“Just look at this lovely new bathing suit I bought at the shop today!”
“You’d better start your own packing, Vic. Daddy plans on leaving bright and early in the morning.”
Vicki had to smile at their enthusiasm, but her pleasure in the projected trip to Cuba was dampened by her worry of what had happened to elderly Mr. Tytell.
“Wait until I change,” she said. “Then I’ll help you pack and you can help me.”
In her room, Vicki threw her bag on the bed and took the telephone book from the table. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder whether Mr. Quayle lived in Tampa. If he didn’t, she’d have to ask Mr. Curtin where she could find him. He’d certainly know. But she didn’t want to worry him with her own involvement in the case unless she had to.
She was in luck. John Quayle’s name was in the book. She dialed his number and waited. In a moment his familiar voice answered the phone.
“Mr. Quayle? ... This is Vicki Barr. I hope you don’t mind my calling you at home like this on a Sunday afternoon, but I was worried about Mr. Tytell. Did you find out anything about him?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Barr,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “As soon as I got your note yesterday, I put one of my men on the job of tracking him down. But so far, no luck. We found that he had been living in a cheap boardinghouse in the Quarter, but his landlady apparently hasn’t seen him since yesterday.”
“Oh, dear!” Vicki said.
“Don’t worry, Miss Barr. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”