Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
At the same time two gunshots rang out. Behind the bearded man, a man in a dark blue suit was running as if his life depended on it.
Chasing after him, with an automatic pistol, was Edwin Squinder.
"Stop him!" Callie screamed. She lunged forward.
"No, Callie! He's got a gun!" Frank yelled. Ignoring Frank, and pushing aside the bearded man, Callie ran straight for Squinder. Shoppers screamed and hit the floor as Squinder ran past them. His face was twisted with grim determination, his eyes focused on the man in the suit. He didn't even see Callie as she stuck out her foot in his path.
"Wh - o - o - oa!" Squinder let out a helpless yelp as he stumbled against Callie's foot. He tumbled onto the floor, and his gun went flying into the air. Huddled against the store windows, the shoppers gasped in horror.
"Cut!" a voice rang out. "Who's the girl?" "I don't know, Jerry!" the bearded man by the elevator said. "She ran right past me!" Callie looked around. Bright white lights shone down on her from all corners of the mall. Sm along the floor were thick electrical cords, and groups of people laughed at her from behind TV cameras. One of them screamed out, "I think we should keep it, Jerry! She's great!"
"Okay, break!" the first voice said impatiently. "Clear the area, will you? We'll shoot again at ten."
Murmuring and snickering, the shoppers got up from the floor and walked over to a table full of snacks and soft drinks.
Callie gulped. Her face turned red as the bearded man approached her. "Okay, kid, you just broke up our scene and made me look like a fool. When are you people going to realize this is no way to get yourself on TV?"
"Sorry, sir, but I thought — I thought — "
"Never mind! Just don't let me see you after the break, okay?"
As the bearded man stormed off, Callie turne to Frank at her side. He patted her shoulder! "Anyone could have made the same mistake Callie. If you hadn't reacted so quickly, I would have been the one to disrupt the shooting."
At once they became aware of Squinder standing behind them. "Still you hound me!" he said his voice edged with fury.
Frank turned around calmly and said, "It was a mistake, Mr. Squinder. You see — "
"I see plainly enough!" Squinder said between clenched teeth. "First of all, it's Grant around here — Tyrone Grant. But revealing my real name is part of it, I'm sure. Part of your master plan to ruin my career!"
"I wouldn't throw accusations around if I were you, Squinder," Frank said. "Not before we find out why you conspired to kill Tessa Carpenter at her party the other night!"
At that, Squinder's eyes bulged open. He clutched his chest with one hand and staggered back. "You vile, evil juvenile delinquent! How dare you accuse me — "
"After all, who did we find lurking around the side of the mansion with a revolver after the lights went out? Lurking near the pathway that leads to the circuit breakers in the basement, I might add!"
"Circuit breaker? What?" "Not to mention finding your little silver-plated revolver in the woods of the Cliffside Country Club yesterday, just after Tessa was shot at!" "Young man, you wound me to the quick! If my professional pride weren't at stake, I'd — I'd ive you a sound thrashing! As for the country club, I was here all day — yes, I know it was Sunday, but they had to make up for a rainy day—waiting for a turn to play my meager role." He grabbed a sheet of paper from a nearby table. "Here, for your information, is yesterday's attendance sheet."
Frank read, "Grant, Tyrone. In: 7:30 a.m. Out: 6:35 p.m."
"I don't know why I should even dignify your other complaint, but I most certainly was not in the Carpenter mansion on the night of that depraved party!"
"You just happened to stop by that night, right?. And despite all the people around, you thought you might get away with sneaking into the servants' cottage for your gun—'
"A loud party would be the best cover for my entry into that cottage, sir."
"Five minutes, everybody! Five minutes!" a voice called out.
Squinder looked at his watch and groaned! "I'm wasting much, too much time with you two. Now will you please excuse me? You've already destroyed an otherwise marvelous day - "
Without waiting for an answer, Squinder walked toward the refreshment table. -
"I still don't trust him," Frank said. "Frank, let's get out of here," Callie replied "I don't think Squinder's about to give us any more information."
