“Then the Star will shut down too?”
“No. At such a time, folks depend more than ever upon their newspaper for accurate information. We’ll publish as long as we have a plant and our trucks can keep delivering.”
Mr. Parker’s information brought home to Penny the true seriousness of the situation. However, as she peered out of her bedroom window a few minutes later, the clear sky and bright stars belied an approaching storm.
Undressed, Penny sat for a time propped up in bed with pillows, trying to read a book. The words held little meaning. Losing interest, she snapped off the light, and snuggled down.
But she could not sleep. The dark house was filled with many strange sounds. The stairway creaked, the shutters rattled, and in the bathroom, water dripped regularly from a faucet.
Thoughts raced rampant through Penny’s mind. She squirmed and tossed and became increasingly aware of the rising wind.
Suddenly she was startled by a loud crash in the yard below. Leaping out of bed, she darted to the window. A large rotten tree limb had been ripped from the backyard maple and now lay across the driveway.
“Dad will have to move it before he can get the car out of the garage in the morning,” she thought. “Some fun!”
Creeping back beneath the covers, she tried again to sleep. Instead, she found herself thinking over everything that had occurred at the Rhett mansion. Already the banker’s disappearance was fading out of the newspapers, and with a hurricane in the offing, the story would be entirely forgotten.
“The police haven’t shown much interest,” she reflected. “Unless definite clues are obtained soon, Mr. Rhett may never be traced. The case will die.”