The Blue Herring Mystery (10 page)

“And Socker didn’t even know him!” Bobby said. “I betcha he’s just a crook! And he’s prob’ly
dangerous
!”

Djuna shivered; and, because of the eagerness in Bobby’s voice, and his memory of the two glass agates Kloop had for eyes when he had warned him that morning that someday he’d get his nose chopped off, Djuna wished heartily that he had minded his own business.

A
NYONE WATCHING
Bobby and Djuna consuming their second stack of buckwheat cakes and maple sirup the next morning wouldn’t have believed that either of them was concerned with anything but getting enough buckweat cakes.

But when they were halfway through the stack Djuna turned in his chair and said, “Miss Annie, do you have a book about birds, besides that little kind of no-account one?”

“Well, I declare!” said Miss Annie. “I’ve used that ‘little kind of no-account one’ for years, and it’s a very
good
book!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Djuna said quickly. “I didn’t really mean it’s no-account. I just didn’t think it would have what I want to look up.”

“What do you want to look up?” Miss Annie asked.

“The snowy owl that flies south from Canada in the winter,” Djuna said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Professor Kloop has one of those owls down at the museum and I remember reading some place that they can fly so fast that they can capture a duck on the wing, or a rabbit. I wanted to learn more about it.”

“Well,” said Miss Annie, “I’ll see.” She disappeared into the parlor and a moment later came back thumbing through the index of her bird book. After a bit she shook her head and said, “I guess there’s nothing about snowy owls in here.” She closed the book and put it down on the table. “But the library at Brookville has some fine bird books. I’ve looked up things I couldn’t find in my book over there. Next time you’re in Brookville you can look it up.”

“I think,” Djuna said slowly, “that Bobby and I will ride our bikes over there this morning, if you don’t mind, Miss Annie?”

“It’s all right, if you don’t ride your bicycles on that Federal Highway,” Miss Annie said, “and if you get back in time for lunch.”

“Oh, golly, Miss Annie,” said Bobby, “I’d be afraid to ride a bike on that Federal Highway. I was kind of scared riding on it in Mr. Boots’s truck yesterday.”

“You got a right to be!” Miss Annie said. “The way they drive!”

“But I don’t think we’ll be back for lunch, Miss Annie,” Djuna said thoughtfully as he stared at a braided rug on the floor; and anyone, especially Miss Annie, could tell that he didn’t even see the rug.

Miss Annie, catching a certain inflection in Djuna’s voice and noticing his preoccupation, looked at him sharply; and suddenly her lips came together in a thin, straight line.

“Djuna!”
she said, so sternly that Djuna jumped. “Are you getting into trouble again?”

“Oh, no! No, ma’am!” Djuna protested with an air of injured innocence. “I was just thinking about those pearls Aunt Candy told us about yesterday, the ones Captain Jonas was supposed to have brought back from the South Seas.”

“Well!” Miss Annie smiled with relief. “If
that’s
all you were thinking about, I won’t worry; because, as Aunt Candy says, I’ve been hearing about those pearls since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Everyone knows he never brought back any pearls!”

“It’s just kind of fun to think that he did,” Bobby said with an innocence that almost made Djuna snicker. “It’s kind of like going out with an old map and a shovel to dig for buried pirate treasure. You know you won’t find any, but you
hope
you will, just the same!”

“What kind of an old map?” Djuna asked, hoping to divert Miss Annie’s attention from Captain Jonas’s pearls.

“Not an old map, especially,” Bobby said eagerly. “A couple of years ago some man in Florida made up a map that showed all the places in Florida where pirates were supposed to have hidden treasure. Hundreds and thousands of people bought them and started to hunt and dig. But, of course, no one has found any. The only person who found any gold was the man who made up the map — and that was because he charged a dollar apiece for them.”

“Well, for land’s sake!” Miss Annie said. “People are awful funny about trying to get somethin’ for nothin’!”

“We’ll help you do up the breakfast dishes,” Djuna said as he rose. “Then there won’t be any dishes for lunch because we’ll get a sandwich and a milk shake, or something, at Doc Perry’s drugstore.”

“You leave the breakfast dishes alone!” Miss Annie said sharply. “I’ve got nothing else to do except braid my rug. You get your bikes an’ get on your way. And be careful!”

