The Cold Cash Caper, page 1
Contents
* * *
1. Wipeout
2. Finger of Suspicion
3. A Warning
4. Deadly Missiles
5. Hit and Run
6. Timber!
7. Runaway
8. Seeing Stars
9. Close Shave
10. A Near Miss
11. Thin Ice
12. Kidnapped!
13. Clue from the Past
14. Confrontation
15. The Front Row
1 Wipeout
* * *
“All right!” Joe Hardy cheered as he climbed behind the wheel of his van. “A three-day weekend! There’s snow on the ground, the winter festival is starting, and there’s no school until next Tuesday. Is this for real?”
Frank Hardy, who at eighteen was a year older than Joe, brushed the snowflakes out of his dark hair. He shivered as he glanced through the windshield at the thick layer of clouds up in the sky.
“What’s up, Frank?” Joe asked his brother. “You seem kind of bummed.”
“Not bummed—just frozen solid. Crank up that heater, will you?” Frank said. “Doesn’t February feel like the longest month of the year?”
“That’s just your imagination,” Joe said with a laugh. “You’ll forget all about the weather by tonight when the winter festival starts,” he said, backing out of the parking space. “I can’t wait to get out on the ice.”
Frank grinned. “You won’t be saying that when you see me fly past you on the race course.”
“Good luck, bro. We both know I’m the speed-skating champion around here. Hey,” Joe said, changing the subject as he pulled out of the school’s parking lot. “Why do you think Dad called school and told us to come straight home?”
“Who knows?” Frank said with a shrug. “But it must be important. Maybe he wanted to give us last-minute instructions before he leaves for his crime seminar in New York.”
Frank was proud of the name their father had made for himself as a private detective. Frank and Joe had learned a lot from their dad and put it to good use solving some of Bayport’s most puzzling crimes.
“When Dad was talking about the newest methods of DNA testing last night, I almost wished I was going with him,” Frank added. “We should be up on the latest techniques.”
Joe stopped at a red light. “What? And miss all the fun at the winter festival?”
“I said almost. No way I’d miss the cross country skiing event,” Frank said. “I have to beat you at something!”
Since they were so close in age, Frank and Joe always had a friendly competition going. Where Joe was blond-haired and quite muscular, Frank had dark hair and a slighter build, though he was an inch taller. Each one had his special talents, and when it came to solving mysteries, they worked together as a team.
The snowfall had thickened considerably by the time Joe pulled into the driveway in front of the Hardy home. An intense aroma of baking cookies greeted them as they hurried into the house.
“We’re back here, boys,” Laura Hardy, their mother, called.
In the kitchen, Gertrude Hardy, their father’s sister, was pulling a pan of cookies from the oven. Her expression was worried and upset as she looked at the baking sheet.
“What’s the matter, Aunt Gertrude?” Joe asked. “Did something go wrong with your world-famous chocolate-chip cookie recipe?”
“Heavens no,” Aunt Gertrude said with a laugh. “Leona Turner loves them so much, she insisted I bake another five dozen.”
Frank glanced at the mound of boxes and tins that other volunteers had dropped off. “Looks to me like you’ve already got enough cookies to feed all of Bayport.”
“My point exactly,” Aunt Gertrude said. “If Leona Turner runs her gift shop the way she does the booths, it’s no wonder she’s broke all the time. She does tend to get a little carried away.”
Joe reached for a cookie, while Frank poured them both glasses of milk. Frank was just taking a big bite out of a cookie when his father, Fenton Hardy, walked into the kitchen. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. All at once, both Frank and Joe started asking him why he’d called them at school.
“One at a time,” Fenton said, holding his hands up. “I’ve got some news I think you’ll like. Ron Smithson, the festival director, called me. It seems that David Kennedy, the figure-skating star they booked for the closing ceremonies, is tired of the media poking microphones in his face. He wants to be with kids his own age for a change. Smithson wants you to act as Kennedy’s escort while he’s in town—pick him up at the airport and show him the sights.”
“David Kennedy wants us to hang out with him?” Frank said in disbelief. “The winter festival just got about ten times more exciting.”
“No kidding,” Joe agreed. “Do you remember how he came from behind to win the gold medal in the last Olympics? His trademark triple axel is truly awesome.”
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t throw a tantrum while he’s here,” Frank added, remembering that Kennedy was also known for his bad behavior. “Didn’t he trash his hotel room in London a while back?”
“He’s pulled some crazy stunts,” Fenton said. “Once he failed to show up for a performance. He had to find himself a new coach after that.”
“He also loves to argue with the judges at competitions,” Frank added. “And I’ve heard sometimes he refuses to give out autographs.”
Joe shoved down another cookie. “Who cares about his manners?” he said, his mouth full. “It’s going to be incredible just to hang out with the guy.”
“I’m glad you’re excited,” Fenton said with a smile. “His plane arrives tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
Laura Hardy reminded her husband that their train to New York was due to leave in a half hour. Fenton and Laura were heading out the front of the house just as Frank and Joe’s friend Chet Morton walked in through the back door.
“Bet you can’t guess who’s gonna be riding on the lead float in the festival parade,” Chet announced, red-faced and excited.
