The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

As the photographer flashed his light about, Penny noticed a package of cigarettes lying on the seat. She picked them up and sniffed.

  “Necos,” she declared. “Salt, one of the persons who rode in this car must have slugged Jerry at the theater!”

  “Maybe, but we can’t be sure. Necos aren’t a common brand of cigarettes. On the other hand, I’ve known several fellows who smoke them.”

  A thorough inspection of the car revealed no other clues.

  “We may as well get back to town,” Salt said finally. “Mrs. Jones will be glad to learn her car has been recovered. We can let her know tomorrow after police have had a chance to inspect it.”

  Neither he nor Penny had much to say as they motored toward Riverview. Both were deeply discouraged by their failure to find any trace of Jerry.

  “It’s barely possible hospital officials were able to catch up with him,” Penny said after a while, her eyes on the dark ribbon of highway ahead. “We might stop somewhere and telephone.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Salt. “We’re practically in the city now.”

  Already they could see the twinkling lights, laid out in rectangular street patterns. Directly ahead, at the corporation boundary, Penny saw the flashing electric sign of a hamburger hut operated by Mark Fiello, a genial old Italian.

  “We might stop there,” she suggested. “Mark will let us use his phone.”

  “Also, he has good hamburgers and coffee,” Salt added. “I could go for some food!”

  Mark, a stout, grizzled man in slightly soiled apron, was frying bacon and hamburgers at the grill as he shouted orders to a helper in the kitchen.

  “You, Frankey!” he bellowed. “Git your nose outta dat ice cream and squeeze another quart of orange juice! What you think I pay you for—to eat me out of business?”

  As Penny and Salt slid onto stools in front of the counter, he turned toward them to ask briskly:“What’ll it be, folks?”

  “Now Mark, don’t give us the professional brush off,” Salt joked. “Make mine a hamburger with everything on.”

  “And mine with everything off—especially onions,” added Penny.

  “Two hamburgers coming right up,” chuckled Mark, flattening twin hunks of ground meat on the grill. “I giva you good beeg ones. One-a with, and one-a without. Haven’t seen you folks in a long while. How you been?”

  “Pretty well, Mark, until tonight,” replied Penny. “May we use your phone?”

  “It’s your nickel, ain’t it?” chuckled Mark. “Go right ahead.”

  “Looks as if we’ll have to wait until your helper gets through using it,” observed Salt.

  “That worthless no-good!” Mark snorted. “I pay him thirty dolla a week to eat his head off and all the time calla dat girl of his! You, Frankey! Git off dat phone and git to work on them oranges!”

  Frank, a youth of sallow complexion and unsteady gaze, dropped the telephone receiver as if it were a red hot coal.

  He mumbled a “call you later,” into the transmitter, hung up, and ducked into the kitchen.

  “Such bad luck I have this summer,” sighed Mark, expertly turning the hamburgers and salting them. “Six helpers I hire and fire. All no good. They talka big, eat big—but work? Naw!”

  “It’s a tough life,” Salt agreed, fishing for a coin in his pocket. “Change for a dime, Mark?”

  “Sure. Who you calla tonight? Big scoop for de paper, eh?”

  “I wish it were,” said Salt. “We’ve had a tough night.”

  “Jerry’s missing,” Penny added earnestly. “He was taken to the hospital this afternoon, but he walked out. We’re trying to find him because he’s in no condition to be wandering about.”

  Mark’s jaw had dropped and for a moment he forgot the hamburgers sizzling on the grill.

  “You looka for Jerry? Jerry Livingston?”

  “Sure, you know him,” Salt replied, starting for the telephone. “He used to be one of your favorite customers.”

  “Well, what do y’know!” mumbled Mark, obviously surprised. “What do y’know! Listen, I tell you something!”

  “About Jerry?” Penny asked eagerly.

  “You looka for your friend too late!”

  “Too late? What do you mean, Mark? Jerry hasn’t been hurt?”

  “No! No! Your friend is all right like always. Twenty minutes ago, he eata three hamburgs on dis same stool where you sit now!”

  “Jerry was here!” Penny cried joyfully. “Mark, are you sure?”

