“My love for you is as big as all outdoors,” declared Peter. “Don’t you want that?”
The car went into a wild skid. Judy righted it and said, “There! Of course I want your love, but from now on I’m paying strict attention to my driving. All outdoors is pretty big this morning. We have three hundred miles of icy roads ahead of us with who knows what at the other end. Peter, take care this time, won’t you? Please don’t be alone when you meet Clarence Lawson.”
He promised that he wouldn’t be alone. He had seen to that. He also told Judy he would soon be leaving for Washington. “I need that refresher course. A fellow has to keep in training to be able to defend himself against such men,” he said grimly. “I know how Lawson works, but I want to be prepared for his little surprises.”
“How does he work?” asked Judy.
“He makes people like him for one thing. He looks and acts like a perfect gentleman. He and his wife are just the type of people you expect to see in church on a Sunday morning. With a lovely young ‘daughter’ like Clarissa to cover up for him, nobody will believe he isn’t the real Pastor Valentine. He may get himself elected treasurer of the church as he did some years ago when he was known as David Barnes. I see what his plans are all right, but this time,” Peter said with a determined look on his face, “we’re going to nip them right in the bud. It’s too bad Clarissa didn’t put her street address on that letter.”
“Roulsville isn’t so big. Can’t you check with the real estate office and find out who’s bought property?”
“That’s the usual procedure,” agreed Peter. “I’ll check with the churches, too. We’ll find him if I have to canvass every house. It looks as if this case is going to wind up fast. Roulsville, of all places! Lady Luck has certainly smiled on us for once.”
“Was it Lady Luck or good clear thinking on Clarissa’s part?” asked Judy. “She didn’t say what she meant in that letter, but I could read between the lines. I know your work is secret and I shouldn’t talk about it, but if Clarissa did happen to overhear our conversation in the restaurant she may know you’re with the FBI. That letter could be her way of asking for help without arousing the suspicions of her so-called parents.”
“You’re right, Angel. Clarissa isn’t the only one who’s been doing some good clear thinking,” declared Peter. “Your nightmares haven’t affected your thought processes in the daytime.”
“I don’t have them any more. I wonder....”
Judy’s wonderings went on for mile after mile of uninterrupted driving. Were things falling into place too neatly? Certainly someone had planned this. Could it be Clarence Lawson himself? Had he dictated that letter and forced Clarissa to write it?
As they neared home Peter expressed what Judy had been thinking. “I wonder what Lawson is up to this time,” he said. “Does he really think Clarissa will keep on pretending to be his daughter? He may have threatened her into leading us right into his trap.”
With Judy still at the wheel, the Beetle crawled down the last hill and into the valley that held the small city of Farringdon. They stopped at Dr. Bolton’s house on Grove Street only to find it deserted.
“Mother may have gone over to Dry Brook Hollow to get our house ready for us, but Dad should be here. He has office hours from six to eight in the evening,” Judy said in a worried voice, “and it’s almost six o’clock now.”
“We made good time. You must be tired. Let’s drive right home to Dry Brook Hollow,” Peter suggested. “Someone is sure to be there. Tomorrow I’ll report at the resident agency and get my assignment. Lawson knows me. The SAC may want someone else to do the footwork.”
The SAC, Judy knew, was the Supervising Agent in charge of the nearest field office. There were fifty or more such offices scattered throughout the country, and every one of them had been advised to be on the lookout for Clarence Lawson as well as for Clarissa. In the smaller cities surrounding the field offices the men worked out of resident agencies like the one recently set up in Farringdon, but they were still responsible to the SAC who, in turn, was responsible to the chief himself. It awed Judy when she thought of all the complicated machinery that had been set in motion to see that no harm came to one girl. It made her proud, too, that Peter was part of it.
“Would you mind?” she asked him as they drove on over the next hill and down into Dry Brook Hollow. “I mean, would you mind very much if David Trent or some other more experienced agent got the assignment?”
“A little,” Peter admitted. “I’d rather like to bring Lawson in myself. If only he hasn’t used Clarissa as bait for a trap—”
“Oh, Peter! That’s what I’ve been thinking. Could it be—mind control? There seem to be so many ways of doing it. There’s brain washing, and hypnotic suggestion, and high-pressure selling, and all the frightening new inventions for getting ideas into a person’s subconscious mind without his knowledge or consent. It scares me when I think of the possibilities—”
“There are possibilities for good as well as evil,” Peter told her. “Another type of mind control has been used to reform prisoners, and it seems to work. Their pillows talk to them—”
“What do you mean?” asked Judy. “Oh—” she interrupted herself, “there’s a man turning down our road. Maybe it’s just as well he didn’t see us.”
“We can drive down the North Hollow road, take that short-cut through the woods, and head him off. Want to?” asked Peter.
“It seems silly,” she admitted, “but I think I do want to. Look, Peter!” Judy exclaimed a few minutes later, as she stopped the car and they both climbed out. “Someone’s broken a path through here. It should be easy to head him off. I’ll run ahead and meet him before he gets to the bridge.”
“Wait!” Peter called, but Judy was already running. As she passed her house she thought she heard someone else call to her. Lights blazed from almost every window, so she knew her mother must be there.
