Terror at High Tide Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  1 Washed Ashore

  2 Eight-Legged Enemy

  3 A Shocking Announcement

  4 Deadbeat Dune Buggy

  5 Hang-Up Call

  6 Who’s the Hot Rod?

  7 Set for Sabotage

  8 Riptide

  9 Bogged Down in Danger

  10 The Secret Tunnel

  11 Blown to Bits

  12 Trespassers Beware

  13 Kidnapped!

  14 At Sea with a Shark

  15 Story of a Shipwreck

  1 Washed Ashore

  * * *

  “Surf’s up,” Frank Hardy said to his younger brother, Joe. “Those waves are awesome. Ready to catch a few?”

  “I’m game if you are,” Joe replied, grabbing his surfboard and heading out toward the turbulent sea. “Besides, I didn’t come all the way from Bayport to Nantucket just to sunbathe.”

  Frank pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, looked out at the sparkling ocean, and chuckled. He should have known that Joe would want to plunge in the second they arrived at the beach, even though the surf was still heavy from a storm the day before.

  Frank plopped his surfboard into the foamy water, eased himself onto it, then paddled out to sea behind Joe.

  “Yikes!” Joe cried as a mountain of water loomed up, blotting out the turquoise-colored sky. “That wave’s a monster. Let’s ride it.”

  “We either ride it or get creamed by it!” Frank shouted. He paddled hard toward the wave, making sure to keep a safe distance from Joe. The wave looked powerful enough to break a surfboard, Frank thought—he hated to think what it would do to him if he didn’t reach it in time.

  Catching a glimpse of Joe’s wet blond head twenty feet away, Frank gritted his teeth. Joe looked like a tiny speck in the hollow of the giant wave. As the wave swelled higher, Frank could see Joe position his board in the middle, planting his feet firmly on it. He rose to a crouching position, holding his arms out for balance. Then he started to glide smoothly along. Way to go, Joe, Frank thought as the wave crested.

  Frank hoped he could make it to the wave before it broke. He felt his biceps strain as he used every ounce of his strength to paddle. If he didn’t get to the wave at just the right moment, he’d be in for a total wipeout.

  Frank watched the wave make a final heave toward the sky, then begin to spill over. All he could see was a wall of dark water threatening to crash over him.

  In a split second Frank reached the monster wave as it broke. He brought his board around and hopped up. The wave was like a wild animal, doing its best to hurl him off, and Frank fought to keep just ahead of the danger zone.

  “Cowabunga!” he shouted as he zipped along. Like a writhing sea snake, the wave tossed its way to shore, finally depositing Frank close to where Joe was standing in knee-deep water.

  “I couldn’t have done it better myself,” Joe said as Frank zoomed up. “For a moment, though, I thought you were shark food, for sure.”

  Frank jumped off his surfboard and slapped Joe five. “You and me both,” Frank admitted. “But somehow I got lucky. What do you say we take a beach break after that one? Callie and Alicia brought us some sodas.”

  Joe nodded. “Sounds great.”

  With surfboards in hand, the Hardys waded to shore, then headed across a strip of hot yellow sand to a colorfully striped beach umbrella. Frank’s girlfriend, blond-haired Callie Shaw, looked up and waved at the Hardys as they approached while her friend, Alicia Geovanis, bent over a cooler, her red shoulder-length curls cascading down around her face.

  “Hey, guys, that was some wave,” Callie said, a mixture of concern and wonder in her voice. “I’m glad you made it to shore.”

  “Bet you could use an energy boost,” Alicia said, handing Frank and Joe each a soda. She smiled up at them, the skin on her freckled nose crinkling while she squinted into the sun.

  As Frank and Joe sat down, Callie glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to work by two o’clock,” she said. “I promised the Island News I’d write up a story for tomorrow’s paper.”

  “More hot news?” Joe said in a mock-serious tone. “You’ve already covered that big cat rescue from the rock at high tide.”

  Callie laughed. “I know, I know—and the pancake breakfast at the fire department. I admit I’m running low on ideas. I mean, being a summer intern at the newspaper here is great—but not much happens on Nantucket.”

