago. The ship sank, and presumably, they died at sea. Their land was never claimed, and somehow the state overlooked the case.”

  “But I thought the property had changed hands many times in recent years.”

  “Only theoretically. All those records appear to have been falsified.”

  “By whom, Dad? Seth Burrows?”

  “My lawyers are inclined to think Bronson may be at the bottom of it. He is a very shrewd real estate man, and in examining records at the court house, he may have learned about this floating property.”

  “Then he deliberately tried to cheat the Camp Fund board.”

  “It looks that way. Neither Seth Burrows nor anyone else owns the property. Had you not noticed his name on the abstract, it’s likely the fraud would not have been uncovered for quite a few years to come.”

  “What will you do now, Dad? The dedication is scheduled to start within an hour.”

  “I don’t see how it can be postponed,” my father said soberly. “It will have to go on according to schedule.”

  “Afterward you’ll ask for Bronson’s arrest?”

  “There’s no real evidence against him.”

  “No evidence?” I protested.

  “He claims to be a mere agent of Seth Burrows,” my father explained. “The deeds and legal papers were drawn up by some other person. If any accusation is made against him, Bronson can escape prosecution by maintaining that he knew nothing of the back records.”

  “There’s one person who might be able to implicate him,” I said. “Seth Burrows.”

  “Burrows should have it in his power to clear up some of the mystery,” my father agreed. “But how are we to find this elusive Mr. Burrows?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It looks rather hopeless unless the police just present him to us wrapped in pink ribbon.”

  The clock struck nine. I was late to pick up Flo.

  As we drove to the campsite, I told Flo of the latest complications.

  “Mr. Bronson is one of the worst hypocrites in the world,” I said. “He pretends he wants to help the orphans, and all the while he intends to trick the board and make a nice profit for himself.”

  “Your father won’t let him get away with it,” Flo tried to reassure me. “So long as the money hasn’t been paid over there’s no need to worry.”

  When we arrived at the campsite, we went straight to the official tent. Mr. Bronson, Mrs. Vanhee, and all members of the board except my father were there. On the table lay various legal papers which bore signatures still moist with ink.

  “You’re not buying this property, surely!” I said. “Not with so many questions unanswered.”

  “It seemed unreasonable to keep Mr. Bronson waiting,” Mrs. Vanhee told me. “The transaction has just been completed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Oh, Mrs. Vanhee, you’ve been cheated!”

  The signing of the papers had taken me so by surprise that I did not weigh my words before speaking. Too late, I realized that I should not have revealed the facts of the case in such a blunt fashion. However, having said so much, I was determined to go on.

  “My dear, what do you mean?” Mrs. Vanhee demanded.

  “Any money paid for this land will be lost. My father has just learned—”

  “I resent such loose talk,” Mr. Bronson broke in irritably. “Mr. Burrows, whom I represent, has taken a substantial loss on the property.”

  “And who is this Seth Burrows? You can’t produce him, nor prove that he owns the land. The title is faulty. Neither you nor Seth Burrows has any right to sell it!”

  “Surely, this isn’t true?” Mrs. Vanhee asked the real estate man.

  “Certainly not! You may be sure that if there is the slightest flaw in the title, I shall return your check.”

  “Perhaps, considering the uncertainty, it might be wise to postpone payment until I have talked again with Mr. Fielding,” Mrs. Vanhee said.

  The real estate man made no attempt to hide his annoyance. “My dear Mrs. Vanhee,” he sa
id, “the deal already has been completed. I have tried to remain patient, but really this is too much.”

  On the table lay several typewritten papers. Clipped neatly to the uppermost one, was the check endorsed by Mrs. Vanhee. Mr. Bronson reached to take possession of it, but he was too slow. Acting impulsively, I darted forward and seized the bit of paper. I tore the check into a dozen pieces and tossed them into the air.

  “There!” I announced, a trifle stunned by my own audacity.

  “Jane, you should not have done that,” Mrs. Vanhee said, but she smiled faintly.

  “You are an outrageous woman!” Mr. Bronson had lost his temper completely. “What do you expect to accomplish by such a stupid trick? Mrs. Vanhee will merely write out another check.”

