The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “That’s what I think,” agreed Louise, greatly relieved. “I know my parents wouldn’t want me prowling under the docks at night.”

  Pelted by fast falling snow, the two friends returned to the parked car and then drove to a drugstore several blocks away. Penny telephoned Central Police Station, only to be informed a car could not be sent to the river for a few minutes. Heavy snow had snarled traffic, causing many accidents and tying up police personnel.

  For twenty minutes the girls waited patiently in their car, but no one came to investigate. At last, giving up in disgust, they drove to their homes.

  Try as she would, Penny could not forget the strange girl with the suitcase who had been so unwilling to answer questions. Who was she? And why had she taken refuge beneath the river docks?

  She longed to talk the matter over with her father, but Mr. Parker had gone to bed early.

  Penny kept thinking about the matter until she fell asleep and it was foremost in her thoughts when she awoke in the morning.

  “Wonder if the Riverview Star carried any mention of a police investigation at the river?” she mused.

  Dressing rapidly, she ran downstairs to bring the morning paper in from the porch. Eagerly she scanned the pages.

  “Not a single word here!” she exclaimed in disappointment. “Maybe the police didn’t even bother to search the dock area.”

  To make certain, she telephoned Captain Brownell, a personal friend at Central Station. The officer explained that a police car had been dispatched to the river shortly after one o’clock. Footprints noted earlier by the two girls, had been blotted out by falling snow. No one had been found loitering in the area.

  “Well, that’s that,” sighed Penny, turning away from the telephone. “I wish now, Lou and I had taken a chance and prowled under the dock.”

  From the breakfast alcove, Anthony Parker, a tall, lean man with iron gray hair and intelligent eyes, regarded his daughter in amusement.

  “Talking to yourself again, Penny?” he teased.

  “I am!” Penny slid into a chair beside her father and reached for a tall glass of orange juice. “The things I’m thinking about the police department aren’t complimentary either! What this town needs is a larger force and at least a dozen extra patrol cars!”

  “You could find plenty of work for them, I judge.”

  “Couldn’t I? A nice situation when police are too busy to investigate an important call promptly!”

  “So they gave you the run-around,” teased Mr. Parker. “Suppose you tell me what happened.”

  Starting at the very beginning, Penny told of hearing the strange cry at the old monastery and later, the meeting with the unfriendly girl who had disappeared near the river docks.

  While she related her odd experiences, Mrs. Maud Weems, the family housekeeper, came in bearing a platter of scrambled eggs. Since the death of Penny’s mother, the woman had cared for the girl as her own daughter.

  She listened attentively to the tale of adventure, and with obvious disapproval.

  “In my opinion, that’s what comes of midnight skiing parties!” she interrupted the story. “I hope you stay away from Knob Hill and the monastery after this.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Weems!” Penny’s elfin face lost a little of its excited glow. “This wonderful skiing weather can’t last many days! I simply must go back there!”

  “To ski or to investigate the monastery?” asked the housekeeper. “If I know the signs, you’re hot on the trail of another mystery!”

  “Naturally I want to learn more about that strange cult,” grinned Penny. “Who knows, I might track down a bang-up story for Dad’s paper!”

  “Skiing always seemed a wholesome sport to me,” interposed Mr. Parker, winking slyly at his daughter. “Of course, I don’t approve of late hours.”

  Mrs. Weems sighed as she set the egg platter down hard on the table. “You two always conspire against me!” she accused.

  “Why, Mrs. Weems!” Penny observed innocently. “Don’t you approve of skiing?”

  “Skiing is only an excuse and you know it, Penelope Parker! Oh, dear, I try so hard to raise you properly.”

  “And you’re doing a magnificent job, if I do say so myself,” chuckled Penny. “Don’t give the matter any further thought!”

  “Penny always has proven she uses her head and knows how to take care of herself,” added Mr. Parker. “An inquisitive mind is an asset—especially in the newspaper business.”

  With an injured sniff, Mrs. Weems retreated to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

  Alone with her father, Penny grinned at him affectionately. His defense of her conduct meant only one thing! He did not disapprove of her interest in the monastery at Knob Hill.

