The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “Jerry is trying to get the information now, Penny. All the registry offices are closed, but if he can pull some official out of bed, there’s a chance he may obtain the data tonight. I’m not counting on it, however.”

  The door of the office swung back and City Editor DeWitt hurried into the room.

  “Everything set?” Mr. Parker inquired.

  “We need a picture of Clyde Blake. There’s nothing in the morgue.”

  “Salt Sommers has one you might use!” Penny cried. “It was taken when Blake came here the other day. He objected to it because it showed that one arm was shorter than the other.”

  “Just what we need!” DeWitt approved. “I’ll rush it right out. Except for the picture, the front page is all made up.”

  The door closed behind the city editor, but before Mr. Parker could settle comfortably into his chair, it burst open again. Jerry Livingston, breathless from running up several flights of stairs, faced his chief.

  “I’ve got all the dope!” he announced.

  “You learned who drove the hit-run car?” Penny demanded eagerly.

  “The license was issued in Clyde Blake’s name!”

  “Then Adelle’s identification at the picnic was correct!”Penny exclaimed.

  “Write your story, Jerry, but make it brief,” Mr. Parker said tersely. “We’ll make over the front page.”

  Calling DeWitt, he gave the new order. In the composing room, headlines were jerked and a story of minor importance was pulled from the form to make room for the new material.

  “We’ll roll three minutes late,” Mr. Parker said, glancing at his watch again. “Even so, our papers will make all the trains, and we’ll scoop every other sheet in town.”

  Jerry wrote his story which was sent paragraph by paragraph to the composing room. Barely had he typed “30,” signifying the end, when the lights of the room dimmed for an instant.

  “There go the presses!” Mr. Parker declared, ceasing his restless pacing.

  Within a few minutes, the first paper, still fresh with ink, was laid upon the editor’s desk. Penny peered over his shoulder to read the headlines announcing the arrest of Blake and his followers.

  “There’s not much here about Ben Bowman,” she commented after a moment. “What do you think will happen to him, Dad?”

  “That remains to be seen,” answered the editor. “He’s already wanted for forgery, so it should be fairly easy to prove that he worked with Blake to defraud the Camp Board.”

  “I’m worried about the orphans’ camp. So much money has been spent clearing the land and setting up equipment.”

  “Probably everything can be settled satisfactorily in the end,” Mr. Parker returned. “It may take time and litigation, but there’s no reason why a perfect title can’t be obtained to the land.”

  Penny felt very well pleased at the way everything had turned out. Only one small matter remained unexplained. She had been unable to learn the significance of the watch fob found in Clem Davis’ stable.

  “Why, I can tell you about that,” Jerry Livingston assured her. “The fob belonged to Hank Holloway. He admitted it at the police station. The little boy in the picture is his nephew.”

  Both Penny and her father were tired for it was very late. With the Star ready for early morning street sales, they thought longingly of home and bed. Yet as their car sped down a dimly lighted street, Penny revived sufficiently to say:

  “How about a steak at Toni’s, Dad?”

  “Oh, I don’t feel like eating at this late hour,” Mr. Parker declined.

  “That’s not the idea, Dad. I’m suggesting a raw steak for that left eye of yours. By morning it will be swollen shut.”

  “It is quite a shiner,” the editor agreed, gazing at his reflection in the car mirror. “But the story was well worth the cost.”

  “Thanks to whom?” Penny asked mischievously.

  “If I say thanks to you, Penny, you will be expecting an increase in your allowance or something of the sort.”

  “Maybe I’ll ask for it anyhow,” Penny chuckled. “And don’t forget that you owe me a hundred dollars for getting that crack-pot, Ben Bowman, out of your hair!”

  “So I do,” Mr. Parker conceded with a laugh. “That also will be worth the price.”

  THE WISHING WELL

  CHAPTER 1

  AN OLD HOUSE

  At her desk in the assembly room of Riverview High School, Penny Parker sat poised for instant flight. Her books had been stacked away, and she awaited only the closing bell to liberate her from a day of study.

