The Ice-cold Case (6 page)

“We'll see,” Frank whispered back. “Joe, give me a leg up.”

Frank and Joe crept to the side of the fence. Joe put down his flashlight and cupped his hands so Frank could use them for a step. Frank jumped up and grabbed the top of the fence with one hand while Joe hoisted him up. Frank looked over the edge of the fence and shined his flashlight into the woods.

“See anything?” Joe whispered.

“No,” Frank said as he continued to look into the woods. “Wait . . . I see footprints.”

He trained his light to the base of a large tree, where footprints led away from the fence.

“Hank, did you get much snow here last night?” he called down.

“Just an inch or so,” Hank said.

“Then these footprints are fresh,” Frank said. “Let me down.”

“Let's follow them,” Joe said.

Frank and Joe ran to the entrance of the junkyard and around the fence, with Hank and Red following after.

“Hank, you may want to stay here, just in case,” Frank said.

“I'm coming with you,” Hank said.

“But it may just be a trick to get us away from here,” Frank said.

“Why would anyone do that?” Hank asked.

“Someone's already torched Tuttle's place,” Frank reminded him.

That was all Hank needed to hear. He grabbed Red by the collar and led him back to his trailer while the Hardys ran around to the back of the junkyard and picked up the tracks Frank had seen over the fence.

“This way,” Joe said as he shined his flashlight at the fresh tracks.

They followed the tracks deeper into the woods.

“Do you feel like you're being watched?” Frank whispered to Joe.

“This might be a trap,” Joe said.

They turned off their flashlights so they'd be less visible and followed the tracks by the moonlight. The moon was nearly full, and the light reflected off the snowy ground, giving the forest an eerie glow. As they trekked on, they saw that they were headed back to the lake.

“What do you think?” Joe whispered.

“They cut the tree and came over here to see Hank,” Frank said.

“Maybe they didn't count on the dog,” Joe suggested.

“Or us,” Frank said.

They hiked on and saw the shiny ice of the lake through the forest.

“So we're back here again,” Joe said.

“Yeah, and I'll bet we lose the tracks once we reach the ice,” Frank said.

They came out of the woods a few feet from the lake. Just as Frank suspected, the tracks ended right at the edge of the lake.

“Lost 'em,” Joe said in frustration.

They stood by the edge of the lake, looking for any sign of movement. Suddenly the silence was broken and a loud crash of shattering glass pierced the night.

“Sounds like it was over there,” Frank said as he pointed toward the large A-frame they had been in earlier that evening.

“Dixon's place?” Joe said.

As they ran toward Dixon's, Frank saw two shadowy figures in the moonlight skating across the lake. They were dragging a box the size of a footlocker behind them. Frank nudged his brother. “Joe, check this out.”

Joe saw the two shadows disappear into the gathering of shanties at Tuttle's end of the lake. “I'll go after them.”

“Let's scope out Dixon's first,” Frank said. “They could be armed.”

When Frank and Joe reached Dixon's, they saw that the huge sliding glass door leading to the deck had been shattered. Joe scrambled up to the deck.

“Look out for glass; it's all over the deck,” he said to Frank, who was climbing up after him.

They stepped through the broken glass and entered the house, where they found the house sitter, Doug Lang, lying facedown on the floor of the living room. His head was bleeding and he was unconscious. Frank got down on his knees and felt Lang's neck, checking for a pulse.

“He's out cold. Looks like someone hit him right across the forehead,” Frank said as he looked at Lang's wound.

Joe went to the phone to call the police. He was careful to pick it up by the earpiece so he wouldn't disturb any fingerprints that might be on the handle. “We just found the house sitter at Dixon's place. He's been hurt. Looks like someone hit him with a bat or something.”

After Joe hung up the phone, he went back to the terrace and looked over the lake while Frank stayed with Lang.

“We should go after those guys,” Joe said as he looked at the shanties.

