The Secret of Skeleton Reef (2 page)

Finally Joe saw her chest expand. More seawater came dribbling from her mouth, and then her eyes popped open. “Good job, Frank,” Joe said with relief.

“Thanks,” Frank said, a bit winded.

With a groan, the young woman shut her eyes again. Joe noticed that she was tan and pretty.

A beige Jeep came roaring onto the beach, tires spewing white sand. Jamal braked the Jeep right near the young woman and leaped out. Frank and Jamal lifted her into the backseat of the Jeep. Then Joe got in back with her and covered her with a blanket while Jamal and Frank climbed into the front seats.

Most of the island was mountainous and covered
jungle-thick with trees and vegetation. Jamal had to pay close attention as he guided the Jeep down a steeply descending dirt road. Outside the beam of the Jeep's headlights was nothing but darkness.

The young woman was conscious but weak and groggy. Joe held a hand on her shoulder so she would not fall from the bumpy ride. She had been silent, her eyes mostly closed, but now Joe noticed she was trying to say something.

“Skeh . . . ” the girl murmured in a hoarse voice.

“Shhh,” Joe said. “Just relax right now. We're on the way to the hospital.”

“Skeh . . . ” she said again.

“What is it?” Joe asked, leaning close to her. “Do you need to tell me something?”

“Skeh . . . ” she repeated.

“What's she saying?” Frank asked from up front.

“I don't know,” Joe said. “It sounded like ‘skeh.' ”

“Maybe she's trying to say she's scared,” Jamal said, shifting gears to accelerate the Jeep up a hill.

“Maybe,” Joe said as the young woman shut her eyes once more.

Before long Jamal drove into the village of Soufrière, and within a few minutes he'd parked the Jeep in front of a two-story brick hospital. Joe and Jamal carried the young woman into the building, then set her on a chair inside the empty waiting room. Frank approached a nurse at a desk.

“What happened to her?” the nurse asked Frank.

“We don't know,” Frank answered. “We found her lying on the beach. She had some water in her, but we got most of it out. I think she's in shock.”

“Do you know who she is?” the nurse asked as she rolled a wheelchair over to the girl.

“Sorry,” Frank said. “We have no idea.”

“Okay, I'll take her right in to the doctor,” the nurse said as Joe helped the young woman get into the wheelchair. Then the nurse wheeled her down the hallway.

Twenty minutes later a doctor wearing a white smock entered the waiting room. “Thanks to your efforts,” the doctor said, approaching Jamal and the Hardys, “the patient is going to be all right. I pumped some more water out of her and, aside from that, she just needs a good night of rest. I wish I knew who she was, though. We'd like to notify her friends or family of her whereabouts, but we couldn't get any information from her.”

“Could we see her briefly?” Frank asked. “Maybe we can get something out of her.”

“I suppose,” the doctor said with a nod. “She's in Room eleven. But stay only a few minutes, please.”

“Right,” Frank said, leading Joe and Jamal down the hallway. At Room 11 Frank rapped lightly at the door, then stepped into the room. Joe and Jamal followed. The room was dark, but enough light spilled in from the hallway for Frank to see the young woman lying on the tilted hospital bed.

As Frank approached, he could see her eyes were open. She was wearing a hospital gown and had an ID bracelet on her wrist. Her long chestnut hair was now dry and draped across the pillowcase. Though her face was friendly, there was a hint of fear in her pale blue eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Frank asked.

“Not too bad,” the girl said, her voice still hoarse. “Are you the guys who brought me here?”

“That's right,” Frank said. “I'm Frank Hardy. This is my brother, Joe, and our friend, Jamal Hawkins. What's your name?”

The young woman hesitated a long moment. “Uh . . . Chrissy,” she said finally.

“Chrissy what?” Frank asked.

“I'd prefer we just leave it at Chrissy.”

“Is there anyone we can notify about your being here?” Frank asked. “Some family or friends in the area?”

“No,” Chrissy said quickly. “In fact, would you guys do me a big favor?”

“Sure,” Frank said.

“Don't tell anyone you found me or brought me here,” Chrissy said. “Please. Promise you won't say a word to anyone.”

“Okay.” Frank wondered what was up, but he said, “We promise.”

