Danger at the Drawbridge

Excerpt

CHAPTER
1
AN ASSIGNMENT FOR PENNY

Penny Parker, leaning indolently against the edge of the kitchen table, watched Mrs. Weems stem strawberries into a bright green bowl.

“Tempting bait for Dad’s jaded appetite,” she remarked, helping herself to the largest berry in the dish. “If he can’t eat them, I can.”

“I do wish you’d leave those berries alone,” the housekeeper protested in an exasperated tone. “They haven’t been washed yet.”

“Oh, I don’t mind a few germs,” laughed Penny. “I just toss them off like a duck shedding water. Shall I take the breakfast tray up to Dad?”

“Yes, I wish you would, Penny,” sighed Mrs. Weems. “I’m right tired on my feet this morning. Hot weather always did wear me down.”

She washed the berries and then offered the tray of food to Penny who started with it toward the kitchen vestibule.

“Now where are you going, Penelope Parker?” Mrs. Weems demanded suspiciously.

“Oh, just to the automatic lift.” Penny’s blue eyes were round with innocence.

“Don’t you dare try to ride in that contraption again!” scolded the housekeeper. “It was never built to carry human freight.”

“I’m not exactly freight,” Penny said with an injured sniff. “It’s strong enough to carry me. I know because I tried it last week.”

“You walk up the stairs like a lady or I’ll take the tray myself,” Mrs. Weems threatened. “I declare, I don’t know when you’ll grow up.”

“Oh, all right,” grumbled Penny good-naturedly. “But I do maintain it’s a shameful waste of energy.”

Balancing the tray precariously on the palm of her hand she tripped lightly up the stairway and tapped on the door of her father’s bedroom.

“Come in,” he called in a muffled voice.

Anthony Parker, editor and owner of the Riverview Star sat propped up with pillows, reading a day-old edition of the newspaper.

“’Morning, Dad,” said Penny cheerfully. “How is our invalid today?”

“I’m no more an invalid than you are,” returned Mr. Parker testily. “If that old quack, Doctor Horn, doesn’t let me out of bed today—”

“You’ll simply explode, won’t you, Dad?” Penny finished mischievously. “Here, drink your coffee and you’ll feel less like a stick of dynamite.”

Mr. Parker tossed the newspaper aside and made a place on his knees for the breakfast tray.

“Did I hear an argument between you and Mrs. Weems?” he asked curiously.

“No argument, Dad. I just wanted to ride up in style on the lift. Mrs. Weems thought it wasn’t a civilized way to travel.”

“I should think not.” The corners of Mr. Parker’s mouth twitched slightly as he poured coffee from the silver pot. “That lift was built to carry breakfast trays, but not in combination with athletic young ladies.”

“What a bore, this business of growing up,” sighed Penny. “You can’t be natural at all.”

“You seem to manage rather well with all the restrictions,” her father remarked dryly....