“Let's wait for the police,” Frank said. “Lang's bleeding a lot. I don't want to leave him.”

While they waited for the police, Joe looked around the house. Other than the shattered window, there didn't seem to be anything amiss. But until Lang regained consciousness, they couldn't be sure that nothing was stolen.

“I'll call Hank and ask him to bring the van over,” Joe said.

After he called Hank, Joe began pacing in front of the window like a trapped animal.

“You realize that every minute we wait, the perpetrator is getting farther away,” Joe said.

“Joe, we'll get out there in a few minutes,” Frank said. “By the way, did you notice something funny about the broken window?”

“You mean that the broken glass is outside?” Joe responded.

“Yeah, that window was broken by someone leaving the house, not coming in,” Frank said.

“So they broke in and Lang walked in on them,” Joe said.

“He probably got hit before he knew what was happening,” Frank suggested.

Then they heard Hank calling to them from outside. “Hey, Frank? Joe?”

Joe went to the front door and let Hank in.

“Whoa, what happened here?” Hank asked.

“Pretty much what you see. Someone smashed the window and hit Lang,” Joe explained.

Soon the police arrived with an ambulance. The paramedics took Lang's vital signs.

“Is he going to be all right?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. He's lucky the wound isn't deep,” one of the paramedics said as they placed Lang on a stretcher and prepared to take him out to the ambulance.

Frank and Joe told the police about their evening. After the police took down their statements, Frank and Joe went out toward the lake.

Officer Riley was looking around the backyard with a flashlight. “We've got a set of footprints here.”

“We saw two guys on the lake,” Joe said.

“It looks to me like there was only one guy,” Riley said as he pointed to the tracks that led from the house to the road and back. “He must have left the car around here somewhere.”

“I don't think they came by car,” Frank said. “We followed someone through the woods from Hank's place.”

“How do you explain these footprints?” Riley asked.

“I'm not sure yet, but I don't believe for a minute that whoever's doing all this drove here tonight,” Frank said.

“Maybe someone wants you to think they're coming from the road,” Joe suggested. “We would have heard them or seen the car,” Joe said, recalling the quiet darkness that was shattered along with Dixon's window.

“Well, I've seen enough,” Riley said. “It's too cold for me out here anyway.” Riley went back inside as Hank came out.

Joe shined his flashlight on the ground between the back of the house and the lake and saw two parallel ruts in the snow.

“I'm going to get a ride home from Riley,” Hank called to them.

“Hank, come here a minute,” Joe said. “Look at this. What are these tracks?”

“Could be a sled box,” Hank said.

“A sled box?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, like the one I have, the tackle box on sled runners,” Hank explained.

“That's it, then; it was those two guys,” Joe said.

“Let's go have a look,” Frank said.

But rather than walk out onto the ice, they walked into the woods until they were sure they weren't visible from the lake. Then they walked parallel to the shore, a hundred yards through the woods, to an outcrop of rock. Crouching low behind the rocks, they had a clear view of the lake.

“It's awfully quiet,” Joe whispered as he looked over the lake.

“Too quiet,” Frank whispered back.

“Frank,” Joe whispered, “do you have the feeling we're being watched?”

“Yeah, pretty much ever since we left Hank's,” Frank agreed.

They watched the stillness of the ice for nearly an hour before they saw something moving.

“Joe, look over there, by the shanties,” Frank whispered.

“It's them. They're on skates,” Joe whispered back.

“Let's go,” Frank said.

“They'll see us on the ice,” Joe said.

“Walk slowly. We'll look less threatening,” Frank said as they made their way across the lake.

“You think they'll make a break for it?” Joe asked as they approached the shanty village.

“I doubt it. They know we'd see which way they go,” Frank said. “Besides, it could be someone perfectly innocent,” he reminded his brother.

“Could be,” Joe said, though he didn't think it was likely.

They hid next to the first shanty they came to.

“Do you think they saw us coming?” Joe whispered.

“I'm sure of it,” Frank said.

