The Secret of Skeleton Reef (10 page)

“That didn't stop Peg Riley,” Joe said. “Come on. I want a closer look.”

Joe led Frank and Jamal into the dense region of trees and shrubbery just beyond the concrete. Camouflaged by the greenery, the boys walked a short distance, then hid in the trees not far from where Flask and the man were standing.

Flask was pulling objects from the bags and laying them on the airplane wing. Joe saw gold and silver coins, gold ingots, fragments of a teapot, an antiquated pistol, balls of lead, a gold chain with a dragon medallion. “Whoa,” Joe whispered. “Some
of that stuff is what I saw Peg Riley burying tonight.”

“Why would Flask have it?” Frank asked.

“Maybe Peg was stealing the booty for him,” Joe said. “Maybe Flask doesn't want to play by the government's rules and wait several years before any of the relics can be sold. After all, he's already poured four years of his life into finding the
Laughing Moon
site. And maybe he's not too thrilled about getting only twenty percent of the profits.”

“Do you really think he would steal from his own expedition?” Frank asked, keeping his eyes on the pirate treasures. The man with silver hair was examining them, obviously impressed.

“Just because he's a captain doesn't mean he can't be greedy,” Joe said. “In fact, he probably feels he has more right to those relics than anybody.”

“And you said the guy is obsessed with pirates,” Jamal said. “Maybe the old geezer is something of a pirate himself. You know, he kind of looks like one.”

“Or maybe we're jumping to some big conclusions here,” Frank said.

Flask turned suddenly and looked right in the direction where Jamal and the Hardys were hiding.

“Shhh,” Jamal said. “Nobody move.”

“We're not,” Frank whispered back.

Flask was scanning the greenery as if searching for an enemy ship on the horizon, and Frank had a
feeling that Flask's experienced eyes never missed a trick. “Peekaboo, I see you,” Flask called after a few moments. “Now, why don't you fellows come out of there? Whoever you are.”

“Stay,” Joe whispered to his companions. “If he wants to come for us, let him. We've got him outnumbered.”

“Maybe you didn't hear me,” Flask called again. “Maybe I need to speak a little louder.” Flask reached around to the back of his pants and pulled out a small automatic pistol. “Now step on out of there, you rascals,” Flask ordered. “Immediately!”

He released the safety catch on the pistol and aimed the weapon at Joe.

“Don't shoot!” Joe called. He stepped from behind a tree with his hands in the air.

“Hardy?” Flask said, surprised. “Funny seeing you here. Now tell your friends to step out or else my trigger finger might get a sudden itch.”

Frank and Jamal stepped out from their hiding places with their hands in the air. The man with the silver hair was nervously watching the scene.

“Dandy,” Flask said, keeping the pistol trained on Joe. “Now how about somebody telling me what's going on?”

“Our friend Jamal here,” Frank explained, “has access to a plane and we were out for a night flight.”

“Yeah,” Flask said, swinging the gun to Frank. “But then why were you dogs spying on me?”

“I was getting to that,” Frank said calmly. “You see, after we parked our plane, we saw you showing some things to that man. And, uh, we were curious about what you were showing him.”

“Did you see what I was showing?” Flask asked.

“Not really,” Frank said.

“Hardy, I don't believe you,” Flask said, almost growling. “Try telling me the truth!”

Frank knew Flask was a man who didn't like to be bamboozled, and he decided to play it straight. “You were showing that man relics from the
Laughing Moon
,” he said.

“That's better.” Flask smiled. “And I bet you boys think I've stolen these relics, don't you?”

“Nobody said that,” Joe said.

“Well, I
have
stolen them,” Flask said. “And just now I thought you kids were trying to filch them from me. But I see I was mistaken.”

“I'm glad you see that,” Jamal said.

Flask lowered the pistol, flipped the safety on, and stuffed the gun back into his pants. With relief, the boys lowered their hands. The man with silver hair began mopping his face with a handkerchief.

“Hey, Nelson!” Flask said, turning to the man. “Keep a close eye on that booty. I'll be with you in just a few.” Nelson waved his hand, and Flask walked over to the boys.

