“Are you sure it was him Walter?” Sharon asked.
“Yeah, it was him all right.”
“I wonder if we should just go report it to Officer Keyes,” she said.
“We already did that once –remember. We need to get a real close up look at him before we go back to Officer Keyes. If it turns out not to be Mad Mike, we’ll look really dumb.” I said.
“I’d rather be dumb than dead,” said Walt, “I’m not real interested in getting a close up look at a murderer.”
“Maybe there’s a safe way to do it.” Sharon said.
“Like you did in the bootlegger case?” Walt said, “ dress up like a little girl and sit next to him in a restaurant.”
“It might work, ‘cept you’re a year older and don’t look as much like a little girl anymore.” I said.
“Sure she does,” said Walt.
Sharon stared at Walt like she was going to kill him.
“What I meant, Walter Jenkins, was to use a similar type of disguise so he wouldn’t suspect anything.”
I’d never seen Sharon’s lips so tight. She barely moved her mouth.
“Why don’t we go out to the Crocodile with some soda’s and candy like guys do in the summer and offer to sell them.” I said.
“Yeah, we could make ice cold lemonade and chocolate chip cookies. My mom has a great recipe.” Sharon said.
“I’m not going to go out and sell chocolate chip cookies to a crazy killer. You two are nuts.”
“Then we’ll do it.” Sharon walked up and put her arm around me.
“We will --- ah -- sounds great.”
18.
That night in bed I kept staring at the ceiling. It was so hard to get to sleep. If it was Mad Mike Proctor, why was he on the boat? Was he on it during the race? I remembered that Sharon had seen the two men on the chase boat and so had Cuda’s dad. I thought maybe it would be a good idea to have Sharon cut out the picture and show it to Mr. Tyler. She had identified the one man on the boat as Mr. Sullivan – maybe the other one was Mad Mike. My mind was racing. If they ran in to Four Eyes, maybe Mad Mike shot him just like he shot the Happy Tuna guy. I tossed and turned all night.
“You look tired.” Sharon said as we sat on top of a picnic table at school.
“Yeah, I didn’t sleep much. I kept thinking about the Crocodile and Mad Mike.”
“Well it wasn’t him.”
“Huh.”
“The other guy on the boat helping Mr. Sullivan wasn’t Mad Mike.”
“How’d you know that was what I was thinking about?”
“It was just logical that you would wonder that.”
“Well I wish you’d told me that when we were in the garage, but why do you think Mad Mike is on the Crocodile?”
“I suppose he needs a place to hide out. He probably just stays on the boat most of the time. He might even have been down below when we saw the other two.”
“Have you thought anymore about how we can get a better look at him?” I asked.
“Yes --you’re going to come over tonight and we’ll make the chocolate chip cookies.”
“Oh great.”
Sharon’s plan was simple. We’d make a “Cold Lemonade” sign for each side of the dinghy and motor out to the Crocodile. The lemonade would cost a nickel, but we’d offer a free one as a sort of introductory offer. She thought it would be a good idea just in case Mad Mike didn’t have any money. We’d give him a free cookie too. He was a long way from the other moored boats and Sharon thought we might as well make some money on the way out.
So we baked up about four-dozen cookies in her kitchen that night. We told her parents it was for a fundraiser at school. Her mom came in the kitchen to check on us a couple of times. She said she wanted to make sure the cookies didn’t burn, but she keep sort of sneaking in quietly like she was trying to catch us doing something.
Sharon figured next Saturday would be the best day to do it. The next night Walt painted “Lemonaid and Cookies” on a board I found in the garage while I scounged around for some metal brackets to hang the boards on the side of the dinghy.
“It’s Lemonade Walt –-a-d-e not a-i-d.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” he said after thinking for a second, “ I just thought it would look better if it was misspelled.”
“Yeah sure.” I said.
19.
“Why did you spell it Lemonaid?” Sharon asked as I carried the sign boards down to the boat. Walt had the large metal container with the lemonade and Sharon carried the two brown paper bags with the cookies. It was a busy weekend and there were quite a few boats in the harbor.
