Chapter Five. A Boy Named Siddhartha!

“So what now?” Chip asked.

“We talk to Susie Charmin.”

“But Dad said…”

“We’re only going to talk to her.”

“But if we find a clue…?”

“Then we’ll have more information to bring to Dad.”

“And you think he’ll let us take the case then?”

“One thing at a time, Chip.”

“Boy! I sure hope we find that clue!”

Night had fallen. The boys tooled through the deserted streets of Balmy Bay and swung onto Patton Avenue. Although they’d been trained from a young age to be keenly observant—on the principal that you never know what detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant, might crack a case wide open—they were practically oblivious to what they saw, as Patton looked almost exactly like every other residential street in Balmy Bay. Maples arched over the street. Two-storied cottages loomed at the terminus of manicured lawns. Pontiacs and Chevrolets and Buicks reposed in every driveway. As they pulled up in front of the Charmin house the Colgate boy, Skip, whizzed past, having just completed his paper route.

The young woman who came to the door looked almost exactly like every other young woman in Balmy Bay as well. The pert nose and the perky gleam in her eyes. The jaunty pony-tail. The demure blouse and the skirt that fell just below the knees, the ankle socks and saddle shoes. The peppermint-scented breath. The boys wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Before they could even greet her a voice from within the house demanded, “Who is it, Susie? Isn’t it a little too late for your friends to come visiting?”

“It’s Flint and Chip Burly,” Susie called over her shoulder.

Mr. Charmin and Davy, Susie’s eleven-year old brother, appeared instantly at Susie’s side.

“Why, Flint and Chip Burly!” Mr. Charmin boomed. “What brings you boys here? Hot on the scent of another mystery?”

“Ha, ha,” Flint chuckled politely.

“Hiya squirt,” Chip said to Davy.

“I just finished reading The Mystery of the Crimson Foot!” Davy piped. “That means I’ve now read thirty-two of your books, each and every one packed with mystery and action!”

“Gosh!” Flint said. “You’ll have read them all in no time.”

“Not at the rate you boys keep solving new cases!” Davy said.

“Ha, ha!” Chip said.

Just as Mr. Charmin steered them into the house Mrs. Chairman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron.

“Look who’s here, dear!” Mr. Charmin said.

“Why, if it isn’t Flint and Chip Burly!” Mrs. Charmin said. “Can I get you boys some cold milk?”

The boys said that would be wonderful and Mrs. Charmin bustled back into the kitchen. The rest of them sat down. Flint admired the family portrait that hung over the mantle. Chip noted that the sofa they sank into was every bit as comfortable as the one at home. They both appreciated the nice song by the Lettermen wafting gently from the hi-fi.

“So tell me, Flintie-boy,” Mr. Charmin said. “Do you think the Balmy Bay gridiron squad will win another championship next year?”

“We will if I have anything to say about it!” Flint said.

“And Chippie-boy,” Mr. Charmin said, “I know we don’t see as much of you, being you’re a year younger, but I hear you really distinguished yourself on the track and field team this year.”

“Why, that’s nice of you to say so, sir,” Chip said.

When Mrs. Charmin returned with the milk Mr. Charmin got to his feet and said, “Well, we old fogies will leave you young people alone. Give my best to Slate, boys! Come on, Davy. I’ll beat you in a game of checkers.”

“That’ll be the day!” Davy cried.

Left alone, Susie regarded the brothers and said, “I bet you’re here to talk about Lucy, right?” When the boys nodded she went on. “Well, I don’t think I can help you, fellas. You see, Luce and I had a falling out days before her disappearance.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Flint said. “What happened?”

“Well, I’m sure you noticed her new…manner of dressing. But that only started the trouble. What really did it was that boy Siddhartha. He was just icky. Do you know that he liked to call himself a hippie?”

“A hippie!” Chip cried. “You mean like Herman’s Hermits?”

“Well…sort of. Except he was just a creep. That Herman is such a dreamboat!”

“Sufferin’ swordfish!” Chip said. “Why do our red-blooded American gals always go ape for these English moptops?”

“How was this Sid a ‘creep,’ Susie?” Flint asked, with a sharp look at his brother that Chip had learned over the years meant to rein in his impetuousness.

“The way he dressed. The way he smelled. The horrid music he liked to play on the guitar. The fact that he even played a guitar!”

“Do you think Lucy might have run away with him...or run to get away from him?”

“I don’t know, fellas. While it’s true that she was really gone on him, who in their right mind would run away with a boy like that? Especially with the annual Start of Summer Sock Hop coming up!”

“Do you have any idea where they might have headed?”

Susie looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder. There was this song she was always listening to…”

“By the Mamas and the Papas?” Chip put in.

“Oh, no. Luce didn’t like them at all.”

“Did Sid?” Flint asked.

“Sid? Not a chance. I remember him saying once that he thought they were square. ‘Like square, man.’ That’s the way he talked. A real creep, I tell you.”

“Do you have any idea why Lucy might have one of their records?”

“Luce? I can’t imagine Luce having one of their records!”

“Let’s get back to that song you were going to tell us about…” Flint prodded.

“Right. It was this song about going to San Francisco and that if you went there you should wear flowers in your hair.” Susie crinkled her nose and added, “Isn’t that silly?”

“It sure is!” Chip said.

“But anyway, the reason I’ve been thinking about it, is that I once saw Luce picking pansies at McCarthy Park and putting them in her new braids. Just like in the song!”


