A Will to Survive (2 page)

As they started through, Frank heard a deep voice say, “Don't be an idiot, Jack. I never touched your stupid cucumbers.”

The Hardys hurried forward. Two teenagers were confronting each other amid the rows of vegetables. One was short and stocky, with dark hair. The other, who Frank figured was Jack, was taller and thinner, with a blond crew cut. He was gripping a spade with enough force to turn his knuckles white.

“Touch them? You destroyed them!” Jack accused, sticking out his chin. “It's all part of your plan, isn't it, Sal? You're part of some kind of plot to destroy the center!”

“You're out of your mind, Jack,” Sal replied. “Get a grip, man.” He turned to walk away.

Jack's face reddened. The veins in his neck bulged. He stood still as Sal took several steps. Then, suddenly, before Joe, Frank, or Callie could do anything to stop him he lifted the sharp spade over his head and started to swing it at the back of Sal's head.

“Sal!” Callie screamed. “Look out!”

The sun glinted off the steel blade as the spade arced down at the unsuspecting Sal.

Joe sprinted across the garden, leaping over the rows of plants like a hurdler. When he was still a couple of strides away, he realized that he was not going to reach the attacker in time. Stretching out his arms, he launched himself into a desperate leap.

Joe's left hand slammed into the wooden shaft of the spade. Ignoring the stinging pain in his palm, he kept a tight grip on the tool. As he tucked into a roll, he wrenched the spade out of the surprised Jack's hands and flung it as far as he could across the garden.

As he hit the ground, Joe got his feet under him and bounced up, twisting to face Jack. But Frank
and Callie were already on the scene. Frank was holding Jack by the shoulders, and Callie was pulling the now-furious Sal away.

“Cool down, pal,” Frank told Jack. “Take a deep breath.”

“You toad!” Sal shouted, shaking his fist at Jack. He tried to pull away from Callie's grip. “Are you totally nuts? You could have killed me with that thing!”

Joe placed himself between Sal and Jack. He wanted to be ready in case one of them decided to get physical again.

Jack took a deep breath, then shook his head from side to side. “Look, I'm sorry, Sal,” he muttered. “I don't know what came over me. I didn't even know I had that spade in my hands.”

“You shouldn't be let out alone,” Sal said. He sounded slightly calmer. “If it hadn't been for these guys . . .”

“What got you two started anyway?” asked Callie. “I thought you were friends.”

“We had a bet going about whose vegetables would grow better,” Jack explained. “Sal kept teasing me about how he would win. So when I discovered somebody had tromped on my cukes, I got really mad.”

“I never touched your cucumbers,” Sal insisted, his voice rising. “Why would I do that?”

“Why would anybody?” Jack retorted. “But look for yourself—
somebody
did.”

Joe looked. Jack was right. The young vines had been trampled into the ground. The damage looked too thorough to have been done by accident.

“What about a moose?” Callie suggested. “They weigh about a ton. Maybe one of them got into the garden.”

Frank got down on one knee next to the cucumbers. He studied the marks in the dirt. “A moose wearing cross-training shoes?” he said. “I don't think so.”

Sal pointed to his light brown work boots and said, “These clod-stompers didn't make those prints, that's for sure. Well, Jack?”

“I guess I was way out of line,” Jack mumbled. “I'm sorry, Sal. But if I find out who murdered my cukes, I'll ram a full-grown zucchini down his throat—and that's just for starters!” Not looking at Joe or Frank, he walked over to retrieve his spade. Then he went to a far corner and started digging.

“Hey, I owe you guys,” Sal said with a quick smile. “Are these the friends of yours who live nearby, Callie?”

“That's right.” Callie introduced Joe and Frank, then went on. “I talked them into signing on as interns. In fact, they're supposed to be in talking to Tanya right now. She must be wondering what I did with them. We'd better get back.”

“Okay,” Sal said. “Welcome aboard, Joe, Frank. I'll catch you later.” He went back to weeding his plants.