Joe grinned. “And I bet you’re going to tell us anyway.”
“Check it out!” Chet turned sideways and held a hand above his eyes, as if trying to see through a thick fog. “That’s Washington crossing the Delaware, just in case you guys flunked history.”
“We got it,” Frank said. “We got it.”
Chet dropped the pose and sniffed the air. “Sure does smell good in here.”
“Cookies are on the table. Help yourself, George,” Aunt Gertrude said with a smile. Then she took off her apron, straightened her suit, and turned to the boys. “I’m late for the committee meeting. Would you mind dropping off these cookies and cupcakes at the recreation center when you get to the park?”
“No problem,” Frank said.
Frank and Joe were going over to the festival to practice speed skating. Chet agreed to come along, and all three boys loaded the van with Aunt Gertrude’s cookies.
Climbing into the back of the van, Chet said, “I’ll make sure none of these boxes slide around too much.”
As Frank pulled away, Chet gulped down the last of his cookies and lifted the lid of the nearest box. “Wow! Chocolate cupcakes. What else is in here?”
Frank turned to Joe. “Maybe you should trade places with Chet.”
“Good idea,” Joe teased. “We wouldn’t want to deliver a bunch of empty boxes.”
“Very funny,” Chet said grumpily. Because he was big, everyone liked to kid Chet about his appetite. “Can I help it if your aunt makes the best cookies this side of the Mississippi? Hey! I almost forgot. Have you seen the festival brochure? They added something new this year—a tubing hill. You know, you sit in the middle of a big truck inner tube and slide down the hill. I can’t wait to try it out.”
“Sounds like fun,” Frank said.
“Hanging out with David Kennedy is the best thing about this whole festival,” Joe said.
“You mean David Kennedy the skater? The Olympic athlete?” Chet asked excitedly.
“You got it,” Joe said, and explained to Chet what he and Frank had been assigned.
“Incredible,” Chet said. “I’m going to add his autograph to my collection.”
“Whoa, Chet. Time out,” Frank said. “The reason we’ve been assigned the job of escorting Kennedy is because he’s tired of being mauled by the media and by fans.”
“Yeah,” Joe added. “Try to be cool around him. Treat him just like any other kid. That’s what he wants and what we’re going to deliver.”
“Okay,” Chet said. “No problem.”
Only a few large flakes were still falling by the time Frank stopped for a red light at the corner of the park. The cross street, Park Avenue, was closed to traffic for the festival. Huge blocks of ice lined the sidewalk, ready for the ice-sculpting contest. Booths featuring crafts and hot food and drinks were already set up in the street. Even though the festival games hadn’t started yet, the booths were doing a brisk business with people coming to check out the fairgrounds. The light turned green, and Frank drove along the edge of the park. On his left was the city auditorium. Just before the road curved sharply to the left, Frank turned right into the parking lot.
“Too bad someone didn’t decorate that.” Chet pointed to the dilapidated Bradford mansion, hovering like a vulture on top of Bayport’s tallest hill. “It gives me the creeps.”
The estate’s sizable yard, neglected for years, sloped down to abut the edge of the park. Pa
There was still about an hour of daylight left for the boys to get in some practice on the ice. They jumped out of the van, loaded their arms with boxes and tins, and headed to the recreation center. Along the way, Frank saw people busy stringing gold lights in the trees and hanging brightly colored banners from the lampposts. From the stables, he could hear the sounds of sleigh bells and neighing horses.
The recreation center was an old indoor skating rink, located on a slight hill next to the lake. Many of the festival booths were located inside the building. The boys carried the boxes inside and delivered them to a booth where Aunt Gertrude’s coworkers were busy setting out cakes and cookies. After saying a quick hello, Frank, Joe, and Chet went back to the van for a second load.
When they reached their van, a car pulled into the slot next to them. Joe was busy gathering boxes and tins and didn’t pay any attention until a sneering voice sliced through the wintry chill.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Joe Hardy, the hotshot hockey player from Bayport High.”
Joe spun around so fast he almost dropped the boxes in his hands. “Oh, it’s you, Thompson. I should have known.”
Craig Thompson was a little shorter than Joe and husky like Chet. Thompson was eighteen, Frank’s age, and goalie for Bayport’s rival, Cross Town High. Less than a week earlier, Joe had racked up a hat trick against him, scoring three goals and winning the championship game for Bayport. Thompson was furious at the time, and he vowed to Joe he’d get even.
As Thompson tied the laces of his skates together and hung them over his shoulder, he gritted his teeth so hard a muscle twitched in his square jaw. “I hope you entered the speed sprint, Hardy. Everyone will see what a phony you are when I come in first instead of you.”
Frank held his breath, waiting for Joe to react. Joe could be a real hothead if he wasn’t careful. But this time, Joe simply glared back at the boy.
“Go for it, Thompson,” Joe said coolly. “Just don’t blame me when you lose again.” Then Joe turned around, used his foot to close the van door, and started marching toward the bridge.
Frank and Chet caught up with him inside the park. The boys entered the rec hall and dropped the boxes and tins off at the booth, then went outside and headed toward the lake.