The elevator door whooshed open behind them, and they stepped inside. This time they were all alone.
"Okay," Frank said. "Here's the plan. I need to follow up some other leads today, but I think someone had better keep an eye on Squinder. Would you do that?" Callie nodded eagerly.
"Keep track of every thing — phone calls, meetings, any strange behavior. Follow him to his house. But make sure he doesn't recognize you."
"How can I do that?"
The elevator opened on the parking lot. Frank went to the van and opened the sliding door. He looked both ways, then lifted up a floor panel. Underneath was a hold, jam-packed with equipment. He pushed aside a small camera, a laptop computer, a box of diskettes containing a crime data base, a cellular mobile phone, and some Magnetic metal disguise panels for the van.
"Ah, here it is," he said. He opened a box and filled out a pale green uniform.
"Here's a worker's coverall. It'll be big, but if you put it on and cover your head with this," — he pulled out a beat-up baseball cap — "I think you'll be all right. You can collect papers and trash." He gave her a heavy-duty plastic bag. "I've always loved high fashion," Callie said. She took the clothes and walked toward a nearby women's room. "Wait here while I change." When Callie emerged from the women's room, the sleeves and legs of the uniform rolled up nice, Frank had to stifle a laugh. "You'd better vatch out," he said. "The TV director may hire you for comic relief."
"Just what I need, encouragement!" Callie said. She tossed Frank her bundle of clothes and headed for the elevator.
Frank drove out of the lot, in the direction of Bayport Museum. At the top of Cobb's hill in the center of town, he stopped for a red light. His mind wouldn't stop racing. Now that Callie was taking care of Squinder, he began to think about Ruppenthal. There were too many loose ends — there had to be a way to get him to answer questions.
He was almost too involved to see a familia car parked just beyond the top of the hill. A fier red Lamborghini.
Frank pulled up behind it, just as someone came out of a nearby convenience store, carrying a huge stack of newspapers.
Thump. The newspapers were dropped by the side of the car, revealing Harley.
Frank gave a couple of taps on his horn and climbed out of the van. "Hi!"
Harley looked at him without expression. "Was driving by and saw Tessa's car," Frank continued. "I guess it's fixed!"
"Yes, they fixed it Saturday actually. Surprisingly it needed very little work. She wanted to go out and get it herself, but her 'bodyguard' though! she should stay in." Harley sneered at the worij bodyguard.
"That's an awfully quick body shop!"
"The best. You get what you pay for, you know."
"What's with all these newspapers?" "What's with all these questions? Tessa's on the front page again today, so she wanted afew things, all right?" Harley opened the car door and tossed the keys on the dashboard.
Frank chuckled and tried to make a joke. Wow, she's demanding. I guess she wants one car every room in the house, huh?" Harley stood up and came face to face with Frank. "Well, you don't seem to mind it when she demands your attention." "Hey, I was just kidding, Harley. Here, let me help you with the newspapers." Frank leaned down and began to load papers into the car. "Get your head out of Tessa's car," Harley snapped. "I don't need your help."
"Easy, Harley, I didn't mean anything — " "That does it! I've had enough of you." He gave Frank a push — a push that normally would have only rocked him back on his heels. But trussed up against the Lamborghini, he lost his glance and fell into the front seat. Harley dove in after him, fists flying. Frank tried to swing back, but there was no room to Maneuver between the dashboard and the backs if the bucket seats. He grabbed Harley's arms and thrust him backward against the steering wheel. The car horn squawked as Harley's back hit the edge of the wheel. His dark eyes blazing, Harley tried to pull Frank up and jam him against the opposite door.
But Frank yanked an arm loose and put a headlock around Harley. Trying to squirm free, Harley jammed his knee against the emergency brake. With a click, the brake released.
As Frank and Harley fought inside, they were too busy to notice that the car was beginning to roll down the hill. Too busy to notice it was heading straight for gas tanker stopped at a red light below!
Struggling to break free, Harley fell off the front seat onto the floor. It was in that moment that Frank finally noticed the tanker.