Tanya was just hanging up the phone when the
three reentered her office. Joe glimpsed an expression of concern mixed with anger on her face. She seemed to will it away and asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was very interesting,” Frank told her. “This is quite a place.” He didn't mention the near-battle between Jack and Sal, and gave Joe a look that seemed to tell him not to let anything slip about it either.

“This could be a
great
place,” Tanya replied, slapping her palm on her desktop. “It will be, if we're allowed to survive. I cannot fathom why anyone would want to wreck what we're building here. What could the motive be?”

“Could it be resentment?” Joe suggested. “A new operation this big, there must have been some opposition.”

“Well . . . at first, perhaps,” Tanya admitted. “Some neighbors were worried about increased traffic. Others didn't like the fact that such a huge estate would no longer pay the town any taxes. But we brought them around. We built a new entrance for groups, which cut down on local traffic. And our studies showed that the growth from our presence here would more than make up for the lost taxes.”

Frank scratched his cheek. “Callie said before that Walter Parent liked to change his will. There must be people who expected a legacy they didn't get. Maybe they resent the center for getting the money they were counting on.”

Tanya gave a wry smile. “Anyone who dealt with Walter knew not to count on anything,” she said. “I
sometimes think that watching us jump through hoops for him was the only entertainment he got. Walter and I must have met dozens of times to draw up detailed plans for Shorewood Nature Center. Even so, I was not really convinced it would happen until after his death, when the will was read.”

“Did he have any family?” Joe asked.

“He had a distant cousin,” Tanya replied. “They were not on speaking terms and hadn't been for years. It was some old quarrel, I imagine. In any case, how would destroying the work of Shorewood benefit a distant relative? It makes no sense.”

“We're just trying to make sure we cover all the bases,” Frank told her.

“I understand, and I appreciate that,” Tanya said. “This means that you're going to help us. I can't thank you enough. When can you start?”

Joe grinned. “Thanks to Callie, we came prepared. We've got our bags out in the van.”

“We let our parents know we would be away for a few days,” Frank added.

“Excellent,” Tanya said. She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Callie, will you take Frank and Joe to meet Bruce? I'll let him know to expect you.”

As they started for the door, Tanya said, “Wait a moment.” She rummaged through a file cabinet and took out some papers. Putting them in a manila envelope, she continued, “These are some of the letters Parent wrote me when we were planning the center. They may give you a clearer idea of his plans—as well as his quirky personality”

As they walked down the hall, Callie said, “I'm going to hand you over to Bruce Rotan now. He's the assistant director. Anything you want to know about the history of this place, Bruce is the guy to ask. He was Parent's private secretary for years.”

Joe thought that a former private secretary to an eccentric millionaire would be tall, thin, and middle-aged, with a habit of saying “Um” and “Er.” Bruce Rotan did not look as if he had hit thirty yet. He had thick black hair and an aggressive jaw. His tight yellow polo shirt showed off muscles that obviously owed a lot to work in the gym.

“Welcome!” he said, offering his hand to Frank. Joe noticed that he squeezed harder than he needed to. When he turned to Joe, Joe was ready for him. He squeezed back every bit as heartily. Bruce's smile developed a slight edge.

“Let's get you settled in,” Bruce continued, flipping through some papers. “Joe, you'll be rooming with a fellow named Sal Politano. Frank, I'm putting you in a triple, with Jack Mainwaring and Rahsaan Jefferson. I'll show you the rooms in a few minutes, and you can meet your roommates at dinner.”

“We've already met Sal and Jack,” Frank said.

“That's right,” Joe said, keeping his voice neutral.

“Oh? Good, that's a start,” Bruce said. “Here's a sheet with meal hours, house rules, important phone numbers, and so on. The way we work it, all
the interns attend a seminar in the morning before the center opens to the public. We take up a different aspect of the center's work each day. Don't even
think
about skipping one!”

“No, of course not,” Frank murmured.

“Our interns get a lot of varied and valuable experience,” Bruce continued. “You'll guide visitors around the house and grounds, go out into the community to make presentations, and help with ongoing ecological research. You might spend one morning learning forestry management and the afternoon shearing sheep.”

“I don't know how to shear a sheep,” Joe remarked uneasily.

