Read A Killing in the Market Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Silently, they threw up their hands and backed slowly into the diffused light from the living room window. Focusing on the gun, all they saw was the gun—along with a man's wrist jutting out of an expensive silk shirt. Joe just took in a letter S on his cuff link when the living room window was thrown up with a loud screech. "What's going on out there?" a voice called out.
The brothers spun around. Their aunt Gertrude was leaning out and looking around.
And slowly, a low chuckling began. Frank and Joe stared in confusion at their assailant as he put his gun down and stepped directly into the rectangle of light from the window.
"Mr. Bayard!" Frank said, lowering his arms in relief.
"Frank? Frank, is that you?" Aunt Gertrude asked.
"It's all right, Gertrude!" Mr. Bayard called out. "Just your nephews!" He smiled at Frank and Joe. "Sorry, boys. I heard some noise and thought there were prowlers—so I sneaked out to get the drop on them."
"Oh, my heavens!" Aunt Gertrude said, letting out a sigh of relief.
"Is life always this exciting around the Hardy family?" Mr. Bayard said, chuckling. "I moved to Bayport because my doctor told me my heart needed less work and more rest."
Aunt Gertrude looked at Frank and Joe and shook her finger. "You see how dangerous it is when you go poking around, playing detective? You could have given Cyril a heart attack — not to mention that you could have gotten killed if Cyril used that gun!"
"Sorry, Aunt Gertrude," Joe said. By now he and Frank had gotten used to Aunt Gertrude's calling what they did "playing detective." Although her brother, Fenton, had been a detective all his life, Aunt Gertrude had never been comfortable with his dangerous line of work. She definitely didn't think it was appropriate for Fenton's sons.
"It's all right, Gertrude," Mr. Bayard said. "Why don't I bring them inside for some hot cider and we'll all calm down and laugh about it."
But Aunt Gertrude was still annoyed as Mr. Bayard ushered Frank and Joe inside. "Why didn't you boys just knock?"
Frank smiled. "We saw the flickering light and came to fight a fire. And—well, we saw that you were having such a good time, and we didn't want to disturb you — "
"Really, we can fend for ourselves for dinner," Joe added.
Aunt Gertrude's eyes widened. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, my goodness — dinner! I completely lost track of time. Please forgive me, boys. Here I am yelling at you, when I was the one who didn't show up to cook!" She bustled across the room to get her coat from the closet. "You'll have to excuse me, Cyril. I must be going! You don't mind if I leave my knitting bag here, do you?"
"Aunt Gertrude, it's all right! You can stay," Frank insisted. "We'll make something for ourselves, or — "
"Oh, don't be silly. The only thing you'd make is a mess of the kitchen," Aunt Gertrude shot back. She tucked her purse under her arm. Walking toward the door, she paused before Mr. Bayard and smiled shyly. "I — I had a wonderful time, Cyril," she said.
Both Mr. Bayard and Aunt Gertrude gave the brothers sidelong glances. Frank nudged Joe in the ribs and said, "We're out of here."
As Frank and Joe walked out to the van, the two adults lingered in the cottage doorway, talking in soft voices.
"Bet they haven't had so much fun in thirty years," Joe remarked.
Frank gave his brother an accusing look and stifled a laugh. "What a rotten nephew," he said.
A moment later Aunt Gertrude headed down the walk to the van, and the three of them were on their way home. As they drove along, Aunt Gertrude kept staring absentmindedly out the window. The only sounds in the van were occasional rumblings of hunger from Joe's stomach.
"You're awfully quiet, Aunt Gertrude," Frank finally said as they stopped for a traffic light.
Aunt Gertrude smiled. "Just feeling thoughtful, I suppose — "
Joe laughed. "You really like that guy, don't you?"
"Well, I guess so. He's a gentleman, he's well educated ..." Aunt Gertrude looked around and saw that her nephews were all ears. "And if it will stop you two from snooping around, I'll come out and tell you. Yes, I happen to like Cyril very much. I can't tell you how wonderful it is for a woman of my age to meet a man like him. Not only is he interested in everything about me, but he's — unattached."
Joe raised an eyebrow. "A bachelor? At his age?"
"No, Joseph! If you must know, Cyril is divorced."
"Well, I think you made a good catch, Aunt Gertrude — a stockbroker," Joe said lightly.