"What the — we're moving!" Taking advantage of the distraction, Harley grabbed at Frank's collar.
"Get over it quick, buddy," Frank said as he renched himself free of Harley, "we're in big trouble."
Heooonk! Heooonk! By now the truck driver was blowing his horn, trying desperately to avoid the accident he saw coming in his rear-view mirror.
The front of the Lamborghini was a tangle of hands and legs. There was no chance Frank could get up and put on the foot brake in time. The tanker loomed larger and larger through the windshield. Frank yanked up on the emergency brake. SCCCRRREEEEEEK! The car jerked violently, throwing Harley and Frank into the dashboard. But then it continued rolling, as if nothing had happened.
"We burned out the hand brake!" Frank said. The tanker was now fifteen feet away, still stuck! at the red light. Both of its doors flew open. Screaming, the driver and his partner ran for the sidewalk.
There was only one chance. Frank to reach behind him and grabbed the steering wheel. He pushed hard to the left.
The wheel moved a few inches, then clicke and stopped. The car swerved only slightly.
"It locks when there's no key in the ignition!" Harley shouted, sweat pouring from his brow. He reached down on the floor for the brake.
But it was too late for the brake. Frank felt his hair starting to stand on end as the car sped toward the tanker's left side. Then he remembered the keys on the dashboard. He grabbed them as Harley reached for the door handle. "Get off me!" he cried. "Let me jump!"
Frank jammed the key in and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this.
A shudder pulsed through the car as he turned the key. It was still moving. Frank shoved his body against the wheel and opened his eyes. Through the right window he saw the side of the tanker whooshing safely by, maybe two inches away.
Harley lifted his head. Together, he and Frank looked in the rear-view mirror. The car had sailed past the intersection just as the light turned green. Peeking out from the side of a brick storefront were the tanker's driver and passenger.
With plenty of time to step on the brake now, Frank brought the car to a stop in the left lane. "D - drive us to the side of the s - street, okay?" Harley said, unable to stop his voice from shaking.
Harley fanned himself with a newspaper as Frank pulled up to the curb. "Thanks," he said softly.
"It's the least I could do, after the new body work," said Frank. "You may want to replace the emergency brake, though."
Harley smiled weakly. "You saved my life. How can I ever — " "Repay me?" said Frank with a smile. "Well, you can start by being a little more friendly. We're in this together, you know."
Harley sighed. "Sorry, Frank. I guess I've been letting my jealousy show. But it seems that every time I turn around some guy is falling madly in love with my girlfriend." "Look, Harley, I'm not in love with Tessa. I already have a girlfriend. And besides, the most important thing now is that someone is trying to kill her. If you really care that much for her, why don't you help us out?"
Harley looked stunned. "I'm trying to, by keeping an eye on Tessa."
"That's my brother's job. And I wouldn't worry about him. He gets that way with a lot of girls, and he's given up on Tessa by now." "So what else do you want me to do?" "Follow me to the Bayport Museum and help me pin down Ruppenthal. I could use some support."
Before Harley could answer, Frank hopped out of the car and ran back up the hill to his van. He passed the tanker and glanced up at the driver, who looked as if he wanted to kill him.
"Got to get those brakes fixed!" said Frank with a cheerful wave. He continued to run, without looking back.
***
Harley nervously fingered his hair as he followed Frank into the museum. "Look, Frank, I'm no detective, but I really think we ought to get back to the mansion. Tessa needs us. Besides, she's probably worrying about where I am."
"This won't take long," Frank answered. "We're just going to ask Ruppenthal a few more questions. Keep the heat on him."
"Personally, I don't think a wimp like Ruppenthal is very dangerous. Besides, he says he's found his agreement."
"Look, Harley, let me do the detective work. All you have to do is look menacing. Try hard."
With that he turned and walked through the museum door. Harley scowled as he followed behind.
Frank led him through the main hallway and into the outer office. The receptionist looked up from his computer. "Here to see Mr. Ruppenthal?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.
"Yes," Frank said, bluffing. "I'm Frank Hardy. I have an appointment."