“Never mind,” I said, “ you know, this will also give us a good chance to look at those red marks on the boat. I brought the sample from Mel’s Hardware so we can compare it.”
“What’re you going to do, tell Mad Mike while he’s munchin on a cookie that you were thinking about painting your room the same color as the red mark on his boat?” Walt asked.
“No, I’ll just sorta compare ‘em while he’s not looking if I get a chance.”
I like Walt and everything, but sometimes he makes me crazy. I know he makes Sharon even crazier. At least he wasn’t going with us on this particular operation. To be honest I wasn’t too thrilled myself to be serving lemonade and cookies to a killer.
Sharon sat in the middle of the boat and set the bags of cookies on the seat beside her. I set the lemonade container on the floor with the paper cups we’d purchased from Ben’s Market. We told our friend Ben Jr. that we were selling lemonade and he got us a discount on the cups.
After we got the boat all situated I started the engine and Walt pushed us off from the dock.
“It was nice knowing you two,” he laughed.
I could tell by the look on his face that he was concerned. I saw him run up on the pier and watch us as we went out by the boats.
“Hey kids – how much you want for that lemonade?” Some fat man with white pants, a red t-shirt and a yachting cap yelled. He stood on the back of his large yacht.
“A nickel a glass and a nickel a cookie,” I said.
“I’ll give you a buck for two dozen.”
“Sure.” I glanced at Sharon who was glaring at me.
“Don’t worry, we still have two dozen left.”
“But why’d you sell them so cheap?”
“Jeez—we’re supposed to be detectives not cookie merchants.”
“OK OK – just don’t sell them all before we get there.”
Well, unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened. We would have been OK, but the last boat was filled with people and the guy offered us a dime apiece for all the rest of our cookies and a buck for the rest of the lemonade.
“Sure,” said Sharon. She told me it was the Depression after all -- crime solving could always wait for another day.
20.
“I can’t believe you sold out before you got to Mad Mike,” Walt said. “How much did we make?”
“We?” Sharon looked at Walt and laughed.
“Lets all go to Sally’s Diner for lunch,” I said, “then we can figure out our next move.”
When we got to Sally’s, Walt and I ordered hamburgers and fries. Sharon had a tuna sandwich.
“Just bring enough lemonade and cookies for Mad Mike– don’t hang the signs out till you get past the other boats.” Walt said with a mouth half full of French fries. “Are you going to finish that hamburger George Bailey?”
I shoved the rest of my burger over. “Walt’s got a good idea Sharon – all we need is maybe 6 cookies and a little lemonade.”
“Might as well make a couple dozen.” Walt said.
Sharon reached over and patted Walt on the stomach.
“I think a dozen is plenty.”
The next day we loaded up the boat with the lemonade and cookies and waited til Sharon and I got clear of the moored boats before hanging the signs. My hand kept slipping on the control as I steered the dinghy out toward the Crocodil
e. I tried to dry my hand on my pants.
“Don’t worry George Bailey, he won’t suspect anything.” Sharon said. She’d done her hair up in pigtails and looked like she was 10. “I’ll do all the talking.”
“Ice Cold Lemonade and Fresh Chocolate Chip Cookies!” She shouted as we neared the dirty boat. There was a blue- checkered sheet covering the small porthole on the right side. We waited by that side of the boat but no one came out of the small forward cabin. Sharon nodded toward the stern at the red marks. I motored close enough to them to be out of view from the porthole, and quickly held the paint sample chart – it was a perfect match. I steered the dinghy around the stern of the Crocodile while Sharon yelled, “ice cold lemonade” again. As we came around the port side of the boat I noticed some blue marks and quickly checked them against the blue paint sample from “Mel’s” --- another match.
Sharon looked at me, nodded and motioned that we should leave.
As we headed away from the Crocodile I looked back and thought I saw the porthole curtain move.
“I think he’s was in there,” I whispered.
