Mystery of the Melting Snowman by Florence Parry Heide Page A
Authors: Florence Parry Heide
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told us,” he said quietly. “He’s known about Jenny Mayflower and Tom Foster for a long time. It’s true, Mrs. Wellington. They are crooks. They go from one town to another, finding rich old ladies to cheat.”
Cindy poked him.
“I mean rich ladies,” said Dexter.
“Anyway,” interrupted Jay, “they’re con artists. Playing a confidence game. They’re selling your house. They’re having a neighborhood sale just so they can get as much cash as they can in the shortest time. They’ve already stolen and sold all the valuable things.”
“Yes,” Cindy said. “And Mr. Baxter, the detective, told us—”
Melanie Wellington held up a jeweled hand. “Mr. Baxter? Mr. Alex Baxter?”
“Why, yes,” said Cindy in surprise.
“But, my darlings,” she smiled, “Alex Baxter is my nephew! My terrible, talented nephew!”
Chapter 8
Secret of the Iron Dog
T HE THREE DETECTIVES stared at Melanie Wellington and then at each other.
“Your nephew?” asked Cindy.
“Oh, yes, my sweethearts, my nephew. He’s no more a detective than the man in the moon. He doesn’t have time to be a detective. He’s a full-time, all-time liar.” And Mrs. Wellington exploded into laughter.
She wiped her eyes with her long flowing scarf. “Forgive me, my darlings,” she said. “This is too delicious, too delicious. Alex Baxter, detective! What next?” She leaned forward and beckoned them closer. “He’s a fraud, my beautifuls, a born fraud. I don’t blame you for being taken in by his cunning. He’s fooled me too. Many times.”
She leaned back and took another sip of hot chocolate. “He comes over occasionally. Usually to get something out of me. I wondered why he came over yesterday. A most unwelcome visit, I can assure you. He absolutely stormed in, all black, all fire. A black coat, black hat, black gloves, black boots, black hair, black eyebrows, black eyes, and a black look.”
She paused and tilted her head back, her eyes half closed, smiling. “I have a confession to make. I don’t like him—my own nephew! I never have. He’s really quite terrible. A greedy, clever man. And now he’s been telling you some very naughty tales. Pay no attention.”
“But, Mrs. Wellington,” Cindy said finally, “he gave us his card. It was printed and everything. It says, ‘Alex Baxter, Detective Investigator.’ And there’s a Chicago address and telephone number. I’ve got it with me, I’ll show you.”
Mrs. Wellington held up her hand. “No need to show me, dear one. I trust he’s made lots of cards like that. All with a different profession under his name.”
“But he told us about the other detectives who work with him,” said Jay. “And he has an answering service.”
“He can’t be lying,” protested Dexter, frowning.
“And why not?” asked Mrs. Wellington. “He’s playing this nasty joke on you because he’s greedy and wants something. I’ll tell you why he came to see me. He was looking for an iron doorstop. It’s in the shape of a dog and very charming. He knows its secret, but he doesn’t know the whole secret. He just knows it’s valuable. I know the whole secret. Nobody else knows a thing about it.”
The Spotlighters looked at each other. Mrs. Wellington went on. “I knew at once he was looking for it. I’m not quite sure how he figured it out, but he wanted that dog. He’s a clever young man, you know. A pity he didn’t turn all his genius to something good. Ah, well,” she sighed. “But to go on. He stormed in like a thunder cloud. I looked at him and said, ‘Now, now, Alex.’ He was all sweetness then. ‘Aunt Melanie this,’ ‘Aunt Melanie that.’ A very convincing act, but he didn’t fool me. He looked in every nook and cranny. And then I said, ‘Alex Baxter, spit it out. You’re looking for that dog.’ He looked at me with big innocent eyes and shook his head. ‘But you’re not going to get it,’ I told him. ‘Jenny has the dog and is bringing it over to
Cindy poked him.
“I mean rich ladies,” said Dexter.
“Anyway,” interrupted Jay, “they’re con artists. Playing a confidence game. They’re selling your house. They’re having a neighborhood sale just so they can get as much cash as they can in the shortest time. They’ve already stolen and sold all the valuable things.”
“Yes,” Cindy said. “And Mr. Baxter, the detective, told us—”
Melanie Wellington held up a jeweled hand. “Mr. Baxter? Mr. Alex Baxter?”
“Why, yes,” said Cindy in surprise.
“But, my darlings,” she smiled, “Alex Baxter is my nephew! My terrible, talented nephew!”
Chapter 8
Secret of the Iron Dog
T HE THREE DETECTIVES stared at Melanie Wellington and then at each other.
“Your nephew?” asked Cindy.
“Oh, yes, my sweethearts, my nephew. He’s no more a detective than the man in the moon. He doesn’t have time to be a detective. He’s a full-time, all-time liar.” And Mrs. Wellington exploded into laughter.
She wiped her eyes with her long flowing scarf. “Forgive me, my darlings,” she said. “This is too delicious, too delicious. Alex Baxter, detective! What next?” She leaned forward and beckoned them closer. “He’s a fraud, my beautifuls, a born fraud. I don’t blame you for being taken in by his cunning. He’s fooled me too. Many times.”
She leaned back and took another sip of hot chocolate. “He comes over occasionally. Usually to get something out of me. I wondered why he came over yesterday. A most unwelcome visit, I can assure you. He absolutely stormed in, all black, all fire. A black coat, black hat, black gloves, black boots, black hair, black eyebrows, black eyes, and a black look.”
She paused and tilted her head back, her eyes half closed, smiling. “I have a confession to make. I don’t like him—my own nephew! I never have. He’s really quite terrible. A greedy, clever man. And now he’s been telling you some very naughty tales. Pay no attention.”
“But, Mrs. Wellington,” Cindy said finally, “he gave us his card. It was printed and everything. It says, ‘Alex Baxter, Detective Investigator.’ And there’s a Chicago address and telephone number. I’ve got it with me, I’ll show you.”
Mrs. Wellington held up her hand. “No need to show me, dear one. I trust he’s made lots of cards like that. All with a different profession under his name.”
“But he told us about the other detectives who work with him,” said Jay. “And he has an answering service.”
“He can’t be lying,” protested Dexter, frowning.
“And why not?” asked Mrs. Wellington. “He’s playing this nasty joke on you because he’s greedy and wants something. I’ll tell you why he came to see me. He was looking for an iron doorstop. It’s in the shape of a dog and very charming. He knows its secret, but he doesn’t know the whole secret. He just knows it’s valuable. I know the whole secret. Nobody else knows a thing about it.”
The Spotlighters looked at each other. Mrs. Wellington went on. “I knew at once he was looking for it. I’m not quite sure how he figured it out, but he wanted that dog. He’s a clever young man, you know. A pity he didn’t turn all his genius to something good. Ah, well,” she sighed. “But to go on. He stormed in like a thunder cloud. I looked at him and said, ‘Now, now, Alex.’ He was all sweetness then. ‘Aunt Melanie this,’ ‘Aunt Melanie that.’ A very convincing act, but he didn’t fool me. He looked in every nook and cranny. And then I said, ‘Alex Baxter, spit it out. You’re looking for that dog.’ He looked at me with big innocent eyes and shook his head. ‘But you’re not going to get it,’ I told him. ‘Jenny has the dog and is bringing it over to
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