Goodwin Harold Leland
The Blue Ghost Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

CHAPTER VII
The Frostola Man

Rick Brant was filled with cold anger. It showed in the determined set of his lips as he swung Dr. Miller's car around the turn leading to the bridge across the creek. He was no longer content to wait for developments. After last night's episode, he and Scotty intended to take the war to the enemy – for war it had become, the moment the Blue Ghost had led them on the wild-goose chase ending with Rick in a deep quarry.

It was pure luck that Rick had not been hurt by the drop into the quarry. True, the ghost had led them to the side that dropped sheer into the water, but impact with the water after a fifty-foot drop was enough to cause damage if one landed in the wrong position. Rick had hit feet first, simply by chance.

Scotty looked at him as the car turned toward the picnic grounds. "Aren't we going to town?"

"Sure. But I want another look at the landscape."

"What do you expect to see?"

"I don't know," Rick admitted. "I'm just hoping for an idea."

He drove through the trees, across the picnic ground, and came to a stop before the mine shaft. There was no one in sight, and the grounds were just as they had left them.

Rick studied the scene, searching for anything offbeat, any anomaly. There was nothing, except for the iron pipe from which spring water flowed. That bothered him. Dr. Miller's explanation might be the right one, but he didn't really think so. If tailings from the mine had been dumped there, the hill would not be so steep or so regular. The years would have weathered the rock debris, but not to such a natural-looking formation.

"If they didn't dump the tailings there," he thought aloud, "where did they dump them?"

"Tailings?" Scotty prompted.

"Rock from the mine. Stuff with no ore in it, or such low-grade stuff that it was worthless."

"I see. Well, they didn't dump it in sight. But they couldn't have dumped it far from here. It wouldn't be sensible to cart worthless rock away any distance."

They hadn't used the tailings for roads around the mine. The roads were natural dirt, with good drainage and no sign of rock ballast. Rick tried to imagine another use, but couldn't, until Scotty spoke.

"Suppose they used up all the rocks throwing them at the Yankee soldiers?" Scotty asked whimsically.

The question started a train of thought that gave Rick the answer in a few seconds. "You've hit it. They didn't throw the rocks, but they used them against the Yankees. I'll bet on it. Come on."

He got out of the car and led the way through the trees to where the creek flowed on its quiet way. There were low embankments a few yards back from the water's edge. "There are the rocks."

"Where?" Scotty couldn't see them. "I don't see nary a rock."

"In the embankments, covered with dirt. See? There's a place where the dirt cover has been washed away by the rain. I've seen defenses like this before. They used rocks as a base, filled in the cracks with clay, then put dirt on top and planted grass to hold it. That gave them a permanent earthwork."

"Why plant grass?" Scotty wanted to know.

"To fool enemy reconnaissance, I guess. I can't think of any other reason, except to prevent erosion. In those days scouting was done by cavalry, and from the other side of the river these look like natural grassy banks."

Inspection of the embankment disclosed that Rick had guessed right. Scotty inspected the place where the rain had washed the topsoil away, probably because some careless picnicker had ruined the grass in that spot. The rocks were clearly of the kind in the mine.

Suddenly Scotty bent lower and began to pry at something. "Rick, there's something buried here."

Rick hurried to help out, and in a moment they had lifted away enough rocks to disclose a considerable amount of moldy cloth.

Scotty took a piece and shook it, then chuckled. "The answer is in the writing on the bag. Wilbur's Premium Portland Cement." He grew serious. "Only where was it used? I've seen no construction around here."

"Maybe someone brought picnic supplies in the bags and buried them with the garbage," Rick said.

"I doubt it. You can't get all the cement out of a bag, because the powder sticks in the fabric. If you try to wash it out, it only sets the cement."

Rick thought his pal probably was right. No one would use a cement bag for supplies, now that he thought about it. He looked up suddenly as a sound came through the trees. It was a motor, but a small two-cycle kind, like a scooter or a small motorcycle.

"Someone coming," he said. "Let's go see who it is."

Scotty held onto the bag. They walked back through the trees and into the camping ground in time to see a lanky, white-clad individual on a three-wheeled motor scooter – the kind where the driver sits on a cargo box – come to a stop. On the box were blue letters, dripping with white frost, that spelled FROSTOLA. Underneath the letters was a list of products: cream pies, frozen cones, cream sandwiches, icicles, and quarts and pints.

Although Rick had never heard of Frostola, it was immediately clear that this was an ice-cream vendor, of the kind that appears in swarms in warm weather with ringing bells and tooting horns, in trucks, on scooters, and even on bicycles.

