The Ice-cold Case

  Contents

  * * *

  1. Whose Lake Is It?

  2. Unfriendly Warning

  3. Go Away!

  4. Fishing for Clues

  5. Let’s Get Him

  6. Shattered Glass

  7. Follow the Shadows

  8. Squeeze Play

  9. Sore Losers

  10. Thin Ice!

  11. Chilled to the Bone

  12. Coming Through!

  13. Something’s Fishy

  14. Runaway!

  15. Friend or Foe?

  16. Gotcha!

  1 Whose Lake Is It?

  * * *

  “Hey, it’s cold back here,” Frank Hardy’s girlfriend, Callie Shaw, complained from the backseat of the Hardy brothers’ van.

  “We’re almost there,” Frank announced.

  “Where does Sarah live anyway—Siberia?” Chet asked. Chet Morton, Phil Cohen, and Chet’s sister, Iola, who was Joe Hardy’s girlfriend, were also in back. Joe sat in the passenger seat next to Frank. They were heading to their friend Sarah Kwan’s house for her birthday party.

  Sarah Kwan lived in one of the large, handsome houses overlooking Pineview Lake. The road there snaked through the woods before it ended in a ring around the lakeshore. Hardly anyone ever used it at this time of year except local residents and ice fishermen.

  The lake had frozen over at the end of January, and now, in mid-February, the ice was thick enough for the fishermen to drive their trucks out and set up their fishing shanties. That meant, of course, that the ice was also perfect for skating.

  As the van rounded the last slippery, snow-covered curve, the frozen lake spread before them.

  “What a view,” Callie said. “It’s like a postcard.”

  At the end of the lake stood a small village of homemade ice-fishing shanties. The other end was being used for a game of hockey. In between, skaters raced, glided, and attempted figure-eights among other maneuvers.

  “Race you across the lake,” Frank said, challenging his brother.

  “You’re on,” Joe said.

  “Wow! Look at that,” Frank said as he pulled into the Kwans’ driveway.

  Everyone strained to see out the front of the van. Sarah and her parents were putting the finishing touches on a snowman, but not just any ordinary snowman. This one was a frozen life-size sculpture of a real man sitting on a couch, watching television. And the whole scene was made of snow.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Iola said as she peered over Joe’s shoulder.

  “Sarah’s father is a sculptor,” Callie explained.

  “It figures!” Chet exclaimed.

  Frank parked the van at the end of the driveway and hopped out.

  Sarah waved and came over to greet them all. “I was worried you couldn’t get through all this snow,” she said. Wearing a red parka and fluffy white ear muffs, she looked as if she belonged in a winter wonderland postcard, too.

  The rest of the crew piled out of the van, wishing Sarah a happy birthday and stretching their legs. A few snowballs were thrown before they all trooped up the driveway to meet Sarah’s parents.

  “You must have been at this all morning,” Callie said as she looked at the snow scene.

  “Pretty much,” Mrs. Kwan said.

  “We actually started last night,” Mr. Kwan added.

  “This is my mom and dad,” Sarah said. Her father looked very serious and had short graying hair. Her mother, however, was all smiles. Sarah introduced her friends.

  When Mr. Kwan heard the name Hardy he came over and shook hands with Frank and Joe.

  “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Mr. Kwan said.

  “Dad, please,” Sarah said. “At least let them have some lunch first.”

  “Lunch isn’t going anywhere,” Mr. Kwan said. He turned his attention back to Frank and Joe. “Sarah has told me about your investigative skills.”

  “Just what do you think you’re doing to these poor boys?” Mrs. Kwan asked as she came over. “They’re here to have fun, not to listen to you.”

  “I’m just asking the Hardys if they know anything about the robberies around here,” Mr. Kwan said.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Kwan,” Joe said. “Frank and I have solved quite a few crimes in and around Bayport.”

  “Some people collect stamps; we investigate crime,” Frank added.

  Mrs. Kwan looked skeptical. “Just remember, all of you, this is a party, not a crime stoppers’ meeting.”

