The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “Has Dad arrived there?” Penny asked abruptly.

  “No, he hasn’t returned. Anything wrong?”

  Tersely Penny revealed what had occurred. The news shocked the editor for he bore Mr. Parker a genuine affection.

  “Now don’t you worry,” he tried to cheer her. “Your father can’t be badly hurt or he never would have walked away from that accident. Just sit tight and our reporters will locate him for you.”

  During the next hour Penny and Mrs. Weems remained near the telephone. Each moment they waited, their anxiety increased. Mr. DeWitt did not phone. There was no word from the police station. They refused to believe that Mr. Parker had been seriously injured, yet it seemed strange he could not be found.

  “It’s not like him to allow anyone to worry,” declared the housekeeper. “I simply can’t understand why he doesn’t call to relieve our minds.”

  Just then the telephone bell jingled. Penny snatched the receiver from its hook.

  “DeWitt speaking,” said the familiar voice of the editor.

  “Any news?” Penny asked quickly. “Did you find Dad?”

  “So far we haven’t,” the editor confessed. “I’ve personally called the police station, every hospital and private nursing home in Riverview.”

  “Dad may have gone to a doctor’s office for treatment.”

  “I thought of that,” replied DeWitt. “We’ve checked all the likely ones.”

  “What could have become of him?” Penny asked desperately. “Mrs. Weems and I are dreadfully worried.”

  “Oh, he’ll show up any minute,” comforted Mr. DeWitt. “Probably he doesn’t realize anyone is looking for him.”

  Penny asked the editor if he had learned the identity of the hit-skip driver.

  “No one took down the license number of the car,”Mr. DeWitt returned regretfully. “Our reporters are still working on the story though.”

  “The story,” murmured Penny faintly. For the first time it occurred to her that her father’s accident and subsequent disappearance would be regarded as front page news.

  “I don’t expect to run an account of the accident until I’ve talked to your father,” DeWitt said hastily. “Now don’t worry about anything. I’ll let you know the minute I have any news.”

  Penny hung up the receiver and reported the conversation to Mrs. Weems. A clock on the mantel chimed one-thirty, reminding the housekeeper that lunch had not been prepared.

  “No food for me,” pleaded Penny. “I don’t feel like eating.”

  “I’ve rather lost my own appetite,” confessed the housekeeper. “However, it’s foolish of us to worry. Your father must be safe. No doubt he had an appointment.”

  Penny’s face brightened. “Why, of course!” she exclaimed. “Don’t know why I’ve been so dumb! Dad may still be in conference with Prosecutor Gilmore! I’ll call there.”

  Darting to the telephone, she waited patiently until she was connected with the State prosecutor’s office. The lawyer himself talked to her.

  “Why, no, Mr. Parker hasn’t been here,” he replied to her eager inquiry. “I expected him at ten-thirty. Then he telephoned that he had been delayed and would see me at eleven-thirty. He failed to keep that appointment also.”

  The information sent Penny’s hopes glimmering. She explained about the accident and listened to the Prosecutor’s expression of sympathy. Replacing the receiver, she turned once more to Mrs. Weems.

  “I’m more worried than ever now,” she quavered. “Dad didn’t keep his appointment with Prosecutor Gilmore, and it was a vitally important one.”

  “We’ll hear from him soon—”

  “Perhaps we won’t.” Penny took a quick turn across the room.

  “Why, such a thing to say! What do you mean, Penny?”

  “Dad has enemies. Harley Schirr told me today that if any attempt was made to expose a certain gang of thieves, it would mean real trouble.”

  “But your father has had no connection with such persons.”

  “He and Jerry worked on a case together,” Penny explained. “Today at the time of the accident, Dad carried a brief case with all the evidence in it!”

  “Even so, I fail to see—”

  “According to the report, Dad’s car was practically forced off the road,” Penny added excitedly. “I think that auto crash was deliberately engineered! Don’t you understand, Mrs. Weems? He’s fallen into the clutches of his enemies!”

  “Now, Penny,” soothed the housekeeper. “I’m sure we’re making far too much of the accident. We’ll soon hear from your father.”

  “You’re saying that to comfort me, Mrs. Weems. Something dreadful has happened! I can feel it.”

  Penny ceased pacing the floor and went to the hall closet for her hat and coat.

  “Where are you going?” asked the housekeeper, her eyes troubled.

  “To the newspaper office. If word comes, I want to be there to get it the very first minute.”

  Mrs. Weems started to protest, then changed her mind. She merely said: “Telephone me the moment you have any news.”

  A brisk walk to the Star office did much to restore Penny’s sagging courage. As she entered the newsroom, brushing snow from her coat, she saw a group of reporters gathered about Mr. DeWitt’s desk.