Just before she reached the bridge Judy slowed down and caught her breath before she approached the oncoming stranger. He was taking his time, apparently in no hurry to reach the house.
“Hi!” Judy called out bravely. “Are you on your way to our house?”
“Greetings and salutations!” said the stranger, bowing politely. “I’m Pastor Valentine. You must be Judy. My daughter, Clarissa, has invited me to your party. I believe you know her.”
“Yes, I know her,” Judy said, “but I’m not giving a party. Or am I?”
For a moment she almost believed the man was the real Pastor Valentine. But in the next moment the terrifying realization swept over her. He was Clarence Lawson! She smiled at him, trying to conceal her terror.
“It must be a surprise party. Well, I’m—surprised. I’ll walk the rest of the way with you, Pastor Valentine, and introduce you to my guests.”
She didn’t ask if Clarissa was among them. She could only hope Peter had reached the house in time to telephone for help. The man, walking beside her, was the picture of gentlemanly dignity until, suddenly, a black shape darted in front of them.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed, losing a little of his dignity.
“It’s my cat. Don’t you like cats, Mr. Law—I mean Pastor Valentine?”
Judy had let the name slip out. She could have bitten her tongue for it. The man dropped his polite mask and snarled, “I hate cats. They’re unlucky, especially black ones.”
It was a temptation to tell him that this particular black cat was unlucky only for criminals, but Judy resisted the urge as Lawson, recovering his poise, turned and said, “I’m sorry for the outburst, but I’m allergic to cats.”
“My cat’s the same way,” Judy retorted. “He’s allergic to some people.”
“My dear! You will never make friends saying things like that. We do want to be friendly, don’t we?” he asked in placating tones. “After all, I am the father of a young lady who seems very fond of you.”
“Is she?” asked Judy. “Then perhaps you can tell me where the young lady is.”
“She’s with her mother,” was his clipped answer. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going—”
“Aren’t you coming to my party? You must live near here,” Judy ventured. “I notice you were walking.”
“Good for the constitution,” he replied and began to walk away more swiftly.
“Wait!” cried Judy. She couldn’t let him escape. It had been a mistake to run and meet him in the first place. And she should never have spoken to him in the way she did. Now he was nearly to the bridge. Should she turn back or follow him and try to persuade him to return?
Judy had forgotten, for the moment, that Peter was part of an organization far better equipped to deal with criminals than she was. He was armed, for one thing, and she was not. She had just decided to follow Clarence Lawson when suddenly, with a snarl of rage, he whirled around toward her. Judy saw the gleam of a gun in his hand.
“You’d never use that!” she gasped, terrified.
He wasn’t given time to answer. It was growing dark, but she could see a figure loom up behind him and whip the gun from his hand. Scuffling sounds followed. Judy heard a thud and then a splash.
“Peter!” she gasped. He had appeared from behind her. “That—that was Lawson, the man you want—”
“You mean the man we’ve got. There’s a good hiding place under the bridge,” Peter continued as two policemen emerged with a dripping Lawson between them. “We walked into a trap all right, but it was set for a prisoner who can use one of those talking pillows I was telling you about.”
“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’sshivering! 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 theFarringdon 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.”
Judy had noticed a change in Clarissa’s appearance. The shampoo had made her hair fluffy and bright.
“It’s like mine,” Honey said. “You sounded so strange over the telephone, Judy, when you asked me not to change the color of my hair. Why were you so afraid?”
“I like it the way it is. I guess that’s why.”
“Don’t you like mine?” Clarissa asked plaintively. “I didn’t use much of the shampoo. It hardly changed the color at all. It just brought out the golden highlights.”
“It’s lovely,” Judy had to admit. “It isn’t the product. It’s the way they advertise it that’s wrong. Peter calls ‘hidden sell’ advertisers thieves of the mind,” she continued, “but he says mind control can be used in another way.”
“This is interesting,” Horace said. “What is this other way our minds can be manipulated?”
“I—I’m not sure. Peter said something about talking pillows, but he may have been joking. I never heard of a pillow that talked.”
“Maybe it works like a Mamma doll,” Holly suggested, and everybody laughed.
“You tell us, Peter,” urged Judy.
“The pillows I spoke of,” Peter said, “are supposed to change a prisoner’s outlook on life by what is called sleep teaching. They contain taped messages that are fed into his subconscious mind while he sleeps. ‘You are filled with love and compassion’ is one. For all I know Lawson’s ‘Do good and gain good’ may be another. I don’t know how well they work. A study is being made.”
“What sort of a study?” asked Judy. “I wouldn’t want anybody sleep-teaching me. I want to know what I’m learning.”
Everybody agreed with Judy except Clarissa. She said she thought she’d like such a pillow if it would make her stop dreaming.
“I’ve had a terrible time,” she confessed. “I haven’t been able to draw a peaceful breath. I found out right away that this couple had planned to kidnap Francine Dow. They were so angry when they found out I’d substituted for her that I knew my only chance was pretending I cared for them and wanted them to be my mother and father. They thought they had my mind controlled, I guess, but they didn’t. All the time I was awake I was making plans. The nights were the worst because I did have nightmares. Maybe they’ll stop now that I know what caused them. I thought fear did. I was never so afraid.”