  Crime, however, tended to interest Frank more than parties. “What’s the problem up here?” he asked Mr. Kwan.

  “It’s been going on for a few years now. Every winter someone’s been breaking into houses around the lake and stealing things,” Mr. Kwan explained. “The police aren’t having much luck, and it’s got a lot of us who live around here pretty nervous. I just thought if you boys heard or noticed anything while you were here—”

  “Hiromi, come finish up here while I bring the hamburgers out to the grill,” Mrs. Kwan called to her husband.

  “I think I’d better get back to our work of art and let you boys go enjoy yourselves,” Mr. Kwan said.

  “Okay,” Joe said. “We’ll let you know if we pick up on anything.”

  Mr. Kwan went back to the snow sculpture, where Phil and Chet were admiring his work, and even more so, his tools. Mr. Kwan’s tools were laid out precisely, like a surgeon’s instruments. Spread around him were a snow shovel, kitchen knives, spoons, spatulas, and a large spray bottle.

  “Looks like you’ve got a system,” Phil said.

  “The secret is to spray on water,” Mr. Kwan explained. “The cold air turns the snow to ice, which keeps the sculpture in shape.”

  “Hey, Phil,” Chet said. “Let’s make a snow-woman.” Phil was game. He liked anything that required tools and skilled hands.

  “We’ll put her on a big recliner,” Chet said as he started gathering snow.

  Sarah led the others behind the house to the lake. “My dad checked the ice earlier. He says it’s perfect for skating.”

  Joe paused to take in the view of the lake again. “This is a great place for a party.”

  “Nice place for a few robberies, too,” Frank said.

  “Ha, ha,” Joe said, not really laughing.

  “No joke—look at these houses,” Frank said. Most of the houses were big, two or three stories tall, and well kept. They were surrounded by a good deal of land.

  “Let’s call Con Riley later and get the lowdown on those robberies,” Frank said. Con Riley was an officer on the Bayport police force who had been helpful to them in the past. “But right now, I believe I have a race to win,” Frank said.

  “I wish I had brought my speed skates,” Joe said as he looked over the broad, flat lake. “I didn’t think the ice would be this smooth.”

  “Speed skates wouldn’t help,” Frank said. “I’d still beat you.” Frank, at eighteen and six foot one, was a year older and an inch taller than his brother.

  “In your dreams,” Joe replied. He was younger and shorter, but Joe had a more athletic build, and he worked at keeping in shape.

  “Okay, right now, you and me, on the ice,” Frank said. They raced to the back of the van and grabbed their skates, which were laced on tightly in no time.

  As they stood at the edge of the ice deciding their race course, they heard shouting from the far end of the lake.

  “Is that still hockey they’re playing over there?” Joe asked.

  “Looks like tackle hockey to me,” Frank said as he watched a central pile-up of bodies interrupt the wild game.

  Sarah came over to them. “Sorry my dad was bugging you guys about the robberies. He’s pretty freaked out about the
whole thing and how the police haven’t been able to catch the thief.”

  “No problem,” Frank said. “We don’t mind keeping our eyes and ears open. Right, Joe?” Frank nudged his brother, who was still focused on the hockey game.

  “Isn’t that Ray Nelson?” Joe pointed out a kid their age who, just at that moment, stuck out his hockey stick to trip an opponent.

  “My father can’t stand those guys,” Sarah said. She winced as they watched Ray get flattened by another player.

  “They’re just a little rough,” Joe said.

  “A little rough?” Frank said. “Wasn’t Ray suspended from school for fighting?”

  “Okay, he’s got a temper,” Joe conceded. “But when we were on the football team together, he wasn’t so bad.”

  “You were wearing pads,” Frank said.

  “Dad thinks Ray and his friends are the thieves,” Sarah said.

  Suddenly a shout came off the lake. “Get out of here!”

  The action on the ice had moved. A swarm of hockey players was advancing on the fishermen’s shanties.

  “Do you think Ray and his friends are taking up ice fishing?” Joe asked with a laugh.

  “Looks more like ice rioting to me,” Frank replied.