  “He’s giving me the ‘go’ signal!” she thought jubilantly. Aloud she said. “Dad, don’t you think Jay Highland and the monastery might be worth a feature story in the Riverview Star?”

  “Possibly,” he agreed, getting up from the table. “Well, I must move along to the office.”

  A little disappointed because her father had brushed the subject aside so lightly, Penny spent the morning helping Mrs. Weems with household tasks. However, directly after luncheon she packed her skis and prepared to set off for Knob Hill.

  Unwilling to go alone, Penny stopped at the Sidell home. To her disappointment, Louise had gone shopping and was not expected back for several hours.

  “Maybe I can induce Dad to go with me!” she thought. “He spends entirely too much time indoors. An outing will do him good!”

  At the Star plant in the heart of downtown Riverview, Penny wandered through a nearly deserted editorial room to her father’s office. For a morning paper the hour was early, and few reporters had as yet unhooded their typewriters.

  Through the glass door Penny observed that her father had a visitor, a middle-aged, intelligent looking man she had never seen before. She would have slipped away had her father not motioned for her to enter.

  “Penny, this is James Ayling, an investigator for the Barnes Mutual Insurance Co.,” he said. “My daughter, Mr. Ayling.”

  The visitor arose to grasp the girl’s hand firmly.

  “Mr. Ayling is from Boston,” explained the newspaper owner. He turned to the investigator. “Do you mind if I tell my daughter why you are here?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Mr. Ayling is trying to locate an elderly woman whose family jewels are heavily insured with his company.”

  “Mrs. Hawthorne isn’t actually our client,” explained Mr. Ayling. “Originally, old Nathaniel Hawthorne, her late husband, insured a $100,000 star sapphire with us. The policy remains in effect until the gem becomes the possession of a granddaughter, Rhoda.”

  “Who has the sapphire now?” asked Penny, slightly puzzled.

  “Mr. Hawthorne’s will allows his wife the use of it during her lifetime. Upon her death it passes to the sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Rhoda Hawthorne.”

  “And you are searching for Mrs. Hawthorne now?”Penny inquired politely.

  “Yes, so far as we know Mrs. Hawthorne has the gem. We are afraid it may be stolen from her or that she will dispose of it for a trifling sum. Mrs. Hawthorne hasn’t been well and in her present state of mind she might act very foolishly.”

  “Tell Penny about the gem’s history,” suggested Mr. Parker.

  “Oh, yes! The sapphire once was set in a necklace worn by a king who met violent death. Since then, there is a superstition that bad luck pursues the owner.

  “The gem passed through many hands. Three times it was stolen. Several owners died strange or violent deaths.”

  “Not Mr. Hawthorne?”

  “Well, he fell from a cliff while touring the West,” explained the investigator. “Of course it was an accident, but Mrs. Hawthorne unfortunately became convinced his death resulted from ownership of the sapphire.

  “She pleaded that the gem be sold for what it would bring, fearing that harm would come upon her grandchild when eve
ntually the sapphire is turned over to her. According to terms of the will, the gem cannot be sold, and our firm must remain responsible for it in case of theft or loss.”

  “Mrs. Hawthorne still has the gem then?”

  “We hope so,” Mr. Ayling replied. “She went South on a vacation trip with her granddaughter, taking the sapphire with her. That was over a month ago. Nothing since has been heard from them.”

  “But what brings you to Riverview?” questioned Penny.

  “I went South searching for Mrs. Hawthorne. At Miami only a week ago she bought two tickets for Riverview. From that point on, I’ve been unable to trace her.”

  “Does she have relatives or friends here?”

  “Not so far as I’ve been able to learn. Perhaps our company is unduly concerned, but the truth is, Mrs. Hawthorne is a very foolish, gullible woman. Should she dispose of or lose the gem, our firm must pay a large sum of money.”

  “We’ll be glad to run a picture of Mrs. Hawthorne in the paper,” offered Mr. Parker. “If she has arrived in Riverview, someone will have seen her.”

  “I certainly appreciate your interest,” said Mr. Ayling. “Unfortunately, I have no photograph of Mrs. Hawthorne with me. I’ll wire my office tonight for one.”