Bruce grinned. “You'll learn fast. Our system is, ‘Each one teach one.' Someone who doesn't have a particular craft or skill will be paired with someone who does. Your first few days, you'll simply observe. Then you'll get to try what you've learned. You'll be supervised, of course. If you do okay, after that you're on your own.”

He glanced at his watch. “I'd better get you moved in. Go get your things and meet me in the entrance hall. You'll just have time to unpack before dinner. When you hear the bell, head for the dining room. It's in the basement.”

The dorm rooms, on the third floor, were furnished simply but comfortably with a single bed and small dresser for each occupant. “No bunk beds,” Joe observed. “That's a relief. I don't know which is worse, the top bunk or the bottom bunk.”

“The bottom,” Frank said with a chuckle. “Take my word for it—anyone who's had a little brother tossing and turning on the top bunk when they were kids will tell you that.”

Frank neatly ducked Joe's punch, then said, “Let's put away our stuff and do some more exploring before dinner.”

A few minutes later, they started down the stairs. At the second-floor landing, they met a tall, thin guy in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt with the logo of a famous designer on the front.

“Hey!” the guy said. “You must be the newbies I heard about. I'm Rahsaan. Which of you gets the honor of sharing a room with me and Jack?”

“That would be me,” Frank said. “Frank Hardy. And this is my brother, Joe.”

“Frank and Joe Hardy . . .” Rahsaan wrinkled his forehead. “Do I know you dudes from somewhere? You don't look familiar, but . . . Oh well, it'll come to me.”

Joe exchanged a glance with Frank. Did Rahsaan know them? Had he heard stories about their previous detective work? If so, would he blow their cover? They would have to keep a close watch on the situation.

“Where're you headed?” Rahsaan asked them. As if in answer, a bell clanged two floors below.

“Dinnertime,” Rahsaan said. “Hey, you want to see something really cool first?” He walked a few steps down the corridor and pressed against one of
the wood panels. A section of paneling swung inward.

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “Look at that—a hidden staircase! Incredible! I love stuff like that.”

“Me, too,” Rahsaan said. “Back when these places were built, the servants weren't supposed to be seen
or
heard. They had their own network of hallways and stairways. That way, they could get wherever they had to go without disturbing the high muckety-mucks. Wouldn't you love to play hide-and-seek around here? The game could go on for weeks!”

Joe and Frank followed Rahsaan down the narrow, dimly lit stairs. At the bottom was a bright corridor with bare plaster walls. From the right they could hear the clatter of pots and pans, and from the left, the rattle of dishes and the hum of voices. They turned left.

The staff dining room was a big, high-ceilinged space dominated by a long wooden table. Glassfront cabinets stacked with china and glassware reached nearly to the ceiling. Half a dozen people were standing around. Joe recognized Sal and Jack.

Callie hurried over. “Oh, great, you found your way,” she said. “I'm on carrying duty tonight—we all take turns—but come meet my roommate, Wendy Chen.”

Wendy had a welcoming smile and long black hair that kept drifting in front of her face. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt from the most recent
tour of a hot new band. “Come on and sit down,” she said, after greeting Joe and Frank. “Breakfast and lunch are buffets, but dinner's served family style. It's a great way to get to know everyone.”

Joe noticed that Tanya, Bruce, and two other adults sat at the far end of the table, while the teen interns clustered at the near end. He took the place next to Wendy. Sal was across from him.

“I hear we're roommates,” Joe said in a friendly tone.

“Um,” Sal replied. “Yeah.” He seemed preoccupied.

Joe spent the rest of the meal talking to Frank, Wendy, and Rahsaan. Afterward, everyone helped clear the table, then went to another room furnished with chairs, sofas, game tables, and a big TV.

Joe tried again to make some contact with Sal. He had no more luck than he did at dinner. He decided to use his energy getting to know some of the others instead. Before very long it was time to turn in.

• • •

Joe tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Finally he sat up in bed. The glowing dial on his watch said 3:14. Maybe a glass of water would help him sleep. He slipped into his clothes and tiptoed toward the door. As he passed Sal's bed, he noticed it was empty. So he wasn't the only one who was having trouble sleeping!