“Let’s leave the signs on and sell this stuff on the way in,” Sharon said.
We sold out right away, motored back to the dinghy dock and headed back to Sally’s to spend our earnings.
“The red mark matched and so did the blue one.” I said
“Huh – what blue one?” Walt asked.
“Four Eyes painted his paddleboard blue. There were blue marks on the Crocodile that matched the paint sample from Mel’s.”
“How do you know that Four Eyes bought his paint at Mel’s – maybe it’s a different shade,” Sharon said.
“We can always check the jail wall.” Walt said.
Sometimes Walt can be a very good detective too. He remembered that he scratched Four Eyes paddleboard against the jail wall. I was sure it would match, but decided to stop by the jail and check for myself before I went home.
When I got to the police station, Officer Keyes was sitting at his desk
“George Bailey, when are you finished with school?”
“Next week, do you want me to start then?”
“Yeah, same schedule as last summer and same pay. I couldn’t even get a raise for myself.”
“Do you have anybody back in the jail today?”
“Nah – fact I was just going to sweep it out.”
“Don’t worry – let me do it.” I said. Last year, in addition to filing and helping out as a police cadet, I also swept out the police station, including the jail cell.
“Sure –thanks, say, have you guys figured out anything more on the paddleboard case?”
“Not yet.” I said. I just wasn’t comfortable enough yet with our “evidence” to tell Officer Keys. All we really had was a red mark on Crocodile. If Jellyfish Johnson’s paddleboard touched the boat that only meant he cheated. Cheating in a paddleboard race wasn’t anything that Officer Keyes would be concerned about. The blue mark was something else but maybe it was from a blue dinghy that was painted the same color. As far as Mad Mike was concerned – I needed to somehow confirm that it was really him.
I went back into the jail area with a dustpan and broom. After I cleaned both cells I took the paint sample out of my pocket and checked the blue scratch mark on the wall – another perfect match.
21.
Monday night, after school, we all met again at my garage.
“What do you think happened during the race?” Walt asked.
“I think they towed Jellyfish past Cuda and then happened to run in to Four Eyes in the fog. They were just going to tow Jellyfish past him but Four Eyes saw them,” I said. “I’ll bet they killed him.”
“Heck, he didn’t have his glasses on – he couldn’t even see them.”
“That’s true Walt, but they didn’t know that -- did they?” Sharon said.
“But what is the connection with Mad Mike and the Happy Tuna case.” I said.
“We don’t know the facts of that case?” Sharon looked at Walt, “ all we know is that he was wanted for the murder of Mr. Saterbury. I think I’ll go over to the library and research that murder in the mainland newspapers. Do you know when Saterbury was murdered George Bailey?”
“A couple of years ago.”
“ I’ll ask Mrs. Quigley if she can help me find something.” Sharon said.
Mrs. Quigley, the librarian, helped us in our last case.
Sharon kept looking at the picture of Mad Mike. She had that look that she always gets before she comes up with an idea.
“I think we need to stake out the Crocodile. It will be easier once school is out. I’ve been thinking about how much money we made selling those cookies and I might just go into business selling stuff from your boat.”
“From our boat?” Walt said.
“Yes Walter – your boat, you’ll be working at the rental dock and George Bailey will be working at the police station. I think I can make more money selling cookies and lemonade to the boaters. I might even get Ben Jr. to sell me some other stuff like potato chips. While I’m out there I can keep an eye on the Crocodile. Maybe I can even get a closer look at Mad Mike – if he’s really on the boat.”
“Don’t worry – he’s on the boat,” Walt said, “but you don’t even know how to start our boat – or drive it.”
“Oh –George Bailey will teach me – won’t you.”
“Ah --- yeah – I guess.” I said.
“Well, I’ve got to go now,” Sharon said, “I don’t want to keep Mrs. Quigley waiting.”
Sometimes I think the name of our agency should be Sharon and Associates.
22.
