Real Friends
“What next?” asked Judy. Things were happening so fast she could
scarcely keep track of them. “I thought you said—talking pillows—before
all the excitement began. Oh, Peter, I was so afraid!”
“Judy, you’re shivering! There’s no need for you to be afraid now. Go
back to the house,” advised Peter. “I’ll join you there in a few
minutes.”
“_She’s_ shivering! What about me?” Lawson snarled from between
chattering teeth.
“You’re lucky we didn’t drown you,” one of the police officers told him.
As he was led toward the barn where a police car was concealed, little
pools of water dripped from his clothing and left a trail behind him in
the melting snow. It had turned warm for January. Judy had not shivered
because of the cold. It was something else that sent chills through her.
Things were too quiet. Usually, when a man was arrested, there were
wailing sirens and a whole flock of police cars roaring in from all
directions. Here there was nothing but an ominous silence.
The lights from the house looked friendly, but there wasn’t a sound to
prove that anyone was inside. Only Blackberry, on the porch now, yowled
plaintively, asking to be let in.
Suddenly the door opened. Dr. Bolton was on his way out. He did have
office hours and had waited only long enough to greet Judy. Her mother
and Horace were just behind him. She heard Honey, somewhere in the
background, saying in a loud stage whisper, “She’s here, girls! All
together!”
“Surprise!” came the chorus of voices as her friends rushed forward.
Clarissa was with them. She hugged Judy fiercely. “It’s good to see
you,” she said in a strange voice. “I told Mother and Father how I met
you. Mother’s here—” She indicated Blackberry’s favorite chair where a
motherly, gray-haired woman sat quietly rocking and smiling at the
assembled guests.
“You haven’t met Mrs. Valentine. Let me introduce you,” Judy’s mother
began.
Horace gave her a secret sign that meant he knew and had come, not only
as her brother but also as a reporter for the _Farringdon Daily Herald_.
But, obviously, Mrs. Bolton had been kept in the dark.
Judy heard herself saying something polite instead of the questions that
were tumbling over themselves in her mind wanting to be asked and
answered.
Lois and Lorraine were there. Arthur Farringdon-Pett hovered
protectively behind his sister and his recent bride. Judy’s young
neighbor, Holly Potter, said, “I like your friend Clarissa, Judy. I met
her at school.”
“Did you?” One question was answered. “I introduced her to Horace and
Honey,” Holly continued, and the answer came to another question. Judy
felt more secure, suddenly, as she noticed another quiet guest. He was
David Trent from the field office of the FBI.
“Everybody has been so friendly,” Mrs. Valentine was telling him. “We’ve
decided to join the little neighborhood church here until my husband has
a call. You know, of course, that he is a minister of the gospel?”
“So I understand.”
The gray-haired woman moved uncomfortably in her chair.
“I wonder what is keeping him. He promised to stop in and meet some of
the young people. He has plans for a youth organization—”
“His plans, whatever they are, will never be carried out.” Mr. Trent
brought out his credentials, and the conversation ended abruptly just as
Peter entered the room and took the woman firmly by the arm.
“You’re G-men!” she gasped, looking from one of them to the other. She
was not looking for a way to escape. She could see that there was none.
Afterwards, when Judy remembered the scene, the one thing that stood out
clearly in her mind was the fact that Blackberry had been insulted to
see a stranger sitting in his chair and that he had jumped into it and
settled himself to sleep before the excitement was fairly over.
Peter had mentioned the charge against the Lawsons. Judy’s mother had
gasped, “Kidnaping!” and Clarissa had said quietly, “I wasn’t their
daughter, Mrs. Bolton. I don’t know what they would have done to me if I
hadn’t pretended. I led them here. I knew Judy would help me. You aren’t
supposed to tell people what your husband does for a living, Judy, but
I’m so glad—glad that you let it slip out in the restaurant. Did you get
my letter?”
“We turned your letter over to the FBI,” Judy told her. “But who planned
this welcoming party? I don’t understand—”
“I like parties. I like pretty girls, and I am especially fond of
getting exclusive stories—”
“Horace! You did it. You perfect dear!” cried Judy, throwing herself at
her brother and giving him a resounding kiss.
“Save the mush, Sis,” he said, embarrassed.
“Well, it was a wonderful idea!” Judy exclaimed. “You’re all real
friends!”
Clarissa’s laugh rang out. “Am I real? Am I really me? I’ve been
Francine Dow and Clarissa Valentine, but now I think I’d like to be just
plain old Clar Boggs and go back to West Virginia to my real folks. Pa’s
a preacher just like I said, but we’re real old hillbillies for a fact,
and I’m sick to death of pretending.”
“Don’t you want to be an actress any more?” asked Judy.
“Maybe later when things are cleared up and I understand—” Clarissa
said.
“We’ll clear them up right now,” Judy interrupted. “Sit down, and we’ll
explain everything.”
“While you’re explaining I’ll bring sandwiches and coffee. There’s cake,
too. I still can’t make tender pie crust,” Honey confessed, “but my
cakes are good, and Mother Bolton’s sandwiches are delicious.”
Mother Bolton? Judy looked at her brother. Was it that serious? Honey
blushed and said hastily, “She’s your mother, Judy, and you and I are
sisters. She doesn’t mind if I call her that. Sit down, everybody, and
I’ll pass the stuff around.”
Judy ate half a sandwich and drank a full cup of coffee cooled with
cream while she considered where to begin. It was a long story. But it
really started in the restaurant.
“Clarissa, that cashier who tried to cheat you was arrested on some
other charge. Peter told me about it,” Judy said. “The police picked him
up. It wasn’t a federal offense, but the subliminal advertising that the
golden hair wash people put on is a different matter.” She explained to
Clarissa about the messages that had been flashed on the screen too fast
for their conscious minds to be aware of what was being suggested.
“That’s why you kept saying your hair was ‘dull’ and ‘drab’ and why we
all rushed out and bought that shampoo when we didn’t really want it.”
“But I did want it,” Clarissa protested. “I went back to the dressing
room on purpose to get those two bottles I left there. I was going to
come right back, but the first thing I knew I was being rushed into a
costume and pushed out on the stage. Someone whispered, ‘Watch the
cards,’ and I read the lines, but I was never so scared in my life. If
my hair hadn’t been covered up with that golden wig I don’t think I
could have played the part at all.”
“You played it beautifully,” Judy said.
Clarissa smiled and tilted her head.
“I could play Sleeping Beauty without a wig now. Did you notice the
change?” she asked. “I used that golden hair wash.”