  “In the meantime, we’ll run a little story,” the publisher promised. “No doubt you can describe the woman.”

  “Oh, yes, in a general way. She’s 68 years of age and walks with a cane. Her hair is white and she weighs about 150 pounds. She’s deeply interested in art. Also in spiritualism and mystic cults, I regret to add.”

  “Mystic cults!” Penny’s blue eyes began to dance with interest. She knew now why her father had made a point of calling her in to meet the investigator.

  “Mrs. Hawthorne is very gullible and easily influenced. Since her husband died, she has been prey for one sharper after another. I judge a third of her fortune already has been squandered.”

  After a thoughtful pause, Penny hesitantly asked Mr. Ayling if he thought it possible Mrs. Hawthorne could have come to Riverview to join a cult.

  “That’s what I’m here to find out. Mrs. Hawthorne and her granddaughter have not registered at any of the leading hotels. Yet I know they came to the city.”

  “Have you tried the monastery at Knob Hill?”Penny suggested. “A new society has been established there in the last few days. I don’t know much about the order yet, but its members are supposed to dedicate themselves to a life of charity and poverty.”

  “Why, that’s exactly the sort of thing to attract Mrs. Hawthorne—for a few weeks,” the investigator replied. “Then after the novelty wore off, she would flit on to something else. Where is this place?”

  “I plan to drive out there in a few minutes,” Penny told him eagerly. “Why not come with me, Mr. Ayling?”

  The investigator glanced inquiringly at Mr. Parker.

  “Go ahead if you think it’s worth while,” urged the publisher.

  “I suppose the chance of finding Mrs. Hawthorne there is very remote,” Mr. Ayling said, thinking aloud. “But I can’t afford to overlook any possibility. Thanks, Miss Parker, I’ll gladly accept your invitation.”

  “Want to come along, Dad?” Penny asked.

  “No thanks,” he declined. “I’m certain you’ll be in good hands. Just let Mr. Ayling take the lead in any investigation.”

  “Why, Dad!” Penny protested. “You know me.”

  “I do, indeed,” said Mr. Parker, smiling as he resumed his desk work. “That’s why I feel confident Mr. Ayling may look forward to a very interesting afternoon.”

  CHAPTER 5

  A CRYSTAL BALL

  Pine trees and bushes hung in frozen arches along the winding road which led to the ancient monastery.

  Parking the automobile near the iron boundary fence, Penny was quick to note that the big ornamental gate now was locked and securely fastened with chain and padlock.

  “Are you sure this place is occupied?” Mr. Ayling asked as he alighted and followed Penny to the gate. “Why, the property is a wreck!”

  “The gate was unlocked last night,” the girl replied. “We may have trouble getting inside.”

  Pressing her face against the rusty iron spikes, she gazed hopefully toward the gatehouse. The door was slightly ajar. Winkey, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  Mr. Ayling rattled the gate chain several times.

  “No one seems to be around,” he said in disappointment.

  “Yes, there is!” Penny corrected.

  Just then she caught a fleeting glimpse of a face at the tiny circular window of the gatehouse. She was convinced it was Winkey, who for some reason, intended to ignore their presence at the gate.

  “Let us in!” she called.

  “Open up!” shouted Mr. Ayling.

  Still there was no rustle of life from the gatehouse.

  “Disgusting!” Penny muttered. “I know Winkey is watching us! He’s only being contrary!”

  Mr. Ayling’s angular jaw tightened. “In that case,” he said, “we’ll have to get in the best way we can. I’ll climb over the fence.”

  The words purposely were spoken loudly enough to be overheard in the gatehouse. Before the investigator could carry out his threat, the door of the circular, stone building swung back. Winkey, the hunchback, sauntered leisurely out.

  “Want somethin’?” he inquired.

  “Didn’t you hear us trying to get in?” Mr. Ayling demanded.

  “Sure,” the hunchback shrugged, “but I was busy fixin’ the bell that connects with the house. Anyhow, visitors ain’t wanted here.”

  “So we observe,” said Mr. Ayling. “Where is your master?”