  “That’s the whole point,” Alicia said. “It’s peaceful and beautiful. People come here to relax—”

  “Relax?” Callie cut in, her brown eyes twinkling. “Frank and Joe will change all that. They claim they’re here for a week to visit me, but sooner or later they’ll be solving some mystery that would completely baffle anyone else.”

  Frank and Joe were a formidable duo when it came to detective work.

  “Thanks, Callie. We owe a lot to our dad,” Frank said modestly, referring to Fenton Hardy, a private detective in Bayport, New York.

  Joe nodded. “He’s been a real inspiration.” After a brief pause Joe gave Frank a playful punch on the arm. “Finish your soda, bro. We’ve got some surfing to do.”

  “What!” Callie groaned. “Not again.”

  “I’m with you,” Frank said as he got to his feet. He thanked the girls for the soda, then picked up his surfboard. When he lifted it, a swarm of flies rose from a clump of rotting seaweed a few feet away, revealing a thin red crescent at the seaweed’s edge. Frank did a double take.

  Frank put down his surfboard and squatted to get a better look. He wrinkled his nose. There was a smell of decay in the air—from the seaweed, he figured.

  Gingerly Frank lifted the seaweed. Underneath, a red rubbery-looking object lay partly buried in the sand. Picking it up, Frank saw that it was a deflated balloon with white letters on it that spelled Ebony Pearl.

  Wow, Frank thought—the Ebony Pearl was a famous shipwreck. He remembered reading that the ship had sunk off the shoals of Nantucket—an island off the coast of Cape Cod, Massachusetts—in 1957. Could this balloon have just washed up on shore, he wondered—forty years after the ship went down?

  “Hey, Joe!” he called, gesturing to his brother, who was already setting his surfboard on the water. “Come here.”

  While Joe jogged up the beach, Frank walked over to the girls. “Look what I just found,” he said, kneeling to show them the balloon.

  Alicia’s sunburned face turned pale. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

  Joe let out a low whistle as he examined it. “Could this be for real?” he said. As he spoke, a wave streamed up the sand toward them and wet the edge of their beach blanket.

  “The tide’s coming in,” Callie said. “With these waves, we’ll be soaked in a second. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Come on up to my house,” Alicia offered. “We can look at the balloon there.”

  After handing the balloon back to Frank, Joe grabbed the surfboards and a backpack full of dry clothes, while Frank helped Callie with the umbrella and cooler. Then Frank, Joe, and Callie followed Alicia up a narrow path between the dunes. A short flight of wooden stairs led up to a gray shingled Cape Cod cottage that sat on a bluff above the ocean.

  “Come on in, guys,” Alicia said as she opened the door. They all stepped into a comfortable living room with wicker furniture, straw rugs—and sand on the floor. Magazines and books were strewn around the sofa, and two unwashed coffee cups sat on a nearby table.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Alicia said as she began to clear off the sofa. “My dad has been busy at work, and I’m not much of a housekeeper. If my mom were still alive, she’d have this place shipshape.”

  “No problem,
” Joe said as he sat down on the sofa next to the others. “Believe me, housework is the last thing on my mind, too.”

  “What is on our minds,” Frank said, tossing the balloon into the center of the coffee table, “is the Ebony Pearl. Your dad must know a lot about it. Wasn’t it some kind of luxury liner, like the Titanic?”

  Earlier, Alicia had explained to the Hardys that her father, George Geovanis, was an expert on shipwrecks. Alicia and her father had moved to Nantucket two months earlier. Her father was the new curator of the Nantucket Shipping Museum.

  Holding the balloon, Alicia studied it thoughtfully. “The Ebony Pearl was a small luxury cruise ship with about four hundred passengers,” she began, “nowhere near as large as the Titanic. It was on its way from Florida to Maine when it sank, and almost half the passengers drowned.” She stopped, then frowned. Frank had a feeling there was more to her story.

  “One of those who drowned was my grandfather, my father’s dad,” she finally said. “There wasn’t enough time to lower all the lifeboats, and my grandmother and my dad barely made it.”

