Читать книгу Daughter of the Coast Guard - Betty Baxter Anderson - Страница 7

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Cherry’s brothers and her father had gone to the office by the time she was dressed for breakfast, so she decided she’d keep her discovery about the furs until noon. It would still leave plenty of time before the two o’clock deadline for city news on the afternoon edition.

Cheerfully, the auburn-haired girl donned the blue jacket of her sport suit, pulled on a matching felt hat, and gathered her school books. This was a lovely day—she was going to have a chance to startle Bill with her brilliant detective work—Lake Haven had won its first three football games—Win and her father were pleased that the furs were from some remote South American country——

Winifred was waiting in the Gas Gull when Cherry reached the Coast Guard station. They sang, from sheer exuberance, all the way to school. As they parted, for the first class, Cherry said, “I didn’t have a chance to tell Bill our important news this morning, so I’ll have to stop at the office for a few minutes this noon.”

“Let’s hurry, after math class, then,” Win replied. “Mandy is good-natured about everything except having me come late to meals. She likes her food to be appreciated while it’s hot.”

The morning passed swiftly, and every few minutes Cherry remembered the surprise she’d have to spring on her brother, and she gleefully framed a number of announcements. After the last morning class, she raced to meet Winifred. The trim little roadster was the first to pull away from the lane of parked cars.

“I’ll hurry,” Cherry promised.

The Tribune office was almost deserted, and Bill Hudson, his hat jammed over one eye in the best newspaper-reporter tradition, was cramming copy paper into a coat pocket.

“Any new leads on the accident story?” Cherry inquired casually.

“The fellow hasn’t come to, yet, if that’s what you mean. I’m to check with Doctor Knowles at two o’clock, to make sure before we go to press.”

“Bill, Win and I found out something last evening that might make a new lead.”

The city editor frowned at the stubs of pencils on his desk, and brushed past his sister to go to the editor’s desk for a couple of fresh ones. “Oh?” he inquired absently. “Well, why don’t you write it? I’ve got to get over to the Chamber of Commerce luncheon. I’m late now, and they’re going to talk about that new outdoor opera project for next summer.”

“Oh, do you really want me to? Write the lead?” Cherry was breathless with excitement.

“Sure. Go ahead. I can copyread it, can’t I?” Bill hustled out.

Cherry ran to tell Win that she wouldn’t be going home for lunch. “I’ll call Mrs. Morrow, and then get a sandwich next door to the office, if I get through in time. Won’t Bill be startled?”

“Um-mmm,” Win returned, “and so will Mrs. Morrow. She’ll decide not to get lunch for you, one of these days.”

Cherry, unaccustomed to writing anything but the school notes and simple personal items, struggled over the lead to the big story. Twenty attempts were discarded before she finally decided upon “Through the courtesy of Mr. Wilson of Wayne’s Department store and with the cooperation of Sheriff Doty, the fur pelts which were the cargo of the truck involved in the serious accident night before last, south of Lake Haven on Indian road, in which the still-unidentified driver was seriously injured, have been identified as llama and vicuña furs, perhaps smuggled from some South American county.”

Cherry was casting anxious glances at her wristwatch, before Bill bustled in. She didn’t want to be tardy, yet it would be worth it to see his face when he read her startling news—

“Here you are,” she said nonchalantly, placing the typed paragraph before him on the desk.

Bill exchanged his battered hat for his green eyeshade, and read the paragraph, grinning. Someone came into the outer office, but Cherry waited to see Bill’s reaction before investigating.

“Oh, that—” he said, chuckling. “Why, Wilson telephoned that tid-bit in early this morning, before he went down to the store. If you’d looked at the story on the copy-hook——”

Cherry grabbed the stories hanging on the city hook and glanced through them hurriedly. “Fur pelts found in the truck wrecked early Thursday on Indian road have been identified as vicuña and llama, Sheriff R. E. Doty’s office announced Friday morning.

“The driver, whose name remains a mystery, is still unconscious at City Hospital.

“Thomas Wilson, expert furrier, believes the furs may have come from South America and estimates the value at more than five thousand dollars....”

“If you studied those two stories,” Bill broke in, “it would be an education for you. In the first place, we’re not handing out free advertising to Wayne’s Department store. Denny might like it, until the other stores started squawking, but I don’t. You don’t have the sheriff’s initials or Wilson’s first name. You know ‘night before last’ is not the Tribune’s style on dates, and you’re too wordy about the location. And how’d you think your friend, Captain Travers, would like the hint about ‘perhaps smuggled in’?”

Cherry, her cheeks blazing and tears dangerously near the surface, turned to leave.

She’d forgotten the waiting individual beyond the frosted-glass door who’d come in, so she bumped blindly into Myra Mason.

“Whoops!” the blonde girl said brightly. “Sorry I’m in the way.”

“Oh, I didn’t see you—pardon,” Cherry mumbled. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Myra unclasped the jeweled top of a smart grey suede purse, which matched her high-heeled pumps and tiny hat. “I’ve brought the announcement of the Dramatic Club’s beach picnic. It’s to be at my house tomorrow afternoon and evening, and it just has to go in this afternoon’s paper.”

“It’s too late for the society desk,” Cherry told her, “but perhaps we could persuade Bill to include it on the city page——”

She led the way back to the news room, and introduced her brother to the beautiful girl. “This is Myra Mason, Bill,” she explained. “She’s a newcomer at Lake Haven High.”

Bill, still elated at his joke on his young sister, stood and bowed in his most gracious manner. “This is a treat I’ve been looking forward to,” he told Myra. “I’ve heard so much about the marvelous Miss Mason who has come to restore the Dillon mansion to its rightful leadership in Lake Haven society.”

Myra responded to the flattery by smirking and saying, “I’ll need your help, then. I’m having the Dramatic Club for a beach party tomorrow afternoon and evening. If you could manage to get this on the society page, I’d be ever so grateful. And—Mr. Hudson, I’d love to have you come as my very special guest.”

Cherry was completely infuriated as Bill rose to the bait. “It’s way after the deadline, but perhaps I can wheedle the printer into slipping it onto Miss Lippincott’s page.”

“And you’ll come tomorrow afternoon? You may find our high-school fun a little unsophisticated, but we’ll do our best to make it pleasant.”

Bill, Cherry decided, was a complete ninny. To fall for such an obvious line!

“Thanks, I’ll come,” Bill accepted, smiling.

“May I give you a lift to school?” Myra turned to Cherry. “We’re going to have to hurry, I’m afraid.”

“Thanks.”

Bill, suddenly a little ashamed of the shabby trick he’d played on his sister on the “fur angle” of the accident story, said, “And thanks, Cherry, for your help. I do appreciate the fact that it was your idea to investigate the pelts. Sheriff Doty told me that when I checked Wilson’s tip——”

Cherry slammed the outside door with a little more violence than was absolutely necessary to close it.