The Mystery of the Cranky Collector - Carey M. V.. Страница 12

The boys saw that she was crying. The tears ran down her cheeks, and she did not even try to wipe them away.

“Okay,” said Jupe. “Maybe we can find a clue someplace else.”

He turned away from the computer. Bob held up a small notebook that he had just found in a drawer. “An address book,” he said. “Handwritten.”

The boys went through the book, page by page, but there was no one named Navarro listed.

“My mom might know,” said Marilyn. She had recovered somewhat from her silent fit of weeping. “Mom and Dad aren’t on speaking terms now, but she might remember someone from the old days when they were together.”

“Are you going to call her and ask?” Pete wanted to know.

“Ah… it’s awkward. Right now she’s mad at me too. She doesn’t like my coming here to be with Dad and she doesn’t like my fiance and… well, never mind, I’ll try her.”

Marilyn picked up the telephone and dialed. When the call was answered, a voice said a lot more than hello. “She’s out,” explained Marilyn to the boys. “I’ve got her answering machine.”

There was a beep from the phone.

“Mother, it’s me,” said Marilyn. “Listen, I think Dad may have been kidnapped. Some boys here are trying to find out for sure. Mom, if Jupiter Jones and Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews come to see you, would you talk to them? They want to find out about somebody named Navarro. And Sogamoso, too. If you think of anything, tell them, huh? I’ll be home soon, but I can’t leave until I find out about Dad. ’Bye, Mom.”

She hung up. “That should do it. My mom’s an okay person, really. She doesn’t wish anybody bad luck — not even Dad.”

The boys gathered up the print-outs Jupe had made, and Marilyn wrote down her mother’s address for them. After a brief conference they decided that Pete would stay with Marilyn for the rest of the day and also that night, since Mrs. McCarthy had a husband and she planned to go home to him. Bob announced that he had some chores to do at home and volunteered to go to the Rocky Beach Library after dinner. He would search reference books for some mention of Sogamoso.

“There’s no sense even looking for references to Navarro,” he told Jupe. “There must be a zillion Navarros just in the Los Angeles phone book. But Sogamoso isn’t a name you hear every day. It might be a lead.”

“It may not be a person,” Jupe pointed out. “It could be a place or even a company.”

Jupiter was elected to visit Mrs. Pilcher. He said good-bye to Marilyn and his pals, and rode on down the highway to Santa Monica.

Mrs. Pilcher’s home turned out to be a rambling one-story residence on a quiet street. Unlike the unkempt Pilcher mansion in Rocky Beach, it sparkled with fresh paint. The lawn was well-tended and very green. The walk leading to the house had a just-swept look.

Mrs. Pilcher answered the doorbell herself. A pleasant-looking woman with hair the color of taffy and eyes to match, she was too plump to be fashionable, but her skin was smooth and unwrinkled. She was much younger than Jeremy Pilcher.

“I suppose you’re one of the boys Marilyn phoned about,” said Mrs. Pilcher. “I was out when the call came. I can’t give you much time. I’m expecting a… a guest. Come in.” She led Jupe through an entrance hall into a living room with soft-green carpeting, and furniture covered with white linen.

Mrs. Pilcher sat down in a big chair near the fireplace. “Is Marilyn all right?” she said. “Why doesn’t she come home?”

“She wants to be there if the kidnapper calls,” said Jupe.

“I should go over there,” said Mrs. Pilcher, “but I just hate to. I hate that house. Things started going wrong for us the day we moved in there. Marilyn isn’t alone, is she?”

“My friend Pete is with her,” said Jupiter.

“Your friend? A boy, I suppose. Where are the police? She shouldn’t be there with just a boy to protect her.”

“Pete’s an athlete,” said Jupe. “He’s faster and stronger than a lot of adults. Also, it wouldn’t be in the best interests of the kidnapper to harm Marilyn, would it? He wants her to give him the bishop’s book.”

“Bishop’s book?” Mrs. Pilcher was sitting forward, tense and listening. Jupe had the feeling she was barely listening to him. She was tuned in to something else, something that might be happening in some far part of the house.

For a second Jupe said nothing. He listened, too. But nothing seemed to stir anywhere nearby. The house was very quiet.

“Do you know anything about a bishop’s book?” Jupe asked.

She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t. But I don’t know a lot about what Jeremy is doing these days. We’ve been divorced for years. Is that why you wanted to see me? To see if I know about a book? Jeremy has tons of books. Did you look at them?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Jupiter. “We couldn’t find the one the kidnapper wants. Mrs. Pilcher, do you know anyone named Navarro? Or Sogamoso?”

“Soga… who?”

Jupe sighed.

“I’m not being much help, am I?” said Mrs. Pilcher. “I’m sorry. If I knew, I’d tell you. What was that name again? The one that isn’t Navarro?”

“Sogamoso,” said Jupe.

She shook her head. “No. Sorry.”

“Have you ever heard Mr. Pilcher talk of an old woman?” Jupe asked. “In Spanish it’s mujer vieja. He could have used the Spanish phrase.”

She had not. Nor could she recall Jeremy Pilcher speaking of tears of the gods. She answered in quick short phrases, and it was plain that she was anxious to have Jupe gone.

“Tears of the gods sounds poetic,” she said, “but Jeremy is not a poetic person. I’m sorry. I just don’t know. Have you looked aboard the Bonnie Betsy? Sometimes Jeremy kept things there.”

“The Bonnie Betsy? ” said Jupiter.

“Jeremy’s yacht. It’s named Bonnie Betsy after me. My name is Elizabeth. Things were a bit more cordial between us when Jeremy christened the yacht.”

She stood up. The visit was over. Jupe followed her to the door, where he gave her one of The Three Investigators’ business cards. “If you think of anything that might help us, call this number,” he said.

She promised that she would, and Jupe went out.

Jupe rode his bike as far as the corner, then stopped to wait for a bus to go through the intersection. He glanced back toward Mrs. Pilcher’s house.

A stocky figure was coming down the front walk toward the street. It was a man Jupe had seen before — a man who had been a guest at Marilyn’s party.

“Ariago!” Jupe was so surprised that he spoke aloud.

Ariago had a motive for wanting Pilcher out of the way. What was he doing in Mrs. Pilcher’s house?

He must have been there while Mrs. Pilcher and Jupe talked. Had he hidden someplace, listening to Jupe’s conversation with Mrs. Pilcher? Jupe pictured him crouched in the kitchen, his ear to the door.

No wonder Mrs. Pilcher had been tense, had hurried Jupe on his way. She wasn’t waiting for a guest — the guest was already there. A guest she wanted to hide.

Could Mrs. Pilcher and Ariago be conspirators? It seemed out of character for the pleasant-looking woman, yet it was possible. Anything was possible.

Jupe watched Ariago cross the street and get into a car that was parked some distance from the Pilcher house. He saw the brake lights go on. A gust of exhaust came from the tailpipe. In a second Ariago would drive off.

On an impulse Jupe turned his bike around. As Ariago pulled away from the curb, Jupe was a couple of hundred yards behind him, pedaling furiously.