The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “It would seem only decent of him to allow you to complete your paintings.”

  “I’ve been coming to the monastery for months, off and on,” the artist revealed in an aggrieved tone. “Always figured I’d buy the place. The owner, Peter Holden, picked it up at a foreclosure sale for a mere nothing. He’d have sold to me too, if this fellow hadn’t come along. Who is he, anyhow?”

  “I wonder myself,” said Mr. Ayling.

  “His gateman looks like a thug!”

  “I’m afraid your unfortunate encounter with Winkey prejudiced you,” smiled the investigator. “After all, the man apparently was acting under orders.”

  “I didn’t like that monk either!” the artist scowled. “He acted as religious as my Aunt Sara!”

  “His real name is Jay Highland,” Penny contributed. “He’s a crystal gazer.”

  “Humph! A fine calling! If the authorities are smart, they’ll look into his business here!”

  The trio now had reached the roadside where Penny’s car was parked. Politely, she offered to give the artist a lift to his home.

  “Thanks, but I’ll walk,” he declined the offer. “I live only a short distance. I’ll just cut through the fields.”

  His dark eyes still snapping like firebrands, the artist strode off through the snow.

  “Quite a character!” remarked Mr. Ayling, once he and Penny were in the car. “An eccentric!”

  “I’ve heard Mr. Eckenrod really is a fine artist,”Penny replied. “Too bad Father Benedict wouldn’t let him complete his paintings. By the way, what did you think of him?”

  “Well, if I’m any judge of character, he’ll soon be back to make more trouble.”

  “No, I mean Father Benedict.”

  “He seemed pleasant enough,” Mr. Ayling said slowly. “However, I can’t say I went for the crystal ball demonstration.”

  “Oh, anyone could tell that was the bunk!”

  “Frankly, it gave me quite a jolt.”

  “Oh, you mean the monk’s warning!”

  “Not that,” replied Mr. Ayling. “His description of Mrs. Hawthorne and her daughter. Of course, I’ve never seen either of them, but the picture he conjured up seemed to fit them.”

  “Oh, he probably made it up.” Penny started the car which rolled with creaking tires over the hilly, snow-packed road toward the city. “You described Mrs. Hawthorne to him earlier, you know.”

  “So I did. Except for one small detail, the reading would not have impressed me.”

  “And that detail?”

  “In describing the girl on the beach, Father Benedict said she was wearing a black cameo ring.”

  “So he did! You certainly never mentioned that to him!”

  “It rather jarred me,” admitted Mr. Ayling. “Because, when Rhoda Hawthorne last was seen, she was wearing just such a cameo ring!”

  CHAPTER 8

  INTO THE CREVASSE

  Enroute to Riverview, Penny and Mr. Ayling discussed all phases of their strange interview with Father Benedict.

  “The man may be all right,” the investigator said. “Nevertheless, as a matter of routine I’ll check on him. Where was he before he came to Riverview?”

  “I never heard.”

  “And who are the members of his mysterious cult? Riverview people?”

  “Not so far as I know. The only persons I’ve seen on the premises are Winkey, the one they call Julia, and a girl.”

  “A girl? Who is she?”

  “I don’t know. She peeped from behind a door while Father Benedict was giving the crystal ball reading. I started to speak and she motioned me to keep quiet. Then she slipped away.”

  “Odd.”

  “Yes, it was. For just a minute I thought she might be a girl I picked up on the road the other night in my car. The room was shadowy though, so I got no clear impression of her face.”

  “I’d like to meet the girl—also the other members of the cult.”

  “So would I! Why not visit there again soon?”

  “We might try it tomorrow, say about this same time,” proposed Mr. Ayling. “I don’t plan to remain in Riverview longer than another twenty-four hours unless I obtain a clue to Mrs. Hawthorne’s whereabouts.”

  “Maybe Winkey won’t let us in,” commented Penny dubiously.

  “We’ll worry about that when the time comes. Perhaps if he makes trouble, we can find ways to persuade him.”

  “Shall I pick you up at your hotel?” Penny offered.

