A Will to Survive (8 page)

How long would it take someone to pop out of the doorway, set down the smudge pot, light it, and vanish again into the wall? Frank wondered. Only a few seconds. Did that explain why the smudge pot had been placed in this particular spot?

Joe pushed open the door. They entered the
service area. Beyond the stairs, a narrow hall stretched off in either direction. The plain plaster walls needed a fresh coat of paint.

“If I were the bad guy,” Joe mused, “I don't think I'd risk leaving the smudge pot in plain sight. Someone might notice it. Worse, they might decide it belonged somewhere else and take it away.”

“Right,” Frank said. “But the biggest danger would be letting someone see you
with
the gizmo. You'd want to leave it as close as possible to this spot.”

A dozen feet down the corridor was a set of floor-to-ceiling cupboards built into the wall. Frank went to the first one and pulled open the door. It was lined with shelves. They held a variety of cleaning products with old-fashioned labels.

Joe, looking over Frank's shoulder, said, “That stuff would go for a lot of money at a flea market. It looks like it's been sitting there since 1900!”

Frank opened the next cupboard. It contained brooms, mops, and brushes. They, too, had an old look to them. The dust on the floor had been disturbed very recently, he noticed. He moved a wide push broom and looked behind it.

“Bingo!” Frank said. A dark circular stain about nine inches across had soaked into the wood floor. He bent down and touched it, then sniffed his fingertip. It smelled of fuel oil, the kind used in smudge pots.

He straightened up. “Okay. So the bad guy—let's call him or her X—brought the smudge pothere,
maybe yesterday evening. This morning, after the seminar, X ducks in here, gets the smudge pot, and sets it off. Does that help us give X a name?”

“We weren't there to see who went where, but Callie was around,” Joe reminded him. “According to her, Rahsaan stayed after to talk to the speaker. Jack and Sal went off on their own. So did Wendy. That means those three are still in the running.”

“Rahsaan knows his way around the service halls,” Frank said. “Could he have left the speaker long enough to run over here and set the smoke bomb going?”

“I hope not,” Joe admitted. “It would be a real treat to cross
someone
off our list of suspects!”

They heard a door slam in the distance, followed by hurrying footsteps. Rahsaan came around a corner. When he saw the Hardys, he stopped short.

“There
you are!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in here? Never mind—I need your help.”

“What's up?” asked Frank.

“Sal was supposed to lead a group with me in ten minutes,” Rahsaan replied. “About thirty junior-high-school kids. But he's feeling sick from breathing all that smoke. Will you take over for him?”

“We haven't—” Joe started to say.

“Don't worry, I'll do all the talking,” Rahsaan said. “I just need you to keep the kids from straying off and getting into trouble.”

• • •

The Beech Grove Trail led through an area where the trees were far enough apart to let sunlight reach
the forest floor. Rahsaan stopped to point out a patch of fiddlehead ferns.

“These are mature,” he said. “But in the early spring, when they first come up, they're terrific in salads.”

“Ugh!” a boy in a black T-shirt said. “Eat stuff that grows in the woods? Gross!”

“Yeah, right, Kevin,” another boy said. “I'll bet you think your food comes from the supermarket.”

“And milk comes from cartons, not cows,” a girl with a brown ponytail added.

Kevin scowled. The rest of the kids laughed.

“That's okay,” Rahsaan said. “For most of us, our food
does
come from the supermarket. That's why a place like Shorewood is so important—to help us get back in touch with nature. Come on, let's go see the duck pond. Joe, lead on.”

“This way, everybody.” Joe started up the trail. The group was close behind him. About thirty yards along, he noticed something odd ahead. A dead tree slanted across the trail. Its bottom rested on the ground, and its upper part was caught in the branches of another tree.

Joe remembered that lumberjacks called that a hang-up. It was one of the deadliest hazards of the woods. At any moment, with no warning, the branches supporting the dead tree might let it fall.

Joe stretched his arms to either side, blocking the trail. “Hold it, everybody,” he said.

“What's the matter?” Frank asked, hurrying to Joe's side. “Oh—I see.”

