The Counterfeit Mystery

by Norvin Pallas

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 1958, renewed 1986 by Norvin Pallas.

  Published by Wildside Press LLC

  wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

  DEDICATION

  To Elsie & Bob

  CHAPTER 1

  SUMMER DOLDRUMS

  Rain, rain, and more rain. It had been raining steadily in Forestdale for nearly a week, just a light drizzle, not really hard enough to do anyone any good, but enough to interfere with most outdoor vacation pleasures. If it would only come down hard and get it over with—more than one person had been heard to grumble.

  But now the rain seemed to have let up for at least a while, ushering in a cool but pleasant day, with a hazy sky in which the sun shone almost apologetically. Ted Wilford and his friend, Nelson Morgan, had taken advantage of the break in the weather to go for a swim, and now sat on the edge of the pool, basking in the sun and waiting to get up enough ambition to plunge once more into the cold water.

  “Ready yet?” asked Nelson, not moving a muscle toward the water.

  “In a minute.” Ted, too, made no motion toward the pool. The park was located on the edge of town, and, being on slightly higher ground, gave a panoramic view of the community. Ted was in a meditative mood. These lazy summer days were fun but would soon end. A two-week vacation with his brother Ronald was coming up, and after that—college, and buckling down to a lot of hard work.

  “Not a bad little town,” Nelson commented, following his glance.

  “No, I guess not,” Ted agreed. “But I never really got to know any other town. I wonder how Forestdale will seem, after we’ve been away for nine months?”

  “We’ll be just aching to rush right back,” Nelson predicted. “Why not? It’s probably just as good as any other town, and it’s familiar besides.”

  “You may be right. But so far we’ve lived here more or less because we had to. After college, I suppose we can sort of choose where we want to live. I wonder if we’ll choose Forestdale?”

  “Well, it’s kind of a dead place at times,” said Nelson critically, “but the newspaper manages to keep something stirred up most of the time. Mr. Dobson does his best to keep this the kind of town that’s worth coming back to. What did you and Carl Allison argue about this time?”

  Ted looked disgruntled. Having a close friend who could sometimes read your mind had its disadvantages.

  “What makes you think we had an argument?” he demanded.

  “Number one, you always do. Number two, you’ve been going around with your jaw hanging loose. Number three, you haven’t gone near the Town Crier office for a few days.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it an argument,” explained Ted carefully. “You know how things have been going down there. Mr. Dobson’s still on crutches, and Miss Monroe hasn’t been out of the hospital very long herself. I’ve been helping out wherever I could, but we’ve got the office work up pretty well. Then Mr. Dobson suggested to Carl that maybe he could use some help, and you would have thought the roof fell in. I don’t mean Carl was rude to Mr. Dobson. He simply made it as clear as he could that he didn’t need any help, and that just in case he did need any, I’d be about the last person he’d want for the job.”

  Nelson shook his head. “I’ll never figure that guy out. He sure has got it in for you and Ronald. But you did manage to get along with him for a while, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, we got along as long as we had to. But sooner or later something always turns up, and we’re back at swords’ points again. Of course it was a silly suggestion. Carl doesn’t need me, and Mr. Dobson was just trying to keep me busy. He must have thought Carl and I had smoothed things over while he was laid up. I rather get the impression Mr. Dobson feels Carl’s still on probation. But Carl’s been there nearly a year now, and Mr. Dobson’ll have to make up his mind about him soon.”

  “And when he does make up his mind,” said Nelson explosively, “he can give Carl a good boot out of there—with his good leg, I mean.”

  “And then what’ll he do? He needs somebody. And Carl isn’t the worst guy in the world, either. In fact, in some ways he’s good. Just once in a while it seems to me he’s not really enthusiastic about the newspaper business. I’m afraid he might pack up sometime and leave Mr. Dobson in the lurch.”

  “Well, that’s Mr. Dobson’s problem, not yours. Don’t be crazy about it, Ted. Mr. Dobson doesn’t expect you to give up college in case he finds himself short a reporter. You can just go off to college and forget the whole thing. You don’t ever have to go near that office again, if you don’t want to.”

  “Wrong there, Nel. I’m due at the office in”—he glanced at his waterproof wrist watch—“less than forty-five minutes. Mr. Dobson called me up this morning and asked me to drop in. He didn’t tell me why, though.”

  Nelson showed interest. “Got something cooking again? I figured it was about time. Give Mm a couple of weeks back at the office, time to get things organized again, and then he’s ready for another of his crusades. I hope it’s something exciting. This deadness is getting me down.” That was what Nelson said, but he looked as though having nothing to do but lie there the rest of the summer would be all right with him.

  Ted got to his feet and flexed his arms. “As long as we came out to swim, I suppose we ought to get a little more swimming in. Coming?”

  His friend did not reply at once. His eyes were fixed on the opposite end of the pool. Because of the early hour and the coolness of the day the pool was not crowded; even the lifeguard had not yet arrived. A group, chiefly girls, was gathered about the diving board. At its end a girl of about their own age stood gracefully poised—a summer visitor, they supposed, since they did not recognize her.

