After a slight hesitation, the woman and the boy trailed into the house after Jupiter.
“Someone was searching the office, and I was locked in,” he said.
Jupiter surveyed the boy. He was just about Jupe’s age. “You must be The Potter’s guests,” Jupiter announced.
“I am . . . uh . . . but, who are you, anyway?” demanded the boy. “And where’s my grandfather?”
“Grandfather?” echoed Jupiter. He looked around for a chair. There was none, so he sat on the stairs.
“Mr Alexander Potter!” snapped the boy. “This is his house, isn’t it? I asked at the filling station in Rocky Beach, and they said . . .”
Jupe put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. His head hurt. “Grandfather?” he said again. “You mean, The Potter has a grandson?”
Jupiter couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had told him that The Potter kept a trained dinosaur in his basement.
The woman put on her sunglasses, decided that it was too dark in the hall, and took the glasses off again. She had a nice face, Jupiter decided. “I don’t know where The Potter is,” Jupe confessed. “I saw him this morning, but he isn’t here now.”
“Is that why you were climbing through the window?” demanded the woman. “Tom,” she said to the boy, “call the police!”
The boy named Tom looked around, bewildered.
“There’s a public telephone on the highway,” said Jupiter politely, “just outside the garden.”
“You mean my father doesn’t have a phone?” demanded the woman.
“If your father is The Potter,” said Jupe, “he does not have a telephone.”
“Tom!” The woman fumbled in her purse.
“You go and call, Mum,” said Tom. “I’ll stay here and watch this fellow!”
“I have no intention of leaving,” Jupiter assured them.
The woman went, slowly at first, then running down the path towards the highway.
“So The Potter is your grandfather!” said Jupe.
The boy named Tom glared at him. “What’s so weird about it?” he demanded. “Everybody’s got a grandfather.”
“True,” admitted Jupiter. “However, everyone does not have a grandson, and The Potter is . . . well, he’s an unusual person.”
“I know. He’s an artist.” Tom stared around at the shelves of ceramics. “He sends us stuff all the time,” he told Jupiter.
Jupiter digested this in silence. How long, he wondered, had The Potter been in Rocky Beach? Twenty years, at least, according to Aunt Mathilda. Certainly he had been well established long before Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Titus had opened The Jones Salvage Yard. The distracted young woman could be his daughter. But, in that case, where had she been all this time? And why had The Potter never spoken of her?
The young woman returned, stuffing a purse back into her handbag. “There’ll be a police car right here,” she announced.
“Good,” said Jupiter Jones.
“And you’ll have some explaining to do!” she told Jupiter.
“I’ll be glad to explain, Mrs . . . Mrs . . .”
“Dobson,” said the woman.
Jupiter got to his feet. “I am Jupiter Jones, Mrs Dobson,” he said.
“How do you do,” she said, in spite of herself.
“Not too well at the moment,” confessed Jupiter. “You see, I came here looking for The Potter, and someone knocked me down and locked me in his office.”
Mrs Dobson’s expression indicated that she did not think this a likely story. The wail of a police siren sounded on the highway.
“Rocky Beach doesn’t have too many emergencies,” said Jupiter calmly. “I am sure Chief Reynolds’s men are happy to have a chance to use their siren.”
“You’re too much!” snorted Tom Dobson.
The siren faltered and died outside the house. Through the open front door, Jupiter saw a black-and-white patrol car come to a stop. Two officers leaped out and hurried up the path.
Jupiter sat down again on the stairs, and young Mrs Dobson–her first name was Eloise–introduced herself to the policemen in an absolute avalanche of words. She had, she said, driven all the way from Belleview, Illinois, to visit her father, Mr Alexander Potter. Mr Potter was not at home at the moment, and she had found this . . . this juvenile delinquent climbing out of a window. She pointed an accusing finger at Jupe, and suggested that the police might wish to search him.
Officer Haines had lived in Rocky Beach all his life, and Sergeant McDermott had just celebrated his fifteenth year on the force. Both men knew Jupiter Jones. Both men were also well acquainted with The Potter. Sergeant McDermott made several brief notations on a pad he carried, then said to Eloise Dobson, “Are you prepared to prove that you’re The Potter’s daughter?”
Mrs Dobson’s face went red, then white. “I beg your pardon?” she cried.
“I said, are you prepared–”
“I heard you the first time!”
“Well, ma’am, if you’ll just explain–”
“Explain what? I told you, we came and found this . . . this cat-thief. . . .”
Sergeant McDermott sighed. “Jupiter Jones may be a pain in the neck,” he admitted, “but he doesn’t steal things.” He favoured Jupe with a resigned stare. “What happened, Jones?” he asked. “What were you doing here?”
“Shall I begin at the beginning?” asked Jupiter.
“We’ve got all day,” said McDermott.
So Jupiter began at the beginning. He told of the appearance of The Potter at the salvage yard, and of the purchase of furniture for the expected guests.
Sergeant McDermott nodded at that, and Officer Haines went into the kitchen and brought out the chair, so that Mrs Dobson could sit down.
Jupe then reported that The Potter had simply walked away from the salvage yard, leaving his truck behind, and had taken to the hills behind Rocky Beach. “I came up to see if he had returned home,” said Jupe. “The front door was open and I came in. I did not find The Potter, but someone was hiding in the office. He must have been standing behind the door. When I went in and saw that The Potter’s desk had been forced open, whoever it was tripped me from behind and shoved me down. He then ran out and locked the door behind him. Thus it became necessary for me to climb out through the window when Mrs Dobson and her son appeared and rang the bell.”
Sergeant McDermott waited a moment, then said, “Huh!”
“The Potter’s office has been searched,” Jupe insisted. “You will see that his papers are upset.”
McDermott stepped to the office door and looked in at the files spread on the desk, and at the desk drawer sagging open.
“The Potter is extremely orderly,” Jupe pointed out. “He would never leave his office in that condition.”
McDermott turned back to the group in the hall. “We’ll get the fingerprint man up here,” he announced. “In the meantime, Mrs Dobson–”
At which, Eloise Dobson burst into tears.
“Hey, Mum!” The boy named Tom moved close and put a hand on her arm. “Hey, Mum, don’t!”
“Well, he is my father!” sobbed Mrs Dobson. “I don’t care! He is, and we drove all the way to see him and we didn’t even stop at the Grand Canyon because I wanted . . . because I can’t even remember . . .”
“Mum!” pleaded Tom Dobson.
Mrs Dobson dug into her bag for a handkerchief. “Well, I didn’t expect I’d have to prove it!” she cried. “I didn’t know you needed a birth certificate to get into Rocky Beach!”
“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.”