  “Your dad was on the Ebony Pearl?” Frank asked. “He must have been just a kid then.”

  “He was only ten years old,” Alicia said softly. “The accident made a lasting impression on him. And my grandmother never got over my grandfather’s death.”

  “What caused the accident?” Joe asked. “It must have been something big for there not to have been time to get all the lifeboats down.”

  “Something exploded,” Alicia said. “They think it was the boiler. It happened in the middle of a dinner to honor the captain.”

  “Could we show this balloon to your dad?” Frank asked Alicia. “Would he be able to tell us if it’s real?”

  “Absolutely,” Alicia replied. “He’ll be extremely interested in it. It was his experience as a kid on the Ebony Pearl that made him so fascinated by shipwrecks.”

  She rose from the sofa. “Let’s change first, though,” she said, tossing Frank the pack full of clothes. “We can’t wear bathing suits into the museum.”

  Thirty minutes later Frank, Joe, Callie, and Alicia climbed out of Alicia’s red convertible Jeep outside the Nantucket Shipping Museum in the center of the historic old town. Frank and Joe knew that Nantucket had been a world-famous whaling port before the Civil War. These days vacationers flocked to the island for its good beaches and water sports, its seafood, and its rich maritime history.

  Alicia led the way inside the museum, ushering her friends past the ticket taker, who gave them a friendly nod.

  As they passed through the large airy main room of the museum, Frank and Joe saw ship models and artifacts of every kind, from models of Spanish galleons to paintings of Nantucket whaling ships and photographs of World War II battleships. There was even an authentic skull-and-crossbones flag from a pirate ship.

  “Hey, look at that octopus,” Joe said as they walked up a flight of stairs leading to a balcony level. Hanging from the ceiling were several types of stuffed sea creatures, including sharks, starfish, and a twelve-foot-long octopus.

  “I wouldn’t want that thing hugging me,” Frank joked.

  “Check this out,” Joe said, once they had reached the top.

  “It’s the Lusitania,” Frank said, reading from a placard next to a ship model, “the British ocean liner sunk by a German submarine in World War One.”

  “This entire front mezzanine displays twentieth-century ocean liner shipwrecks—my father’s special interest,” Alicia said with a sweep of her hand. Next to the Lusitania, models of the Titanic, the Andrea Doria, and the Ebony Pearl sat out on exhibit stands. Artifacts from these ships, such as ashtrays, cutlery, champagne bottles, and jewels, were displayed in glass cases.

  “It’s hard to believe that all this stuff was once part of glamorous ocean liners,” Callie said, shaking her head, “and then they all sank.”

  “Here’s my dad’s office,” Alicia said. She knocked on a door just past the shipwreck exhibit. A placard outside read George Geovanis, Curator.

  A middle-aged dark-haired man opened the door. When he saw Alicia, his intense brown eyes lit up. “Hi, dear,” he said, giving his daughter a hug. “And hello, Callie.”

  After Callie and Geovanis exchanged greetings, Callie introduced him to Frank and Joe.

  “Welcome to the shipping museum,” Geovanis said, smiling warmly at the Hardys. He ushered everyone into his office, which was filled with books and manuscripts. A computer sat on a desk by a far window, along with various shipping knickknacks, including a dangerous-looking four-foot harpoon laid out on wooden blocks across the front of the desk. “What brings you all in here on such a good beach day?” he asked them.

  Frank pulled the balloon from his pocket and handed it to Geovanis. “We wondered if you would mind taking a look at this, Mr. Geovanis. I found it near your house, washed up on the sand. Is there any way you could tell us whether it’s really from the Ebony Pearl?”

  “The Ebony Pearl, huh?” Geovanis said, peering at the balloon. “If it is real, this would be quite a find.”

  Geovanis knitted his brows as he examined the balloon under a magnifying glass. “The rubber is thicker than it is on balloons nowadays,” he told them. “And there are cracks in the rubber which would fit with its being in sea water for so long. I’m quite sure it’s authentic.”

  Frank noticed a small, sandy-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses standing in the doorway. He was listening to their conversation with a smug expression on his face. How long has that guy been there? Frank wondered. And who is he?