  She raised her arms, gave two or three tentative bounces upon the board—and at that moment something happened. Apparently her foot slipped just as she was about to leap, and she flew off the board in a sprawling, awkward manner. Falling forward, she hit the water on her stomach, sending up a shower of spray. For a moment there was no sign of struggle.

  “She’s hurt!” Nelson was on his feet in an instant. The group standing about the diving board seemed immobilized, and there was no one else close at hand to offer help. Nelson dived into the water immediately, and swam toward the girl with powerful strokes.

  Not quite so prompt to act, Ted sized up the situation in a moment, then ran around the edge of the pool until he was as close to the girl as he could get. Then he, too, dived off into the water. Although Nelson was the more skillful swimmer, Ted was able to reach the girl several precious seconds earlier. He grabbed her arm and helped her keep her head above water.

  “You all right?” he asked anxiously.

  “I—I guess so,” she replied falteringly. “The fall kind of stunned me for an instant. But I guess I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  “It’s not far to the ladder,” Ted encouraged her. “Think you can make it all right?”

  She had nearly recovered both her breath and her self-possession. “I think so, but stay close beside me, will you? I’m not exactly sure.”

  They turned back toward the edge of the pool. The girl swam with determination, managed to make the ladder without any further assistance, and climbed up easily. Ted followed her up, and after them came the hapless Nelson, arriving just too late to be of any service.

  An anxious group had gathered around the top of the ladder, and once assured that the girl was all right, began to joke about it.

  “Where there’s a damsel in distress, there’s Ted!”

  “I thought he was supposed to be working at the newsp
aper.”

  “Ken Kutler must have beaten him to a story, and they fired him.”

  “I’ll bet he greased the diving board, Just to get a story for himself.”

  “My hero!” exclaimed a boy, one of a group who had just arrived in time to witness the outcome of the incident.

  “And here comes our football captain, like the caboose on an empty train,” another boy announced, as Nelson finally climbed the ladder.

  “How about introducing us,” someone suggested, “and finding out whether she’s blonde, brunette, or redheaded?”

  “I haven’t introduced myself yet,” said Ted, glad that a possible tragedy had been averted. The girl had withdrawn a little, not feeling herself a part of the group, but she waited and extended her hand as Ted approached.

  “I’m very grateful to you. My name’s Nancy.”

  “I’m Ted.” Since she had given only her first name, he did the same. “And this is Nelson,” he added, as his friend joined them. “He’s not always last. In fact, he won a medal for running fifty yards in ten seconds.”

  “A hundred yards.” Nelson scowled at him, but smiled at Nancy as she acknowledged the introduction.

  “You’re a summer visitor, aren’t you?” Ted resumed.

  “Yes. That is, I think I am. What I mean is, visitor generally means being on a vacation, and I’m here to work. I’m doing secretarial work for my aunt, but we’ve had such a stretch of dreary weather she told me to take the morning off. I’m supposed to meet her for lunch, so I guess I may as well dress. I don’t feel like doing any more diving.”

  “You don’t want to lose your nerve,” Nelson cautioned her.

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ve lost my nerve.” She took off her bathing cap, and shook out her heavy, medium-brown curls, as though to show that she hadn’t been much upset by the affair. “It’s just that the fun’s gone out of it for today, and I really do have to meet my aunt.”

  “Did you drive out?” asked Ted, realizing she must be alone, since no one else had joined her.

  “No, I came by bus. I didn’t have too much time, and I wasn’t quite certain of the way.”

  It was unusual to take the intercity bus, though for a summer visitor it might be the most convenient way.

  “Then why don’t you let us drive you back, Nancy?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think of cutting your fun short. Go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

  “You’re not interfering. As a matter of fact, I’m due at work, too. Of course we haven’t exactly been introduced—”

  “But everyone here seems to know you, Ted, so I’m sure it must be all right, and I’d be very glad of the lift.”

  “It’s Nelson’s car, not mine, so I suppose I should have waited for him to invite you.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” Nelson grumbled. “You got to her first. It serves me right for leaping before I looked.”

  “But I think it was a very nice thing for you to try to help me, too,” said Nancy warmly. “Swimmers sometimes get frantic, and it might have taken both of you. I appreciate it very much.”

  Nelson looked both embarrassed and pleased as he answered, “Well, we couldn’t let you drown, could we?”

  “I hope not!” She turned to Ted. “Where shall I meet you, then?”

  “Right here. We’ll be changing ourselves. See you in ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes,” she agreed, and left them.

  “Well, maybe I will, and maybe I won’t,” Nelson meditated, looking after her.

  “Maybe you will or maybe you won’t do what?”

  “Write poison-pen letters to Margaret Lake.”

  “Oh, nuts!” Ted retorted, and started away.

  Fifteen minutes later they were in Nelson’s car and on their way to the business center of town.

  “Are you going to be in town long, Nancy?” asked Ted.

  “Only until school starts. I’m entering college this fall.”

  “So are we!” exclaimed Ted, unexpectedly pleased. Somehow, judging from her poise, he had thought Nancy to be a little older than they were, but now decided she was their age. That meant she might like to come along to certain social affairs that were likely to turn up soon.

