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<h2 id="c3">CHAPTER 3 UNFINISHED BUSINESS</h2> “Did you hear that?” Penny demanded of her chum as the police dispatcher went off the air. “Danny Deevers has escaped!” The name rang no bell in Louise’s memory. “And who is Danny Deevers?” she inquired. “Anyone you know?” “Not exactly. But Jerry Livingston has good reason to remember him.” “Jerry Livingston? That reporter you like so well?” A quick grin brought confession from Penny. “Jerry is only one of my friends,” she said. “But it’s a known fact he’s better looking and smarter than all the other Star reporters put together.” “It’s a fact known to you,” teased her chum. “Well, what about this escaped convict, Danny Deevers?” Penny stopped for a red light. As it changed to green she replied: “Don’t you recall a series of stories Jerry wrote in our paper nearly a year ago? They exposed shortages which developed at the Third Federal Loan Bank. Jerry dug up a lot of evidence, and the result was, thefts were pinned on Danny Deevers. He was convicted and sent to the penitentiary for twenty years.” “Oh, yes, now I remember.” “At the time of his conviction, Deevers threatened if ever he went free, he would get even with Jerry.” “And now he’s on the loose!” “Not only that, but heading for Riverview, according to the police.” “You don’t think he’d dare try to carry out his threat?” Penny frowned and swerved to avoid hitting a cat which scuttled across the highway. “Who knows, Lou? The police evidently are hot on Deevers’ trail, but if they don’t get him, he may try to seek revenge. It’s odd he turns up today—and those men talking in the swamp—” Louise’s eyes opened wide. “Penny, you don’t think Danny Deevers could have taken refuge in the swamp!” “It’s possible. Wouldn’t it be a good hideout?” “Only for a very courageous person,” Louise shivered. “At night, all sorts of wild animals must prowl about. And one easily could be bitten by a poisonous snake and could die before help came.” “I’m not saying Danny Deevers was on the island today, Lou. But it’s a thought. Maybe I’ll pass it on to the police.” Penny fell into thoughtful silence as she reflected upon the strange snatch of conversation she had overheard between the two men in the underbrush. Had the bearded stranger really been Ezekiel Hawkins, and if so, with whom had he talked? The chance that the second man might have been Danny Deevers seemed slim, but it was a possibility. When the car finally reached Riverview, Penny dropped Louise at the Sidell home and drove on to her own residence. As she entered her own house, Mrs. Weems, the Parker family housekeeper, met the girl in the living room archway. “Oh, Penny, where have you been!” she exclaimed. “Your father has telephoned twice. He’s waiting for you now at the newspaper office.” “Do telephone him I’m practically on my way,” Penny pleaded. “I’ll grab a bath, dress, and be out of here in two shakes.” Midway up the stairs, the girl already had stripped off her sports shirt. “I’ll call your father,” Mrs. Weems agreed, “but please, after this, pay more heed to time. You know how much the success of tonight’s newspaper convention means to your father.” Penny’s mumbled reply was blotted out by the slam of the bathroom door. The shower began to run full blast. With a sigh, Mrs. Weems went to telephone Mr. Parker at the Riverview Star office. For several years now, the housekeeper had efficiently supervised the motherless Parker home. She loved Penny, an only child, as her own, but there were times when she felt the girl was allowed too much freedom by an indulgent father. Penny’s active, alert mind was a never-ending source of amazement to Mrs. Weems. She had not entirely approved when Mr. Parker allowed the girl to spend her summers working as a reporter on the newspaper he owned. Nevertheless, the housekeeper had been very proud because Penny had proved her ability. Not only had the girl written many fine stories which brought recognition, but also she had demonstrated a true “nose for news.” One of Penny’s first lessons learned on the Star was that a deadline must always be met. Knowing now that she dared not be late, she hurriedly brushed her hair and wriggled into a long, full-skirted evening dress. Almost before Mrs. Weems had completed the telephone call, she was downstairs again searching frantically for a beaded bag and gloves. “Here they are, on the table,” the housekeeper said. “Your father said he would wait just fifteen minutes.” “That’s all I need, if the lights are green,” Penny flung over her shoulder, as she ran to the parked car. “See you later, Mrs. Weems!” Leaving an exhausted housekeeper behind, the girl made a quick trip to the downtown newspaper office. As she reached the building, newsboys were on the streets crying the first edition, just off the press. Upstairs, in the newsroom, reporters were relaxing at their desks, taking a few minutes’ “breather” between editions. Swinging