  “Sure, I am sure! Jerry eata three beeg hamburgs, drinka two beeg cups of java, then go away.”

  “Did he seem dazed or confused?”

  “Your friend the same as always. Make-a the joke.”

  On the grill, the hamburgers were beginning to burn at the edges. Mark flipped them between buns, adding generous quantities of mustard, pickle, catsup, and sliced onions to Salt’s sandwich.

  Penny now was so excited she scarcely could take time to eat.

  “Which way did Jerry go when he left here?” she questioned eagerly.

  “He crossa de street. After dat, I did not see.”

  “Jerry lives in the St. Agnes Apartments not far from here,” Salt recalled. “Maybe he’s there now!”

  Quickly finishing their sandwiches, the pair gave Mark a dollar, refusing to accept change. As they started away, he followed them to the door.

  “You know-a somebody who wanta good job, good pay?” he whispered. “Frankey is eating me outta all my profits. You know-a somebody?”

  “Afraid we don’t,” Salt replied. “We’ll keep it in mind though, and if we hear of anyone wanting work, we’ll send him around.”

  From the hamburger hut, Penny and Salt drove directly to the St. Agnes Apartment Hotel. The clerk on duty could not tell them if Jerry were in his room or not.

  “Go on up if you want to,” he suggested. “Room 207.”

  Climbing the stairs, they pounded on the door. There was no answer. Salt tried again. Not a sound came from inside the room.

  “It’s no use,” the photographer said in disappointment. “Mark may have been mistaken. Anyway, Jerry’s not here.”

  CHAPTER 12

  A JOB FOR PENNY

  Penny gazed at Salt in grim despair. “I was so sure Jerry would be here,” she murmured. “What can we do now?”

  “We’ve run down every clue,” he replied gloomily. “If he isn’t at the hospital, I’m afraid it’s a case for the police.”

  “But Mark was so sure he had seen Jerry tonight. Try once more, Salt.”

  “Okay, but it’s useless. He’s not here.”

  Again Salt hammered on the door with his fist. He was turning away when a sleepy voice called: “Who’s there?”

  “Jerry is in there!” Penny cried. “Thank goodness, he’s safe!”

  “Open up, you lug!” ordered Salt.

  A bed creaked, footsteps padded across the carpet and the door swung back. Jerry, in silk dressing gown, blinked sleepily out at them.

  “What do you want?” he mumbled. “Can’t you let a fellow catch forty winks without sending out the riot squad?”

  “How are you feeling, Jerry, my boy?” Salt inquired solicitously.

  “Never felt better in my life, except I’m sleepy.”

  “Then what made you walk out of the hospital?”

  “I don’t like hospitals.”

  “We ought to punch you in the nose for making us so much trouble,” Salt said affectionately. “Here we spent half the night searching the swamp for you!”

  Jerry’s face crinkled into a broad grin. “The swamp! That’s good!”

  “Didn’t you ask a taximan at the hospital how much it would cost to go there?” Penny reminded him.

  “Sure, but I decided not to go.”

  “You got a nerve!” Salt muttered. “Climb into your clothes and we’ll take you back to your cell.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Jerry backed away from the door. “I’m no more sick than you are, and I’m not goi
ng back to the hospital!”

  “You’re an advanced case for a mental institution!” the photographer snapped. “Maybe you don’t know Danny Deevers is out to get you and he means business!”

  “I’m not worried about Danny.”

  “Maybe you don’t think he cracked you on the head tonight at the theater?”

  “I’ve been thinking it over,” Jerry replied slowly. “Probably it was Danny, but I doubt he’ll dare show his face again. Police are too hot on his trail.”

  “Says you!” snorted Salt. “By the way, why were you so interested in going to the swamp tonight? Any clues?”

  “Only the information you and Penny gave me.”

  “We learned a little more this evening,” Penny informed him eagerly. “And we have a photograph we want you to identify.”

  The story of their findings at Caleb Corners and beyond, was briefly told. Salt then showed Jerry the picture of the ancient car which had been involved in the traffic accident.

