The Secret of Skeleton Reef Page 2

  “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.

  3 The Scent of Treasure

  * * *

  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.

  “No!” Montclare told Flask emphatically. “We cannot afford to miss a morning’s work. The time is simply too valuable to me. N’est-ce pas?”

  “But this woman could be in trouble,” Flask said in a gravelly voice. “At the very least, we should send a few guys to check around town for her.”

  “The crew is small enough as it is,” Montclare said.

  Frank realized they were arguing about whether to look for Chrissy, but Chrissy apparently didn’t want to be found. “Excuse me,” Frank said, stepping up to Flask and Montclare. “Maybe my brother and I can help you out.”

  “Who are you?” Flask asked, eyeing Frank, then Joe.

  “They’re okay,” Ted said, walking over. “I met them last night. In fact, they just stopped Brunelli from demolishing Ziggy.”

  Flask gave a gruff chuckle. “As you may have noticed,” he said, “my crew is a little edgy these days. It always happens when men catch the scent of treasure. They change a bit, usually for the worse. All of a sudden, they turn greedy, suspicious, ornery.”

  “Have you found the pirate ship?” Joe asked, hoping Flask would be more forthcoming than Ted was the night before.

  “Yeah, we found it a couple of weeks ago, out by Skeleton Reef,” Flask said. “I told the crew not to tell anybody, but people come by in their boats, they see what’s going on. As they say, the cat’s out of the bag. I guess half the island knows we’re hauling up treasure now.”

  “Congratulations,” Frank said.

  “Now, just how do you want to help out?” Flask said.

  “My brother and I can check around town for Chrissy Peters,” Frank said. “At the very least, we could stop by the police station and hospital. That way you guys can head right out to sea without missing any work time.”

  “Well, that’s awfully neighborly of you,” Flask said, looking at the Hardys with approval. “Here, I’ll give you my ship-to-shore number so you can call me on my boat after you’ve done your checking. Tell the operator to charge it to me. I’m concerned about Chrissy, so call me right away.” Flask wrote his number on a crumpled sheet of paper and handed it to Frank.

  “We’ll call you soon,” Frank told him.

  “Thanks a lot, mates,” Flask said, tipping his captain’s cap.

  Moments later the Hardys watched the salvage crew head back toward the dock. “Good thinking, Frank,” Joe said once the crew was out of earshot. “This way we can ask Chrissy if she wants these guys to know where she is or not.”

  A little down from the docks, the Hardys saw a number of fishermen launching boats off the beach. The boats were mostly long wooden skiffs, none of which had motors, and the fishing equipment seemed to consist primarily of enormous nets. Mostly shirtless and barefooted, the fishermen went cheerfully about their work.

  “What are you up to, mon?” Joe heard one fisherman say to another.

  “Oh, not much at all, mon,” the other fisherman replied with a casual wave.

  “I noticed the fishermen by the docks had motorized boats,” Joe said. “But I guess some of them prefer to do it the way it’s been done since Columbus came passing through the neighborhood.”

  “Either that,” Frank said, “or they can’t afford the motors.”

  Looking back at the mainland, Frank admired the variety of vegetation on the island. Lush green trees and shrubs of all sizes and shapes stretched in every direction, some of the shrubbery showcasing brilliantly colored flowers. Then Frank noticed two towering cone-shaped mountains, one standing on either side of the bay as if they were guarding it against intruders. Both mountains were covered with a mossy green carpet.

  “Jamal says those are called the Pitons,” Joe explained. “They were formed millions of years ago by volcanic eruptions. He says they’re really something to see from out on the water.”

  “I bet they are,” Frank said.

  The brothers walked another mile along the beach until they came to the village of Soufrière. The center of town looked as if it hadn’t changed much over the past hundred years. Most of the shops and offices were charming structures made of clapboard.

  The people milling through the village were a mixture of tourists and islanders. Some of the island women were doing their morning shopping with wicker baskets on their heads. No one was dressed up, and Joe couldn’t help but notice how relaxed and happy everyone seemed. There was a vacation air about the place, and that was just fine with Joe.

  A battered bus roared wildly down a street, calypso music blaring from the radio. “How do you like that?” Frank said. “Musical buses.”