  “Could I keep this for the museum?” Geovanis was saying, looking hopefully at Frank.

  The sandy-haired man rushed into the room. “Let me see that!” he snapped, grabbing the balloon. He studied it for a moment, then looked up. “You’re wrong, Geovanis!” he shouted, throwing the balloon onto the desk. “This balloon was not submerged in water for forty years. This is a hoax—and you should know better if you value your job.”

  The man lifted the harpoon from the desk and waved it angrily, its razor-sharp point glinting in the fluorescent light. Then he stood poised, as if he was going to hurl it like a javelin—right at Mr. Geovanis!

  2 Eight-Legged Enemy

  * * *

  Joe made a lunge for the man, but before he could grab him, the man lowered the harpoon, his arm shaking as he struggled to contain his anger.

  “Roberto,” Mr. Geovanis said sternly, his face pale. “You may not like it, but I am your boss now. And if you ever threaten me like that again, I will fire you and then I’ll notify the police. Take this as my last warning.”

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, placing the harpoon back on its wooden props. He looked awkwardly around at the group. “I won’t forget myself like that again. But it’s my duty to tell the truth. This balloon is not authentic.”

  “You may disagree with me,” Mr. Geovanis said, “and I’ll consider your opinion. But I will draw my own conclusion about the balloon.”

  “Consider my opinion!” the man said hotly. “I’m sick of your condescending attitude! If you claim that this balloon is authentic, I’ll deny it publicly—through the newspapers if need be.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

  Joe was the first to break the stunned silence. “Who is that guy and what is his problem?” he asked Alicia’s father.

  “He’s the assistant curator here, Roberto Scarlatti,” Mr. Geovanis explained, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. “And he’s had a chip on his shoulder about me ever since I was hired.”

  “He’s jealous of Dad,” Alicia told them. She moved to the desk and gave her father a comforting hug. “And he’s made working here a nightmare for him. Scarlatti just couldn’t take it that Dad got the job as curator.”

  “You see,” Mr. Geovanis went on, looking at Callie and the Hardys, “Roberto’s worked at the museum for over fifteen years. He thinks he deserved the promotion, but instead the job wen
t to me, an island newcomer.”

  “Why didn’t he get the promotion?” Frank asked, his dark eyes looking curious.

  “Well,” Mr. Geovanis said slowly, “Roberto’s knowledge of shipping is impressive, but as you can see, his personality is explosive. A curator has to be good at public relations and fund-raising. That means knowing how to be friendly and diplomatic. Roberto doesn’t exactly fit the job description.”

  That’s the understatement of the year, Joe thought, exchanging glances with Frank. He could tell that his brother agreed with him that Roberto Scarlatti was one weird dude.

  “Roberto is always looking for ways to discredit me,” Mr. Geovanis said, “but he’s never had an outburst like this before.” He bit his lip, looking worried. “In any case, I know my job is secure no matter what mischief Roberto cooks up. I’ve done a lot for the museum in the short time since I’ve been here—organizing some interesting exhibits and drawing in more people.”

  “Is there any chance that Scarlatti could be right about the balloon?” Joe asked.

  Mr. Geovanis shrugged. “I’ve never been wrong so far, but there’s always a first time.”

  “Why would the balloon wash up now, after forty years under the sea?” Frank asked.

  Mr. Geovanis frowned. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a pause. “Maybe it had been caught underneath something, and with the shifting of the ocean floor over the years, it was finally dislodged.”

  “Callie,” Joe teased, “you’ve got your hot story now—the whole island will be interested in a balloon from the Ebony Pearl.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, Joe,” Callie said. “I’m off to the Island News right now so I can write up my story before the paper goes to press.” She chuckled. “But I don’t think I’ll include Mr. Scarlatti’s outburst—that’s too much excitement, even for me.”

  Joe shot Frank a challenging look. “Speaking of excitement, why don’t we head back to the beach to ride a few more waves?”

  “You guys can borrow my Jeep,” Alicia said, handing Joe the keys. “I’d like to do some shopping in town, and Dad can give me a ride home later.”