“Sir,” Joe said, “may we ask why you stole those relics?”

“Well”—Flask shoved back a lock of his scraggly hair— “since you boys have found me out, I guess I have to let you in on my little secret.”

“Another secret,” Jamal muttered.

“Follow me,” Flask said.

With the boys behind him, Flask walked through the leafy vegetation until he came to a high ledge overlooking the southern tip of the island.

“As soon as we started pulling those beautiful doodads out of the sand,” Flask said, staring out to sea, “I knew it wasn't right to sell them for a profit. I told myself, Sandy, old boy, that stuff belongs in a museum. A place that's a lot of fun to visit but where people can also learn the truth about pirates.”

“What
is
the truth about pirates?” Joe asked, eyeing Flask suspiciously. “Besides the fact that they liked to shoot cannons and rob other ships.”

“Oh, there's a lot more to it than that,” Flask said. “In their own crude way, they were revolutionaries. Back in those days, most folks were terribly poor, and there was no democracy anywhere. What the pirates really wanted was some equality. The pirates didn't start stealing because they were greedy. No, sir. They started stealing because they were starving.”

“Is that right?” Joe asked.

“Yup,” Flask said. “And those pirate ships were
democratic in most every way. Men of all races were treated alike. The captains were voted in, and if they weren't good leaders, they were voted out. They say Black Dan Cavendish was one of the best. Supposedly the day he became a pirate captain, he climbed the rigging of his ship and proclaimed, ‘Brothers, never again will you be captives of the wealthy. From this day forth you are free men!' ”

“I never knew any of this,” Joe said.

“Me, either,” Frank added.

“Well, then, there ought to be a pirate museum,” Jamal said. “Personally, I would love to see it.”

“The problem is this,” Flask said, scratching his chin. “Pierre Montclare owns fifty percent of whatever we find, and he doesn't go for the museum idea. When I asked him about it, he said he needed to sell his share of the relics to help him out of a bad financial situation. A museum could take years to start turning a profit.”

“So why don't you get somebody to buy out Montclare's share?” Frank asked. “That way Montclare gets money right now and you get your museum.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to do,” Flask replied. “Nelson back there is a wealthy businessman who is considering the possibility of the museum. You see, I needed to have the relics in hand to show to potential investors.”

“Why couldn't you just take the potential backers out on the
Destiny?
” Frank asked. “That way
they could see the stuff without all this sneaking around.”

“Some days we find a lot of incredible things,” Flask said, “and some days we hardly find anything. And these business types don't have several days to kill hanging around on a boat.”

“Couldn't you just borrow some of the pirate stuff to show the potential backers?” Jamal asked.

“Nope,” Flask said, after spitting on the ground. “I asked the government archaeologist about that, but he nixed the idea real fast. Understandably, he's paranoid about those valuable items getting stolen.”

“So how did you get all that stuff in the bags?” Joe asked.

“Like I said, I stole them,” Flask said with a grin. “Or to be more specific, I had Peg Riley steal them. Every now and then, she smuggles out a few choice items and takes them to her place. Then she cleans off the encrustation and buries everything in a secret spot. When I need the stuff, I come by and pick it up. I know it's all a bit pirate-like, but then maybe that's why I like it.”

“What will you do with the stolen items once you find an investor?” Joe asked.

“I'll return every bit of it to the common pot,” Flask said emphatically. “Much as I like pirates, I'm not a thief myself.”

“One more question,” Frank said. “Why the gun?”

“Son,” Flask answered, “the stuff I'm carrying tonight is probably worth a hundred thousand dollars. And don't forget, those fools Rob and Davy are lurking around. As a matter of fact, at first I thought you guys were them. You're probably lucky I didn't blow you to smithereens.”

“I'm counting my blessings,” Jamal said.

“Have you heard anything about Chrissy Peters?” Joe asked.

“Not a peep,” Flask said, a serious look in his eyes. “It's the strangest thing, her disappearing like that. She's an awfully sweet kid, and I sure hope she's okay.”