“Oh, sure! We will,” Djuna promised, and Bobby nodded to indicate that he would be careful, too.

It was like a June morning as they pedaled along, side by side, down the Landing Road toward Brookville. The air was cool and fresh, but the sun overhead, in a sky of flawless blue, was warming. They rode in silence, listening to the trill of songbirds — who were telling anyone who wanted to know how glad they were to be back home, after a winter in the south — and watching the flashing wings of red-winged blackbirds and saucy bluejays.

“Where are we going first?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence when they were halfway to Brookville.

“I’d sort of like to stop in to look over the back numbers of the
Brookville Advocate
, if they keep them on file,” Djuna said. “That’s the weekly paper. Mr. Weeks and his wife run it — Jake Weeks — they’re both awful nice people.”

“What do you want to look at them for?” Bobby asked.

“Oh,” Djuna said, rather aimlessly, “I want to see what the old issues say about Scapping Day.”

“Jeepers, that’s tomorrow!” Bobby exclaimed. “I bet it’s going to be a lot of fun. I wonder what all they do?”

“That’s sort of what I wanted to find out,” Djuna said. “I’ve never been before.”

They leaned their bikes against the brick wall in the alley that ran alongside the building where the
Brookville Advocate
was housed and went inside.

Mr. Weeks, a short, stocky man whose head was almost completely bald, rose from a chair behind a desk and said, “Hello, Djuna. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”

“Mostly out at Miss Annie’s and at school,” Djuna replied.

“Nice to have a vacation for a few days, eh?” Mr. Weeks said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Have you heard from Socker Furlong recently?
There’s
a good newspaperman,” he added with conviction.

“Jeepers!” said Djuna. “Socker says you turn out the best weekly newspaper in the country!”

“He does?” Mr. Weeks exclaimed, beaming. Anyone could have told that he was very pleased. “What’s on your mind, Djuna?”

“I wondered if we could look at the old files of the
Advocate
,” Djuna said. “We wanted to check up on Scapping Day.”

“Thinking of writing it up, are you?” Mr. Weeks asked as he lifted the shelf to let them get behind the counter.

“He can’t spell!” Bobby said, without even a snicker, as Jake Weeks led them up a flight of stairs to the room on the second floor where the back files were kept.

“
I
can’t, either!” Jake said. “I’ve worn out eight or ten dictionaries since I’ve been in this business.” He led them into a room that was filled with bound back copies of the
Advocate
and showed them how to find the issues they wanted. “Help yourselves, kids!” he said with a wave of his hand and departed.

They found an account of Scapping Day of the year before, in an April issue, and both read it eagerly.

“‘Aunt Candy Barnes was present, as always, with her twin sons, Olin and Dolan,’” Bobby read aloud.

“And they have fireworks in the evening!” Djuna said excitedly. “And a lot of them brought outdoor grills to make lunch or supper! Jeepers! It really must be quite a day!”

“Look!” Bobby said pointing at the printed account. “It says someone named Muscles Armstrong won a prize for getting three washtubs full of herring. Who’s he?”

“Golly, I don’t know,” Djuna said. “But that’s not so very many, when you stop to think that we got a whole bushel in just a few minutes, yesterday afternoon!”

“That’s right!” Bobby said. “Gee! I can hardly wait until tomorrow!”

They went back through earlier April issues for several years and found that Scapping Day was reported in much the same way each year, with a list of the people in the county who were there, the activities, and the catches.

As they checked the back issues from year to year Djuna finally said, “I’ve been waiting to see if you’ve noticed what I have, alongside every Scapping Day story, each year.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked, bewildered.

“Didn’t you notice that every one of them is checked with a red pencil?” Djuna asked.

“No, I didn’t notice,” Bobby said reluctantly. “Show me!”

Djuna turned back another year to the month of April and in the third issue of the month found the account of Scapping Day. Opposite the long item was a check mark made with a red pencil. Bobby stared at it and whispered, “What do you suppose that means?”

“I haven’t any idea,” Djuna said. But he was remembering the red-and-blue pencil that he had seen Professor Kloop use at the museum.