  “Now don’t forget!” she whispered to her chum, Louise Sidell, who occupied the desk directly behind. “We start for the old Marborough place right away!”

  The dismissal bell tapped. Penny bolted down the aisle and was one of the first to reach the door. However, hearing her name called, she was forced to pause.

  “Penelope, will you wait a moment please?” requested the teacher in charge of assembly.

  “Yes, Miss Nelson,” Penny dutifully responded, but she shot her chum a glance of black despair.

  “What have you done now?” Louise demanded in an accusing whisper.

  “Not a thing,” muttered Penny. “About ten minutes ago I clipped Fred Green with a paper ball, but I don’t think she saw me.”

  “Get out of it as fast as you can,” Louise urged. “Unless we start for the Marborough place within half an hour we’ll have to postpone the trip.”

  While the other pupils filed slowly from the room, Penny slumped back into her seat. She was a tall, slim girl with mischievous blue eyes which hinted of an active mind. Golden hair was accented by a brown sweater caught at the throat with a conspicuous ornament, a weird looking animal made of leather.

  “Penelope, I don’t suppose you know why I asked you to remain,” observed the teacher, slowly coming down the aisle.

  “Why, no, Miss Nelson.” Penny was far too wise to make damaging admissions.

  “I want to talk to you about Rhoda Wiegand.”

  “About Rhoda?” Penny echoed, genuinely surprised. The girl was a new student at Riverview, somewhat older than the members of her class, and lived in a trailer camp at the outskirts of the city.

  Miss Nelson seated herself at a desk opposite Penny, thus indicating that she meant the talk to be friendly and informal.

  “Penelope,” she resumed, “you are president of the Palette Club. Why has Rhoda never been taken in as a member? She is one of our most talented art students.”

  “Some of the girls don’t seem to like Rhoda very well,” Penny answered, squirming uncomfortably. “We did talk about taking her into the club, but nothing came of it.”

  “As president of the organization, couldn’t you arrange it?”

  “I suppose so,” Penny admitted, frowning thoughtfully.

  “Why do the girls dislike Rhoda?”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any special reason for it.”

  “Her poverty, perhaps?”

  “I don’t think it’s that,” Penny defended the club members. “Rhoda is so quiet that the girls have never become acquainted with her.”

  “Then I suggest that they make an immediate effort,”Miss Nelson ended the interview. “The Palette Club has no right to an existence unless it welcomes members with real art talent.”

  A group of girls awaited Penny when she reached the locker room. They eagerly plied her with questions as to why she had been detained by the teacher.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Penny promised.

  At the other side of the room Rhoda Wiegand was removing a coat from her locker. A sober-faced girl of seventeen, she wore a faded blue dress which seemed to draw all color from her thin face. Knowing that she was not well liked, she seldom spoke or forced herself upon the other students.

  “Rhoda,” began Penny, paying no heed to the amazed glances of her friends, “the Palette Club is having a meeting this afternoon at the old Marborough place. Why not come with us?”
<
br />   The older girl turned quickly, a smile of surprise and pleasure brightening her face.

  “Oh, I should love to go, only I don’t think—”Hesitating, she gazed at the other girls who were eyeing her in a none too friendly way.

  Penny gave Louise Sidell a little pinch. Her chum, understanding what was expected, said with as much warmth as she could: “Yes, do come, Rhoda. We plan to sketch the old wishing well.”

  “I have enough drawing material for both of us,”Penny added persuasively.

  “If you really want me, of course I’ll come!” Rhoda accepted, her voice rather tremulous. “I’ve heard about the Marborough homestead, and always longed to see it.”

  A group of subdued girls gathered their belongings from the lockers, preparing to leave the school grounds. No one understood why Penny had invited Rhoda to attend the outing, and the act had not been a popular one.

  Boarding a bus, the twelve members of the Palette Club soon reached the end of the line, and from there walked a quarter of a mile into the country. Penny and Louise chose Rhoda as their companion, trying to make her feel at ease. Conversation became rather difficult and they were relieved when, at length, they approached their destination.