  “All right,” the investigator agreed. “Meanwhile, I’ll wire my office for photographs of Mrs. Hawthorne and her granddaughter which can be published in your father’s paper. Also, I’ll ask our company to check on Father Benedict’s past. He may be operating a quick money racket here.”

  “Then you do distrust him!”

  “Not exactly, but I’ve learned from past experience it pays to overlook nothing. Father Benedict is an eccentric. He may be all right and probably is. All the same, it will be interesting to learn more about him.”

  A little later, after agreeing to meet the next afternoon at two o’clock, Penny dropped Mr. Ayling at his hotel. In a high state of excitement, she then drove on home to report the day’s adventure to Mrs. Weems and her father.

  “Mr. Ayling’s awfully nice and smart too!” she declared at the dinner table. “Together we’ll find Mrs. Hawthorne and solve the mystery of the monastery!”

  “What mystery?” teased her father.

  “I don’t know yet,” Penny admitted with a chuckle. “But give me time! I’ll find one! I can feel it bubbling in the air!”

  Mrs. Weems, who came into the dining room with a platter of roast beef, observed: “If you take my advice, you’ll stay away from that place!”

  “Oh, Mrs. Weems!”

  “You only invite trouble by going there,” the housekeeper said severely. “Furthermore, it will distract you from your school work.”

  “School teachers’ convention this week!” Penny reminded her. “We’re off tomorrow and next day too! Don’t worry about anything happening to me at the monastery, Mrs. Weems. Mr. Ayling makes a dandy chaperon.”

  “If you’re going with him, I suppose I can’t protest,” the housekeeper gave in. “Mind, you’re home before dark.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Penny grinned. “No rash promises though!”

  The next afternoon, sharp at two o’clock, she drove to the front entranceway of the Riverview Hotel. Mr. Ayling was nowhere to be seen. After waiting ten minutes, she parked and went inside to inquire at the desk.

  “Mr. Ayling has room 416,” the clerk told her. “Doubt whether you’ll find him in just now. He left here late last night and hasn’t been back.”

  “That’s queer,” thought Penny. Aloud she asked if the investigator had left any message for her.

  “Nothing,” replied the clerk.

  “He didn’t say where he was going?”

  “No, but he evidently intends to be back. His luggage is still here, and he hasn’t paid his bill.”

  To satisfy herself, Penny telephoned Room 416. No one answered.

  “Wonder if he could have thought he was to meet me at the monastery?” she mused. “Guess I may as well drive out there.”

  The sunshine was strong and the day slightly warm. Penny, who had worn heavy skiing clothes, shed her coat before she reached the monastery.

  Pulling up at the barrier gate, she glanced hopefully about. Mr. Ayling was nowhere to be seen. If he had arrived ahead of her, undoubtedly he was inside the building.

  As Penny hesitated, wondering what to do, Winkey’s ugly face appeared behind the iron spokes of the gate.

  “You again!” he observed with a scowl.

  “Yes, I’m looking for a friend of mine, Mr. Ayling, who was here yesterday.”

  “You think we got him hid somewheres?” the gateman asked insolently.

  “I thought he might have come here again.”

  “Well, he didn’t. And Father Benedic
t ain’t here either. So you can’t come in.”

  Though annoyed by the hunchback’s curt manners, Penny held her temper in check.

  “I very much wanted to talk to your master,” she said. “I may ask him to allow me to join the cult.”

  The hunchback’s eyes opened wide, and, as was his habit, he then blinked rapidly.

  “You ain’t here just to snoop around?” he asked with distrust.

  “Such an idea!” Penny hoped that her laughter sounded convincing.

  “If ye want to join the cult, you can talk to Father Benedict later,” the hunchback said grudgingly. “But unless you got something to contribute, it’s no use trying to get in.”

  “Money you mean?”

  “Either cash on the line or jewels.”

  “And what becomes of the money?”

  “It goes for charity.” Winkey fast was losing patience. “Now cut out the questions!” he said crossly. “If you want to join the society, talk to the boss.”

  “Are there any other girls staying here?” Penny had been leading up to this question.