  “Well, under the circumstance, it might be better to wait. I really shouldn’t have acted without consulting Mr. Fielding,” said Mrs. Vanhee.

  “Unless the transaction is completed now I shall have nothing to do with the dedication,” Mr. Bronson declared. “I shall decline to make my speech.”

  Mrs. Vanhee’s broad smile made it clear that she thought the loss of Mr. Bronson’s speech would not be any great detriment to the occasion.

  “Furthermore, I shall ask that my recent donation be returned,” Mr. Bronson resumed severely. “I shall withdraw this property for sale—”

  “You will withdraw it?” I interrupted. “I was given to understand that you were merely acting as an agent for Seth Burrows.”

  “I mean, I shall make such a suggestion to him,” the real estate man amended.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Bronson,” said Mrs. Vanhee. “If you don’t wish to make the dedication speech, we will manage to do without your services. As for the check, I cannot make out another until I have discussed the situation with Mr. Fielding.”

  The argument went on, but I did not remain to hear it. Florence took me forcibly by the arm, fairly pulling me out of the tent.

  “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” she demanded disapprovingly. “Such a mess as everything is in now.”

  “I don’t care,” I said defiantly. “I saved the Camp Fund money. Mrs. Vanhee was happy I tore up the check, although she didn’t dare say so.”

  “There will be no dedication. What will everyone think?”

  Disconsolately, Florence gazed toward the area which was roped off for cars. Although it was half an hour before the formal program was to start, hundreds of persons had arrived. An orchestra played on a platform built specially for the occasion. There were picnic tables and a stone fireplace for outdoor cooking.

  Jack pulled up in a press car and joined Flo and I as we wandered slowly toward the river. I told him what had happened.

  “Good for you, Jane,” Jack said. “Serves that crooked old geezer right. I’d hate to see his ilk get away with taking advantage of the Orphan’s Home.”

  A bus loaded with orphans arrived from the Greenville Home and disgorged its cargo of wriggling little bodies. With shrieks of laughter, the children swarmed over the grounds, taking possession of swings, sand pile, and slides.

  “It seems such a pity,” Florence said.

  By ten o’clock the grounds were jammed with visitors. I knew that my father must have arrived for the celebration, but although I searched everywhere, I could not find him. In roving about, I did chance to meet Mr. Bronson, who pretended not to see me.

  How matters had been arranged, I did not know. However, promptly at ten-thirty, the dedication exercises began, precisely as scheduled. Mr. Bronson occupied the platform with other members of the board, and at the proper time made a brief and rather curt speech.

  “Everything seems to have turned out rather well,” Florence said. “Mr. Bronson may not be such a bad sort, after all.”

  Jack, who stood behind me, his hand cupping my elbow, tightened his grip and harrumphed under his breath.

  “Don’t you believe it,” I said to Flo. “Bronson is just clever enough never to put himself in a bad light if he can help it. I only hope Mrs. Vanhee didn’t give in to him and sign another check.”

  Following the dedication exercises, a portion of the crowd dispersed, but many persons remained to enjoy picnic lunches. Flo, Jack and I were joined by Shep, and we ate our sandwiches in near-silence while we watched the orphans at play.

  “The new camp director seems very efficient,” Florence said as she watched the young man who supervised the children.

  The camp supervisor announced that he would take several boys and girls for a sail on the river. The boat, a twelve-foot dinghy, was the gift of a well-to-do Greenville department store owner.

  Immediately there was a great clamor from the children, everyone wanting to take the first ride.

  “Only six may go,” the director said and called off the names.

  Jack went off with Shep on some newspaper business, and Flo and I wandered down to the water’s edge to watch the loading of the boat. Amelia was one of the orphans chosen, and we waved reassuringly to her.

  The camp director shoved off, and quickly raised the sail. There were squeals of delight from the children as the canvas sail billowed out, causing the craft to heel over slightly.

  “It’s quite gusty today,” I said to Flo. “I hope that young man knows what he is doing.”

  The boat sailed a diagonal course across the river, turned, and came back on another tack. Then, as the breeze died, it seemed to make no progress at all. Losing interest, Flo and I started to walk on down the shore.