"As a matter of fact, Cyril works for Colt Fadiman — one of the most prestigious investment companies in New York City," Gertrude told him. "We've been talking about investing my savings."
"Uh - oh," Joe told her. "Are you sure he's not after your fortune?"
Aunt Gertrude gave him a look. "If I were you, I wouldn't joke about fifty thousand dollars."
Frank let out a whistle. "Not bad, Aunt Gertrude!"
Gertrude Hardy smiled proudly. "Well, I worked all those years when I was younger, and I managed to save a bit for a rainy day."
Frank's voice was quiet as he broke in. "If you've saved that much money, are you sure you want a near stranger taking charge of it?"
"Cyril is not a stranger, Joe. Besides, anyone who works for Colt Fadiman — "
"Did he tell you exactly how he was going to invest it?" Joe asked.
"Well, not exactly, but he said to let him worry about it. Something about capital something - or-other securities—"
Joe tried to hold in his disbelief. "Aunt Gertrude, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you barely know the guy, and you have no idea where your life savings are about to end up. I mean, the papers are full of stories about swindlers — guys who work for these big-and-mighty companies and steal clients' money left and right!"
"Joseph, I will not hear another word of this! Cyril is as honest a man as I've ever met, and I have the utmost confidence in his intentions!"
"I'm sure Joe just meant you might want to start off in small chunks—maybe ten thousand or so," Frank suggested.
Gertrude shook her head. "I've already promised Cyril the full amount — changing things now would make it seem as if I didn't trust him."
"And you're sure you want to trust him . . ." Frank shrugged. They rode in silence for the rest of the ride.
***
"What's wrong with it?" Callie Shaw asked as she parked her car in front of the Hardy house. "I mean, she's a perfectly attractive woman!"
"Cyril Bayard certainly thinks Aunt Gertrude is attractive." Frank laughed. "But I have other ideas about what makes a woman attractive."
Callie tossed back her medium-length blond hair and smiled at Frank. "Want to share your ideas?" She drew her face to within inches of Frank's and closed her eyes expectantly.
"Well, to start—" Frank answered. He wrapped his arms around her and touched his lips to hers.
Honnnnk! A sudden blast broke the spell. With a start Frank and Callie pulled away from each other.
"What the — " Frank said angrily. He turned and was confronted by a shiny black slab, which he immediately recognized as the side of the Hardy van.
"I see you in there," Joe's voice rang out. "Even though the windows are all steamy."
Callie slumped back into her seat.
"Sorry, Callie," Frank said. He stuck his head out the window and called, "Thanks, Joe, for the ride home from Callie's house! If I'd waited for you, I'd still be there."
"Doesn't look like you minded too much!" Joe answered with a grin.
They were interrupted just then by a strangled-sounding scream from inside their house.
"Trouble!" Joe burst from the van, tearing for the house. Callie threw open her door and started running, too, closely followed by Frank.
"Hope this isn't like the last time we dashed to the rescue," Frank muttered.
It was. They found Aunt Gertrude standing in the middle of the kitchen, trembling. On the floor, splattered around and on her, was a huge mound of spaghetti with red clam sauce.
"What happened?" Frank asked. "I thought you were having dinner with Mr. Bayard tonight."
Aunt Gertrude looked furious. "That's what I thought too," she said through tight lips. "Five o'clock. That's what he said. It's almost six. But is he here yet? No!"
"Is this what you were going to serve him?" Joe asked, looking at the mess.
"No, we were going out! But I was going to whip together a little something for you and Frank. And now look what happened. He's got me so angry — "
Frank thought back. It had been a rocky two weeks since Aunt Gertrude had started seeing Mr. Bayard. At first everything had gone smoothly, but lately Mr. Bayard had stood her up a couple of times. Even though his excuses had always been good, Aunt Gertrude was beginning to feel hurt.
"Oh, I was so mad at him last week. And then — " Her eyes began to water, and she turned away from her nephews. "Then we took a nice walk last night, and everything seemed fine."
"Maybe he was called in to his office, like that day last week," Frank suggested. "They may still be in."
He went to the phone, got the number for Colt Fadiman from Information, and called Mr. Bayard's office.
"Colt Fadiman, Mr. Bayard's line," a cheerful voice answered.
"Hello, may I speak to him, please?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bayard is on vacation."
