The Deadliest Dare (2 page)

"Where do you figure the setup was done? At the Cellar?"

"Looks like it," Frank replied. "And that isn't the only practical joke that was played tonight."

"They've sure been busy for a rainy night. You do think it's more than one person, don't you?"

Frank nodded and paused to look at the door to the street before filling his brother in about the sneezing powder at the club. "But that stuff," he concluded, "was mild compared to the tire business. Sabotaged tires and slippery roads — it's just lucky nobody got seriously hurt so far."

"Are you expecting Callie's folks right away? You keep eyeing the door."

"I know." Frank shrugged. "Yes, I am expecting them, but I was also wondering if Biff Hooper and his date had any trouble tonight."

"Was Biff at the Cellar?"

"Yeah. He was with a nice-looking girl. I didn't know her. I think they left before we did."

"Maybe they left the parking lot before this tire prank went down."

"Could be. I didn't see them go."

Joe looked at his brother, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "We'll have to take a serious look into these pranks now, Frank. They're not funny anymore. You could have gotten killed—and so could Callie."

Frank Hardy nodded grimly. "We've got to find the sickos behind this and really nail them."

The rain was even heavier the next day. Thunder rumbled and crashed in the hills above Bayport, making it impossible to sleep late. So Frank and Joe were up early — if not bright—to check out the Cellar's parking lot.

Seen in the wan daylight, without the sparkle of the Cellar's lights, the old mill building looked as if it had been lifted out of a black-and-white horror movie. It was a narrow brick building, covered with soot, most of its windows covered over with metal shutters. Only on the ground floor had anything been done to spiff the place up.

"I've heard that if the club really makes it, they'll be turning the rest of the building into condominiums." Joe stifled a yawn as he stared up at the mill. "So tell me, what are we supposed to be looking for?"

Frank shrugged, halting their van in the middle of the parking area. The lot had been bulldozed flat and covered with gravel by the club owners. Weeds and scraggly prickle-bushes still clung tenaciously to the edges of the lot. And where car wheels had scuffed away the gravel, huge puddles had formed from the rain.

"I hope they've got valet parking," Joe said.

Frank didn't answer. He just pulled up the hood on his windbreaker, stepped out of the van, and started searching the ground for any bit of evidence.

He looked for about an hour, until his jacket was soaked and his jeans were heavy with rain. Joe had quickly decided it was hopeless — the gravel wouldn't hold any tire-or footprints, and anyway, it was all torn up by the departing cars. He'd checked in the quieter corners, the ones shaded by the bushes, but hadn't found anything remotely resembling a clue.

"No rare European cigarette butts — not even a gum wrapper," he'd reported to Frank. "I'm getting back in the van before I'm washed away."

But Frank had stubbornly gone on searching, and Joe let him. He could remember lots of times that Frank had backed him up, even when he'd tried some pretty stupid stunts. Sometimes they paid off.

At last, though, Frank had shrugged his shoulders and slid back into the van. "I had hopes of finding another of those little boards with nails the pranksters used last night. The police have the one from Callie's car. I thought maybe if we had one, we could find something."

"Well, either they all stuck to the tires, or the cops searched last night — " Joe began.

"Or whoever left the blasted things cleaned up after themselves before the cops arrived."

Frank was about to say more when a bright red four-wheel-drive truck came roaring into the lot. When the driver saw them, he moved his truck so it blocked the exit to the parking lot.

The man who leaned out the window of the truck was big and beefy—with "bouncer" written all over him.

"Hey, champ," he yelled, "this is private property. We had enough trouble last night without jerks coming around to gawk." His face hardened with suspicion. "Or maybe you're the jokers who caused the trouble."

"If you want to check us out, come over and check us out," Frank said.

The bouncer glared at Frank, then glanced up at the rain. At last he let the truck coast away from the exit. "Nah. Just get out of here." They did.

The early visiting hours had started at Bayport Hospital, and when they arrived there, the Hardys got good news—Callie's folks would be taking her home that afternoon. The Hardys headed for the mall—and Mr. Pizza. Their pal Tony Prito was the manager there and an excellent source of information.