We were busy the last couple weeks of school with exams. I managed to save my A average by squeaking out an A- from Mr. Torpor. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know anything about my involvement in the Mad Mike mistake. Thank God I don’t have him in any classes next year.
Once school was done, Walt went to work at the boat rental dock and I put on the same police cadet uniform I wore the summer before. I was sort of disappointed to see that it still fit although the shirt seem a little bit tighter than I remembered. Sharon decided to sell refreshments to boaters. She worked a deal with Ben Jr. at the market and also got a deal from Elmer on ice. Elmer’s wife bought a new electric refrigerator so we sawed off the top of her old wooden icebox and put it in the dinghy. Sharon stored the lemonade along with some cokes from Ben Jr. in it. She also sold cookies, potato chips and candy.
I was a little worried about her meeting some mainland guys on the boats, but that was a risk we island guys took every summer with our girlfriends. The island boys without girlfriends enjoyed a new crop of tourists every week. It sounded neat, but I still prefer Sharon.
One night Sharon and I went to the library. I had begun reading some detective books and was busy in the fiction section while she talked to Mrs. Quigley. When I came back to the wooden desks with a couple of books, Sharon was busy going through a stack of newspapers.
“Look at this,” she said; reading from a slightly yellowed copy of the Long Beach Press Telegram dated March 17, 1933.
Mr. Osgood S. Saterbury, 53, of Long Beach was found shot to death in his office. A secretary reported that a frequent visitor known to her as Mr. M. Proctor was seen leaving Saterbury’s office just before the body was found. Proctor was later identified as Mad Mike Proctor, a known Los Angeles gangster active in bootlegging, extortion and gambling. Policed stated that Mr. Proctor’s landlady said that he moved out two days before the body was found and left no forwarding address. Mr. Saterbury was the President of Saterbury Tuna Company, the maker of the popular “Happy Tuna” brand and was also a well-known owner of thoroughbreds including Cream Tuna, the winner of last year’s Orange Tree Handicap at Santa Anita. Funeral services for Saterbury will be held ---------------------
“Wow – I wonder why Proctor visited him so much?” I asked.
“Look at this one,” Sharon held up another article from t
he society page the Los Angeles Times dated May 36, 1935.
Mrs. Osgood S. Saterbury was recently the guest of the Horace Dinkworths at the opening of the Dinkworth Oriental Art Collection at the Los Angeles Art Museum. Mrs. Saterbury, in a pink chiffon sleeveless gown with matching shoes, was overheard telling the stunning Alice Maywood, that her husband Osgood, the recently murdered President of the Saterbury Tuna Company was heavily involved in gambling and had recently sold a beachfront lot in Newport Beach for $5,000 in order to settle gambling debts. “I kept asking him to stop, but he just couldn’t.”
“ $5,000 for a lot – that’s a lot of money.” I said.
“Sure is – I wonder if he paid it to Mad Mike.”
“I just don’t understand,” I said, “ I know it looks like gambling could have been the motive in our case, but why would someone like Mad Mike be involved in a rinky –dink thing like a Paddleboard Race.”
“Don’t forget, he’s on the run from the police and he probably still needs money. It’s not like he can just go somewhere and open a dental office or something – gambling is all he knows.”
“Yeah --- and murder.”
“Crocodile’s a tuna fishing boat right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I wonder who they sold their tuna to.”
“They all sell to the mainland tuna canneries.”
“Like Saterbury?” Sharon said,
23.
“How are we going to stake out that boat all night? My mom won’t let me stay out all night.” Walt said.
We took our lunch break on the pier. Sharon was going to stop in from her job. We could see her out by a large sailboat passing drinks up to a couple of guys sitting on a large wood sailboat. Every mooring in the harbor was full.
“We’ll do the same thing we did on the bootlegger case Walt. I’ll tell my parents I’m staying at your house and you tell your mom you’re staying at mine. If we get done early we can just say we couldn’t sleep and go home to our own houses.”
The Great Paddleboard Race (George Bailey Detectve Series Book 3) Page 4