The Frostola man gave them a cheery wave and tilted his white cap to the back of his head. "Hi! Where's the crowd?"

"We're it," Scotty answered. "Were you expecting more?"

"Wasn't expecting anything," the man retorted. "It's a nice day for a swim, so I thought I'd come sell refreshments to the swimmers."

"They're afraid of ghost fish," Rick said. "The place is haunted."

The man grinned. "I heard about the ghost. If he shows up I'll sell him a cream pie."

"Sell me one," Rick invited, and Scotty echoed the thought.

"Pleasure." The man got off the seat and Rick saw that he was over six feet tall, and built like a sapling. The boy also saw that he wasn't as young as he at first appeared. That was odd, because the peddlers on scooters were usually either very young or old.

The Frostola man opened the seat box and the boys looked in, at neat stacks of ice cream packaged in various ways. The stuff was kept frozen by slabs of dry ice wrapped in brown paper.

The cream pies were on a stick, and coated with chocolate, butterscotch, and vanilla with coconut. Rick paid for his selection and Scotty's, then commented, "It's a long way out here from town."

"Sure. But I enjoy the ride. It's a chance to get away from howling mobs of kids."

A strange comment from one who made most of his sales to kids, Rick thought. He noticed that the peddler was eying the bag Scotty had picked up, and was trying to be surreptitious about it. Anyone would be curious about someone carrying a moldy bag, but why try to conceal that curiosity? On impulse, Rick said, "There's a trash can, Scotty. Throw the bag away and let's go." To the peddler, he added, "We're doing our bit to keep the place clean."

"Good thing to do," the man admitted.

The boys got in the car. Rick turned it around and headed for town. The rear-view mirror told him that the Frostola man watched them until the trees hid them from view.

Rick said thoughtfully, "If you were anxious to make your fortune selling Frostola, where would you go to do it?"

Scotty grinned. "My thought exactly. I'd go where there are people. I'd either go up streets ringing my bell, or I'd park at an intersection where cars could stop. I wouldn't go to a deserted picnic ground – if I knew it was deserted."

"If he didn't know, he's a stranger here. Could he be a new man?"

Scotty shook his head. "A new man wouldn't know the way out here, and if he asked, he'd be told that people are staying away because of the ghost."

"True. Your thoughts are as lucid as Costin's Creek, ol' buddy. Also, he is not the typical ice-cream salesman, and he's not from around here. He's a little old for riding a scooter cart, and the look on his face and the way he carries himself are wrong. He doesn't fit the part. Besides, his speech isn't local. He's no more a Virginian than you are."

"He sounds more like a Yankee," Scotty agreed.

Rick sighed. "Well, we've got something, although I don't know what. Cement bags where there is no construction and an ice-cream man who doesn't fit the part. What do you make out of that?"

Scotty chuckled. "Simple. The Frostola man is building a secret ice-cream stand. A modern one, out of poured concrete walls. He's not building it where anyone can see it, because he doesn't want to be bothered by customers."

Rick grinned. "Okay, Hawkshaw. That's enough deduction for one morning. Take a look at that sky. Have you heard a weather report lately?"

Scotty glanced upward to where mare's-tails were making streaks across the sky. "Looks like a storm brewing. Why not turn on the radio?"

Rick did so, but there was only music from a nearby station, interspersed with local commercials. Before there was a chance to get a weather report they were rolling into town.

Lansdale was too small even to be called a "whistle stop," because no trains came near it. An interstate bus route passed through on the main highway, and that was the sole link with the towns to north and south, except for private cars.

Rick drove right up the main street. He saw a drugstore, an independent food market, a hardware-and-farm-supply store, a variety store, and two gas stations. On the outskirts of town was a huge farmers' market open only on Fridays and Saturdays.

The market was obviously the main center of trade for the farm people of the area. Lansdale would be very busy on Fridays and Saturdays, and just about abandoned, except for the few hundred people who lived in town, for most of the week.

He turned the car at the edge of town and drove back down the main street. Opposite the drugstore he found the sign he wanted. Jethro Collins, Real Estate and Notary Public. He parked in front of the house.

Collins had his office in what had once been the parlor of his own home. Rick could see him through the window, an enormously fat man in a white shirt and red suspenders. As Rick rang the bell, he yelled, "Well, come on in!"

Once inside, the bull voice was reduced in volume to fit the room, a small one, cluttered with photographs of houses.