  “News of Dad!” she thought, her pulse pounding.

  Glimpsing Penny, the men at the desk began to scatter. They gazed at her in such a kind, sympathetic manner that she became frightened again.

  “What is it, Mr. DeWitt?” she asked the editor. “Has Dad been found?”

  He shook his head.

  “But you must have had some news,” she insisted, her gaze on a folded paper which he held. “Please don’t hide anything from me.”

  “Very well,” DeWitt responded quietly. “We found this letter in your father’s waste-basket.”

  Penny took the paper. Silently she read the message which had been typed in capital letters.

  “MR. PARKER,” it warned, “THIS IS TO ADVISE YOU TO LAY OFF ON TIRE THEFT STORIES IN YOUR PAPER. UNLESS YOU CHANGE YOUR POLICY YOU MAY WAKE UP IN A DITCH.”

  CHAPTER 7

  QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS

  “I’d rather not have shown that note to you,”Mr. DeWitt said quietly. “We found it only a moment ago.”

  “How did it get in Dad’s waste-basket?” Penny asked. “Do you suppose he threw it there himself?”

  “That’s my guess. Your father never paid any attention to unsigned letters.”

  Penny reread the threatening note, trying not to show how much it disturbed her. “I wonder if this came by mail?” she remarked.

  “We don’t know,” DeWitt replied. “There was no envelope in the basket.”

  “Dad never mentioned such a note to me,” Penny resumed, frowning. “Probably thought I’d worry about it. This makes the situation look bad, doesn’t it, Mr. DeWitt?”

  The editor weighed his words carefully before he spoke. “It doesn’t prove that your father was waylaid by enemies, Penny. Not at all. According to reports, Mr. Parker was involved in an ordinary automobile accident, and left the scene of his own free will.”

  “With a woman who drove a black car.”

  “Yes, according to eye-witnesses she offered to take him to a hospital for treatment.”

  “What became of that woman?” demanded Penny. “Can’t the police find her?”

  “Not so far.”

  Before Penny could say more, Harley Schirr came to the desk, spreading a dummy sheet for the editor to inspect.

  “Here’s the front-page layout,” he explained. “For the banner we’ll give ’em, ‘Anthony Parker Mysteriously Disappears,’ and beneath it, a double column story. I dug a good picture out of the morgue—the one with Parker dedicating the Riverview Orphans’Home.”

  DeWitt frowned as he studied the layout. “Parker wouldn’t like this, Schirr. It’s too sensational. Bust that banner and cut the story down to the bare facts.”

  “But
this is a big story—”

  “I’m expecting Mr. Parker to walk in here any minute,” retorted DeWitt. “A ‘disappearance’ spread would make the Star look silly.”

  “Mr. Parker’s not going to show up!” Schirr refuted, his eyes blazing. “I say we should play the story for all it’s worth.”

  “I’m sure Dad would hate sensationalism,” Penny said, siding with Mr. DeWitt.

  The assistant editor turned to glare at her. Although he made no reply, she read anger and dislike in his flashing eyes.

  “Cut the story down,” DeWitt ordered curtly. “And try to find a more suitable picture of Mr. Parker.”

  Schirr swept the dummy sheet from the desk, crumpling it in his hand. As he started for the morgue where pictures were filed, he muttered to himself.

  “Don’t know what’s got into that fellow lately,”DeWitt sighed.

  The editor sat down rather heavily and Penny noticed that he looked tired and pale. For fifteen years he had been closely associated with Mr. Parker, regarding his chief with deep affection.

  “Do you feel well, Mr. DeWitt?” she inquired.

  “Not so hot,” he admitted, reaching for a pencil. “Lately I’ve been having a little pain in my side—it’s nothing though. Just getting old, that’s all.”

  “Why not take the day off, Mr. DeWitt? You’ve been working too hard.”

  “Now wouldn’t this be a fine time to go home?” the editor barked. “Hard work agrees with me.”

  Reminded that she was keeping Mr. DeWitt from his duties, Penny soon left the Star office. Debating a moment, she walked to the nearby police station. There she was courteously received by Chief Jalman, a personal friend of her father’s.

  “We’ll find Mr. Parker,” he assured her confidently. “His description has been broadcast over the radio. We’ve instructed all our men to be on the watch for him.”

  Penny broached the possibility that her father had been waylaid by enemies.

  “Facts fail to support such a theory,” replied Chief Jalman. “It’s my opinion your father will show up any hour, wondering what the fuss is all about.”

  Penny left the police station rather cheered. Almost without thinking, she chose a route which led toward the scene of the accident. Reaching the familiar street, she noted that her father’s battered car had been towed away. All broken glass had been swept from the pavement.

  “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.”