Shadows at Predator Reef Read online

  Some of the BAD divers were still swimming around the tank, searching for any sign of what had happened to Captain Hook. How do you lose a giant sea turtle? I shook my head. I couldn’t make sense of it.

  I scoped out the rest of the lobby. Off to the side of the reef tank there was some kind of hydraulic lift, a robotic-looking piece of equipment with a small platform for raising and lowering heavy objects. What really grabbed my attention, though, was what was circling Predator Reef.

  The entire lobby was surrounded by Shark Row, the huge doughnut-shaped tank where they kept the really big sharks. I didn’t know what kind of sharks they were, but some of them were monstrous, as long as ten feet or even more, easily big enough to gobble up the little three-foot blacktip reef sharks in Predator Reef whole. The fact that they were slowly circling with grinning jaws full of jagged teeth made the whole scene extra sinister. It was enough to give you chills.

  Frank shook my attention from the sharks as he and Aly briefed me on what they knew.

  “Nobody has a clue what happened or when she might have disappeared,” Frank said.

  “No one saw her when the trainers fed the sharks this morning, but that’s not so unusual,” Aly explained. “Captain Hook is a late sleeper and will sometimes stay in her favorite nook until it’s her turn for breakfast.”

  “So nobody was alarmed when they didn’t see her,” Frank said, picking up where Aly left off. “They had planned to feed her right after they cut the ribbon, so everybody could get a look.”

  “That’s when we realized she was gone,” Aly said. She paused before adding, “The nook is where I found the broken piece of coral.”

  “The red stuff on it . . . is it blood?” I asked after a second, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.

  Aly hesitated. “That’s what it looked like.”

  “They won’t know for sure until they test it,” Frank said. “We think someone took her, Joe. Five-hundred-pound turtles don’t just disappear.”

  “The security cameras catch anything?” I asked.

  “They’re checking, but you don’t just pick up a giant sea turtle, put it in your pocket, and walk out of the aquarium without anyone noticing,” Frank said.

  “Just getting her safely in and out of the exhibit requires a small hydraulic lift.” Aly pointed to the piece of equipment I’d seen off to the side of the exhibit just as her phone buzzed with a text.

  “They’re fast-forwarding through the security footage, but nothing so far,” she reported. “It doesn’t look like anyone who wasn’t supposed to came or went through any of the aquarium exits after hours.”

  Her phone buzzed with another text.

  “Gotta go,” she said. “Emergency meeting.”

  Aly ran off to the side of the exhibit where Carter and the other BAD divers had assembled. When Carter saw she’d been talking to me, he tried to stare me down again. I just ignored him. Now wasn’t the time to sweat some petty beef.

  “What about underwater cameras?” I asked Frank. “They were going to launch a Turtle Cam, right?” The Turtle Cam, a twenty-four-hour webcam broadcast on the aquarium’s website, had been a big part of the Predator Reef marketing push.

  “They’re checking that, too, but the exhibit is supposed to simulate the natural light cycle of a real tropical reef environment, so the lights don’t come on until later in the morning. Anything that happened before that would just show up as dark shadows.”

  “But even if something did show up on the underwater cameras, the thieves still would have had to get her out of the tank without being seen by the aquarium’s security cameras,” I added, baffled by the lack of clues. “They must have left some kind of trail, right? It’s not like she spontaneously combusted . . . and I know she wasn’t abducted by aliens.”

  This was starting to look like one very big magic trick. Maybe we’d have better luck if we tried to figure out who the magician might be instead of how he or she did it.

  “So who would have reason to take her?” I asked Frank.

  “None of your business, that’s who.”

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t Frank who answered. It was Chief Olaf, Bayport’s top cop. The chief tends to frown on our amateur detective work, even if we do often get better results than the professionals. I think it bugs him that a couple of unlicensed teenage investigators have just as impressive a crime-stopping track record as he does.

  “This is a police matter, boys. I don’t want you meddling,” he said, fixing us with his patented stern glare. The chief likes to play the bad cop with us, but he’s actually a pretty nice guy. For all the times he’s threatened to have us arrested, he’s never actually hauled us in. At least not yet.

  “Besides, I think we’ve got our prime suspects right here,” Chief Olaf pointed to the black-tipped shark fins slicing through the surface of Predator Reef. “I’ve watched enough Shark Week on TV to know a pack of aquatic killers when I see one.”