"What can I do for you, kids?"

The question was not courteous. The tone said Collins was impatient at the interruption, that he was sure these kids would only waste his time, and that he hated kids and everyone else.

Rick thought he looked like a Chester White hog, only meaner, but he answered politely. "We've come from Dr. Miller's place, sir."

"So? Does he want to sell?"

"No, sir. Not without more information. If you could tell us the name of the purchaser …"

"I can. I won't. None of your business. If Miller wants to talk business he can come see me. Now get out."

The boys lingered. "You must admit that it was an unusual offer, sir. The price was rather high for worthless land."

Piggish eyes surveyed them. The bull voice grated, "Get out!"

They went. There was nothing else to do.

Scotty started to get into the car, but Rick stopped him. "Let's go to the drugstore. I want to get a spray can of insect repellent."

"Okay." Scotty chuckled. "You can see why Dr. Miller is not fond of Mr. Collins."

"I'm going to join the anti-Collins club as soon as we get back. Look, druggists know everything about their town. Let's see if we can find out if the Frostola man is new."

Rick opened the screen door and they went into a drugstore that had not changed substantially for half a century, except for the addition of modern sales items. The druggist, a wisp of a man, was friendly. They sat down at the marble-topped soda fountain and Rick asked, "Got any Frostola cream pies?"

"Don't carry them," the druggist replied. "They're sold only by the route man."

"I see you have a new man in this territory," Rick said casually.

Bright eyes inspected him through rimless glasses. "Fairly new. Seems all right."

"He's pleasant enough," Rick assented. "Has he been on the job long?"

"Six weeks, more or less."

The boys settled for cokes, then drove back to the Millers. Rick was pleased. They hadn't made much progress, but at least they had uncovered an interesting character in the new Frostola man. His arrival, according to the druggist, coincided with the appearances of the Blue Ghost. He traveled to the mine area when no customers could be found there. He was curious about a cement bag. He didn't fit the character of an ice-cream route man.

Rick headed straight for the picnic ground. There was no sign of the Frostola scooter, which meant the man had left right behind them, otherwise they would have met him on the road on the return trip.

On a hunch, Rick got out of the car and walked to the trash can where Scotty had put the cement bag. The bag was gone.

CHAPTER VIII
Plan of Attack

Rick awoke to the sound of wind, a sign that the storm traveling northward from the middle south was approaching. He groaned. If the storm arrived before nightfall, the annual Sons of the Dominion affair would be postponed.

After yesterday's events he had decided to drop the idea of spreading the word that he and Scotty were ghost watching, in the hope the ghost would appear for just the two of them. His new plan wasn't completely worked out, but it would be before long.

Scotty grinned at him from the other bed. "No night alarms last night. Guess the ghost couldn't find anyone to play with."

"Maybe tonight," Rick replied. "Come on, sack hound. Rise and shine. We have things to do."

Scotty glanced through the window at the sky. "We'd better do 'em quick, then. Barring a shift in the weather system, we're due for some fine squalls."

After an excellent breakfast of pancakes and genuine pepper-cured Virginia ham, Rick borrowed an empty jar from Mrs. Miller, checked all the flashlights available, and explained to the Millers the purpose of the trip.

"I'm going to get a sample of the water from the pool and try to see if there's anything strange about it, then I thought we'd take a closer look at the mine to see if we can trace that water pipe. It still worries me."

To his surprise, Barby and Jan hurriedly finished their breakfasts and announced they were going, too.

"You're going into that mine," Barby explained. "We're going to be waiting outside, and if you're not out within ten minutes, we're going to come home for help."

Rick was touched. Both girls believed in the ghost, Barby more than Jan, while he and Scotty were convinced that it was man-made in some way they didn't yet understand. It took courage for the girls to accompany them, even if they only planned to wait at the mine entrance.

"Okay," he agreed. "Let's go."

Dr. Miller offered, "Take the car. I don't like the looks of the weather and there's no point in your getting caught in the rain."

Rick accepted and in a moment the four young people were on their way. He saw that the sky was filled with haze, with only a glimpse now and then through the haze of flying scud. Something was on the way, all right.

"It's a tropical storm," Jan explained. "The morning weather report from Washington said it would strike northern Virginia this morning."

"And not long from now," Scotty commented.

By the time Rick had collected his first sample, a jarful of water from the pool mixed with a scraping of algae from the bottom, there was an ominous line of black clouds on the horizon.

He hurried to the embankment where Scotty had found the cement bags, his pal close behind him. The girls had waited in the car.

