The Rare Stamp Mystery. Mary Adrian

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      CHAPTER ONE

      The Package

      “Here comes the mail truck!” cried Skeet. He was holding a conference with his friends, Chris and Gayle, by the side of the road. They were trying to decide what to do that summer morning—fish, swim, hunt for fossils, or comb the town’s dump for treasures. But now that the mail truck had turned into the driveway of Macdonald farm where Skeet lived, the meeting quickly broke up.

      “It must be important mail to be delivered this early,” said Skeet, running after the truck with Chris and Gayle at his heels.

      The driver, a ruddy-faced man with sandy hair, brought the truck to a stop in front of the Red Barn, a restaurant run by the Macdonald farm owners. It was also their home since the old hayloft had been changed into living quarters: a bedroom for Skeet, one for his parents, and an enormous living room with a fireplace. The lower part of the barn, where there had been stalls for cattle, was now the restaurant. And the old milk room had been converted into a kitchen where Skeet’s mother baked the famous Macdonald pies.

      Now Skeet greeted the mailman with a warm smile. “Hi, Tom,” he said, and then looked curiously at the large package in the front of the truck.

      “I suppose you think the package is from your girl friend in Japan,” said Tom, wiggling a toothpick in his mouth and grinning at Skeet.

      Skeet often received mail from Japan, and the mailman liked to tease him about it. Skeet always laughed at the mailman’s comments, but now in front of Chris and Gayle it was a different matter.

      “She’s not my girl friend, Tom,” he protested. “She’s my cousin.”

      “Are you sure about that?” Tom picked up the package and stepped out of the truck, but he held the package in such a way that Skeet could not see the address on it.

      The suspense was too much for Skeet. “Please let me see the package, Tom. Please.”

      The mailman finally weakened. “It’s for your mom, Skeet, and it’s insured, so she’ll have to sign for it.”

      Skeet’s face fell with disappointment, but his eyes brightened when he saw the stamps on the package. “Boy! Am I in luck! A special-delivery stamp, three ten-cent stamps, and wow—a one-dollar stamp!”

      Skeet was an avid stamp collector and every piece of mail delivered to Macdonald farm was very carefully looked over by him for stamps. Never before had he made such a haul on one package.

      Chris was impressed, too, for he also collected stamps. “You lucky bum, Skeet. I wish someone would send my mom a package with a dollar stamp on it.”

      “Where is your mom, Skeet?” The mailman was getting impatient. “I have to get her signature.”

      “I’ll tell her,” said Skeet. He hurried into the Red Barn and went by the tables in the dining room on his way to the kitchen. Chris and Gayle followed him.

      The boys were the same age, ten years old, and looked more like brothers than just friends. They were dressed alike today: blue jeans turned up at the ankles and red polo shirts worn thin because they were the boys’ favorites.

      Gayle was a year younger than her brother Chris. She had soft, shiny brown hair that bounced whenever she ran. Gayle liked to run as much as she enjoyed jumping over fences and curling her long legs around tree trunks. But best of all she liked to eat in the Red Barn and sit at the table by the big window. Then she could watch the ducks swim in the brook and turn upside down when they searched for water plants. And she could see the tractor moving in the fields where Skeet’s father grew wheat and potatoes.

      Gayle stopped to look out the big window on her way to the kitchen with the boys. She was still standing there when the mailman came into the restaurant and asked Skeet’s mother to sign the slip for the package.

      After the mailman had gone, the children gathered around Mrs. Macdonald and watched her open it. She soon pulled out of the box a pink dress that her sister had knitted for her.

      “It’s beautiful, Mrs. Macdonald!” breathed Gayle.

      The boys were not interested in looking at the dress.

      “Come up to my room with me, Chris,” said Skeet. “I want to mount those new stamps in my album, especially the dollar stamp. You don’t see many of them nowadays. The big post offices use a postage meter, and only a small piece of paper with the amount of postage is pasted on the package.”

      The boys raced each other up the narrow stairway to Skeet’s room in the old hayloft. Then Skeet went to the bathroom and partly filled a glass with lukewarm water. He came back to his room, set the glass on his desk, and under the watchful eyes of Chris carefully placed the stamps in the water.

      “I’ll let them soak until they come loose from the wrapping paper,” he said. “Then I’ll peel them off with my stamp tongs and put them on clean paper to dry.”

      “I do that, too, when I take stamps off a package or an envelope,” said Chris, “but I’ll have to buy a pair of stamp tongs because I’ve spoiled some stamps by touching them with my fingers.”

      Skeet opened his desk drawer. “I have an extra pair. I’ll give them to you.”

      “Gee, thanks, Skeet.”

      By this time Gayle had come up to Skeet’s room. Seeing the stamp album on his desk, she pulled out a wallet from a pocket in her jeans. Then, much to the surprise of the boys, she waved three one-dollar bills in front of them.

      “Wow! Where did you get all that money?” asked Skeet.

      “I earned it,” answered Gayle proudly. “I’ve been walking Mrs. Brown’s dog and doing errands for her. Now I can buy a stamp album and start collecting stamps myself.”

      “Swell!” cried Chris, delighted that his sister was going to take up stamp collecting.

      Skeet was also pleased. “I’ll tell you what else to buy besides a stamp album.”

      Gayle smiled. “Thank you, Skeet. I already know.” Gayle had not only been watching the boys work on their stamp collections, but she had read a library book on the subject. “I’ll need a magnifying glass to really study my stamps,” she said. “I saw one in a store for a dollar and a half. And I’ll need some stamp hinges. They don’t cost much. You see, I don’t want to paste stamps in my album because the stamps tear when you take them out to trade or sell them. I’m going to use stamp tongs, too, when I handle my stamps. Then I’ll keep them nice and clean.”

      Skeet turned to Chris, amazed. “Boy, Gayle hasn’t missed a thing we’ve done on our collections.”

      “No, she hasn’t,” replied Chris, thinking that his sister was quite smart. “Skeet just gave me a pair of stamp tongs, Gayle. I’ll let you use them.”

      “Golly, I’ll save thirty cents! That’s what stamp tongs cost.” Gayle was getting very excited about starting her stamp collection. “Aunt Marie promised to look in her attic for some old letters for me,” she added. “Sometimes old envelopes have valuable stamps on them. I’ll give you a stamp, Chris, for letting me use the stamp tongs.”

      Skeet appeared so hurt that Gayle quickly said, “And I’ll give you a stamp too, Skeet, because you gave the stamp tongs to Chris.”

      “That would be great,” answered Skeet. “I’ll trade with you, too, Gayle. I have some Japanese stamps that you might like for your collection.”

      “Not the bird stamp,” protested Chris. “You promised to trade that one with me for the airplane stamp. Remember?”

      “Sure, I remember, but I have some duplicate stamps that my cousin sent me from Japan.”

      The conversation was interrupted by a loud voice coming from the restaurant below. “Anybody home?”

      Skeet knew immediately that it was Lefty, his grown-up friend who had been a famous baseball player.

      Lefty was a big man, six feet three inches tall. Ever since he had moved to Springdale he had taken an interest in Skeet