  “There’s the old house,” Penny said, indicating a steep pitched roof-top which could be seen rising above a jungle of tall oaks. “It’s been unoccupied for at least ten years now.”

  The Marborough homestead, a handsome dwelling of pre-Civil war day, long had been Riverview’s most outstanding architectural curiosity. Only in a vague way was Penny familiar with its history. The property had been named Rose Acres and its mistress, Mrs. James Marborough, had moved from the city many years before, allowing the house to stand unpainted and untended. Once so beautifully kept, the grounds had become a tangle of weeds and untrimmed bushes. Even so, the old plantation home with its six graceful pillars, retained dignity and beauty.

  Entering the yard through a space where a gate once had stood, the girls gazed about with interest. Framed in a clump of giant azaleas was the statue of an Indian girl with stone feathers in her hair. Beyond, they caught a glimpse of the river which curved around the south side of the grounds in a wide bend.

  “Where is the old wishing well?” Rhoda inquired. “I’ve heard so much about it.”

  “We’re coming to it now,” Penny replied, leading the way down an avenue of oak trees.

  Not far from the house stood the old-fashioned covered well. Its base was of cut stone and on a bronze plate had been engraved the words: “If you do a good deed, you can make a wish and it will come true.”

  “Some people around Riverview really believe that this old well has the power to make wishes come true,”Louise Sidell remarked, peering at her reflection mirrored in the water far below. “In the past years when Mrs. Marborough lived here, it had quite a reputation.”

  “The water is still good if you don’t mind a few germs,” Penny added with a laugh. “I see that someone has replaced the bucket. There was none here the last time I came.”

  By means of the long sweep, she lowered the receptacle and brought it up filled with water.

  “Make a wish, Penny,” one of her friends urged. “Maybe it will come true.”

  “Everyone knows what she’ll ask for!” teased Louise. “Her desires are always the same—a bigger weekly allowance!”

  Penny smiled as she drew a dipper of water from the wooden bucket.

  “How about the good deed?” she inquired lightly. “I’ve done nothing worthy of a demand upon this old well.”

  “You helped your father round up a group of Night Riders,” Louise reminded her. “Remember the big story you wrote for the Riverview Star which was titled: The Clock Strikes Thirteen?”

  “I did prevent Clyde Blake from tricking a number of people in this community,” Penny acknowledged. “Perhaps that entitles me to a wish.”

  Drinking deeply from the dipper, she poured the last drops into the well, watching as they made concentric circles in the still water below.

  “Old well, do your stuff and grant my wish,” she entreated. “Please get busy right away.”

  “But what is your wish, Penny?” demanded one of the girls. “You have to tell.”

  “All right, I wish that this old Marborough property could be restored to its former beauty.”

  “You believe in making hard ones,” Louise laughed. “I doubt that this place ever will be fixed up again—at least not until after the property changes hands.”

  “It’s Rhoda’s turn now,” Penny said, offering the dipper to her.

  The older girl stepped to the edge of the well, her face very serious.

  “Do you think wishes really do come true?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “Oh, it’s only for the fun of it,” Louise responded. “But they do say that in the old days, this well had remarkable powers. At least many persons came here to make wishes which they claimed came true. I couldn’t believe in it myself.”

  Rhoda stood for a moment gazing down into the well. Drinking from the dipper, she allowed a few drops to spatter into the deep cavern below.

  “I wish—” she said in a low, tense voice—“I wish that some day Pop and Mrs. Breen will be repaid for looking after my brother and me. I wish that they may have more money for food and clothes and a few really nice things.”

  An awkward, embarrassing silence descended upon the group of girls. Everyone knew that Rhoda and her younger brother, Ted, lived at a trailer camp with a family unrelated to them, but not even Penny had troubled to learn additional details. From Rhoda’s wish it was apparent to all that the Breens were in dire poverty.

