“Why do you think Burt Ottman was at the Parrot?” she tried to pin him down. “Would you say he’s one of the plotters?”
“I have no opinion whatsoever,” Mr. Parker responded somewhat wearily.
Penny did not allow her father to forget his promise to visit The Green Parrot. The following morning she awoke early and at the breakfast table reminded him that they had an important appointment together.
“I should be at the office,” Mr. Parker said, glancing at his watch. “Besides, the cafe won’t be open at this hour.”
“The manager should be there, Dad. You’ll be able to talk to him and really look over the place.”
“We can ask a few questions—that’s all,” Mr. Parker corrected. “One can’t walk into an establishment and start searching.”
“Let’s go anyway,” pleaded Penny.
More to please her than because he hoped to uncover vital evidence, Mr. Parker agreed to make the trip. With Penny at the wheel of the family car, they drove to the street where The Green Parrot was situated. Parking not far from the entrance to an alley, they walked the remaining distance.
“This is the place,” said Penny, pausing before the familiar building. “Why, what’s become of the cafe?”
Bewildered, she stared at the doorway where the painted parrot sign had swung. It was no longer there and the Venetian blinds had been removed from the window.