Sandy Steele groaned.
“I don’t know Mr. Kennedy’s number,” he said.
Cookie’s brow puckered. “Well, ask the operator to locate him for you. She might help.”
She did.
“You see,” Sandy explained, once the operator had let him know she was on the line, “all I know about Mr. Kennedy is that he lives in Buffalo and that he owns the Kennedy Shipping Lines. Is that enough to go on?”
His heart sang when a pert voice replied, “I think so. Would you hold on, please?”
“Yes,” Sandy said, and then his heart stopped singing as another voice, neither pert nor far away, roared from outside the door.
“Who’s in that radio shack?”
It was the voice of Captain West.