  They talked about college for a few minutes, which seemed to give them a common bond, even though the colleges were hundreds of miles apart. Nancy was interested in music, and Ted thought he might be able to find a place on the college newspaper or magazine. Since the conversation seemed to be leaving Nelson out, Ted mentioned that his friend had been a football star.

  “Not this year,” Nelson reminded him. “They don’t allow freshmen on the varsity.”

  “But there’ll probably be a freshman team—”

  “Sure, a lot of work and no glory.”

  Though Nelson was driving slowly, Forestdale was only a small town, and they reached the center all too soon.

  “Down this street—I think,” Nancy directed them. “My office is along here somewhere.”

  “Mine, too,” replied Ted. “Where did you say you worked?”

  “Oh, there it is—that building next to the one with the yellow awnings.”

  “Why—that’s the Town Crier office,” exclaimed Ted. “I work there, too!”

  Drawing the car to a stop, Nelson turned to them with a grin. “If you two work at the same place, maybe it’s time you got acquainted with each other.”

  CHAPTER 2

  BLUE HARVEST

  It was a ridiculous situation, of course. The Town Crier had only three full-time employees in the office, Mr. Dobson, Miss Monroe, and Carl Allison, and that two people could work there even part time without knowing each other seemed incredible.

  “You must be Nancy Lindell,” Ted decided in wonder. “And Miss Monroe is your aunt. I’ve heard her mention you many times.”

  “Yes, and you must be Ted Wilford. She’s mentioned you in some of her letters. I was hoping to meet you here, but didn’t expect you’d be pulling me out of the water.”

  “But she didn’t say anything to me about your coming here to work,” Ted objected.

  “No, it was a rather sudden decision. I wanted to come while she was ill, but I had another job, housekeeping for several children while the parents were traveling, and I couldn’t get away. Anyway, I guess I wouldn’t have been much good without someone to tell me what to do. Just the same, I was anxious to get in a little secretarial experience, so when she told me she could use me for a few weeks, I came right out.”

  “I haven’t been down to the office since Monday morning,” Ted explained, but did not add that his dispute with Carl Allison was responsible. “That’s why I missed you.”

  They were feeling well acquainted already as they stood on the walk, Ted’s hand still on the open door.

  “I don’t like to rush you people, but either I drop a dime in this parking meter, or else I have to go,” Nelson finally remarked.

  Nancy turned to him once more, and extended her hand. “Thanks, Nelson. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and even more what you tried to do. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  “You bet,” Nelson agreed, and drove off whistling.

  Holding open the office door, Ted followed Nancy in. Mr. Dobson was there, seemingly in conference with a man who was a stranger to Ted. But Miss Monroe was absent, which was only to be expected. There were always a great many things to be done outside the office, and as a normal thing work was arranged so that someone was in the office at all times. Now with Mr. Dobson’s leg still not fully healed from the auto accident he had suffered at the beginning of summer, it was generally the editor who was there and his secretary who was out.

  Both men looked up at the newcomers, and Mr. Dobson started to rise, momentarily forgetting his bad leg. Then he made a casual introduction, and Ted learned that the visitor’s na
me was Mr. Woodring. They shook hands.

  “I see you two have met,” the editor observed to Ted, nodding toward Nancy. “Nancy, Miss Monroe said she’d be back before noon.”

  “That’s all right. Perhaps she left some typing for me to do.”

  “And I can find something to help with,” added Ted.

  “Oh, no, no,” Mr. Dobson objected. “I particularly asked you here, Ted, to meet Mr. Woodring. He has a proposition that I believe may be of some benefit to the whole town. Nancy, you might find it of interest, too.”

  Thus invited, the two young people drew up chairs.

  “Mr. Woodring represents a trading-stamp company,” continued Mr. Dobson. “He’s told me a little about his plan, but I’ll let him describe it again for you.”

  The visitor cleared his throat, hesitated a moment, as though not sure exactly how to begin—he wasn’t quite so fluent as most salesmen are expected to be, Ted observed—then took out a folder from his sample case. He handed it to Mr. Dobson, who did not happen to have his reading glasses on, and so merely gave it a slight glance before handing it on to Nancy. She opened it and held it so that Ted could see, too.

  It was a book of gummed trading stamps, called Blue Harvest stamps. Ted had never seen this particular kind before. They were beautifully tinted, and showed a rural scene, with a cow before a fence, cornstalks on the other side of the fence, and hills in the background.

  “Pretty nifty,” Ted decided.

  “They are attractive,” Nancy agreed, before finally closing the booklet and returning it to Mr. Woodring.

  “I hear that Forestdale stores have been having a little trouble,” Mr. Woodring began, “and I thought I might have the answer.” He laughed. “Naturally, I’m concerned about my own interests, but if we’re able to help each other out, then all the better.”

  “I’ve been telling Mr. Woodring something about the new shopping center in North Ridge,” Mr. Dobson put in. “There can be no question that it is drawing trade away from Forestdale. Even some of our own townspeople are getting into the habit of driving over to North Ridge, and a great many of the country people living between the two towns seem to have developed a preference for North Ridge. Their stores are offering a larger stock at slightly lower prices, and that’s a combination hard to beat.”