House Arrest Read online

  A House of Horrors

  I glanced at the others in the kitchen doorway, realizing that Ripley wasn’t among them. Neither was Mikey, like I said. Along with James, Bobby T, Brynn, and Olivia Gavener, I saw nerdy Hal Sheen, quiet homeschooler Mary Moore, and new-to-the-show Gail Digby.

  That meant one other person was missing besides Ripley and Mikey. I couldn’t think who it was at first. My brain was still half asleep.

  I was still thinking when there was a loud shriek from elsewhere in the house.

  Frank and I exchanged a look. “That sounded like it came from one of the girls’ bedrooms,” he said.

  I nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We raced back down the hall. I was in the lead as we burst into the room.

  Ripley was standing there in front of the dresser. She was staring into the mirror, a look of horror on her face.

  I could see why. Scribbled on her forehead in bloodred letters was the word MURDER.

  THE HARDY BOYS

  Undercover Brothers®

  #1 Extreme Danger

  #2 Running on Fumes

  #3 Boardwalk Bust

  #4 Thrill Ride

  #5 Rocky Road

  #6 Burned

  #7 Operation: Survival

  #8 Top Ten Ways to Die

  #9 Martial Law

  #10 Blown Away

  #11 Hurricane Joe

  #12 Trouble in Paradise

  #13 The Mummy’s Curse

  #14 Hazed

  #15 Death and Diamonds

  #16 Bayport Buccaneers

  #17 Murder at the Mall

  #18 Pushed

  #19 Foul Play

  #20 Feeding Frenzy

  #21 Comic Con Artist

  Super Mystery #1: Wanted

  Super Mystery #2: Kidnapped at the Casino

  #22 Deprivation House

  #23 House Arrest

  Available from Simon & Schuster

  THE HARDY BOYS

  Undercover Brothers®

  FRANKLIN W. DIXON

  #23 House Arrest

  Aladdin

  New York London Toronto Sydney

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 2008 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  ALADDIN, THE HARDY BOYS MYSTERY STORIES, HARDY BOYS UNDERCOVER BROTHERS, and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Designed by Sammy Yuen

  The text of this book was set in Aldine 401 BT.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  Library of Congress Control Number 2008920165

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-7946-3

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4169-6171-0

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-7946-8

  1. Night Stalkers

  2. Another Round

  3. Must-See TV

  4. Hot or Cold

  5. Going Hungry

  6. A Guy Who Can Handle Stuff

  7. Suspicious Behavior

  8. Double Trouble

  9. The Fangs Come Out

  10. Logged Out

  11. Off Camera

  12. Planks a Million

  13. Barreling Onward

  14. Decisions, Decisions

  15. Where There’s Smoke…

  16. Red-hot and Red-handed

  17. Rattled

  18. Under the Radar

  Night Stalkers

  “Did you hear that?” Frank hissed under his breath. I nodded. Then I realized he probably couldn’t see me. The hallway was pitch black. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I think we should—”

  “Shhh! Let’s go left.”

  He started creeping that way, staying low to the ground. I followed. It was so dark I could hardly see a thing. Just Frank’s back. Not my favorite view. But what are you going to do?

  We rounded the corner at the end of the hall. I clutched the big, heavy aluminum flashlight I was holding. It had been the only weapon around to grab when Frank had woken me up a few minutes earlier. I just hoped I’d have the guts to use it if and when the time came.

  Up ahead I could see the pale gray outline of a doorway. It led into the mansion’s cavernous kitchen.

  At that moment the sound came again. Sort of a tiny, scraping noise, so quiet you could hardly catch it.

  I tensed. This was it.

  Frank heard it too. He crouched there for a moment. Then, in one fluid motion, he sprang up and flipped on the light switch.

  The glare was blinding. I blinked furiously, clutching the heavy flashlight in both hands.

  “Where is it?” I shouted.

  “There!” Frank leaped forward, already swinging the Wiffle bat he was holding.

  That’s when I spotted it too. The mouse. It skittered away, avoiding Frank’s blow. The bat landed on the tile floor with a hollow thunk.

  “Gotcha!” I cried as the mouse raced toward me on its tiny legs. I lunged forward and swung as hard as I could.

  CRACK!

  That mouse was fast. I missed too. My hand stung from the recoil of the flashlight hitting the hard tile floor. I tossed my weapon to my other hand and spun around.

  Too late. The mouse was running hard. All I could do was watch helplessly as its little tail disappeared under the refrigerator.

  “What’s going on out here?” A red-haired girl wrapped in a robe appeared in the doorway—sly, cutthroat Olivia Gavener.

  A big dude with a crewcut was right behind her. James Sittenfeld. He was rubbing his eyes and looking irritated.

  “Yeah,” he said. “What’s your damage, dudes? If you want to fight out your differences, have some class. Do it when people aren’t trying to sleep.”

  That was rich, coming from him. He was the last one who should be ragging on anyone else for being inconsiderate. You could sum up the dude in two words: Ob Noxious.

  “Sorry.” Frank tossed down his Wiffle bat. “I was on my way to the bathroom when I heard our little rodent buddy rustling around out here. Joe and I were trying to take him out before he eats any more of our food.”