They crouched low and crept around the shanty and found themselves at the end of a row of shanties, each about twenty feet away from the next. The shanties were all closed up with no lights on except for one at the far end, closest to the shore, which had a faint white glow coming from the windows. Frank pointed to it.

Joe took the hint and they made their way, one shanty at a time up the row. Suddenly they saw two shadows by the shanty at the far end.

“Hello there!” Frank said as he ran toward them.

Joe held back for a moment to make sure they didn't both walk into a trap.

Frank reached the shanty at the head of the row and found the door swinging open. He waved for Joe to stay back while he looked in.

Joe saw a shadow, but before he could react, he was knocked off his feet by someone in black wielding a steel bar. The bar whacked into Joe's side, sending him sprawling to the ice. Joe tried to call out, but the pain in his side kept him from breathing. He tried to fight, but he couldn't get his footing on the slick ice.

The attacker grabbed his coat and flung him into the shanty with his brother. The door to the shanty slammed shut, and they heard someone attach a padlock to the door. Frank tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge.

Joe lay on the floor of the cabin and tried to catch his breath.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. I just got the wind knocked out of me,” Joe said finally as he got to his feet.

“Looks like someone was expecting us,” Frank said.

“Cozy in here, isn't it?” Joe said as he tried to open the door.

“A little too cozy,” Frank said as he tried to open a window. Both the small windows were sealed shut. “We're trapped.”

“What about the floor?” Joe asked.

They reached down to the little trapdoors the fishermen used to lower their lines through. Like the windows, the trapdoors were nailed shut.

“Looks like we're here until the fishermen show up in the morning,” Joe said.

“I don't think so,” Frank said. “The heater's on. It's going to burn up all the oxygen if we don't shut it off.”

The gas-fired camp stove was burning with a whitish glow. Frank tried to find a switch to turn it off. “Someone's broken the switch. I can't turn it off.”

“So we suffocate or freeze,” Joe said. “But either way—we're trapped!”

“There must be
something
we can do,” Frank said, rummaging through the fishing gear.

“Maybe we can drill our way out,” Joe said as he picked up the sharp corkscrew blade of a power auger. “I'm sure this would cut through the plywood of the shack.”

“The door's our best bet,” Frank said as he helped Joe lift the auger.

They each took one of the auger's handles. It was designed to be used vertically, so it was difficult to manage on its side.

The motor started just like a lawn mower, with a sharp yank on a cord. Joe gave the rope a good strong pull. The engine made a coughing sound but didn't start.

Joe pulled the cord again, and this time the motor spewed exhaust and kicked in. It was so loud
that Frank thought they would go deaf by the time they got the door open.

Joe tapped Frank on the shoulder to let him know he was ready. They tilted the machine up and thrust the big drill bit into the door. Wood chips went flying and the whole cabin shook. Frank and Joe leaned heavily into the auger handles, then stumbled as the auger broke through the door. They yanked the auger back in as Joe cut the engine.

“At least now we'll have some air until we get out of here,” Frank said. He reached through the hole and felt the padlock on the door.

“We can pry the lock off,” Joe said. He searched through the gear and found a six-foot-long steel ice bar weighing nearly twenty pounds.

“Try this,” Joe said as he handed it to Frank.

Frank passed the ice bar through the hole and used it as a lever against the hinged shackle. He gave it a few short pushes.

“Let me try,” Joe said.

Joe was a bit stronger than his brother, and at a time like this, Frank wasn't going to let his pride get in the way. He held on to the bar while Joe reached out to take hold of it.

With one quick push, Joe rammed the steel bar, and they heard a loud crack as the lock popped off and the door swung open.

“We're out of here,” Joe said as he dove out into the refreshing chill of the night air.

“Not a moment too soon,” Frank agreed. “Anyone out here?”

“They're long gone,” Joe said as his eyes scanned the lake. Joe read the name on the door. “Do you think this guy Paul Rizzo knows something?”