To his surprise there were no bags. Raw earth showed where they had been dug up.

"What do you make of that?" he asked.

Scotty shook his head. "I don't know. The Frostola man must have taken them, but I can't imagine why. Come on. Let's get out of here. This is no time to stand around wondering. That storm is close!"

"No mine for us this morning," Rick said. "Wonder if the rain will last long enough to cancel out the Sons of the Old Dominion, or whether we'll just have some thundershowers?"

"Time will tell. Let's go."

They beat the storm to the house by minutes. It arrived with a rattle of windows and the flash of lightning, followed by thunder that reverberated among the mountains endlessly. The rain came in blinding sheets, covering the windows with a steady flow of water that blocked all vision.

Rick set up his microscope on the kitchen table and plugged in the substage illumination. Then, while the others watched, he selected a well slide, took his pipette, and captured a drop from the jar of pool water. The drop went into the well slide. He put on a cover glass, then applied his eye to the ocular.

After a moment of focusing and shifting the well slide, the drop of water suddenly turned to a strange aquarium populated by fantastic animals. He watched, counting the species aloud. "Lots of paramecia. A Volvox. Two Stephanoceros. One hydra. Not bad for a single drop. Want to look, anyone?"

Everyone did. Rick waited while the girls exclaimed over the microscopic creatures, and Mrs. Miller remarked to her scientist husband, "And we drink that water?"

Dr. Miller smiled. "No, dear. We drink the water from the pipe. This sample came from the pool."

"But if the animals are in the pool, they must have come from the spring!"

The scientist shook his head. "The spring water is pure. It probably has a lower bacteria count than our well. But the pool water is exposed to the air, and provides an excellent breeding place. Most of these animals propagate from spores, which are in the air."

Rick added, "That's right, Mrs. Miller. When I want a culture I just put some water with a little broth in it out in the open for a day or so, then put it out of direct sunlight. Within seventy-two hours I have a bigger mob of animals than this in every drop."

"Then the Blue Ghost didn't hurt the water of the pool?" Scotty asked.

"Can't tell," Rick explained. "There was no permanent harm done by any chemicals. We can say that much. But you can get a collection like this in three days, and it's been that long since the ghost appeared. So these animals would be in the pool by now, even if the Blue Ghost had done something to adulterate the pool temporarily."

The storm punctuated his remarks with a gust of wind that rattled the windows.

"It's getting worse," Mrs. Miller exclaimed. "I do hope that it doesn't damage the little apples on the trees. They're so good. We're planning to have bushels shipped to Spindrift when they ripen."

Jan Miller brought them back to the subject. "How could chemicals be harmless to the little animals, Rick?"

"Chemicals might kill off those in the pool, but the constant dropping of spring water would soon dilute the solution. Or, some chemicals would combine with the oxygen in the water to form harmless salts. I can't be sure, of course. I'm just trying to think of ways the ghost might be produced."

Barby sniffed. "You're a long way from an answer, I'd say. Even if your old chemicals could make the white mist, they couldn't make the Blue Ghost appear and go through the business of getting shot!"

"Too true, Sis. I'm not claiming a thing. So far we have only some pretty wild speculation, plus an interesting ice-cream man, an offer to buy part of this property, and some missing cement bags. Old ones, too."

Barby had to smile. "If you can tie all those things together into a ghost, I'll type up your science project for free, and as many copies as you need!"

Rick grinned. "And if I don't?"

"I won't be surprised, but you can get me a new record album."

"Done. You've got a bargain." Rick turned to Dr. Miller. "There's one bit of information your tenant farmer, Mr. Belsely, can get for us that none of the rest of us can get. That is, do the real-estate agent and the ice-cream man know each other, and in particular, are they friendly? He could ask around town without causing suspicion."

"I'll ask him right now," Dr. Miller replied. He went to the telephone in the big farm kitchen and dialed. After a moment he said, "Clara?.. Is Tim there?" He waited, then said, "Tim, I have a little job for you… No, not that. Just asking a casual question around town… Tim… Hello …" He hung up and turned to the others. "The phone went dead."

Rick saw that his substage illumination was out, too. "So did the electricity."

Dr. Miller frowned. "It's unusual for both the phone and current to go out at once. That must mean a tree is down across the lines. Both lines cross the creek within a few feet about half a mile upstream."

There was nothing for it but to wait the storm out.