  “Did you get him?” James asked. “If you did, Fatso will probably kiss you.” He smirked. “In case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t like to share his chow.”

  James thinks he’s hilarious. The rest of us pretty much don’t. Not that he would ever notice. He’s not exactly Mr. Sensitive.

  Luckily, Mikey Chan—aka the “Fatso” in question—wasn’t among the crowd of seven sleepy teens now crowding the doorway, staring at Frank and me. I wasn’t surprised. The kid is a pretty heavy sleeper. I should know. I’ve been listening to him snore like a buzz saw in the bunk below me for the past week and a half.

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t kill it,” Brynn Fulghum declared. “So what if it ate a few crumbs? The poor little thing doesn’t deserve to die for that.”

  Ah, Brynn. How to describe her? You could mention her soft blond hair. Her cute upturned nose. Or the way her eyebrows kind of arch up in the middle. But even all that wouldn’t begin to cover how awesome she is. Don’t get me started, okay?

  “Whatever.” James yawned, already seeming bored by the whole conversation. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Me too,” Bobby T mumbled. He looked even sleepier th
an the others. His blue hair was sticking up on top of his head. Actually, it always does. But usually it’s from mousse or something, not bed-head.

  Bobby pays a lot of attention to his appearance. That’s because he’s famous. At least in his own mind. He’s a blogger—a pretty successful one, I guess, even though I’d never heard of him before I met him. He even had his blog optioned by Hollywood.

  By now you’re probably wondering what Frank and I were doing in a mansion with all these people. The answer is, we’re undercover agents with ATAC—American Teens Against Crime. That’s a group our dad, Fenton Hardy, started after he retired from the NYPD. The idea behind ATAC is that there are lots of places where adults stick out like a sore thumb. Hip-hop concerts. Skateboarding rallies. That kind of thing. The solution: agents who are teenagers themselves. As soon as we heard about it, Frank and I were on board. Our life has been a total rush ever since.

  The two of us have ended up in a lot of weird places thanks to ATAC. But our current mission might be the weirdest yet. We were working undercover as contestants on a new reality show called Deprivation House.

  Well, back up a minute. When we first got the assignment, we didn’t know the name of the show. All we knew was that it was an all-teen reality show. When we arrived at this amazing Beverly Hills mansion, we were stoked. I mean, the place is straight out of the movies. Spacious grounds. Private bowling lanes. Plush screening room. Oh, and did I mention the pool? I especially loved the pool.

  But we’d barely gotten to enjoy it when the show’s host, Veronica Wilmont, announced that most of it was going to be taken away. Not just the real luxuries, either. Over the course of the show, we were going to lose all kinds of stuff, from junk food to cell phones to cable TV.

  That sounds bad enough, right? But don’t forget, Frank and I were there on a mission. One of the other contestants was Ripley Lansing. In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years, like Frank—

  FRANK

  Frank here. And give it a rest already, Joe. Should you really be so proud of yourself for knowing all the celebs from Gossip Tonight, anyway?

  JOE

  Butt out, Frank. Point is, Ripley’s mother owns a big makeup company, and her dad is the drummer for Tubskull. Ripley herself is mostly famous for wearing expensive clothes and throwing things at photographers. She signed up for the show to do some image repair. But she got a death threat even before the show started, and her family called in ATAC to investigate.

  So that’s where Frank and I came in. We went undercover as Ripley’s fellow contestants. Only trouble is, once we got here we found out that all the contestants—including us—got death threats. Not just Ripley.

  I glanced at the others in the kitchen doorway, realizing that Ripley wasn’t among them. Neither was Mikey, like I said. Along with James, Bobby T, Brynn, and Olivia Gavener, I saw nerdy Hal Sheen, quiet homeschooler Mary Moore, and new-to-the-show Gail Digby.

  That meant one other person was missing besides Ripley and Mikey. I couldn’t think who it was at first. My brain was still half asleep.

  I was still thinking when there was a loud shriek from elsewhere in the house.

  Frank and I exchanged a look. “That sounded like it came from one of the girls’ bedrooms,” he said.

  I nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We raced back down the hall. I was in the lead as we burst into the room.

  Ripley was standing there in front of the dresser. She was staring into the mirror, a look of horror on her face.

  I could see why. Scribbled on her forehead in bloodred letters was the word MURDER.

  Another Round

  “Are you okay?” Joe rushed to Ripley’s side. “What happened?” I added. The others had followed us into the girls’ bedroom. When they saw Ripley, there were a bunch of gasps and little cries of surprise.

  “Whoa!” Bobby T had seemed a little quiet in the aftermath of Mouse Quest. Quiet for him, at least. Usually he talks nonstop. It’s no wonder he started blogging—that way he can get it all out and nobody has to listen unless they want to. “Hold still, everyone,” he added, sounding more like his usual self. “I gotta get my camera. This is so going on my blog!”

  Ripley didn’t seem to hear him. She was still staring at herself in the mirror. Her ice blue eyes were wide and anxious.

  “Oh my God,” Brynn moaned. When I glanced at her, she was clinging to the doorway. Her knuckles were white. “I thought we were done with this kind of thing when they caught Mitch.”