  “It’s your turn now, Louise,” Penny said quickly.

  Louise accepted the dipper. Without drinking, she tossed all the water into the well, saying gaily:

  “I wish Penny would grow long ears and a tail! It would serve her right for solving so many mystery cases!”

  The other girls made equally frivolous wishes. Thereafter, they abandoned fun for serious work, getting out their sketching materials. Penny and Louise began to draw the old well, but Rhoda, intrigued by the classical beauty of the house, decided to try to transfer it to paper.

  “You do nice work,” Penny praised, gazing over the older girl’s shoulder. “The rest of us can’t begin to match it.”

  “You may have the sketch when I finish,” Rhoda offered.

  As she spoke, the girls were startled to hear a commotion in the bushes behind the house. Chickens began to cackle, and to their ears came the sound of pounding feet.

  Suddenly, from the direction of the river, a young man darted into view, pursued by an elderly man who was less agile. To the girls, it was immediately apparent why the youth was being chased, for he carried a fat hen beneath his arm, and ran with hat pulled low over his face.

  “A chicken thief!” Penny exclaimed, springing to her feet. “Come on, girls, let’s head him off!”

  CHAPTER 2

  BY THE COVERED WELL

  Seeing the group of girls by the wishing well, the youth swerved, and fled in the opposite direction. Darting into the woods, he ran so swiftly that Penny realized pursuit would be futile.

  “Who was he?” she questioned the others. “Did any of you recognize him?”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere,” Louise Sidell declared. “Were you able to see his face, Rhoda?”

  The older girl did not answer, for at that moment the man who had pursued the boy ran into the yard. Breathing hard, he paused near the well.

  “Did you see a boy come through here?” he asked abruptly. “The rascal stole one of my good layin’hens.”

  “We saw him,” Penny answered, “but I’m sure you’ll never overtake him now. He ran into the woods.”

  “Reckon you’re right,” the man muttered, seating himself on the stone rim of the wishing well. “I’m tuckered.” Taking out a red-bandana handkerchief, he wiped perspiration from his forehead.

  Penny thought that
she recognized the man as a stonecutter who lived in a shack at the river’s edge. He was a short, muscular individual, strong despite his age, with hands roughened by hard labor. His face had been browned by wind and sun; gray eyes squinted as if ever viewing the world with suspicion and hate.

  “Aren’t you Truman Crocker?” Penny inquired curiously.

  “That’s my tag,” the stonecutter answered, drawing himself a drink of water from the well. “What are you young ’uns doing here?”

  “Oh, our club came to sketch,” Penny returned. “You live close by, don’t you?”

  “Down yonder,” the man replied, draining the dipper in a thirsty gulp. “I been haulin’ stone all day. It’s a hard way to make a living, let me tell you. Then I come home to find that young rascal making off with my chickens!”

  “Do you know who he was?” asked Louise.

  “No, but this ain’t the first time he’s paid me a visit. Last week he stole one of my best Rhode Island Reds. I’m plumb disgusted.”

  Rhoda abruptly arose from the grass, gathering together her sketching materials. As if to put an end to the conversation, she remarked:

  “It will soon be dark, girls. I think I should start home.”

  “We’ll all be leaving in a few minutes,” Penny replied. “Let’s look around a bit more though, before we go.”

  “You won’t see nothin’ worth lookin’ at around here,” the stonecutter said contemptuously. “This old house ain’t much any more. There’s good lumber in it though, and the foundation has some first class stone.”

  “You speak as if you had designs on it,” Penny laughed. “It would be a shame to tear down a beautiful old house such as this.”

  “What’s it good for?” the man shrugged. “There ain’t no one lived here in ten or twelve years. Not since the old lady went off.”

  “Did you know Mrs. Marborough?”

  “Oh, we said howdy to each other when we’d meet, but that was the size of it. The old lady didn’t like me none and I thought the same of her. She never wanted my chickens runnin’ over her yard. Ain’t it a pity she can’t see ’em now?”