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<h2 id="c11">CHAPTER 11 AN ABANDONED CAR</h2> For Salt and Penny, the moment was a perilous one. In plain view of the upstairs window, they could not hope to escape detection. But shrewdly, they reasoned that Mrs. Hawkins could not be certain they had been trying to break into the woodshed. “Oh, is that you, Mrs. Hawkins?” Penny called as cheerily as if greeting an old friend. “I hope we didn’t awaken you.” The farm woman leaned far out the window. “Who be ye folkses?” she demanded suspiciously. “What you doin’ here?” “Don’t you remember me?” Penny asked. “I stopped here this afternoon with my girl friend. We had a drink at your pump.” “Humph! That ain’t no gal with you now! Who is he?” “Oh, just a friend who works at—” Penny was on the verge of saying the Riverview Star, but caught herself in time and finished—“a friend who works where I do.” “And what you spyin’ around here for?” “We’re looking for another friend of ours.” “’Pears to me you got a heap o’ friends,” the woman said harshly. “This afternoon you was cryin’ you lost a dog.” “It was Louise who lost the dog,” said Penny, well realizing that her story would never convince the woman. “Whatever you lost, man or beast, git off this property and don’t come back!” Mrs. Hawkins ordered. “We hain’t seen no dog, and we hain’t seen none o’ yer friends. Now git!” Another face had appeared at the window—that of the bearded stranger Penny had seen earlier in the day on Lookout Point. No longer could she doubt that he was Ezekiel Hawkins, the man who a few minutes earlier had ordered his two sons to bed. “We’re leaving now,” said Salt, before Penny had an opportunity to speak again of Louise’s missing dog. “Sorry to have bothered you.” Taking Penny firmly by an elbow, he pulled her along. Not until they had reached the fence safely did they look back. In the upper window of the Hawkins’ house a light continued to burn dimly. “We’re still being watched,” Salt commented. He helped Penny over the fence, disentangling her dress which snagged on a wire. “Whew! That was a close call! That old biddy would have enjoyed putting a bullet through us!” “She dared to say Louise’s dog hadn’t been seen! All the while her husband stood right there! He’s the one who refused to let us go after Bones this afternoon!” “Sure?” “Almost positive.” “Well, all I can say is the Hawkins’ are mean customers,” Salt sighed. “Stealing a dog probably is right in their line.” “They’re up to other tricks too!” “Oh, undoubtedly. Wish we could have learned what was in those cans they were trucking to the city.” In the press car, speeding toward Riverview, the pair discussed all phases of their night’s adventure. Failure to learn anything about Jerry’s whereabouts worried them. Presently, worn out, Penny slumped against Salt’s shoulder and fell asleep. She was awakened when the car stopped with a jerk. “Where are we?” she mumbled drowsily. “Home?” “Not yet, baby,” he answered, shutting off the engine. Penny straightened in the seat, brushing away a lock of hair which had tumbled over her left eye. Peering through the window she saw that they still were out in the country. “What are we stopping here for, Salt?” she asked in astonishment. “Don’t tell me we’ve run out of gas!” “Nothing like that,” he said easily. “Just go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.” “You’ll be right back! Where are you going, Salt Sommers?” “Only down the road a ways. We passed a car, and I want to have a better look at it.” By now Penny was fully awake. “I’m going with you,” she announced. Salt held the door open for her. “This probably is a waste of time,” he admitted. “Was it a car you saw in the ditch?” Penny questioned, walking fast to keep up with him. “An accident?” “Don’t think so. The car seemed to be parked back in the bushes on a road bisecting this one.” “What’s so unusual in that?” “Nothing perhaps. Only the car looked familiar.” “Not Jerry’s coupe?” “No. There it is now—see!” Salt pointed through the trees to an old upright vehicle of antiquated style. His flashlight picked up the numbers on the rear license plate. “K-4687!” Penny read aloud. “Mrs. Jones’ stolen auto!” “It sure is,” the photographer agreed in satisfaction. “Abandoned!” “By whom? The Hawkins’ boys?” “Maybe. Let’s have a closer look.” While Penny stood by, Salt made a thorough inspection of the old car. The battery was dead. Ignition keys, still in the lock, had been left turned on. 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.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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