The Mystery of Sinister Scarecrow - M. V. Carey [5]
“And yet I don’t think he’s really a violent person. Once he saw who I was, he calmed down. It was only when he thought I was a thing that he was so furious.
Remember, he called me a blasted thing! As if I weren’t a human being! That isn’t natural. If he’d called me a sneak or a crook, I wouldn’t have paid attention. But he called me a thing! Then, when he apologized, he said he’d mistaken me for the scarecrow.”
Pete chuckled. “You’re too fat to be a scarecrow,” he said.
A young man in a short-sleeved shirt and dark trousers had been sipping a cup of coffee at the counter that ran along one side of the cafe. He turned now and looked at Jupe. “You are too hefty to be the scarecrow,” he said.
“Too short, too.”
The three boys gaped at the man. He picked up his coffee cup and came to their table. Pete moved over to make room for him in the booth.
“I hope you’re talking about the scarecrow up ol’ Chaparral Canyon Road,” said the man. “The one who wanders around the Radford place. I couldn’t stand it if there were more than one walking scarecrow in the world!”
“You mean the scarecrow does walk?” said Jupe.
The man nodded. He was enjoying the sensation he had created. “I saw him,” he told the boys. “My name’s Conklin. Larry Conklin. I work for the Safe-T-System Company. My firm makes burglar alarm systems, and we install and service them. We did the system at the Mosby Museum up on Chaparral Canyon.”
Jupiter nodded. “I know the place.”
“Fabulous, isn’t it?” said Larry Conklin. “I hear old Millionaire Mosby, who built it, wanted his house to be stronger than any fortress. It needs to be, too. It’s filled with fine paintings from all over the world. We’ve got the place wired with a super alarm system. And we check it at least once a week to make sure it’s operating right.”
“But what about the scarecrow?” said Jupiter.
“Oh, yes. Well, I was at the Mosby place one evening a week or so ago, and just as I was getting into my car to leave, I saw a scarecrow go scooting around the side of the Radford house. That’s right across the road. I only saw the scarecrow for a second.
Then it ran down the hill and disappeared.”
Larry Conklin paused and sipped his coffee.
“And then?” prompted Jupiter.
“Then nothing,” said Conklin. “I thought I was seeing things. It was dusk and the light was tricky. I stood still and sort of replayed the scene in my mind like an instant replay on television. And I could see it just as clear. It was a scarecrow, all right. But I sure wasn’t about to ring the doorbell at the Mosby house and report a scarecrow loose in the neighborhood. They’d have thought I was batty!”
“They sure would!” said Pete.
“So I was glad to hear you boys talking just now,” said Conklin. He stared at Jupe.
“Somebody mistook you for the scarecrow, huh? You don’t look at all like him.”
“I was coming through a cornfield,” said Jupe. “The person who made the mistake couldn’t see me clearly.”
“That figures,” said Conklin.
“What did your scarecrow look like?” Bob asked.
Conklin frowned. “Oh, medium height. Maybe five foot seven or eight. Thin. He had a black hat and a light-colored jacket. I couldn’t make out his features; the face was just a blob. He had straw sticking out of his sleeves. That’s how I knew he was a scarecrow.”
Conklin finished his coffee and stood up. “I don’t go poking into things that aren’t my business,” he said, “and maybe you boys shouldn’t, either. There was something kind of nasty about that scarecrow. Why don’t you just forget the whole thing?”
The boys didn’t answer, and Conklin went out of the cafe.
Jupiter looked slyly at Pete and Bob. “Do yow want to forget the whole thing?”
“Yeah! But you won’t let us,” said Pete. “So let’s go. It’s a long ride up to that cornfield.”
The three boys got their bikes from the rack outside the cafe, and soon were pedaling north off the Coast Highway. They turned onto Chaparral Canyon and labored up the grade into the mountains.
When they