  “This older man is Danny Deevers,” Jerry positively identified him after studying the photograph a minute. “I don’t recognize the driver of the car.”

  “We’re almost sure he’s one of the Hawkins’ boys,”Penny declared. “You know, the swamper we told you about.”

  Jerry nodded. “In that case, putting the finger on Deevers should be easy for the police. The Hawkins family could be arrested on suspicion. Like as not, Deevers is hiding in the swamp just as Penny suspected!”

  “If he is, it won’t be easy to capture him,” commented Salt. “They say a man could hide there a year without being found. And if the Hawkins’ boy is arrested, he’ll naturally lie low.”

  Jerry thoughtfully studied the photograph again. “That’s so,” he admitted. “Anyway, our evidence is pretty weak. We couldn’t pin anything on either of the Hawkins’ boys on the strength of this photograph.”

  “It would only involve Mrs. Jones,” contributed Penny. “Why turn it over to the police?”

  “Well, it would relieve us of a lot of responsibility. Tell you what! I know the Chief pretty well. Suppose I give the picture to him and ask him to go easy on Mrs. Jones? I think he would play along with us.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” approved Salt. “The police can watch the Hawkins place and maybe learn Danny’s hideout without tipping their hand.”

  The matter of the photograph settled, he and Penny turned to leave.

  “We’ll send the hospital ambulance after you, Jerry,” Salt said by way of farewell. “Better get into some duds.”

  “I’m not going back there!”

  “It’s no use trying to make him,” said Penny who knew from experience that the reporter could be stubborn. “But do be careful, won’t you, Jerry?”

  “Sure,” he promised. “And thanks to both of you for all your trouble!”

  The hour now was well past midnight. Saying goodbye to Jerry, Penny had Salt take her directly home.

  Quietly she slipped into the house and upstairs to her own room without disturbing Mrs. Weems.

  However, next morning, explanations were in order, and as was to be expected, the housekeeper did not look with approval upon the trip to the swamp.

  “Your motives may have been excellent,” she told Penny, “but your judgment was very poor. Even with Salt as an escort you shouldn’t have gone.”

  To make amends, Penny stayed close at home that morning, helping with an ironing. At noon when her father came for luncheon, she eagerly plied him with questions about the Danny Deevers case.

  “There’s nothing new to report,” Mr. Parker said. “He’s still at large. The Star has posted a $10,000 reward for his capture.”

  “Ten thousand!” echoed Penny, her eyes sparkling. “I could use that money!”

  Mr. Parker carefully laid down his knife and fork, fixing his daughter with a stern gaze.

  “You’re to forget Danny Deevers,” he directed. “Just to make certain you do, I’ve arranged with Mr. DeWitt to give you a few days’ work at the office. Kindly report at one-thirty this afternoon for your first assignment.”

  “Oh, Dad! Of all times—I had plans!”

  “So I figured,” her father replied dryly. “Mr. DeWitt, I trust, will keep you busy until after Danny Deevers has been rounded up by the police.”

  Penny knew that protests were quite useless, for when her father really set down his foot, he seldom changed his mind. At another time, she would have welcomed an opportunity to work at the Star office, but this day she regarded it as nothing less than punishment.

  As her father had predicted, Penny was kept more than busy at the office. There were telephones to answer, obituaries to write, wire stories to redo, and a multitude of little writing jobs which kept her chained to a desk.

  Penny pounded out page after page of routine copy, her face becoming longer and longer. Whenever the shortwave radio blared, she listened attentively. Never was there any news to suggest that police were even taking an interest in Danny Deevers’ escape.

  “Oh, they’re working hard on the case,” Jerry assured her when she talked it over with him. “You’ll hear about it in good time.”

  “Everyone treats me as if I were a child!” Penny complained. “Just wait! If ever I get any more information, I’m keeping it under my hat!”

  For two long days she worked and suffered in the newspaper office. Then late one afternoon, Mr. DeWitt beckoned her to his desk.

  “You act as if you need a little fresh air,” he said. “Take a run over to the Immigration Office. See a man named Trotsell. He’ll tell you about a boy who entered this country illegally. They’re looking for him now.”