  “I like it, mon,” Joe said with a big smile.

  The Hardys stopped at an outdoor market and examined the fruit selection. Enticing baskets of bananas, mangoes, coconuts, pineapples, breadfruit, and melons sat on long tables. Frank and Joe each bought a mango for breakfast. “This is good,” Joe observed as he sunk his teeth into the juicy orange fruit.

  “It’s almost nine,” Frank said, looking at his watch. “Time to visit our friend Chrissy.”

  When the Hardys arrived at the hospital, there was a different nurse at the front desk. She told the brothers that Chrissy had been asleep when she last checked on her, an hour earlier. After obtaining visiting permission from the nurse, Frank and Joe walked down the hallway toward Chrissy’s room.

  Joe tapped lightly at the door of Room 11. Hearing no answer, they opened the door and peeked in. The morning sun shone brightly through the white curtains, which flapped in the breeze. Chrissy was nestled under the sheets of the bed.

  “Chrissy?” Joe said softly. Chrissy did not stir or answer. “Chrissy?” Joe spoke a little louder.

  When there was still no response, Joe walked over to the bed and touched Chrissy’s shoulder. It was soft. Too soft. He was not touching a person. Joe peeled back the sheets and saw a collection of pillows laid out to imitate the shape of a human body.

  The mysterious young woman named Chrissy Peters was gone.

  4 The Destiny

  * * *

  “Chrissy’s not here,” Joe said, giving Frank an astonished look.

  “Well, either someone took her or she escaped,” Frank said, thoughtfully looking at the pillows on the hospital bed. “She probably left through the window, which explains why the nurse didn’t see her leave.”

  “I say she escaped,” Joe said, glancing at the gently flapping curtain. “I think somebody tried to kill her last night and she was afraid they might track her to the hospital. So she beat it as soon as she got her strength back.”

  “Hmm,” Frank said, sitting on the bed. “I guess we’ve got two options now.”

  “Number one,” Joe said, finishing Frank’s train of thought, “we stay out of this whole mess and enjoy our vacation. Number two, we get involved and try to figure out what’s going on.”

  “If we stay out of this,” Frank said, “Chrissy might remain in danger. And even if she manages to stay alive, the person who attempted to kill her wi
ll still be on the loose. Of course, we could go to the police, but then we would be breaking the promise we made to Chrissy about keeping all of this a secret.”

  “We’re going to get involved, aren’t we?” Joe said, sinking into a chair. “Goodbye, vacation. Hello, new case.”

  “I think it’s for the best,” Frank said quietly.

  “So do I,” Joe agreed. “It’s funny, but I like Chrissy even though I barely know her. And the more I think about it, the creepier I feel, knowing someone is after her.”

  “Okay, little brother,” Frank said. “Let’s get to work.”

  Frank and Joe told the nurse of Chrissy’s disappearance but revealed nothing else of what they knew about Chrissy. Then the Hardys headed outside into the sunshine.

  “All right,” Joe said as the brothers walked along the beach, heading back to the bungalow. “What do we know about Chrissy?”

  “We know she’s from Virginia, and we know she was part of Sandy Flask’s crew,” Frank replied. “And Ted mentioned she didn’t know anyone else on the island except for the crew members.”

  “Skeh!” Joe cried out. “Sandy Flask said he found the Laughing Moon on Skeleton Reef. Maybe Skeleton Reef is what Chrissy was trying to say.”

  “Maybe,” Frank said as he passed a palm tree, “the person who tried to kill Chrissy was a member of the crew. They’re the only ones around here Chrissy knows, and we’ve already seen that they’re a scrappy gang.”

  “Let’s call Flask and tell him we found no sign of Chrissy,” Joe suggested. “Then let’s ask if we can pay a little visit to Flask’s boat. That will give us a chance to talk with the crew and sniff around for suspects.”

  “Sounds good,” Frank said.

  Back at the bungalow, Frank placed a ship-to-shore call to Sandy Flask at sea. Over the static of the connection, Frank told the captain he and Joe had visited the hospital and police station but hadn’t seen or heard anything of Chrissy Peters. Then Frank asked if the Hardys could pay a visit to Flask’s boat. Flask agreed and gave Frank instructions on how to find the vessel.