The man turned back to his keyboard. "Why don't you take a seat in his office? He had an appointment, but I'm expecting him shortly." Harley followed Frank into the empty office, where they both sat down.
"The museum looks ridiculous without that artwork, doesn't it?" Frank said. Harley nodded absentmindedly. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, and he clenched and unclenched his fingers.
Finally he threw his hands in the air and stood up. "He's probably gone for the day. This is a total waste of time." He loosened his collar, looking around. "Let's go. This whole thing gives me the creeps." Just then the silence was broken by the sounds of a door opening and footsteps in the hallway, the receptionist's voice chimed out, "First door on the left."
Harley spun around anxiously to face the door. "It's not Ruppenthal," he said.
The footsteps stopped. Two very large men in drab brown suits filled the doorway. "We were just leaving," Harley said in a choked voice, staring up into a broad, craggy face with a stubbly beard.
Without saying a word, the man stepped forward and grabbed Harley by the collar.
"No! No!" Harley sputtered as the man picked him up and threw him against Ruppenthal's desk. Harley let out a yell and fell onto the floor.
Instantly Frank sprang up from his chair into a karate stance. The hulking man faced him with a sinister grimace—and reached into his jacket.
"Hey, hey!" the other man called out to his partner. "What are you doing, stupid? Neither of these guys is Ruppenthal. They're way too young!"
The first man grunted and put his arm down. "Where's the big guy, punk?" he said to Frank.
"It looks as though he's left for the day."
The man lifted a clenched fist. "I'm not sure I believe you," he growled. But his partner grabbed him by the shoulder and said, "Come on, don't waste your time on this peach-fuzz! were given bum information — let's get out of here!"
The men turned around and strode out of the doorway, leaving the scent of stale cigarett smoke in the room. '
"Are you all right?" Frank asked.
Harley rose to his feet, one hand massaging his ribs. "Is this a normal day in your line of work?' he asked with a pained look on his face.
"More or less," Frank answered, his mind already racing on to other things. "Ruppenthal's obviously in trouble with somebody — but who?"
"I couldn't even guess. Do you know what that goon was reaching for in his jacket?" Harley asked. "It wasn't — "
"A gun?" Frank smiled. "Why else would someone like that be reaching for his armpit? I don't think he was putting on deodorant."
"Look, Frank, I really don't think we should hang around here. What if they come back?" Frank looked at his watch. "You're right. It's four-thirty anyway — Ruppenthal probably has gone home by now." He looked around on Ruppenthal's desk and pulled an envelope out from a stack of papers. "Here's his home address, in Short Neck. That's the next town over, just past the Carpenter mansion."
Harley shook his head violently. "I will absolutely not go with you to this man's house. I'll drive with you in that direction, but I plan to turn Tessa's driveway—and don't try to talk me out of it!"
"Fine," said Frank with a shrug of the shoulders. "I'll follow you. Maybe my brother will change places with you for a little while." Frank quickly copied down Ruppenthal's address, then he and Harley whisked out of the place, past a bewildered receptionist.
Within minutes the van and the Lamborghini were on their way to the Carpenter mansion.
As Frank drove up the driveway, the first thing he noticed was a black car parked at the top. He pulled up behind it and saw the MD license plate.
"Hello, boys! Where's Tessa?"
Frank turned to see Dr. Lansdale waving from the front door of the mansion.
Harley parked the Lamborghini and jumped out. "She was with Joe when I left. They were supposed to stay here."
Dr. Lansdale looked puzzled. "Well, the front door was open when I arrived, but I can't find them."
Frank and Harley gave each other a surprised look. "Why don't I check the grounds while you cover the house," Frank suggested. Harley agreed, and Frank went over to the garage.
All four doors were open. Lawn equipment and a collection of barbecue grills were scattered across half the garage. The other half was totally empty.
They must have taken the other car, Frank thought. He ran back toward the mansion, only to see Harley rushing out the front door.
"The dagger! The dagger!" he blurted.
"What?" said Frank. "What happened to it?"
Harley's eyes were wide open in fear. "It's gone!"