“Picking flowers in the city park?” Flint gasped. “But…but that’s against the law!”

“Galloping jeepers!” Chip cried. “Everything else we’ve heard about Lucy was just strange. But…breaking the law! That sure doesn’t sound like the Lucy Diamond we knew!”

Flint had recovered his wits. “So you think she and Sid might have gone to San Francisco?”

“I can’t really say, fellas. But it’s the only place I can think of.”

The boys thanked Susie, called a farewell to the rest of the Charmin clan, and took their leave.

“So what do you say, Flint?” Chip asked. “Is that the clue we were looking for?”

“I’m not sure,” Flint said. “But I’m thinking. Maybe we should run all this past Chief Chalk before we talk to dad.”

“But the cherry pie will get cold!”


“Forget about the cherry pie, you knucklehead. We’re on the scent of a mystery here!”

Chip smiled ruefully. “Jeepers. I’m starting to sound like Jelly Roll Horton!”

It was a short drive to the police station. The boys were relieved to find Chief Chalk was still on duty and were shown into his office without delay.

“Flint and Chip Burly!” the chief cried when he saw them. “What can I do for you boys?”

Breathlessly, Flint blurted out the news. “We think we know what might have happened to Lucy Diamond, Chief Chalk!”

Chief Chalk narrowed his eyes. “Lucy Diamond, you say?”

“That’s right, chief,” Chip said. “Flint and I have discovered that she fell under the malig…the malig…”


“Malignant,” Flint finished.

“That’s right!” Chip cried. “The maligananent influence of a boy named Siddhartha Schwartz!”

“Ah, yes,” Chief Chalk said, nodding his grizzled head. “The Commie.”

“Don’t you mean hippie, sir?” Flint asked.

“No, I mean Commie. As in, dirty Commie. As in, we should bomb them all from the face of the earth Commie! I pegged him for what he really was the moment Mrs. Diamond, poor soul, told me about him.”

“Gosh. I hadn’t put that together,” Flint said.

Chief Chalk sighed. “There are mighty forces out there, son. I’m sure you’ve heard them whispered about. Forces devoted to undermining our American way of life. Infiltration, propaganda, and brainwashing are only a few of the tools they have mastered in order to carry out their ends.”

Chip’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Why, that’s what our dad said!”

“Word for word, I believe!” Flint added.

“Yes, your father knows the score, if any man does. He knows that the insidious threat of Communism—foul, virulent, parasitic—lurks over our cherished way of life from behind every bush, poised to strike at the unwary!”

“And you think…?”

Chief Chalk shook his head. “I know, son.”

“Tell him about San Francisco, Flint!”

“That’s right,” Flint said. “We have reason to believe that boy lured Lucy to San Francisco!”

Chief Chalk was frowning. “What makes you boys think that?”

Flint told him about the song prescribing the wearing of flowers in the hair, and how Lucy was seen sporting pansies in hers before she disappeared, but omitted any mention of Lucy having purloined the flowers from the park. He was not in the habit of withholding evidence of a crime from the police, but he felt that in this case poor Lucy was already in enough trouble without bringing a misdemeanor charge to bear.

The chief sighed. “I’m sad to hear that, Flint. “If she’d gone anywhere else, I might hold out hope. But San Francisco? I’ll alert their police force, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Sometimes I wonder if that whole city—no, if the entire state of California—wasn't invaded while we slept!”

“Tell him about the man in black, Flint!” Chip suggested.

“Oh, yes,” Flint said. And he proceeded to tell the chief about the man who had first run Chip off the Old Coast Road and later acted suspiciously at the Diamond residence.

“And you say he drove a black car?” the chief pressed. “And that he was dressed all in black?”

“That’s right, sir!”


“And tell me,” the chief said. “Did he wear dark sunglasses as well?”

“Why, however did you know?” Chip cried.

The chief was smiling now. “It all fits,” he said musingly. “If you boys are correct, and this Schwartz boy transported Lucy across state lines, well…guess whose jurisdiction that falls under?”

Now both the boys’ eyes were wide as saucers. “Why, the FBI’s!” they cried in chorus.

“That’s right, boys. The good old FBI!”

“Why, those guys are our heroes!” Flint said.

“Did you know that dad once helped Mr. J. Edgar Hoover himself crack a very important case?” Chip cried.

“That I did, son. The Clue of the Hissing Typewriter, it was called.”

“That’s the one!” Flint said.

Chief Chalk leaned toward the boys from behind his desk. “Can I give you a word of advice, boys?”

“Of course, sir,” said Chip.

“Forget about this case. With summer vacation just around the corner, during which you routinely help solve many cases, surely something will come up to keep you occupied at your sleuthing. But leave this one to the big boys. Can I count on you lads to do that?”

The boys hesitated a moment. Then they looked at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. As one they said, “Sure thing, chief.”

The brothers were silent as they walked from the police station to their motor bikes. Only as Flint mounted his bike did he speak. “The chief’s right, Chip. We may routinely cross paths with extortionists, safe-crackers, and ivory poachers, but what chance do we, a couple of boy detectives, have against the international menace of Communism?”

Chip shook his head. “I hate to admit it. But not much, I guess.”

They revved their engines, looking dour. Then, seeing the disappointment in his brother’s eyes, Flint forced a smile. “So what say we go home,” he yelled, “and have some of Aunt Hortense’s fresh baked cherry pie?”

“And some cold milk!” Chip called with a laugh.

And with that they pointed their motor bikes homeward.