  “Talk to the boss, I said!” Winkey snapped. “Maybe he’ll be here tomorrow. Now go away and stop botherin’ me. I got work to do!”

  Disappointed by her failure to find Mr. Ayling or extract information from Winkey, Penny returned to the car.

  Driving along the road a few minutes later, she glimpsed, far over the hills, a skier who descended the steep slope at breakneck speed.

  “It’s a wonderful day for skiing!” she thought, recalling that all of her equipment was ready in the car. “Why don’t I make the most of it?”

  Pulling up, Penny got out skis and poles. Hastily waxing the runners, she put them on and set off across the fields toward the distant hill.

  The loose snow had blown into deep banks and crevasses. Penny frequently had been warned by more experienced skiers that visible crevasses nearly always were a warning of hidden ones.

  At first as she raced along, she kept alert watch for unexpected breaks or depressions in the snow. But as she drew near the hills to the rear of the old monastery, she frequently shifted her gaze toward the interesting old building.

  Smoke curled lazily from the hooded chimneys. Otherwise, the premises appeared unoccupied.

  Then, Penny saw a bent figure coming from the rear of the grounds, pulling a long sled behind him.

  “Why, it’s Winkey!” she recognized him. “Now what can he be doing with that sled? Surely at his age he isn’t going coasting.”

  More than a little interested, the girl set her course the better to watch the hunchback. Soon she saw him striking off toward a pine woods and a large, two-story log cabin some distance away.

  At the edge of the woods, not far from the cabin, had been stacked several cords of seasoned logs taken from the forest.

  Pulling his sled alongside, Winkey began to pile it high with the cut firewood.

  “I wonder if that’s his wood?” thought Penny.

  So absorbed had she become in Winkey’s actions that she neglected to watch the drifts ahead. Too late, she saw that her singing skis were taking her directly into a wide, deep crevasse.

  Desperately, Penny swerved and tried to check her speed. The break in the snow was extensive and could not be avoided.

  Over the brink she shot. Poles flew from her hand and she clutched wildly for a hold on the bank. Failing, she tumbled over and over, landing in an ungainly heap of splintered skis at the base of the deep pit.

  CHAPTER 9

  A CALL FOR HELP

  After coming to a stop at the bottom of the crevasse, Penny momentarily was too stunned to move.

  Gradually recovering her breath, she gingerly twisted first one leg, then the other. Though pains shot through them, no bones were broken.

  Rolling over on her back, the girl gazed up at the narrow opening far above her.

  “Served me right for being so careless!” she thought. “But the $64 question, is how am I going to get out?”

  With fingers numb from cold, Penny removed her broken skis.

  Walls of the hole into which she had fallen were sharp and firm with frozen ice, offering few if any handholds.

  Unwilling to call attention to her plight unless absolutely necessary, she studied the sheer walls carefully, and then, grasping a projection, tried to raise herself to a ledge just over her head. The ice broke in her fingers, and she tumbled backwards again.

  Penny now began to suffer from cold. Her clothes, damp from perspiration, were freezing to her body.

  “This is no time to be proud!” she thought. “I’ll have to shout for help and hope Winkey hears me. He’s the last person in the world I’d ask voluntarily, but if he doesn’t help me, I may be trapped here hours! I could freeze to death!”

  Penny shouted for help and was alarmed by the sound of her own voice. Not only was it weak, but it seemed smothered by the walls of the crevasse. She knew the cry would not carry far.

  But as she drew a deep breath preparatory to shouting again, she heard voices only a short distance away.

  Her first thought was that her cry for help had been heard and someone was coming to her aid.

  The next instant she knew better. Those who approached were arguing violently.

  “You stole the wood from my land!” she heard the accuser shout. “I saw you pile it on your sled, and you’re carrying it away now!”

  Penny recognized the gruff voice of Vernon Eckenrod and guessed that he was talking to Winkey. Evidently the two were coming closer, for their argument was waxing louder.

  Forgetting her own predicament, Penny listened intently. The pair were now almost at the brink of the crevasse.

  “Say something!” Eckenrod roared. “What excuse have you got for stealing my wood?”