“Do you remember what happened to you, Chrissy?” Jamal asked.

“No,” Chrissy said, shaking her head. “I remember . . . some sort of struggle, then . . . ”

“Who was struggling with you?” Jamal asked.

“I don't remember,” Chrissy said, her brow wrinkling as if she were rummaging through her thoughts for some lost item. “Someone was trying to hurt me. . . . Suddenly I was in the water . . . and then . . . then I was swimming . . . and I, uh . . . just recall swimming and swimming a very long way until . . . I couldn't swim any farther.”

“Chrissy?” Joe said, stepping toward the bed.

“Yes?” Chrissy said, turning to look at Joe.

“On the way here, you kept saying the word
skeh
,” Joe said. “What does that mean?”

Chrissy looked at Joe a moment. She seemed to be trying to decide whether to reveal a piece of information. “I don't know,” Chrissy said finally.

“All right,” Frank said in a soothing voice. “Why don't you get some sleep and we'll come back to check on you in the morning? Good night, Chrissy.”

“Good night,” Chrissy whispered to the boys. “And listen—thank you.”

Soon Jamal was steering the Jeep along a dark and snaking dirt road. Most of the island's roads were rough going and rarely straight or level.

“She's obviously scared of something,” Jamal said, slowing down the Jeep for a curve. “Probably the person she was struggling with.”

“That's why she wouldn't give us her last name,” Joe said from the backseat. “That's also why she made us promise not to tell anyone we found her. And I bet she's hoarse from screaming. Something sinister is going on here.”

“See, what did I tell you?” Jamal said. “It looks like the Hardy brothers have found themselves some trouble again.”

“Not necessarily,” Frank said, watching the darkened trees pass by. “Chrissy might just be mixed up from the trauma of nearly drowning. She genuinely didn't seem to remember most of what happened to her. Things might look a lot more reasonable when we see her in the morning.”

“Let's hope so,” Joe said as the Jeep hit a pothole.

• • •

Early the next morning Frank, Joe, and Jamal stepped out of the wooden bungalow where they were staying. It was a no-frills home with only a few rooms. The sun poured its warmth through the many types of trees clustered around the bungalow. The deep green leaves of the trees swayed with a slight breeze, and the branches were alive with the musical cries of birds. Even the air was sweet and fresh. The place was paradise.

“A great day for a vacation,” Frank said.

“You can say that again,” Jamal said. He showed the Hardys a skiff lying alongside the bungalow.
The old boat had obviously seen better days, and Joe could see where tar had been plastered over the cracks. An aged outboard motor was attached to the rear of the boat.

“It's not much to look at,” Jamal told the Hardys, “but my uncle assures me it's seaworthy. In the front-room closet you'll find a box of boating supplies. Feel free to take out the skiff while I'm gone.” Though Jamal's uncle was not staying on St. Lucia that month, Jamal had an appointment to fly one of his uncle's friends to a few neighboring islands for some business meetings.

“What time will you be back?” Frank asked.

“Our last stop is Martinique at four, and I'm leaving my passenger there,” Jamal answered. “Why don't we meet here around, say, six? I'm pretty anxious to hear what you learn from Chrissy.”

“We'll tell you everything,” Frank said. “Have a safe flight.” Jamal climbed into the Jeep, started the engine, and drove off.

“We can't visit Chrissy until nine,” Joe said. “Why don't we wander down to the harbor and have a look around? You know, soak up a little local color.”

“Excellent,” Frank said.

They walked the short distance to the beach, then strolled along the sand for about a mile. A few tourists were already out sunbathing. By daylight
the water shimmered a gorgeous shade of turquoise, and Joe could see why people came from all over the world to visit the Caribbean beaches.

“Yes, sir,” Joe said after a deep breath of sea air. “This is just what the doctor ordered. One carefree week on a tropical island.”

“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” Frank said, noticing the palm trees along the beach.

“Except,” Joe said, “things won't be really carefree until we know Chrissy is okay.”

Soon the Hardys reached the harbor. Numerous boats lingered on the water, some of them beginning to head out to sea. Joe admired a variety of yachts, powerboats, small and large sailing vessels, and fishing trawlers. He noted that many were expensive boats, obviously belonging to either tourists or the island's wealthier inhabitants.