  Joe and I had thought that too. At least for a little while. We’d discovered that one of the production assistants was trying to scare us out of the house because he’d hidden the loot from an old bank robbery there.

  “No way,” James put in. “Mitch didn’t leave that maggoty dead bird in the shower last night. He was long gone by then.”

  Yeah. No way had that bird flown in and died on its own. Case closed? Not quite. Joe and I might have caught one bad guy. But it seemed there was still another one in the house.

  “Are you all right, Ripley?” I realized she still hadn’t said anything. “Are you hurt?”

  “Who did this?” Olivia demanded. “Ripley, did you write that on yourself? Because I have to tell you, it’s not much of a joke.”

  Ripley rounded on her. “Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “Do you really think I’d ruin my favorite Serge Lutens lipstick for some stupid joke? Grow up!”

  Then she seemed to catch herself. She took several deep breaths.

  “Sorry, Olivia,” she said in a more normal tone. “I—I guess I’m just freaked out.”

  “Whatever.” Olivia rolled her eyes. You don’t have to be an undercover agent to see that Olivia isn’t a Ripley fan.

  Just then Bobby T returned. He started snapping pictures with his digital camera. I saw Ripley’s jaw tighten for a second. But she didn’t say anything. She just turned away and grabbed a tissue.

  “Wait!” Bobby protested as she wiped at the sticky red letters. “Let me get a few more angles!”

  She didn’t respond. Just kept rubbing until all that was left was a sort of maroonish blur.

  That was a big step for her. I don’t pay much attention to celebrity gossip myself—

  JOE

  Joe here. I just have to say: understatement of the year. Dude, you didn’t even know who Ripley Lansing was before we got this mission!

  FRANK

  Okay, Joe. Enough. My point was, apparently Ripley is infamous for having meltdowns whenever the paparazzi get in her face. For her, Deprivation House wasn’t about the money. She had plenty of that already. No, her appearance on the show was meant to be damage control for her out-of-control reputation. Sort of a kinder, gentler Ripley. Otherwise her parents were going to cut her off until she was thirty.

  Just then another girl arrived in the doorway. She was yawning.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  That was practically headline news. The late arrival’s real name was Ann Sommerfeld. But everyone in the house called her Silent Girl. I guess it was her strategy for the game or something. I’d only heard her speak maybe twice in over a week. But I guess curiosity had gotten the best of her now.

  Bobby T and Olivia started to explain. But Brynn cut them off.

  “This is nuts!” she cried. “Why does this stuff keep happening? I’m starting to think this isn’t worth it, million-dollar prize or not!”

  Gail Digby nodded. “Girl, I am so with you.” Her voice was shaking. “No cable, no AC—that stuff I’m used to. But this is just crazy!”

  Nobody answered for a minute. What could we say? She had a point.

  I shot a glance up and down the hallway. “Coast is clear,” I muttered to Joe.

  He reached for the door of the supply closet. The closet and the bathrooms were the only spots in the house that didn’t have cameras in them. That meant those were the only places where Joe and I could talk privately.

  See, nobody involved in
the show could know who we really were. As far as they knew, we weren’t Frank and Joe Hardy of Bayport. We were long-lost brothers Frank Dooley and Joe Carr, separated as babies and adopted by different families. Joe was supposed to be rich. I was supposed to be poor. Naturally, the producers had eaten that story up and made spots for us on the show at the last minute, no tough questions asked.

  Even though it was the middle of the night, we had to be careful. The cameras were only allowed to be on a certain number of hours per day. Some kind of union rule because we were all under eighteen. But the producers didn’t tell us which hours they decided to film each day.

  “Hey,” Joe said as soon as he opened the closet door. “What are you doing in there?”

  Mikey Chan stared out as us. “Oh, hi,” he said, a sheepish grin on his round face. “You scared me. I, uh, was just looking for more toothpaste.”

  Before we could answer, he scurried off down the hall. Joe stared after him.

  “Toothpaste?” he said. “Yeah, right. More like a case of the midnight munchies. He was probably searching around in case someone missed a bag of chips in the back when they cleaned out the junk food.”

  “Whatever.” I knew Mikey missed junk food more than anyone. He’d made no secret of that. But that wasn’t what Joe and I needed to talk about right now. “Come on.”

  We ducked in and pulled the door shut behind us. “So much for getting away from all the deprivation anytime soon,” Joe said. “Looks like we’re back in business.”

  “Right. But we already knew that,” I said. “Got any theories?”

  He shrugged. “Only that we should have questioned Mitch more before the cops took him away. I mean, we know he killed that other PA to get on the show. But what if it wasn’t him behind all the other mischief? We already suspected he might not be the one who sent those threatening notes at the beginning.”

  “I thought of that too. But it’s too late to worry about it now. We had no way of knowing the pranks would continue on without him.”

  “Okay. So who has a motive to try to freak people out?”

  I thought back over our earlier list of suspects. “Well, there’s still Bobby T,” I said. “The more juicy stuff he can write up for his blog, the more likely he’ll get that movie option picked up again.”