  “Button your lip!” Winkey retorted. “The boss told me to get some wood for the fires at the monastery. So I done it.”

  “He told you to steal, did he?”

  “You’ll git your money.”

  “Money isn’t the point! I cut that wood myself from my own land, and I want it for my own use! Here, give me that sled! You’re hauling it straight back where you got it!”

  “Keep your hands off!”

  Penny heard the sound of scuffling, and then above her, at the mouth of the crevasse, she saw the two men struggling.

  “Look out!” she called.

  Startled by her voice, Eckenrod turned and looked down. At that instant, when he was off guard, the hunchback struck him. Reeling backwards, the artist tried to recover balance and could not. With a shriek of fright and rage, he fell into the chasm.

  Penny attempted to break the man’s fall with her body. She was not quick enough, and he rolled to the very bottom, ending up on a pile of broken skis. There he lay groaning.

  If Penny had expected that Winkey would be aghast at his brutal act, she was to learn otherwise.

  “That’ll teach you!” he shouted in glee. “Don’t never accuse me of stealing!”

  “Help us out!” Penny called.

  She knew Winkey heard her, for he stopped short and peered down into the crevasse to see who had appealed for help. Giving no sign he had seen her, he then disappeared.

  “Maybe he’s going for a rope!” Penny thought. “But I’d quicker think he’s deserting us!”

  Now thoroughly alarmed, the girl crept over the slippery ice to Vernon Eckenrod’s side. He was conscious but stunned. Blood gushed from a cut on the back of his head and one leg remained crumpled beneath him.

  With a handkerchief, Penny attempted to stop the flow of blood. She was relieved to note that the wound was a superficial one.

  “Try to sit up,” the girl urged. “If you lie on the ice your clothes will soon freeze fast.”

  Eckenrod’s eyes opened and he stared blankly at her.

  “Who are you?” he muttered. “How did you get down here?”

  “I fell, the same as you. I’m Penny Parker, the girl you met yesterday at the mon
astery.”

  With her help, the artist pulled himself up on an elbow.

  “I remember you now,” he mumbled. “Did you see that hunchback push me down here?”

  “Yes, I did. It was a brutal thing to do. I think now he may have gone for a rope.”

  “Don’t you believe it!” Eckenrod said bitterly. “He wouldn’t help us if we were freezing to death! The man is a thief! He was stealing my wood! I’ll have the law on him!”

  “First we have to get out of here,” Penny reminded him. “That’s not going to be easy.”

  Eckenrod became sober as he studied the sharp walls of the crevasse. The only possible handhold was a ledge well above their heads.

  “If you can boost me up, I think I can make it,”Penny said. “Then I’ll go for help.”

  Eckenrod attempted to get to his feet, but his left leg crumbled beneath him. Pain and despair were in his eyes as he gazed at his companion.

  “Broken,” he said. “Now we are in a fix.”

  Trying not to disclose fright, Penny said the only thing to do was to call for help. However, after she had shouted until she was nearly hoarse, she too was filled with despair.

  “Winkey isn’t coming back,” she acknowledged. “And no one else is close enough to hear our cries!”

  In an attempt to ease Mr. Eckenrod’s pain, Penny tore strips of cloth from her underskirt, and used the broken skis to make a splint.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my right leg,” the artist insisted. “It’s good and strong. If only I could get up on it, I think I could boost you to the ledge. We’ve got to do something!”

  “Could you really do it?” Penny asked, hope reviving.

  “I’ve got to,” the artist replied grimly. “Night’s coming on. We’ll freeze if we’re here an hour.”

  With Penny’s help, Mr. Eckenrod after several attempts, managed to struggle upright on his good right leg. He weaved unsteadily a moment, then ordered:

  “Now onto my shoulders!”

  She scrambled up, grasping the icy ledge above. It broke in her fingers.

  “Hurry!” muttered Mr. Eckenrod, gritting his teeth.

  With desperate haste, Penny obtained another handhold which seemed fairly firm. She could feel Mr. Eckenrod sagging beneath her. Knowing it was then or never, she heaved herself up and rolled onto the ledge. Miraculously, it held her weight.