Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Eighteen
After I took Florence home, I dropped in at the offices of the Greenville Examiner. I wanted a chat
with dear old Dad.
As I walked through the newsroom, Jack greeted me from his desk.
“How come I haven’t seen you around these parts lately?” Jack
asked. “Have you taken an even dimmer view of the newspaper business since we
last met?”
“Where did we last meet?” I asked. “I don’t seem to recall.”
“Oh, here and there,” said Jack. “Homicidal lunatics’ underground
dungeons, the emergency ward at the hospital, that sort of thing.”
I looked at Jack’s forehead. The gash he’d received during the
last dangerous adventure we’d gone on together was mostly healed, but a pink
scar remained.
“I can’t help it if you choose to throw yourself in front of
jug-wielding maniacs,” I said.
“Want to go see a picture with me?” said Jack, abruptly changing
the subject.
Was Jack asking me on a date? Pleasant as the prospect sounded, I
had made myself a solemn promise never to step out with Jack Bancroft.
“I have to see a man about a dog,” I said, and legged it to my
father’s private office.
As I entered, Dad looked up from his desk and smiled at me.
“You seem in a good mood this bright morning,” I said. “Don’t tell
me you’ve finally managed to swipe The
Times’ best advertising account.”
“Nothing like it. Can’t a father be glad to see his daughter? To
tell you the truth, I was beginning to think you might have had trouble on the
road.”
“Betsy behaved herself for once. But plenty happened to me.”
“Did you get your friend safely installed in her new job?”
“Installed at any rate. I’m not so sure about the ‘safe’ part.”
“Why, what do you mean, Jane?”
“The Conrads seem to have an unsavory reputation at White Falls,
Dad. And that house-turned-hotel where Emma is staying is a huge barn with more
paintings than an art gallery.”
“Does that necessarily make it an unsafe place?”
“Well, one of the portraits has a habit of rolling its eyes.”
“What nonsense are you talking now, Jane?”
“I didn’t actually see the eyes move,” I admitted. Dad thought I
was pulling his leg. I should have left out the staring portrait stuff and
focused on the missing persons angle of the thing.
“Emma thought she did,” I said “But that’s beside the point.
According to rumor, a man disappeared in that hotel and was seen no more.”
“Are you feeling well this morning, Jane?”
“My mind isn’t the least bit touched, Dad. I acquired considerable
information down at White Falls. Would you like to hear all about it?”
I didn’t wait for him to ask any more questions. Instead, I told
him what I’d learned from Thom Vhorst, the café man.
“The man may have a feud with the Conrad family,” Dad said.
“Gossip is never a reliable source of information.”
“I realize that, Dad. But the Conrads acted very oddly about
having Emma in the house.”
“It’s nonsense that a man could disappear from a small community,
and no questions be asked.”
“He was supposed to be a stranger.”
“Even so, if anything such as you suggest had occurred, the news
would have leaked out to the police.”
“White Falls is too small to have a force.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing to the story, Jane.”
“Well, for Emma’s sake, I hope so.” I decided to change the
subject. “Dad, if someone had stolen your houseboat, how would you go about
recovering it?”
“Since when did I acquire a houseboat?”
“A hypothetical houseboat. I’m thinking of going into the
detective business again. Someone stole Mud Cat Joe’s boat, and I’ve promised
to help him find it.”
“Who is heaven’s name is ‘Mud Cat Joe’? Jane, why don’t you learn
to begin your stories with a ‘who, when, where, why, and how’ lead? Then I
might have some idea what you’re talking about.”
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