  “Inside.”

  “Then announce us,” the investigator ordered. “We’re here to ask a few questions.”

  Winkey’s bird-like eyes blinked rapidly. He looked as if about to argue, then changed his mind.

  “Go on to the house then,” he said crossly. “I’ll let ’em know by phone you’re comin’.”

  The driveway curled through a large outer courtyard where a cluster of small and interesting buildings stood in various stages of ruin.

  Near the gatehouse was the almonry, a shelter used in very early days to house visitors who sought free lodging.

  Beyond were the ancient brewhouse, bakehouse, and granary. The latter two buildings now were little more than heaps of fallen brick. None of the structures was habitable.

  In far better state of preservation was the central building with gabled roof and tall hooded chimneys. However, front steps long since had fallen away from the entrance doorway. Bridging the gap was a short ladder.

  “What a place!” commented Mr. Ayling offering Penny his hand to help her across. “Looks as if it might cave in any day.”

  The visitors found themselves facing a weather-beaten but beautifully carved wooden doorway. Before they could knock, it opened on squeaky hinges.

  A woman with heavily lined face, who wore a gray gown and white lace cap, peered out at them.

  “Go away!” she murmured in a stage whisper. “Go quickly!”

  “Julia!” said a voice directly behind her.

  The woman whirled around and cringed as a brown-robed monk took her firmly by the arm.

  “Go and light a fire in the parlor, Julia,” her master directed. “I will greet our guests.”

  “Yes, Father Benedict,” the woman muttered, scurrying away.

  The master now turned apologetically to the visitors.

  “I trust my servant was not rude,” he said. “Poor creature! Her twisted mind causes her to believe that all persons who do not dwell within our walls are evil and to be feared.”

  As the monk spoke, he smiled in a kindly, friendly way, yet his keen eyes were appraising the two visitors. Though it was cold and windy on the door step, he did not hasten to invite Penny and Mr. Ayling inside. He stood holding the half-opened door in his hand.

  “You must excuse our lack of hospitality,” he
said, fingering a gold chain which hung from his thin shoulders. “We have much cleaning and remodeling to do before we are ready to receive visitors.”

  Mr. Ayling explained that his call was one of business, adding that he represented the Barnes Mutual Insurance Co.

  “Such matters must be discussed with me later,” the monk said, slowly but firmly closing the door.

  “I’m not selling insurance,” Mr. Ayling assured him. Deliberately he leaned against the jamb, preventing the monk from shutting the door.

  Father Benedict bit his lip in annoyance. “May I inquire your business with me?” he asked frostily.

  “I’m seeking to trace a client—Mrs. Nathaniel Hawthorne.”

  “I know of no such person. Deeply I regret that I cannot help you, sir. If you will excuse me—”

  “The woman may have used an assumed name,”Mr. Ayling cut in. “She has a weakness—er, I mean a liking for cult practices.”

  “You are suggesting this woman may have joined my little flock?”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “Absurd!” The monk’s gaze rested briefly on Penny as he added: “I greatly fear you have been led astray by loose gossip as to the nature of the order I am founding here.”

  “I told Mr. Ayling about your work because I think it’s so interesting,” Penny said quickly. She slapped her mittened hands together. “My, it’s cold today! May we warm ourselves at your fire before we start back to town?”

  A frown puckered Father Benedict’s eyebrows. Plainly the request displeased him. But with a show of hospitality, he said:

  “Our abode is very humble and poorly furnished. Such as it is, you are welcome.” Bowing slightly, he stepped aside to admit the visitors.

  Penny and Mr. Ayling found themselves in a long, barren, and very cold hallway.

  “Follow me, please,” bade the monk.

  Moving on the bare boards with noiseless tread, he led them through an arched doorway cut in the thick wall, across a wind-swept pillared cloister and into a parlor where a fire burned brightly in a huge, time-blackened fireplace.

  The sheer comfort of the room surprised Penny. Underfoot was a thick velvet carpet. Other furnishings included a large mahogany desk, a sofa, two easy chairs, and a cabinet filled with fine glassware, gold and silver objects, and a blue glass decanter of wine.