Kevin, the boy in the black T-shirt, darted past Joe's arm. “I'm going to get to those ducks first,” he bragged, breaking into a trot.

“Hey, wait!” Joe shouted. “Come back!” He and Frank started after the boy.

Laughing, Kevin ran faster. As he neared the leaning tree trunk, he tripped and fell on his stomach. With horror, Joe saw the trunk start to fall. Kevin was lying stunned, directly in its path.

Frank saw the danger instantly. He sprang forward like an Olympic runner pushing off from the starting block. As his powerful legs carried him along the leaf-strewn trail, his brain was doing a series of complex problems in rate, time, and distance. Could he reach Kevin before the tree completed its deadly arc?

Joe was matching him stride for stride. He started to bend forward at the waist and stretch his arms out in front of him. Frank suddenly realized what he meant to do. He was planning to grab Kevin by the legs and tow him out of danger. It might work . . . but the timing was so tight that even a moment's delay could bring disaster.

For a fraction of a second, Frank considered helping Joe by grabbing one of Kevin's legs. No—the
risk was too great. Instead of helping, he might make Joe's job harder. There were two ways to save Kevin. Joe wanted to move the boy away from the danger. Frank wanted to move the danger away from the boy.

The instant he made his decision, Frank put it into action. He visualized the tree trunk as an opposing ball carrier nearing the end zone. Tucking his chin against his chest, he dug in his toes and charged forward. His left shoulder struck the tree a solid blow. He kept his feet churning. In his mind he heard his coach yelling, “Through the runner! Tackle
through
the runner!”

Moments later Frank was sprawled on the ground next to the tree. The force of his attack had made it swivel on its lower end and fall along the trail instead of across it. His shoulder ached. He noticed half a dozen scratches on his arms and hands, but he didn't feel them . . . yet. He pushed himself up and looked around. Joe was a couple of yards away, helping an unhurt Kevin to his feet.

“I-I-I'm sorry,” the shaken boy stammered. “I didn't mean . . . I don't know what happened.”

“I think I do,” Frank muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Rahsaan, why don't you and the group go ahead? Joe and I will stay here and take care of clearing the trail.”

Rahsaan gave Frank a troubled look, but he took
the suggestion. Soon he and the group of kids were on their way.

“Okay, let's get to work,” Frank said. “Why don't you check the trail. I'll concentrate on those branches that were holding up the tree.”

“You don't think it was an accident,” Joe said.

Frank pointed at the fallen log. “Look—dirt and traces of decay all along one side,” he said. “It was lying on the ground for quite a while. Once they're down, dead trees don't get up again unless somebody helps.”

While Joe scanned the trail, Frank leaned back to look up at the place where the dead tree had been. It was easy to find. The bark of the tree that was still standing was deeply scratched just above a broken branch. The only section of the branch that looked strong enough to hold up a log was right next to the trunk.

“The log must have been propped up there,” Frank said to himself. “Then, for some reason, it rolled outward. The branch bent, then broke. The log fell. That's all clear enough . . . but what made it start to roll, just as Kevin ran under it?”

“Hey, look what I found!” Joe exclaimed. He held up a length of black nylon leader. One end was tied to a wedge-shaped piece of wood. “It feels thicker than what turned up in my room, but no question, it's the same kind of stuff.”

Together, Frank and Joe traced the path of the thin, strong cord. It had stretched across the trail, hidden by dead leaves. Marks on a stump showed
where it had changed direction, up toward the branch Frank had been looking at.

“It was fiendishly simple,” Joe said, shaking his head. “When Kevin tripped on the cord, it pulled out the wedge that was holding the dead tree in place.”

“Yes and no,” Frank replied. “The cord was placed a couple of yards this side of the tree. If whoever tripped it had been walking, the tree would have fallen well ahead of them. They would have had a good scare, that's all. But Kevin was running. That's what carried him into the danger zone.”

“You're saying whoever set the trap didn't mean to hurt anyone?” Joe asked. “That's crazy!”