“So do we,” Frank said, looking out at the dark sea below. “Wherever she is.”

“Well, I'd better get back to Nelson,” Flask said as he cracked his knuckles. “He seems pretty keen on the museum idea, and I don't want to keep him waiting. Can I rely on you fellows to guard my secret?”

“Yes, sir,” Joe said with a salute. “We're good with secrets.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Flask said, tipping his cap. “And maybe I'll see you three at my pirate museum one day. Okay, mates, yo ho ho and a bottle of coconut soda!” Then, with a gruff chuckle, Flask began tramping back toward the airport.

“Was he telling the truth?” Jamal asked.

“My gut instinct says yes,” Frank said.

“Well, if he was telling the truth,” Joe said, “that
means Peg probably wasn't the one who tried to kill Chrissy Peters. If Chrissy had caught Peg stealing, Peg would just have explained the situation to Chrissy. And I imagine Chrissy would have understood.”

“I think,” Jamal said, “we should focus our attention on finding out what those guys on the
Destiny
might be looking for on the northern part of the reef. If it turns out to be something really important, I would move them, whoever they are, into the position of chief suspects.”

“I agree.” Frank checked his watch. “It's already well past midnight. Maybe we should turn in and get a fresh start tomorrow.”

“I'm for that,” Joe said, covering a yawn. “I've never had such an exhausting vacation!”

• • •

The sun blazed brightly the following morning as Joe drove the Jeep down one of the island's many green slopes. Jamal's mission for the day was to rent a car and comb the island for a sign of Chrissy. Frank and Joe were headed for a library in Castries, a village on the northeastern part of the island, where they hoped to find a clue to what somebody might be looking for on the northern end of Skeleton Reef.

At the library the Hardys spent three hours leafing through newspapers, recent books, and old leather-bound volumes. Though the brothers found plenty of information on ships that had passed
through the area over the years, they failed to find the significant clue they were looking for.

“I don't know if we're going to find anything this way,” Joe said, wearily rubbing his eyes. “It took Flask a year of bookwork to get a rough idea of where the
Laughing Moon
might be. I wish somebody could tell us what might be out there on the northern part of the reef.”

“Wait,” Frank said, slowly closing a book. “Maybe somebody can.”

“Like who?” Joe asked.

“Auntie Samantha,” Frank said. “Remember, she said she knew everything about this island. And she told us just where to find her.”

“Inside the volcano,” Joe said, excited. “How could we forget an address like that?”

“Right,” Frank said, scooting his chair out. “So let's go find the volcano.”

Soon the Hardys were back in the Jeep, driving up and down the green slopes, heading toward the volcano known as La Soufrière. Though Frank was consulting a map, the dirt roads had no signs. Before long the Hardys were hopelessly lost on a desolate part of the island where there was less vegetation and no trace of people. For almost thirty minutes the Hardys looked for someone to give them directions.

Finally Joe pulled the Jeep over and spotted an elderly man climbing a hill. The man was in the
company of a mule, and Frank could see a few shacks on the grassy hilltop. Frank and Joe began climbing after the man. The day had turned hot, and soon the brothers were sweating and swatting mosquitoes as they made their way upward.

“Hi, there,” Frank called as the Hardys approached the man. “We're looking for La Soufrière, the volcano. Could you tell us how to get there?”

The man stopped, and the mule eyed the Hardys suspiciously. “Sure,” the man said, his face shaded by a straw hat. “I write it down for you.” Frank handed the man a pen and paper.

“Mind if I pet the mule?” Joe asked.

“Better not,” the man said. “Sometimes she like to bite tourists.”

“Oh,” Joe said, putting his hands in his pockets.

The man handed Frank the sheet of paper. “Thanks,” Frank said, noticing the instructions were mostly drawings with pointing arrows.

“No sweat, mon,” the man said with a wave. Then he and the mule continued trudging up the hill.

The Hardys quickly descended. At the foot of the hill, they passed three skinny white goats grazing in the grass. “They must belong to the folks who live in the shacks,” Frank said as the Hardys continued toward the Jeep. “The goats are probably their source of milk and meat.”