  “I’ll hippety-hop all the way!” Penny laughed, glad to escape from the office.

  At the Immigration Building, Mr. Trotsell, an official of brisk manner and crisp speech, gave her the facts of the case in rapid-fire order.

  “The boy is only sixteen,” he said. “His name is Anthony Tienta and he was befriended by G.I.’s in Europe. Early in the war, his parents were killed. Anthony was put in an orphan’s asylum by Fascists. He and another lad escaped to the mountains. For six months they lived in a cave on berries and what they could pilfer.”

  “Interesting,” commented Penny, “but what is your connection with the case?”

  “I’m coming to that. When G.I.’s entered Italy, Anthony left his mountain hideout to become a guide. He learned English and later joined an American division as a mascot. When the war ended, Anthony sought permission to come to this country and was turned down repeatedly.”

  “So he stowed aboard a troopship?”

  “Yes, we don’t know yet how he eluded Immigration officials in New York. Somehow he slipped into the country. Later he was traced to a farm in Michigan. We were closing in on him, when someone tipped him off and he fled. We know he’s somewhere in this state.”

  “Near here?”

  “It’s very possible. We thought if a story appeared in the paper, someone who has seen the boy may report to us.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?”

  “Unfortunately, no. He is sixteen, with dark eyes and dark, curly hair. The lad is athletic and very quick witted. His English is fairly good, heavily sprinkled with G.I. slang.”

  “I’ll write the story for you,” Penny promised as she arose to leave. “The truth is, though, my sympathy is with Anthony.”

  “So is mine,” replied the official. “However, that does not change the law. He entered this country illegally and must be returned to Italy.”

  Penny left the office and was midway to the newspaper office when she bumped squarely into her friend, Louise Sidell, who had been downtown shopping.

  “Oh, Lou!” she exclaimed. “I called you twice but you weren’t at home. Did Bones ever find his way back?”

  Louise shook her head. “He never will either. Those men probably kept him on the island. I’m going out there tomorrow.”

  “To the island?”

 
“If I can get Trapper Joe to take me. My father says I may offer him twenty-five dollars to help me get Bones back.”

  “It was entirely my fault, Lou. I’ll pay the money.”

  “You needn’t.”

  “I want to,” said Penny firmly. “I’ve earned a little money the past two days at the newspaper office.”

  The two girls walked together to the next corner.

  “What time are you starting for Trapper Joe’s tomorrow?”Penny asked.

  “I’d like to leave right after breakfast. Any chance you could take me in your car?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” grinned Penny. “It may take a little doing—but yes, I’m sure you can count on me! I’m long overdue for a date myself with Old Man Swamp!”

  CHAPTER 13

  INTO THE SWAMP

  By eleven o’clock the next morning, the two girls were on their way to Caleb Corners in Penny’s car. Both wore high boots, heavy shirts, and riding breeches, having dressed carefully for the swamp.

  “I had one awful time convincing Dad and Mrs. Weems I should make this trip,” Penny remarked as they parked the car under a giant oak not far from Trapper Joe’s shack on the river creek. “If we hadn’t had Bones for an excuse, they never would have allowed me to go.”

  Louise stared curiously at her chum.

  “Why else would we make the trip?” she inquired.

  “Oh, we’re going there to find Bones,” Penny assured her hastily. “But if we should meet Ezekiel Hawkins or whoever was on the island—”

  “My parents made it very clear I’m not to go to the island unless Trapper Joe is with us.”

  “So did my father, unfortunately,” sighed Penny.

  As the girls approached Trapper Joe’s shack, they saw smoke issuing in a straight column from the rear of the premises.

  Investigating, they found the old guide roasting a fat turkey on a spit which slowly revolved above a fire of cherry red coals.

  “Howdy,” the old man greeted them. “You’re jest in time fer some victuals.”

  “Lunch so early?” Louise asked in surprise.

  “It hain’t breakfast and it hain’t lunch,” the trapper chuckled. “I eat when I’m hongry, an’ right now I feel a hankerin’ fer food. Kin I give you a nice turkey leg?”

  The girls looked at the delicately browned fowl and wavered.