CHAPTER 3 STRAIGHT FROM THE SHOULDER

Mr. Parker did not slacken the speed of the car. Relaxing somewhat, he edged farther away from Penny, whose sodden garments were oozing water.

“A bottle!” he exclaimed. “Penny, for a minute you had me worried. I thought you meant something important.”

“But Dad, the bottle is important,” she argued earnestly. “You see, it contains a folded piece of paper, and I’m sure it must be a message.”

“Of all the idiotic things! At a time like this when you should be worried about your health, you plague me about a silly bottle. We’re going straight home.”

“Oh, all right,” Penny accepted the decision with a shrug. “Nevertheless, I’m curious about that bottle, and I mean to find it tomorrow!”

Mr. Parker dropped Jerry and Salt off at the newspaper plant and then drove on to his home. The house, a modern two-story dwelling, was situated on a terrace overlooking the river. Lights glowed from the living room windows and Mrs. Weems, the stout housekeeper, could be seen hovering over the radio.

“I was just listening to the news about the dynamiting,” she remarked as Mr. Parker and his daughter came in from the kitchen. Turning her head, she stared at the girl’s bedraggled hair and wet clothing. “Why, Penny Parker!”

“I guess I am a little bit moist,” Penny admitted with a grin. Sitting down on the davenport, she began to strip off her shoes and stockings.

“Not here!” Mrs. Weems protested. “Take a hot shower while I fix you a warm drink. Oh, I knew you shouldn’t have gone sailing at night.”

“But Mrs. Weems—”

“Scoot right up to the bathroom and get out of those wet clothes!” the housekeeper interrupted. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t come down with your death o’ cold.”

Carrying a shoe in either hand, Penny wearily climbed the stairs. By the time she had finished under the shower, Mrs. Weems appeared with a glass of hot lemonade.

“Drink this,” she commanded sternly. “Then get into bed and I’ll fix you up with the hot water bag.”

“But I’m not sick,” Penny grumbled.

“You will be tomorrow,” the housekeeper predicted. “Your father told me how he allowed you to stay at the bridge while police searched for the saboteur. I declare, I don’t know what he was thinking of!”

“Dad and I are a couple of tough old news hawks,” Penny chuckled. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to compromise with you.”

“Compromise?” Mrs. Weems asked suspiciously.

“I’ll drink the lemonade if you’ll let me skip the hot water bottle.”

“Indeed not,” Mrs. Weems returned firmly. “Now jump into bed, and no more arguments.”

Although Penny considered the housekeeper entirely too thorough in her methods, she enjoyed the pleasant warmth of the bed. She drank the lemonade, submitted to the hot water bottle, and then snuggling down, slept soundly. When she awakened, sunlight streamed in through the Venetian blinds. Cocking an eye at the dresser clock, she saw to her dismay that it was ten o’clock.

“My Aunt!” she exclaimed, leaping out of bed. “All this good time wasted!”

With the speed of a trained fireman, Penny wriggled into her clothes. She gave her auburn hair a quick brush but took time to slap a little polish on her saddle shoes before bounding down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Is that you or a gazelle escaped from the zoo?” inquired Mrs. Weems who was washing dishes at the sink.

“Why didn’t you bounce me out of bed two hours ago?” asked Penny. “I have an important business engagement for this morning.”

“You’re not going to the river again, I hope!”

“Oh, but I must, Mrs. Weems.” Penny opened the refrigerator and helped herself to a bowl of strawberries and a Martha Washington pie.

“You’re not breakfasting on that,” said the housekeeper, taking the dishes away from her. “Oatmeal is what you need. Now why must you go to the river?”

“Someone has to salvage the sailboat. Besides, I lost a valuable object last night—”

The telephone jingled, and Penny darted off to answer it. As she had anticipated, the call was from Louise Sidell, who in a very husky voice asked her how she was feeling.

“Fit as a fiddle and ready to go bottle hunting!” Penny replied promptly. “And you?”

“I hurt in all the wrong places,” Louise complained. “What a night!”

“Why, I enjoyed every minute of it,” Penny said with sincerity. “If you’re such a wreck I suppose you won’t care to go with me to the river this morning. By the way, what did you do with that blue bottle?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I’m sure I had it in my hand when we reached shore, but that’s the last I remember.”

“Well, never mind, if it’s anywhere on the beach I’ll find it,” Penny said. “Sure you don’t want to tag along?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Then meet me in twenty minutes at Ottman’s dock. Signing off now to gobble a bowl of oatmeal.”

Without giving Louise a chance to change her mind, Penny hung up the receiver and returned to the kitchen. After fortifying herself with oatmeal, a glass of orange juice, bacon, two rolls and sundry odds and ends, she started off to meet Louise. Her chum, looking none too cheerful, awaited her near Ottman’s dock.

“Why did you ask me to meet you at this particular place, Penny?” she inquired. “It was a block out of my way.”

“I thought we might rent one of Ottman’s boats and row down to the bridge. It will be easier than walking along the mud flats.”

“You think of everything,” Louise said admiringly. “But where’s the proprietor of this place?”

Boats of all description were fastened along the dock, but neither Burt Ottman nor his sister were visible. Not far from a long shed which served as ticket office and canoe-storage house, an empty double-deck motor launch had been tied to a pier. An aged black and white dog drowsed on its sunny deck.

“Guess the place is deserted,” Penny commented. After wandering about, she sat down on an overturned row boat which had been pulled out near the water’s edge.

The boat moved beneath her, and an irate voice rumbled: “Would you mind getting off?”

Decidedly startled, Penny sprang to her feet.

As the boat was pushed over on its side, a girl in grimy slacks, rolled from beneath it. Barely twenty years of age, her skin was rough and brown from constant exposure to wind and sun. A smear of varnish decorated one cheek and she held a can of caulking material in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” said Penny, smiling. “Do you live under that boat?”

Sara Ottman’s dark eyes flashed. Getting to her feet, she regarded the girl with undisguised hostility.

“Very clever, aren’t you!” she said scathingly. “In fact, quite the little joker!”

“Why, I didn’t mean anything,” Penny apologized. “I had no idea you were working under that thing.”

“So clever, and such a marvelous detective,” Sara went on, paying no heed. “Why, it was Penny Parker who not so long ago astonished Riverview by solving the Mystery of the Witch Doll! And who but Penny aided the police in trailing The Vanishing Houseboat? It was our own Penny who learned why the tower Clock Struck Thirteen. And now we are favored with her most valuable opinion in connection with the bridge dynamiting case!”

Penny and Louise were dumbfounded by the sudden, unwarranted attack. By no stretch of the imagination could they think that Sara Ottman meant her words as a joke. But what had her so aroused? While it was true that Penny had solved many local mysteries, she never had been boastful of her accomplishments. In fact, she was one of the most popular girls in Riverview.

“Are you sure you haven’t a fever, Miss Ottman?” Penny demanded, her own eyes blazing. “I certainly fail to understand such an outburst.”

“Of course you do,” the other mocked. “You’re not used to talk coming straight from the shoulder. Why are you here anyhow?”

“To rent a boat.”

“Well, you can’t have one,” Sara Ottman said shortly. “And if you never come around here again, it will be soon enough.”

Glaring once more at Penny, she turned and strode into the boathouse.