The Mystery of the Blazing Cliffs - M. V. Carey [7]
“Of course.” Elsie got up. “We were just having coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“No, thank you.” Mrs. Barron stepped into the kitchen and smiled at Jupiter, Pete, and Bob. “I saw you boys come in,” she said. “I wonder if you could stay a bit longer and have dinner with Mr. Barron and myself?”
Konrad scowled. “Jupe, it is after five,” he said. “We should go now.”
Mrs. Barron turned to Elsie. “We could eat early, couldn’t we?” she said.
Elsie looked startled. “I guess so.”
“There now!” Mrs. Barron smiled again, and Jupe looked questioningly at Bob and then at Pete.
“That would be swell,” said Pete.
“Don’t worry,” said Bob to Konrad. “We’ll get to San Jose sooner or later.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Mrs. Barron. “We’ll sit down at five-thirty.”
She went out and down the back steps of the ranch house.
“I do not like this,” said Konrad. “I think we should go.”
“In a little while, Konrad,” said Jupe. “Another hour or so won’t make any difference.”
Jupiter’s deductions and predictions were usually right. But this time he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter 3
No Exit
“MRS. BARRON LIKES BOYS,” said Hank Detweiler. “She has two adopted sons and she misses them. One went off to be a drummer with a rock group, and the other lives in Big Sur now and makes wooden clogs that he sells to tourists. He writes poetry, too.”
“Gee,” said Pete. “How does Mr. Barron feel about that?”
“Not a bit happy,” said Elsie Spratt. “You boys go along and have your dinner and be nice to Mrs. Barron, but watch out for him. When he’s in a bad mood, he’s cosy as a rattlesnake in a rainstorm.”
Konrad looked upset. “I think I will not go,” he announced. “I will stay here and wait.”
He glanced at Elsie. “It is okay if I stay here?” he asked.
“Why, sure,” said Elsie. “You can have your dinner here while the boys are living it up over in the big house.”
And so Jupiter, Pete, and Bob left the ranch house at five-thirty and walked across the drive to the Barron house. Mrs. Barron opened the door for them and then led them into a parlour that was stiffly formal, with settees and chairs upholstered in velvet. Mr. Barron was there, complaining loudly that there was something wrong with the television set. “Nothing but noise and snow!” he said. He shook hands with the boys in an absent-minded way.
“You young fellows are in school, I suppose,” he said. “Learning anything? Or are you just putting in your time?”
Before the boys could answer, a Mexican woman came to the doorway to announce that dinner was served. Mr. Barron offered his arm to Mrs. Barron, and the boys followed them to the dining room.
The Mexican woman had brought the dinner across from Elsie’s kitchen, and it was delicious. Jupe ate slowly and listened to Mr. Barron’s lecture on the evils of plastic in almost any form. He learned that Mr. Barron did not approve of vinyl that masqueraded as leather, or of polyester that pretended to be wool. Mr. Barron also took time to condemn termite inspectors who did not understand termites and auto mechanics who could not fix cars properly.
Mrs. Barron waited until her husband had finished his list of grievances. Then she began to talk quietly about her son in Big Sur who wrote poetry.
“Trash!” snapped Mr. Barron. “The stuff doesn’t even rhyme! That’s the trouble with the world today. Poetry doesn’t rhyme and people don’t have to work to earn a living and children don’t have to respect their parents and—”
“Charles, dear, I think you have a crumb on your chin,” said Mrs. Barron.
Mr. Barron dabbed at himself with a napkin, and Mrs. Barron told the boys about her other son who played drums for a musical group.
“He’s going to be here in August,” said Mrs. Barron, “for the convention.”
Mr. Barron made a choking sound, and his face grew very red. “Mob of zanies!” he grumbled.
“Convention?” said Pete timidly.
“The annual meeting of the Blue Light Mission will take place here in August,” said Mrs. Barron. She smiled at Jupiter. “You know about that—you’ve read the book. So many members of our society have talked with the rescuers