"Uh — yes. But is there any chance that he might have come in today?"
The person at the other end chuckled. "Oh, I doubt it. He's been touring Europe for the past few months — "
"Thank y — Wait a minute, did you say Europe?"
"Yes, sir. Until at least December first. May I leave a message?"
Thinking fast, Frank asked, "Well, uh, maybe you can help me. I met several investment counselors at the, uh — convention last month, and I'm not sure I have the correct person. Is Mr. Bayard a tall, thin, gray-haired gentleman?"
"Oh, no, sir," the other voice chortled. "Mr. Bayard would be so flattered. To tell the truth, he doesn't have much hair left, and he's only five foot seven—and rather, how should I say, heavy-set — "
"I see," Frank said. "Well, I guess I must have gotten his business card mixed up with someone else's. Thank you."
"What was that all about?" Joe asked after his brother hung up.
Frank tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. "Something's very wrong here. The secretary's description didn't match Mr. Bayard at all."
"What?" Aunt Gertrude said. "I don't understand."
"Let's go pay our Mr. Bayard a little visit."
Once again they took the route along Bay Road to Mr. Bayard's place. The cottage was pitch-dark. Frank grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment, and he and Joe helped Aunt Gertrude and Callie out. The four of them walked silently toward the front door.
"Not even a porch light," Aunt Gertrude whispered. "Maybe he did spend the day in New York City."
Frank flicked on the light and boosted himself up to peer in through the front window. "Well, wherever he went, it doesn't look like he'll be back for a while."
Joe raised himself up and pushed his face against the window. As Frank shone the beam around, Joe was stunned.
It looked as if the entire living room had been torn apart. The armchair where Aunt Gertrude had sat was on its side, the cover slashed to reveal the stuffing underneath.
The rug was rolled back, and even the logs from the fireplace had been rolled out.
There was no sign of Cyril Bayard.
"SQUAAWWWWK! BUY LOW, sell high! Bull market! No sweat! Squaawwwwk!"
After Frank pried open the front door, the screeching of the parrot greeted them. It was the only sound in Mr. Bayard's living room. To the left, the couch had undergone the same slashing routine as the chair. Several wooden planks had been ripped out of the floor where the rug had been taken up.
"What happened to Cyril?" Aunt Gertrude murmured, her face frozen with shock.
"I'll call the police," Joe said. He went to look for the phone while Frank tried to comfort his aunt. "Easy now," Frank said. "We'll get to the bottom of this."
"Dinner? No sweat! Brrrock!" the parrot called out.
"I — I think he's hungry," Aunt Gertrude said listlessly. Frank followed her into the kitchen and over to a cupboard. Her face looked pale and drained. With shaking hands she reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a box of birdseed. But as she was lowering it to the countertop, she abruptly lost her grip. The seed spilled noisily onto the floor.
"Oh, no!" she cried.
"It's okay! I'll pick it up!" Frank said.
"No, no, it's not that, Frank. Look!" With an expression of horror she pointed to the countertop. On it was a copy of The New York Times from the week before, folded open to a story. Frank picked it up and read the headline.
WALL STREET CLERK SHOT MISTAKEN FOR BOSS BY GUNMAN?
And then Frank saw what had upset Aunt Gertrude so much. Below the headline was a smiling photo of Mr. Bayard in a jacket and tie with the caption Henry Simone.
"Henry Simone?" Frank muttered.
"Wh - what does it say, Frank?" Aunt Gertrude asked.
He read aloud.
"Yesterday evening, after business hours, a gunman gained access to the offices of the investment firm Thompson Welles. The intruder used a heavy-caliber pistol to fire three shots into Peter Lance, an assistant to executive Henry Simone. Mr. Lance died immediately.
The assailant escaped the building before the body was found. Police suspect that the attacker mistook the clerk for Henry Simone, an investment counselor of great notoriety in Manhattan finance. ..."
By this time Joe had returned and was listening intently. "Sounds like old Cyril — or should we call him Henry — had a bit of trouble back home," he said.
Frank paced back and forth. "Obviously, somebody's after him, and he knew it. Otherwise why would he skip to Bayport using the name of someone he knew was going to be out of the country for a while?"
"When exactly did this shooting happen?" Joe asked.
Frank looked at the top of the newspaper. "Last Friday."