“You aren’t afraid any more, are you?” Honey asked anxiously.
“No,” Clarissa replied with a deep sigh. “I’m with friends now—real friends. It’s all over—all the fear and the pretending. I know I can act now, and I think I can take things a lot better, too. I mean little things like my brother’s teasing.”
“I used to find my brother’s teasing pretty hard to take, but I teased him right back, and I guess there were times when it was harder on him than it was on me,” Judy said with a glance toward Horace.
“I’ll bet your brother wouldn’t remove the glass from a silver mirror on purpose to make you think you didn’t show. They tell lots of witch tales at home, and one of them is that if you look in a mirror and don’t see your reflection, a witch has stolen the real you and you’re a changeling. But now that I’ve really been stolen by a witch—That’s what she is, Judy! That Mrs. Lawson or whatever her name is. She looks like somebody’s mother, but she’s nothing but an ugly old witch.”
“There aren’t any such things as witches,” Judy laughed.
“I’ll never believe it,” Clarissa continued, “but I do know I’m no changeling. My brother was just trying to play a joke on me when he took out the glass and then put it back to prove he could see himself in the mirror all right. I’m going to tell him I know, and then he’ll confess to it. I thought it all out, but I still can’t understand why I didn’t show on television. Everybody could see me when I took Francine Dow’s place on Irene’s show.”
“A picture tube blew out,” Judy started to explain. “That makes the picture close in—”
“Lawsy me!” exclaimed Clarissa, reverting to her mountain slang. “I let a little thing like that scare me into a faint?”
“You didn’t let the big things scare you. Now that you know how brave you can be, I guess the little things won’t bother you so much, will they?” Judy asked.
“They sure won’t. I’ll write to you all and tell you how I’m doing and I’ll see you—I mean, maybe you’ll see me on television one of these days.”
The party had been a little tiring, Judy realized, after her guests had gone home. She picked up Blackberry and laid her head against his velvety black fur.
“Those prisoners can have their talking pillows,” she said to Peter. “I prefer a pillow that purrs. For the rest of the evening we can just relax and watch television. Oh, how I wish we could watch Irene!”
Judy’s wish came true a few weeks later. A postcard came with the good news. Or was it good? The card didn’t say who Irene’s sponsor would be. Surely Irene hadn’t gone back on her decision! Would it be golden hair wash? Judy was almost afraid to watch.
Peter tuned in the set just in time for her to hear: “... bring you our own Golden Girl, Irene Meredith.” And suddenly there was Irene as natural as though she had just stepped into the living room. And Irene was not alone on the stage. Little Judy was peeking out from behind her skirt like a small pixie. Judy couldn’t believe it when she heard what they were about to sing.
“Oh, no! Irene can’t sing that!” she exclaimed, turning to Peter.
“Listen!” Peter motioned for silence as the song began. Little Judy’s small, piping voice could be heard on the second line. By the third line she was singing all by herself:
“I might sing and play like Mommy on TV or radio,
“I might sing and play like Mommy on TV or radio,
But I wouldn’t do commercials,No, I wouldn’t do commercials,No, Iwouldn’tdo commercialsAnd innerup the show—”
But I wouldn’t do commercials,
No, I wouldn’t do commercials,
No, Iwouldn’tdo commercials
And innerup the show—”
It was Irene who interrupted, laughing.
“We just couldn’t get that one word right. Judy Irene is only two and a half. I wouldn’t interrupt the show either. But I do want to introduce a very good friend of ours, Clarissa Valentine! She will appear on this show regularly and will star again inSleeping Beautytwo weeks from tonight. Right now she has a message from our new sponsor.”
The message was brief and in good taste. The sponsor turned out to be a nationally known manufacturer of cereal. Clarissa opened a box and poured out two servings of what she called crispy, crunchy nuggets of golden corn.
“That’s how they’re going to work it. Clarissa won’t mind doing the commercial,” Judy began, but again Peter held up his hand for silence. And suddenly, right there on the TV screen, was Judy’s own little namesake doing a commercial and not even knowing it. For she sat down at a table opposite her mother and began eating the golden nuggets as if they were the tastiest things in the world.
“They’re good, Mommy!” she said between mouthfuls.
“I like them, too. Why don’t you try them?” Irene asked the TV audience as the commercial ended.
“I think I will,” Judy answered as if Irene could hear her. Then she turned to Peter with shining eyes. “It was a joke!” she exclaimed. “They sang the song just for fun, and the studio audience enjoyed it. Did you hear the laughter? But it does prove truth can win if we stand up for what we believe. Oh, I’m so glad Irene talked to Mr. Lenz that day. She almost made the wrong decision.”
“She didn’t if those golden nuggets really are as good as the sponsor would have us believe,” Peter said.
“Well, I’m sold on them,” Judy declared, laughing. “And it didn’t take any ‘hidden sell’ to do it. Just watching little Judy sitting there gobbling them up was enough. I’m going to buy a box tomorrow.”