As they came in, he was standing behind the counter, demonstrating his famous "toss the dough in the air" technique.

"Tony, any hot gossip gets discussed among the kids here—and you hear it," Frank said.

Tony shrugged, still deftly twirling the pizza dough. "I suppose so," he admitted.

"So what's the scoop on this gang of jokers?" Joe asked.

"Everybody has been talking about them," Tony said. "You wouldn't believe some of the stories I've been hearing."

"Try us," Frank said.

"I'll just give you the best — I caught a couple of kids saying it's some kind of cult. They have secret meetings around bonfires in the woods, with everyone wearing robes."

"That sounds real secret," Joe said sarcastically, shaking his head. "I mean, who'd notice a bunch of people in robes dancing around afire?"

Frank grinned. "I think somebody's been renting too many scary movies from the video store. Isn't there one about a cult that wears hoods?"

Joe and Tony both broke into laughter. "I'll have to remember that, the next time I hear the kids talking," Tony said.

"But has anybody linked the pranks with any of the usual gangs, or any one group of kids?" Frank asked.

Tony shook his head. "Nobody from around town is bragging," he said.

"How about kids from outside of town?" Joe asked.

"No. I'd remember that. Sorry, guys."

"Well, you can make up for it," Joe said. "Sell us a couple of slices."

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking to friends, trying to get some kind of handle on the prank gang. They got nowhere. Phil Cohen hadn't heard a word, while Chet Morton told them Tony's cult story all over again.

When evening came, it was still raining, and they hadn't really gotten anywhere.

Joe walked into the living room with a jacket in one hand and a folder from the basement tucked under his arm. He tossed the file on the coffee table next to a bowl of fresh flowers.

Frank, dressed to go out, was carrying an extension phone and talking into it as he paced a small circle near the fireplace. "Well, if the doctor doesn't think you ought to go out," he was saying, "then you'd better not."

Joe dropped onto the sofa, tapping his leg with impatience.

"Well, naturally we could use your help on this investigation, Callie," continued Frank.

Joe poked his tongue into his cheek, gazed up at the ceiling as though he were seeing it for the first time.

"Trust me," Frank said into the phone while scowling at his brother. "I'll fill you in on anything we dig up. Sure, of course, I'm sorry you have to stay home and rest up tonight. But, Callie, that's better than staying in the hospital another day, isn't it?"

Joe discovered a fleck of apple skin caught between two of his front teeth and began digging for it with the nail of his little finger.

"I miss you, of course. Right. Me, too. Yes, he is. Uh-huh, sitting right here and gawking at me in his usual dimwit way. I'll tell him. Good night, Callie." Frank hung up and gave his brother a look. "Remind me to explain 'invasion of privacy' to you someday, Joe."

"How's she doing?"

"Better. But her doctor wants her to take it easy for a couple more days."

"What'd she tell you to tell me?"

"It's best you don't know," Frank assured him. "You ready to go?"

Nodding, Joe tapped the folder. "I went over all the newspaper clippings we've compiled on these pranks one more time," he told his brother. "Each time one is pulled off, it gets a little more serious."

"Right. The first one was just somebody spray-painting some dumb, smutty graffiti on the side of the school gym. Now, though, they've worked up to causing car crashes."

"Some of the pranks obviously took a few people to pull off. Last Thursday night there were two separate pranks — the smashed shop windows on Marcus Street and the eggs thrown at the Orange Hall across town. They took place at about the same time."

Frank said, "Maybe we can find out something by talking to the people out at the Cellar," he said. "It gives us a place to start. If one of the staff or customers noticed anyone or anything in the parking lot, we'd finally have a lead."

Joe stared at his brother. "So you want to go back to the place where you have friendly chats with big, husky bouncers?"

Frank held up his forefinger. "Merely one," he answered. "And you're obviously forgetting how diplomatic and persuasive I can be."

"Right, I was forgetting." Joe stood up. "Okay, let's get going — "

"Don't tell me you two boys are actually thinking of going out in this storm?" Their aunt Gertrude was frowning at them from the doorway as she took off her apron.