Then Joe spotted a group of eight people standing by a dock, Ted and Dirk among them. Like the Hardys, most of the group wore shorts and T-shirts, and a few wore bathing suits. As the Hardys drew closer, Joe heard a heated exchange going on between two members of the group.

“Those two guys from last night are over there,” Joe told Frank. “Maybe that's the crew that's looking for the
Laughing Moon
.”

“They seem to be doing more fighting than laughing,” Frank remarked.

The heated exchange turned into a yelling match. The two opponents were a thin weasel-like
man and a big bear of a man. “I'm not saying that!” the thin man yelled.

“That's exactly what you're saying!” the bearlike guy yelled back.

Then the big guy took a threatening step toward the other man, who ran fearfully toward the Hardys. The bigger man dashed across the sand in pursuit and caught the man by the arm.

“Listen, Ziggy,” the larger man shouted. “I've had about enough of you!”

“I wasn't accusing you of anything!” the other man protested. “Really, Lou, I wasn't!”

Lou cocked back a hairy arm, his fingers clenched in a big fist. He was about to turn Ziggy into hamburger.

As if he were back on the football field at Bayport High, Joe plowed into the large man's midsection. They both ended up sprawled on the sand, Joe on top.

“Hey, what's the big idea?” Lou roared. The next thing Joe knew, the bear of a man was on top of him, cocking back his fist again.

“I don't think so!” Frank said, catching Lou's hairy arm just in time.

By now the rest of the group had run over to the scuffle. “Come on, Lou,” Dirk said as he pulled the guy off Joe. “It's no big deal. Chill out, man!”

Both Joe and Lou got up, panting heavily. Lou brushed sand out of his dark curly hair while Joe straightened his clothes and eyed the man. Lou
appeared to be in his thirties and not bad looking as far as bears go. He wore a tattoo of an anchor on his powerful right bicep. Joe was glad to see Lou's anger was quickly subsiding.

“Sorry about that, guy,” Lou said, offering a hand to Joe. “My temper gets the best of me sometimes. Thanks for stopping me. The name is Lou Brunelli.”

“Hi, Lou,” Joe said, shaking Brunelli's hand and introducing himself and his brother. Brunelli had a grip like a vise, and Joe was grateful he hadn't gotten the chance to see what Brunelli's fist felt like.

“I've got to admit,” Brunelli said with admiration, “you've got some guts there, Joe.” Brunelli then walked over to join some of the others in the group.

“We meet again,” Ted said, nodding at Frank.

“What happened here?” Frank asked Ted.

“We're all on the underwater salvage crew,” Ted explained. “It's been a real long search, and now and then we get a bit uptight. And we're especially uptight today.”

“Why is that?” Frank asked.

“This gal on the crew, Chrissy, didn't come home last night, and she hasn't shown up this morning, either,” Ted said. “We don't know if we should head out to sea to work or split up and look for her.”

“Did you say her name was Chrissy?” Joe asked.

“That's right,” Ted replied. “Chrissy Peters. Why, do you know of her?”

“Uh, no,” Joe said, remembering his promise to Chrissy.

“I didn't think so,” Ted said. “She's from the States, Virginia actually, and outside of the crew, I don't think she knows anyone on the island. She's a tough enough woman, so she should be all right. All the same, I'm worried.”

Hearing another argument break out, Joe turned to look. Two other men from the group were exchanging heated words.

One was a tall man with dark wavy hair and a sharp nose, who Joe guessed was in his forties. He wore expensive clothing, sunglasses, and a jeweled ring that flashed on one finger. He was speaking with a French accent.

“Who's that?” Joe asked.

“That's Pierre Montclare,” Ted said. “He owns a banana plantation on the island, and he's also the one financing our expedition. Apparently he was the last to see Chrissy. She was doing some bookkeeping for him last night.”

Frank and Joe exchanged a look.

“And who's the other guy?” Frank asked.

“Sandy Flask,” Ted answered. “He's the captain of our expedition.”

Flask looked as if he had spent his entire life at sea. His tanned face was textured with creases, his
hair was a scraggly gray, and he wore a chain around his neck from which hung a gleaming gold coin. Though Sandy Flask was probably in his sixties, to Frank he had the air of someone who would live forever.