  A number of the fishermen were heading out to meet Ray and his hockey buddies. Some of them carried heavy steel rods called ice bars, which they used to test the ice and keep their ice holes from freezing over. At the moment, however, they looked more like weapons.

  “We’d better check it out,” Joe said.

  As Frank and Joe skated out onto the lake, the shouting became more distinct. Ray was yelling at an older man. “Who said it was your lake anyway, Tuttle?”

  “Get out of here, you punks,” Ernie Tuttle shouted back. With his shock of white hair and the plaid wool coat he wore all the time, he was a fixture in Bayport. He had run Tuttle’s Bait Shop—the only business along the lakeshore—for as long as anyone could remember.

  “You, too!” Ernie shouted at Frank and Joe, who had skated right between the two groups. “You’ve got no business being on the lake.”

  “Chill out,” Frank said. “We’re not with them. What’s everybody so angry about, anyway?”

  Only a few feet separated the two sides, but the Hardys’ presence seemed to calm them down a little.

  Ray skated up to Joe, holding his hockey stick across his chest, ready to strike.

  “We’ve got as much right to be on the lake as anybody,” Ray said.

  “Hey, what’s the big deal?” Joe asked him.

  While Joe tried to get Ray’s side of the story, Frank saw Hank Green in the crowd of angry fishermen. Hank was a tall, slender man who always wore a red baseball cap that advertised his junkyard and fix-it shop, Green’s Salvage, on the front. Joe and Frank’s father, private detective Fenton Hardy, often called on Hank’s expertise for cases involving cars. Hank would analyze wrecked cars to determine whether brake lines had been tampered with or engines had been sabotaged.

  “Hank, remember me, Frank Hardy?” he asked as he skated up to him.

  “Hey, Frank, how’s your dad?” Hank asked. He reached out a gloved hand. Hank was so long and lanky, he looked as if he might blow away in the bitter wind.

  They shook hands. “He’s doing great,” Frank said. “So, Hank, what’s going on around here?”

  “It never ends,” Hank said with a sigh. “These kids skate around like crazy. They think it’s great fun to scare away the fish. One of these days someone’s going to get hurt. They’ll knock over someone’s shanty or fall through the ice.”

  “They’re just fooling around,” Frank offered.

  “As far as I’m concerned, they can knock each other senseless on land,” Hank said. “But if someone gets seriously hurt out here, the police will kick all of us off the ice.”

  “How about Ernie?” Frank asked. “He seems ready to blow.”

  “Can you imagine what’ll happen to the bait shop if the parks commissioner declares the lake off-limits for the winter?” Hank replied.

  While Frank and Hank had been talking, Ray began skating circles around Ernie, taunting him and waving his hockey stick at him.

  “Come on, old man, kick me off the lake. Go ahead,” Ray said. Two of Ray’s friends who had been darting through the crowd of fishermen now skated directly toward Ernie with their hockey sticks raised.

  Neither Frank nor Joe knew Ray’s friends very well but had seen them hanging around town. Their names were John and Vinnie. They were a few years older and had dropped out of school. “How about it, old man?” Vinnie said, slapping Ernie on the back with the flat side of his stick.

  Ernie pulled a hand ax from his tool belt. “All right, you punk. You asked for it,” he shouted. But Vinnie had already skated out of Ernie’s reach.

  “Why don’t you go back to the far side of the lake?” Joe calmly addressed Ray’s friends.

  Vinnie and John glowered at him. “Out of the way, Hardy,” John said.

  “Ernie, I know you’ve always been tough on your customers, but the ax is too much,” Frank said.

  This got a laugh from both the fishermen and the hockey players. Ray kept it up after the crowd had quieted.

  “You think this is all a big joke, don’t you, Ray Nelson,” Ernie said as he put the ax back on his tool belt. “Well, I’ve seen you checking out the houses around here. I know what you’ve been doing.”

  “You’d better watch what you say, old man, or I’ll shut you up for good,” Ray threatened. He crouched low and picked up speed as he skated toward Ernie.

  2 Unfriendly Warning

  * * *

  “What’s it take to calm this guy down?” Frank asked his brother.