He idly turned the pages of the newspaper over, scanning the headlines, and was about to close the big book when an item checked with a
blue
pencil caught his eye. The headline read:

It went on:

“Hinckley Dingley!” Bobby said, and he let out a roar of laughter. “I know it’s not nice to make fun of people’s names, but did you ever hear such a name before?”

Djuna, reading back, pronounced the name aloud, and grinned. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I have. Sounds like a bell on a pushcart! But then
my
name isn’t exactly average, either — Mr. Boots says it sounds like a foghorn!”

“But say!” he went on, as he sobered and his eyes skimmed down the rest of the announcement, “Maud Beekman must have been Aunt Candy’s younger sister!”

“But Aunt Candy’s name is Barnes,” Bobby pointed out.

“But it was Beekman before she was married,” Djuna retorted. “Miss Annie told me that. Sure, it
was
Candy’s sister! I never heard anyone say anything about her. I didn’t even know Aunt Candy
had
a sister.”

The two boys went back downstairs, where they found the editor, Jake Weeks, sitting at his desk, reading proof. He looked up and waved a hand and asked, “Find out what you wanted to?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Djuna said. “Has anyone else gone through the back files of the
Advocate
recently?” he added, sort of offhand.

“Now, lemme see,” Jake said, and he squinted up his eyes and frowned and pursed his lips. “Yep,” he said in a moment. “That professor who is starting the new museum down in the old Beekman place was in to look for items about wildlife — birds and animals — in the surrounding countryside. And Doc Perry from the drugstore went through them one day. He didn’t say what interest he had in them. He just asked if he could go through them.”

“You don’t know who checked the Scapping Day reports with a red pencil, do you?” Djuna asked.

“I didn’t even know they had been checked,” Jake said, surprise and amusement in his eyes. He pointed his pencil at Djuna and said, “You’re not looking for clues again, are you, Djuna?”

“Oh, no. No,
no!
” Djuna said hurriedly and wished he hadn’t asked the question. “Thanks, Mr. Weeks. Thanks very much. We’ve got to be getting along now.”

He and Bobby hurried out to the street.

“Who,” said Bobby as they got their bikes and started wheeling them down the street, “do you suppose put the red check marks after the Scapping Day items?”

“Almost anyone might have done it,” Djuna said slowly, “but I sort of think it was Professor Kloop. The other day at the museum when he wrote down Aunt Candy’s name he used a pencil that was red on one end and blue on the other. Didn’t you notice?”

“No,” said Bobby. “I wonder why
he
would be interested in scapping?”

“Maybe he wants to make one of those scenes they have in museums about scapping,” Djuna said. “Almost everything he has in there comes from around here, and so does scapping. But let’s get on our bikes as soon as we get across the Federal Highway, and ride down to the museum. I don’t know if he’ll let us in, but there’s something there I want to see and you’ll have to help me.”

“I don’t have to knock over any more stacks of milk cans, do I?” Bobby asked with a snicker.

“No,” Djuna said with a grin. “I want you to study that snowy egret he has in a case on a pedestal, and see if it’s like the ones you’ve seen in Florida.”

“Golly, how’ll I tell?” Bobby asked. “I don’t know much about them except that they’re snow-white. No one is allowed to shoot or capture them, you know, because so many of their feathers used to be used for women’s hats that they were almost wiped out.”

“Yeah, I do know,” Djuna said. “I was reading about them in Miss Annie’s bird book this morning.”

“Well, why do you want
me
to study it?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know
that
,” Djuna said slowly. “I just have a hunch it
isn’t
a snowy egret and might be something else. I got to thinking about all the things Professor Kloop has at the museum and that snowy egret kept coming back into my mind, time after time. I don’t know why.”

They were across the Federal Highway now, so they climbed on their bikes and pedaled up the slight incline on the Landing Road to Beekman’s Landing. They coasted down the other side of the incline and then pedalled steadily along past the wide green fields that were dotted here and there with the black, chunky forms of Aberdeen Angus beef cattle.

There was no sign of life when they parked their bikes against trees in front of Captain Jonas Beekman’s old stone house. They went up the front steps and pulled the knob of the old-fashioned pull bell, as they had once before. They heard the faint jangle of the bell somewhere inside the house and in a moment heard quick footsteps coming toward the door. They both braced themselves, because they didn’t know just how Professor Kloop would greet them after his warning of the day before. But Djuna was ready for him.