through the entrance gate, Penny created a slight stir. At one of the desks under a neon light, Jerry Livingston, pencil behind one ear and hair slightly rumpled, tapped aimlessly at the keys of a typewriter. His quick eye appreciatively took in the long flowing skirt and the high heeled slippers. “Well, if it isn’t our little glamor girl!” he teased. “Cinderella ready for the ball!” At another time, Penny would have paused to chat. Now she flashed a quick smile and clicked on toward the city desk. Editor DeWitt, a quick-tempered, paunchy man of middle-age stood talking to her father, who looked more than ever distinguished in a new gray suit. “Here she comes now,” Mr. DeWitt said as Penny approached. “Your daughter never missed a deadline yet, Mr. Parker.” “Perhaps not,” the publisher admitted, “but it always gives me heart failure, figuring she will.” “Dad, I’m sorry to have annoyed you,” Penny said quickly before he could get in another word. “I was out at the swamp with Louise.” “The swamp!” “Gathering flowers for the banquet table,” Penny added hastily. “Oh, Dad, they’re simply beautiful—so much nicer than any florist could have supplied.” “I can imagine.” Mr. Parker smiled and looked at the wall clock. “We’re due at the theater in ten minutes. I’m chairman of the program, unfortunately.” Penny gently broke the news. “Dad, I haven’t had time to decorate the banquet table at the hotel. Will you drive me there?” “I can’t,” Mr. Parker said, slightly exasperated. “I’m late now. Have one of the photographers take you. By the way, where’s Salt Sommers?” Hearing his name spoken, a young photographer whose clothes looked as if he had slept in them, moved out from behind a newspaper he had been reading. “Coming right up, Chief,” he answered. “Run my daughter over to the Hillcrest Hotel,” the publisher instructed. “Make it your job to see that she reaches the theater promptly.” “I guess I can handle her,” Salt said, winking at Penny. “And now, where is Jerry?” the publisher asked. “Has anyone seen him?” “Relax, Dad,” said Penny. “He’s right here.” “I am jumpy tonight,” Mr. Parker admitted, “but I have a lot on my mind. That stunt we’ve planned for the entertainment of our out-of-town men—is everything set?” “Sure,” DeWitt assured him. “There’ll be no hitch. As the mayor winds up his address of welcome, the stage electrician turns off the stage lights. Jerry, in view of the audience, orders him to turn ’em on again. He refuses an’ they argue over union rules. The fight gets hotter until finally the workman pulls a revolver and lets him have it full blast. Jerry falls, clutching his chest. Our newsboys gallop down the aisles with copies of the Riverview Star and screaming headlines telling all about the big murder. Everyone gets a swell laugh, figuring it’s pretty snappy coverage.” “You certainly make it sound corny the way you tell it,” Mr. Parker sighed. “Who thought up the idea anyhow?” “Why, you did, Chief,” grinned Salt. “Remember?” “It was a poor idea. Maybe we ought to call it off.” “After we got the extras all printed an’ everything?” Mr. DeWitt asked, looking injured. “The boys went to a lot of trouble.” “All right, we’ll go ahead just as we planned, but I hope there is no slip-up. How about the revolver?” “Right here,” said Salt, whipping it from an inside pocket. “Loaded with blanks.” He pointed it at a neon light, pulled the trigger and a loud bang resulted. Jerry Livingston sauntered over. “So that’s the lethal weapon,” he observed. “Can I trust you guys not to slip a real bullet in when I’m not looking?” “I’ve got to go,” cut in Mr. Parker, looking again at the clock. “The program starts as soon as I get to the theater. Speeches should take about an hour. Then the stunt. And don’t be late!” “We’ll be there,” Salt promised. “Jerry, you riding with Penny and me?” “I’ll come later in my own car. Have a story to write first.” Going back to his typewriter, the reporter slipped carbons and paper into the machine and began pecking the keys. At that moment a Western Union boy came through the newsroom. Catching Penny’s eye, he pushed a telegram toward her and asked her to sign. She wrote her name automatically, before noticing that the envelope bore Jerry’s name. “For you,” she said, tossing it onto the roller of his typewriter. “More fan mail.” “It’s probably a threat to bring suit if I don’t pay my dry cleaning bill,” Jerry chuckled. He glanced at the envelope briefly, then slit it up the side. As he read the wire, his face became a study. His jaw tightened. Then he relaxed and laughed. “This is a threat all right,” he commented, “but not from the dry cleaners!” Jerry reread the telegram, snorted with disgust, and then handed it to Penny. In amazement she read: “ARRIVED IN TOWN TODAY TO TAKE CARE OF A LITTLE UNFINISHED BUSINESS. WILL BE SEEING YOU.” The telegram bore the signature, Danny Deevers. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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