“I'm saying he wasn't
trying
to hurt someone,” Frank retorted. “It's like the smudge pot. He wasn't trying to burn down the center, just disrupt it. But he was willing to risk a serious fire. Here, he was willing to risk having that log injure someone.”

“Could one person set up this trap?” Joe wondered.

“That's the next thing we have to find out,” Frank said. He went to the thick end of the log, locked his hands under it, and heaved. Frank was surprised by how easily he lifted the end. The other end, still on the ground, acted as a pivot. Once he had the end at shoulder height, he inched toward the middle, lifting as he went. Soon the thick end was nearly at the level of the broken branch.

“The closer the log gets to being straight up and down, the easier it is to lift,” he told Joe.

“Now we know one person could have set this up,” Joe replied. “Come on. Drop that tree somewhere clear of the trail and let's head back. It's time we got answers to some of our questions.”

• • •

At lunch Rahsaan told the other interns how the Hardys had rescued a kid from a falling tree.

“That is so great!” Wendy said. There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

Jack frowned. “This was on Beech Grove?” he asked. “I was up that way yesterday afternoon. I didn't see any dead trees overhanging the trail.”

“What time were you there?” Joe asked eagerly.

“Oh, four-thirty or five,” Jack replied.

“Maybe you didn't notice,” Sal suggested. Joe heard doubt and suspicion in his voice.

Apparently Jack did, too. His eyes narrowed. “Listen, you,” he began.

“I've got a name,” Sal told him. “And it's just as good as yours.”

“Hold it, guys,” Rahsaan said. “Take it easy.”

Jack and Sal stared down at their plates. Joe thought they looked like little kids pouting after the teacher corrected them.

Callie, trying to smooth over the awkwardness, said, “We've been having more than our share of trouble. Sal, how do you feel now?”

“I'm okay,” he mumbled without looking up.

“I don't understand what happened to you,” Joe said.

Sal cleared his throat. “When I saw the smoke, I ran to see what was going on,” he said hoarsely. “The next I knew, I was outside. I must have passed out. I guess I'm supersensitive to smoke.”

“Where were you when you first saw the smoke?” Frank asked. “Were you alone at the time?”

Sal's face hardened. “I was in the hall. And yeah, I was by myself. So what?”

“Somebody put the smudge pot there and got it going,” Frank pointed out. “I thought maybe you noticed someone hanging around.”

Sal stuck out his chin. “Well, I didn't,” he declared. His tone seemed to say, Make something of it!

Dylan was sitting next to Wendy. He looked at Frank and said, “You know, with all that's going on, the last thing we need around here is some guys playing detective.”

Callie was taking a sip of water. She sputtered and almost choked. Then she turned bright red. Joe took a deep breath. Everyone had seen her reaction. Would they connect it with Dylan's comment and guess the truth?

“Well,
I
wish we did have a detective or two around here,” Rahsaan said. He was looking straight at Joe, with an unreadable expression. “Maybe they could help us. It's no fun working in a
place where everybody's suspicious of everyone else and going around sniping at one another.”

Joe, Frank, and Callie finished their lunch in relative silence. Afterward they went back to the bench under the big oak tree.

Callie sank down onto the bench. “I don't get it!” she declared. “Why is someone trying to destroy Shorewood?”

Frank scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his sneaker. “In the motive department, two of the biggies are hatred and money.”

“Or both at the same time,” Joe added.

“That waterfront land is worth a fortune,” Frank said. “Let's say Jack's dad is hooked up with this developer, Cleland. That could be a powerful motive for Jack to make sure Shorewood
has
to sell.”

“Or take Sal,” Joe said. “He says he's okay about the way his uncle was treated by the trustees. But what if he's been brooding about it and decided to take revenge?”

“Or Wendy,” Frank said.

“Come off it,” Callie scoffed. “What kind of motive could Wendy have?”

“Wendy's mother was Walter Parent's doctor,” Frank replied. “She must have known him well. He could have given her the secret job of undermining the center if it strayed from his intentions. Wendy could be acting as her mother's agent.”