  Scarcely had we turned away than we were startled to hear screams from the river. Whirling around, we saw that the camp director was in serious trouble. A sudden puff of wind had caught the boat when it did not have steerage way. Unable to drive ahead, it slowly tilted sideways.

  “It’s going over!” Florence screamed.

  I had kicked off my shoes. Without waiting for the inevitable capsizing of the craft, I plunged into the river. When my head emerged from the water, I saw the boat on its side. Two children were clinging to it, the camp director was frantically trying to support two others, while another girl and boy struggled wildly to keep from sinking.

  When I reached the overturned boat, my first act was to help the camp director who was being strangled by the two children who clung to him. I then seized a struggling boy by the hair and pulled him to safety.

  “Amelia,” the camp director gasped. “Get her!”

  Amelia had drifted a considerable distance from the boat. I started to swim toward her, but I saw that it would not be necessary. An unshaven man in rough, soiled clothing had emerged from the wooded bank. He dove into the water, seized Amelia, and swam her to shore.

  I did not return to the overturned boat, for several men, including Jack and Shep, had waded out to tow it to land. I swam toward Amelia and her rescuer.

  The man bore the orphan in his arms to a grassy spot on shore. Stretching her out there, he hesitated an instant, and then before the crowd could surround him, darted quickly away toward the woods.

  “Wait!” I shouted, wading through the shallow water.

  The man heard me but did not turn back. He entered the forest and disappeared in the underbrush. The man was Sidney Dorner. I was sure of it.

  Before I could reach Amelia, other persons had gathered around the child. Clark Bronson pushed through the crowd.

  “What is this?” Mr. Bronson demanded. “What has happened?”

  As the man knelt over Amelia, the little girl opened her eyes, gazing directly into his face. For a moment she stared at him in a bewildered way. Then, struggling to a sitting position, she pointed an accusing finger.

  “You’re the one,” she whispered shakily. “You’re the man whose car killed my Mother and Daddy.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Amelia’s accusation brought a murmur of consternation from the crowd. Mr. Bronson, however, seemed undisturbed. Dropping on his knees, he supported Amelia and wrapped his coat about her trembling shoulders.

  “There, ther
e, my poor child,” he said soothingly. “You are quite upset, and for good reason.”

  “Don’t touch me,” Amelia shivered, cringing away. “You’re mean and cruel!”

  By this time, Miss Crismond and other officials of the Greenville Home had reached the scene.

  “She doesn’t know what she is saying,” Miss Crismond apologized to Mr. Bronson. “Amelia has been very nervous since she was in an automobile accident.”

  “I quite understand,” the real estate man responded. “The child must have a change of clothing, and no doubt, medical care. May I send her to the home in my car?”

  “That is very kind of you, I am sure,” Miss Crismond said.

  With every appearance of concern, Mr. Bronson picked Amelia up in his arms and carried her away. I was apprehensive about leaving Amelia in Mr. Bronson’s care, but there was nothing I could do to stop him without creating my second scene of the day and besides, I was kept busy helping bundle up the other children who had been rescued from the water. None the worse for the misadventure, they too were taken to Mr. Bronson’s car.

  “Here, put on my coat before you freeze,” Florence said anxiously to me after the all the bedraggled children were loaded into Mr. Bronson’s automobile. “We must start home at once.”

  “I don’t want to go now!” I protested. “Did you notice that man who pulled Amelia from the water?”

  “He looked like a tramp. I wonder what made him run away?”

  “Flo, I think that man was Sidney Dorner. I should tell the sheriff, but I can’t bring myself to do it—not after the way he saved Amelia.”

  “Never mind all that now,” Jack said, appearing at my side and steering me toward the press car. “You must go home and change your wet clothes.”

  “But I want to find Sidney Dorner and talk with him.”

  “That will have to wait. You’re going home,” taking me firmly each by an arm, Florence and Jack pushed me into Bouncing Betsy.

  “Wait,” I said. “I’ll go home, but only if someone follows Bronson back to the Orphan’s Home and sees that Amelia and the others get safely inside. I don’t trust the man. I know Amelia was overwrought, but—”