"It's just a light drizzle, Aunt Gertrude," said Joe, smiling.

Lightning crackled just then and thunder rattled the windows. Joe sighed.

"No, it's a bad storm. You'll have another accident, for certain."

"That wasn't an accident, Aunt Gertrude," Frank reminded her. "Somebody deliberately fouled up Callie's tire."

"And look where the poor girl ended up — in the hospital."

"She's home now, and fine," he said.

"And didn't I hear both you boys sneezing just before dinner?"

Joe laughed. "We were trying out some different kinds of sneezing powder, Aunt Gertrude."

"It sounded like colds coming on to me. Of all the colds you can suffer from, there's none worse than a summer cold. So my advice would be to forget — "

The phone began ringing. "Maybe it's Biff," said Frank, picking up the receiver. "I've been trying to get in touch with him all day. Hello?"

The caller spoke in a muffled, anxious whisper. "Get over to the old Hickerson Mansion. Right now!"

"Who is this?" Frank said.

The voice cut him off. "Just show up there. The prank tonight is going to be worse — much worse!"

Joe drove the van up the road along the cliffs over Barmet Bay. "We took a field trip to the Hickerson Mansion years ago," he said, watching the headlights cut two short swatches in the rain and fog. "But I don't remember much about the place." "Elias Hickerson was a big wheel around Bayport about a hundred and fifty years ago," Frank said. "He was a rich merchant. They say he built his mansion up here so he'd be the first to see his ships come into the harbor. Anyway, his family left the house to the town. It's full of Victorian furniture and is being kept in trust as sort of a museum." Joe rolled his eyes. "Sounds real exciting."

"It's history," Frank said. "I just hope I don't mean that literally."

Lightning suddenly lit up the whole road, turning the cliffsides a brief, intense electric blue. Thunder slammed and rumbled, the few stunted trees shook.

"You know," Frank went on, "there was something familiar about that voice. I have this feeling I heard it recently."

"It was a girl, you thought, trying to disguise her voice."

Frank nodded. "I'm pretty sure it was."

"The voice may have belonged to someone I met last night even," Frank said, thinking about it. "All I know is that I can't seem to identify it. I hope it'll come to me."

"The man with the computer brain," Joe murmured mockingly.

They drove higher, onto the top of the cliffs. The rain kept hitting hard at the van, and the wind gave it a powerful shove every now and then.

"Whoever she was," said Frank, "she warned that the prank was going to be rough tonight."

"They've gone beyond pranks and into vandalism."

Frank shook his head. "I've got a very bad feeling about this whole business."

After a moment Joe said, "You know, being summoned to this old mansion by a mystery woman might be a prank itself. I mean, what if these jokers want to lure us out here to put something over on us—or worse?"

"That's a possibility." Frank nodded grimly. "But we have to check it out. We'll just have to be very careful."

"There's the mansion, coming up on that knoll to our right."

"We'll drive on by, then park in that patch of trees up ahead."

"Good idea. I - Frank, look!"

"What?"

"Didn't you see it? The beam of a flashlight inside the place as we drove by."

Carefully Frank and Joe worked their way down along the slippery cliff walk that led to the rear of the three-story wooden mansion.

Frank held an unlit flashlight in his right hand, swinging it at his side. He suddenly stopped, wrestling with a thornbush beside the path to get his jacket sleeve loose.

Coming up from behind, Joe touched his brother's shoulder. "There's definitely somebody in there," he whispered.

"Right — I saw the flashlight shining around in there, too. It seems to be near the front rooms of the place."

"This doesn't look like a trap then, does it? I mean, they wouldn't be this obvious if they were all in there waiting to jump us with base-ball bats."

"We'll be careful, anyway."

There was a narrow white gravel parking lot at the rear of the Hickerson Mansion. The Hardys stopped beside the safety fence and watched the big white house.

The wind spun the rusted weathervane up on its cupola perch. The faded brown shutters creaked, the back door was open and flapping.

"Now we know how they got in," said Frank. "Shall we follow?" After tapping Joe on the arm, he wiped the rain from his face and started running for the wooden steps to the historic mansion.