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 Mr Farrier,” she said, not quite looking at him. “Mr Farrier, Mrs Jones–and Jupiter Jones.”
“Jupiter Jones and I have met,” said Farrier heartily. “How’s the head, young friend?”
“Very well, thank you,” answered Jupiter.
“Have to be careful about falls,” said Farrier. “I remember the time I was in Cairo–”
“Never been there!” snapped Aunt Mathilda, who did not want this intruder running off with the conversation.
Mr Farrier closed his mouth.
“Mrs Dobson, what do you plan to do now?” Aunt Mathilda asked.
Mrs Dobson sighed. “I’m certainly not going to go back to Belleview without finding out what happened,” she said bravely. “Luckily, I have a letter from my father telling me that I am welcome here for the summer–if I insist on coming. It isn’t the warmest invitation I ever had, but it is an invitation. I showed it to Chief Reynolds this morning. It’s on Father’s own headed paper, so he knows I’m telling the truth. He has a man on guard at the house, but he says the fingerprint men are through there, and if we want to move in, he won’t try to stop us. But I don’t think he likes the idea.”
“Are you going to do it?” asked Aunt Mathilda.
“I think so. The trip’s been expensive, and we can’t stay here at the inn for nothing, and Tom’s going to start clucking if he eats one more piece of fried chicken at a roadside restaurant. Mrs Jones, why can’t the chief send a search party into the hills to find my father?”
Jupiter stirred. “It wouldn’t be practical, Mrs Dobson,” he said. “Obviously The Potter disappeared because he wanted to disappear, and there are a thousand places in those hills where he could hide out. Even in his bare feet, he could–”
“Bare feet?” said Eloise Dobson.
There was a short, unhappy silence. Then Aunt Mathilda said, “You didn’t know?”
“Know what? Did he leave his shoes behind, or what?”
“The Potter never wears shoes,” said Aunt Mathilda.
“You’re joking!”
“I am sorry,” said Aunt Mathilda, and she was. “He does not wear shoes. He goes about in his bare feet and a white robe.” Aunt Mathilda stopped, not wishing to add to Mrs Dobson’s distress. Then she decided she might as well complete the description. “He has long white hair and rather a full beard.”
Young Tom Dobson had returned with drinks for Aunt Mathilda and Jupiter. “Sounds like the prophet Elijah,” he decided.
“In other words,” said Mrs Dobson, “my father is the town eccentric.”
“He’s only one of many,” Jupiter assured her. “Rocky Beach has its full share of eccentrics.”
“I see.” There was a paper straw on the table. Mrs Dobson picked it up and began folding it into waxy pleats. “No wonder he never sent pictures of himself. He was probably nervous about my coming. I don’t think he liked the idea a lot, but I did want to see him. So I suppose, when the time actually came, he got scared and lit out. Well, he’s not going to get away with it. I’m his daughter and I’m here and I’m going to stay, and he darn well better show up.”
“You tell ’em, Mum!” applauded young Tom.
“So there’s no sense in wasting time,” said Eloise Dobson. “Tom, you go and tell Miss Hopper we’re checking out this afternoon. And call that police chief. He’ll have to notify his guard to let us into the house.”
“Are you sure you are doing the wise thing?” asked Jupiter. “I didn’t break into The Potter’s yesterday, but someone did. I have a bump on the head to prove it.”
Eloise Dobson stood up. “I intend to be careful,” she told Jupe. “And anyone who comes snooping around had better be careful, too. I don’t believe in guns, but I’m handy with a baseball bat, and I brought one with me.”
Aunt Mathilda regarded her with open admiration. “How clever. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”
Jupiter wanted to laugh out loud. His Aunt Mathilda wouldn’t need a baseball bat. If they had an intruder at The Jones Salvage Yard, Aunt Mathilda would probably swat him with a second-hand bureau.
Aunt Mathilda now surged to her feet. “If you are going to move into The Potter’s house today, you’ll need your furniture,” she said. “He stopped at our salvage yard yesterday and selected a bedstead for you and one for your son–and a couple of other things. Jupiter and I will attend to it. We’ll meet you at the house in half an hour. Will that be time enough?”
“Plenty of time,” said Mrs Dobson. “You’re very kind. I hate to trouble you.”
“Not at all,” said Aunt Mathilda. “Come, Jupiter.” She started down the verandah towards the street, and then remembered something. She turned back towards the terrace. “Good afternoon, Mr Farrier,” she called.
Jupiter and Aunt Mathilda were halfway back to the salvage yard before Jupe allowed himself to laugh out loud. “I wonder whether that guy Farrier has ever been so completely ignored,” he said to his aunt. “You ran over him like a Sherman tank.”
“Silly ass!” snapped Aunt Mathilda. “I am sure he was bothering that poor girl. . . . Men!”
Aunt Mathilda stormed into the house to rouse Uncle Titus from his Sunday afternoon stupor. Uncle Titus, in turn, called Hans and Konrad, and in fifteen minutes the salvage-yard truck was loaded with the bedsteads selected by The Potter, the two straight chairs, plus two small chests of drawers which Aunt Mathilda herself hauled from the furniture shed. “She’ll need something to unpack her things into,” said Aunt Mathilda.
Hans and Jupiter gathered up The Potter’s groceries, and then Aunt Mathilda, Hans, and Jupe squeezed into the cab of the truck and headed up the highway towards The Potter’s house.
The blue convertible with the Illinois plates was standing near the shed where The Potter kept his supplies when Aunt Mathilda drove the truck in off the main road. Young Tom Dobson was carrying two suitcases into the house, and Mrs Dobson stood on the porch, the wind ruffling her short hair.
“Everything all right?” called Aunt Mathilda.
“Well, fingerprint powder is grey, in case you were wondering,” said Eloise Dobson. “And it’s all over the place. It’ll clean up, I suppose. But outside of about six zillion dishes, this place is bare as a barn.”
“The Potter did not believe in encumbering himself with possessions,” Jupiter explained.
Eloise Dobson shot him a curious glance. “Do you always talk like that?” she asked.
“Jupiter reads a great deal,” explained Aunt Mathilda, and she went around to the back of the truck to supervise the unloading of the furniture.
Jupiter, struggling with the heavy brass headboard, saw two men stroll down the lane from Hilltop House. They were the two visitors of the day before–the thin, dark-haired man and the heavier, bald person. Both were wearing neat business suits and black hats. They glanced at the activity in The Potter’s yard, then crossed the main road and disappeared down the path to the beach.
Tom Dobson came around to give Jupe a hand. “Who are they?” he asked. “Neighbours?”
“I’m not sure,” said Jupiter. “They’re new in town.”
Tom got hold of one side of the headboard and Jupiter hefted the other. “Funny outfits for beach-walking,” said Tom.
“Not everybody dresses the part,” said Jupiter, thinking of the magnificently costumed Mr Farrier.
Tom and Jupiter staggered into the house with the headboard and up the stairs, and Jupiter saw that Eloise Dobson had spoken the truth. The Potter’s house was barer than most barns. There were four bedrooms on the first floor, and a bath with an old-fashioned tub set high on claw legs. In one bedroom was a narrow bunk bed, neatly made up and covered with a white spread. The Potter also had a small bedside table, a lamp, an alarm clock and a little three-drawer chest painted white. That was all. The other three rooms were immaculate, but completely empty.