The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints - M. V. Carey [12]
The driver of the Buick, properly cowed, applied his brakes, and Aunt Mathilda ploughed on across the road with Jupiter hurrying in her wake.
Aunt Mathilda strode into the office of the Seabreeze Inn and rang the little bell on Miss Hopper’s registration desk.
A door behind the desk opened. “Mrs Jones!” cried Miss Hopper. She emerged, tucking in a stray wisp of white hair. She carried with her a distinct odour of roasting chicken. “Jupiter, nice to see you.”
“I understand that Mrs Dobson and her son are staying with you,” said Aunt Mathilda, getting right to the point.
“Oh yes, poor dear thing. What a state she was in when she checked in yesterday.
And then Chief Reynolds came to see her, right here in the inn! Imagine!”
Miss Hopper appreciated Chief Reynolds’s service to the citizens of Rocky Beach, but it was plain that she did not care to have the police invade her little inn.
Aunt Mathilda made a clucking sound to indicate that she understood Miss Hopper’s position. She asked again for Mrs Dobson, and was directed to the little terrace behind the inn. “She and the boy are there, and that nice Mr. Farrier is trying to cheer them up,” said Miss Hopper.
“Mr. Farrier?” echoed Jupiter.
“One of my guests,” explained Miss Hopper. “Charming person. Seems to take a real interest in Mrs Dobson. It’s nice, don’t you think? Nowadays, people don’t seem to care about one another. Of course, Mrs Dobson’s a very pretty young woman.”
“That always helps,” said Aunt Mathilda.
She and Jupiter went out of the office and walked back along the verandah of the inn, past numbered doors and blue-shuttered windows, to the little terrace that looked out over the beach to the ocean.
Young Mrs Dobson and her son were sitting at a small round table on the terrace.
With them was the jaunty, moustached fisherman whom Jupiter had met on the highway the day before. If possible, he was more magnificent than he had been when Jupe first saw him. His jacket and his duck trousers were a sparkling, crackling white.
His yachting cap was pushed back on his head, so that a lock of iron-grey hair showed.
He was telling Mrs Dobson of the wonders of Hollywood, and offering to be her guide should she wish to take a little tour. From the glazed look in Mrs Dobson’s eyes, he had been at it for some time.
He had not, decided Jupiter, cheered Mrs Dobson up. He was only boring her to death. Eloise Dobson looked profoundly grateful at the sight of Jupe escorting his aunt on to the terrace.
“Hi!” shouted young Tom Dobson, who leaped up to get another couple of chairs.
“Mrs Dobson,” Jupiter began, “my aunt and I—”
Aunt Mathilda firmly took the introductions into her own hands. “I am Mrs Titus Jones,” she informed Mrs Dobson. “Jupiter’s aunt. I have come to assure you that Jupiter would never, under any circumstances, break into Mr. Potter’s residence.”
Tom Dobson placed a chair at the table and Aunt Mathilda sat down.
Eloise Dobson smiled a tired smile. “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” she said. “Sorry I flew out at you like a rusty shutter yesterday, Jupiter. I was just tired, I guess, and nervous.
We’d driven straight through from Arizona, and I hadn’t seen my father since I was a baby.” She turned the paper cup on the table. “I guess you could say I’ve never seen him. You don’t remember much that happened when you were three. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and then when we arrived and found you climbing out the window, I thought — well, I thought you’d broken in.”
“Naturally,” said Jupiter. He sat down, and young Tom hurried off to the soft drink machine with a handful of dimes.
“And then the police behaved so strangely, and no one seemed to believe I am who I am,” continued Mrs Dobson. “And Father disappearing the way he did. I didn’t sleep a lot last night, I can tell you.”
Mr. Farrier murmured, “I should think not, my dear.” He made a move as if to take Mrs Dobson’s hand. She quickly put it under the table. “This is