Rick and Dr. Miller resumed their chess tournament. Scotty spent the time making an improvised game of Yoot, an ancient Korean game that can be played almost anywhere, under nearly any circumstances. At its simplest, the Yoot board can be scratched in the dirt with a stick, and the Yoot throwing sticks that take the place of dice – or a spinning arrow – in similar Western games can be cut from a twig. Scotty sketched the board on a piece of cardboard from a box in which groceries had been carried and made the throwing sticks by splitting a piece of cane from an ancient cane chair in the woodshed. Checkers were used as counters, where in the outdoors pebbles would have served.

"It's like parcheesi," Scotty explained to the girls. "You try to beat your opponent around the spaces on the board. The four sticks get thrown into the air, and you can move one space for every stick that lands flat side up. If all four land flat side up, that's a 'yoot' and you get another throw on top of the four moves. You start, Barby, and I'll show you the other rules as we go along."

At lunchtime Mrs. Miller broiled hamburgers on the charcoal grill out in the woodshed, which connected to the kitchen. Then she used the glowing coals to make coffee in the old-fashioned way, putting the grounds directly into the pan of boiling water. Since the family coffeepot was an electric percolator, this was the only means she had.

Rick would have enjoyed it thoroughly were it not for his impatience to put his plan for catching the ghost into operation. It was certain by now that the affair at the picnic grounds was called off, but with radio and TV silent, there was no way of checking.

The storm continued through the afternoon and into the evening. Dinner was broiled steak, with a tossed salad. If the storm continued for a week, Rick told the group, they'd all get as fat as Collins from Mrs. Miller's charcoal cooking.

Over coffee he outlined the plan that had been stirring in his mind.

"We don't know the motive for the ghost's appearance yet. We don't know how he appears, either. But unless I'm way off, the Frostola man has something to do with it."

"I don't see how you can say that," Barby objected.

"It's an assumption," Rick admitted. "But what else have we but assumptions? We assume the ghost is man-made. All right. Who's the man? I give you Frostola, the product that produces ghosts.

"Seriously, we have to make some assumptions about our chase of the ghost. If it was a man, it was a tall one with some kind of lighted thing on his head. That wouldn't be hard to rig. Plastic comes in all shapes and sizes and colors, these days, including human heads that are used in store windows. It would be a cinch to rig up a flashlight bulb and battery inside one. Wouldn't take me five minutes if I had a little wire and a soldering iron."

"That's true," Dr. Miller agreed. "Making the Blue Ghost the boys chased would be absurdly easy."

"But leading us on took someone who was a good runner," Rick continued. "He also had to know his way around."

Jan Miller pointed out, "But he floated right over the quarry and you fell in."

"It wasn't like that," Scotty corrected. "We stopped because the ghost had vanished. It's not hard to see why. He switched off the light, walked around the edge of the quarry, then switched on again."

"That has to be it," Rick agreed. "Now, why try to lead us on like that? It was only an accident that Scotty and I didn't go in together, because his shoe needed tying. Otherwise, we'd both have been at the bottom of the quarry."

Dr. Miller shook his head, in bewilderment, not in negation. "You might very well have been hurt seriously or even killed. In which case people would have blamed the ghost. But why did the ghost do such a thing?"

Rick had wondered about this, too. "I can think of only one reason. The ghost can't stand investigation. He knew we were a menace because Scotty and I ran right up and tried to catch him that first night."

"But why did he tamper with your plane, or try to?" the scientist asked. "He couldn't have known about the alarm. You checked the plane, didn't you?"

"Yes. It wasn't touched, so far as we could see. Anyway, no harm was done. I can't imagine why he went for the plane, though, unless he figured on sabotaging us that way."

"You still haven't told us why you suspect the Frostola man," Barby pointed out.

Rick ticked off the points on his fingers. "He's new. He arrived just as the ghost started making appearances. But he's not so new that he hasn't had time to study the area or to make plans to lead nosy people to the quarry. He was at the picnic ground when there was no chance of selling much ice cream. He took the cement bags; we don't know why. He's tall and lean, so he could run fast enough to keep ahead of Scotty and me. He's also tall enough to qualify for the ghost we chased."

He stopped and took a deep breath. "And one more thing. He carries something that would make a marvelous mist for a ghost to appear in. Something that might harm the microscopic animals in the pool temporarily – although I'm not sure of this – but would be gone with the mist."

The others stared at him with complete interest.

Dr. Miller said softly, "Of course! Rick, that's brilliant. It fits perfectly!"

Jan Miller wailed, "What does?"

"Dry ice," Rick said.