“Nice going,” Frank said to his brother. “You didn’t let that creep get to you.”
“What’s the point?” Joe said. “Why give the guy the satisfaction of seeing me blow my cool?” Suddenly Joe slapped his hand to his head. “I forgot my skates! They’re in the van. You guys go ahead—I’ll meet up with you on the ice.”
Frank and Chet headed over to the rink where the speed skating would take place. Craig Thompson was already on the ice, along with a couple of his buddies. Workers busily lined the wooden wall surrounding the rink with protective bales of hay.
Joe arrived back at the rink a few moments later. He quickly laced up his skates and took to the ice. Frank watched as Joe glided around the rink to warm up. Soon Joe was bent over, resting his left arm on his back in the classic racing stance. He gradually picked up his pace, his newly sharpened blades cutting a clean line in the ice.
The wind whipped through Joe’s blond hair as he blew by Frank. Joe took the next curve at racing speed. His thighs poured on the steam, and his swinging arms added momentum to his stride.
Frank held his breath. Joe was going so fast that one mistake meant he’d crash.
As Joe went into the curve, his form was perfect. The razor-thin edges on his skates held the turn tight. One foot crossed in front of the other, the rhythm sure and steady.
“Way to go!” Frank shouted from the side.
“Go for it!” Chet joined in.
Joe was just coming out of the turn when suddenly he stumbled. Frank watched in horror as Joe tripped over his feet and started frantically waving his arms to keep his balance.
There was a sharp metallic clang. Joe pitched forward and started to fall. Frank realized with a shock what had happened: the blade on Joe’s left skate had snapped right off.
2 Finger of Suspicion
* * *
Joe Hardy hit the ice with a bone-jarring, teeth-rattling crunch. Like a hockey puck, he began sliding at breakneck speed toward the wall.
Two workers dropped a hay bale and jumped out of his way. Now there was nothing but the bale between Joe and the wall. Joe slammed into the hay so fast it barely slowed him down. He tumbled over and over. A moment later he went flying sideways into the wall.
“Yeooww!” Joe cried, making contact with an ear-splitting cry.
Next to him, the wall shuddered and creaked, and then a section split in two. Joe held his hands over his head, protecting himself from the splintering wood.
Frank raced toward him, straight across the ice. He came skidding to a stop at his brother’s feet.
“Are you all right? Is anything broken?” Frank asked.
Tentatively, Joe moved an arm, then a leg. “I don’t think so. Just bruised.”
Frank pulled Joe to his feet. “What happened? I saw your blade fly off. Didn’t you just have those skates tuned and sharpened for the races?”
Joe held his foot up to examine the dangling blade. “Tell me about it,” he said, and headed off the ice, skating on his right foot, pushing off with the left.
The group of onlookers opened a path, and Joe limped toward the bench. He noticed that Craig Thompson snickered as Joe passed him.
“Yeah, right,” Joe said under his breath. “We’ll see who has the last laugh.”
The onlookers, realizing that Joe was okay, all began drifting away. Chet rushed to his friend’s side and asked, “Are you all right? I thought you were a goner!”
“I’m fine, but I’m not sure about my skate,” Joe said. He began unlacing his skates, eager to take a closer look. Joe already had an idea that his blade flying off was anything but an accident. He put on his boots, then picked up the broken skate. A second later his suspicions were confirmed.
“Check it out,” Joe said. “The back screws on my blade are missing, and the front two are about to fall out.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Frank said, taking a closer look. “They always tighten the screws at the shop when they sharpen the blades.”
“Exactly,” Joe confirmed. “Besides, I checked them before I left the house, and the blades were tight. My guess is someone loosened them on purpose, just enough so they’d work free after I’d been on the ice awhile.”
“Who would do something that crazy?” Chet asked.
Joe looked over to where Craig Thompson and his buddies were laughing. They seemed to be enjoying their own private joke. “I have a pretty good idea,” Joe said. “When I went back to get my skates, the van was unlocked. I must have forgotten to lock the door when I had that run-in with Thompson.”
“And he was still there when we left the parking lot,” Frank pointed out.
Joe kicked at the snow with his shoe. “Thompson must have known he’d get away with it, too. I can’t say anything if I don’t have proof.”
“True,” Frank agreed. “But think of it this way: when you beat him in the speed sprint, you’ll have all the proof that matters. Proof that you’re the fastest, that is.”
“True enough,” Joe said. “But if I’m really going to be fast, I’d better get this blade fixed. I’ve got some extra screws in my skating bag in the van.” Joe checked his watch. “We have some time before the opening ceremonies. Want to come with me?”
“Sure,” Frank said. “There’s nothing happening here.”
“Chet?” Joe asked.
“I think I’ll check out the tubing hill,” Chet said. “I’ll meet you at the rec hall later.”
A crowd was already gathering for the opening ceremonies. The Hardys fought their way through the incoming crowd as they headed past the recreation center and down the hill toward the parking lot. Joe unlocked the van and climbed in. Frank turned on the overhead map light as Joe rummaged through his skating bag. Within a few minutes, Joe had fixed his blade with a screwdriver from the toolbox they carried for emergencies.
