The Mystery of the Flaming Footprints - M. V. Carey [8]
“Now, Mrs Dobson!” Sergeant McDermott folded his notebook and put it into his pocket. “Under the circumstances, it might be best if you and your son did not remain here.”
“But Alexander Potter is my father!”
“That may be,” conceded the sergeant, “but it looks as if he’s decided to make himself scarce — at least for the moment. And it appears that someone has entered the house illegally. I’m sure that The … that Mr. Potter will show up, sooner or later, and explain things. But in the meantime, you and the boy would be safer if you stayed in the village. There’s the Seabreeze Inn, and it’s very nice and —”
“Aunt Mathilda would be glad to have you,” put in Jupiter.
Mrs Dobson ignored him. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, her hands shaking.
“Besides,” said McDermott, “the fingerprint man will be here, and we don’t want anything disturbed.”
“Where is this Seabreeze Inn?” asked Mrs Dobson.
“Down the road a mile and a half to the village,” said McDermott. “You’ll see the sign.”
Mrs Dobson got up and put on her sunglasses.
“Chief Reynolds may want to talk to you later,” said McDermott. “I’ll tell him he can find you at the inn.”
Mrs Dobson began to cry again. Young Tom hurried her out of the house and down the path to the road, where she got behind the wheel of a blue convertible with Illinois licence plates.
“Now I’ve seen everything!” said Sergeant McDermott. “The Potter’s daughter!”
“If she is The Potter’s daughter,” said Officer Haines.
“Why would she pretend?” said McDermott. “The Potter’s a real kook, and he’s got nothing anybody wants.”
“He must have something,” said Jupiter Jones, “or why would someone go to the trouble to search his office?”
Chapter 4
Too Many Newcomers
JUPITER refused Haines’s offer of a ride back to Rocky Beach. “I’ve got my bike,” he told the policeman. “And I’m okay.”
Haines squinted at the bruise on Jupe’s forehead. “You sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure. It’s just a bump.” Jupiter started down the path.
“Well, watch it, Jones!” McDermott called after him from the house. “You keep poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, you’ll get it cut off one of these days.
And stick close to home, you hear? The chief will probably want to talk to you, too.”
Jupiter waved, picked up his bicycle, and stood waiting for a break in the traffic so that he could cross the highway. The tan Ford which Jupe had noticed earlier was still parked on the shoulder above the beach. The traffic slackened, and Jupe raced across the road with his bicycle. He stood beside the car and looked down at the beach. The tide was going out, leaving broad stretches of wet sand. Coming up the path towards him was the most magnificent fisherman Jupe had ever seen. He had on a sparkling white turtleneck shirt and, over it, a
spotless pale blue jacket with a crest on
the pocket. The jacket exactly matched
his pale blue duck trousers and these, in
turn, blended beautifully with his blue
sneakers. He wore a yachting cap so
immaculate it might have been taken off
the shelf at the sporting goods store only
yesterday.
“Hello, there!” said the man, as he
came abreast of Jupe. Jupe saw a thin,
tanned face, oversized sunglasses, and a
grey moustache, waxed so that the ends
pointed out and up towards the man’s
ears.
The man’s fishing tackle and creel
were, as perfect, as gleaming bright as
the rest of him.
“Any luck?” asked Jupiter Jones.
“No. They’re not biting today.” The
man opened the boot of the dusty Ford
and began to stow his gear. “Maybe I’m
not using the right bait. I’m new at this.”
Jupiter had already guessed that. Most fishermen, he knew, looked like refugees from the Salvation Army store.
The man looked across at the patrol car parked in front of The Potter’s house.
“Excitement?” he asked.
“A little,” said Jupiter. “A housebreaker, probably.”
“How dull.” The lid of the boot thumped closed.
The man unlocked the car door on the driver’s side. “Isn’t that the shop of the very famous Potter?” he said.
Jupe nodded.
“He a friend