  “Maybe he needs a nice trip,” Joe said. He circled Frank once to gather speed and set off on an interception course. Just as Ray was bearing down on Ernie, Joe casually stuck his skate-shod foot out, closed his eyes, and braced himself for impact.

  Instead of getting the expected jolt, he felt himself showered in ice chips at the same moment he heard police sirens. He opened his eyes to find Ray stopped, inches away from his face. Behind him, in the distance, three police cars were disgorging cops, who foolishly came charging onto the ice.

  Both Joe and Ray found it hard to keep from laughing as the officers slipped and slid toward them.

  The first officer on the scene was the Hardys’ friend Con Riley.

  “We got a call about a disturbance,” Riley said as he surveyed the two groups.

  “Tuttle thinks he owns the ice,” Ray shouted from the group of skaters, where he had retreated.

  “These punks are going to get someone killed,” Ernie shouted back.

  Then everyone else seemed to join in, shouting at once. Riley closed his eyes and shook his head. “One at a time,” he yelled above the noise.

  Frank and Joe skated up on either side of Riley.

  “Don’t tell me you’re involved in this?” Riley said in disbelief.

  “We would have been if you hadn’t shown up,” Frank said.

  “So, tell me what’s going on here, as if I didn’t know.” Officer Riley took Frank and Joe aside while the other officers stood between the two groups.

  “Apparently the lake isn’t big enough for fishing and hockey,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Riley said with a groan. “I’ve been out here at least a dozen times in the last three weeks.”

  Frank and Joe looked puzzled. “You don’t want to hear what we have to say?” Joe asked.

  “Talk all you want,” Riley replied. “I just pulled you over here to wait for the chief to arrive. He told me to notify him the next time something like this happened and he’d come out himself. So, go ahead—talk if you want.”

  “See,” Joe began, “the fishermen complain—”

  “Hey,” Frank interrupted. “Do you know those two guys?” He nodded in the direction of Tuttle’s Bait Shop.

  Two young men had come out th
e door and were heading toward the crowd on the lake. Ernie quickly went to talk to them. One was blond, about six feet tall, the other had dark hair and was a few inches shorter. Frank guessed they were in their twenties. The eyes of the whole crowd were on them as Ernie pointed Ray out to the two young men.

  “They’re Ernie’s grandsons,” Riley said. “Ernie introduced us. The tall one is Stu and the other is Neil. They come up from Maryland a few times a year to help with the shop.”

  At that moment, Chief of Police Ezra Collig arrived, and Riley hurried across the ice to meet him halfway. When the two policemen reached the crowd, Riley silenced everyone with a sharp whistle.

  Collig addressed the gathered Bayport citizens. “Since you’re all here, I want to know if anyone can tell me anything about the robbery this morning at the Anderson place.”

  Frank and Joe looked over the crowd to see if anyone would respond.

  “I sure can,” Ernie called out.

  “Don’t get involved.” Stu tried to silence his grandfather.

  “What do you have for me, Ernie?” Collig asked.

  “I saw Ray Nelson snooping around there,” Ernie said.

  Ray heard this and exploded. “I warned you, old man. You’ll pay for this, I swear.” Ray was waving his hockey stick, and his face turned bright red.

  “Now, take it easy, Ray,” Collig said.

  Joe skated over to Ray.

  “Take it easy?” Ray shouted in disbelief. “That old jerk’s been out to get me and my dad for years. Are you going to listen to his lies?”

  “I’m going to hear what he has to say,” Collig said. “When was this, Ernie?”

  “All week, every night just about. And it wasn’t the only place I saw him looking at, either,” Ernie added.

  “Are you willing to come down to the station and make a formal statement?” Collig asked.

  “Sure I am. I’m not scared of these punks,” Ernie said.

  “Well, maybe you should be,” Ray said.

  “Why don’t you arrest that bum,” Ernie asked Collig.

  Chief Collig rolled his eyes. “Ernie, it doesn’t work that way. We’ll get your statement and we’ll get Ray to answer some questions.” Collig waved an officer over. “Bring him in for questioning.”