  “I don’t think so, Chief,” Frank said. “The sharks in the exhibit are too small to attack a large sea turtle like Captain Hook.”

  Judging from the annoyed look on his face, I don’t think the chief appreciated the marine biology lesson.

  “Humph,” the chief grunted, motioning toward the sharks. “If all two dozen of those things ganged up on it, that turtle wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “The blacktips may be social pack hunters, but they still wouldn’t bother with prey that big. Even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to eat Captain Hook’s shell, so there would be evidence left behind.” Frank went on schooling the chief despite the daggers he was shooting Frank’s way. I swear, for someone so smart, my brother can be pretty dense sometimes. “You could maybe make the case that one of the big guys in Shark Row did it, but they’re kept in a separate tank, and even the ten-foot sand tiger sharks wouldn’t normally try to eat a five-hundred-pound turtle. Biologists think the great white that took a chunk out of Captain Hook’s fin was at least a twenty-footer.”

  “Frank, why don’t you worry about your job and let me do mine?” snapped the chief.

  “Young Mr. Hardy is right, Chief,” a voice said from behind us. Bradley Valledor walked up and put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Our blacktips are too small and too well trained to have attacked Captain Hook.”

  Chief Olaf sighed. “You sure about that, Mr. Valledor? It would be the most obvious explanation, and in my experience the most obvious suspect is usually the culprit.”

  “Not this time, I’m afraid. It wasn’t sharks that got Captain Hook. Someone stole her.”

  I could tell the chief didn’t like that. If Mr. V was right, his job had just gotten a lot harder.

  “Okay then, tell me what you think happened,” he said to Mr. V. Chief Olaf turned to us. “If you boys would excuse us, I have official police business I need to discuss with Mr. Valledor.”

  “Actually, I’d prefer it if Frank and his brother stayed,” Mr. V said.

  “I’m sorry, come again?” Chief Olaf said, putting his hand to his ear like he’d misheard.

  “Chief, you and your detectives will have full access to the aquarium and our staff—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Valledor, but I don’t see what that—” the chief began.

  “And so will the Hardys.”

  “Now wait a second. I can’t have a couple of kids running around interfering with our investigation.”

  “I don’t give much credence to age, Chief,” Mr. V said. “I wasn’t any older than these young men are now when I designed my first building. I’ve heard that the Hardy boys are quite well regarded around Bayport for their investigative skills, and I intend to use every resource at our disposal to make sure Captain Hook is returned to us safely.”

  “Fine,” the chief conceded, turning to Frank and me. “But you two steer clear of the crime scene until my team is finished. I’m going to have to interview the entire aquarium staff as well as anyone else who had access to the exhibit, and I don’t want t
o catch you saying as much as a syllable to any of my witnesses until I’ve talked to them first, got it?”

  “Yes, sir!” we both said, barely able to contain our excitement over the free investigative pass Mr. V had just given us. We usually had to sneak around behind the chief’s back to solve a mystery.

  I think we might have seemed a little too excited about it for the chief’s liking.

  “You do anything on this case without getting my permission first and I’ll slap the cuffs on you myself,” he warned.

  A man in a slick business suit tapped Mr. V on the shoulder. A tall young woman in an equally nice suit stood by his side.

  “Excuse me, Bradley. The press is ready to take your statement whenever you are,” the man said in a New England accent that was even thicker than Mr. V’s.

  “Thank you, Ron. I’ll be there momentarily,” Mr. V said, and turned to the chief. “Chief Olaf, this is my firm’s PR director, Ron Burris, and my assistant, Laura. I’ve already instructed them to make all of the firm’s resources available to assist with the investigation. Now, Ron, if you would, please draft an international press release offering a one-million-dollar reward for information leading directly to Captain Hook’s safe return and forward it to Laura for my approval.”

  Ron Burris’s face twisted up like he had just been slapped silly. “But sir, that’s crazy, you can’t just—”

  “That will be all, Ron,” Mr. V cut him off dismissively. “Please tell the press I’m ready.”

  Mr. V left his PR director in stunned silence and marched over to the news cameras with Laura following close behind. Frank and I watched as Mr. V announced the impressive reward and made an impassioned plea for help finding Captain Hook. It wasn’t until he addressed the “kidnappers” directly that we realized just how bad the situation was.

  “If someone out there took our beloved turtle, please, I beg you, bring her back before it’s too late. Captain Hook requires special medication to be administered daily. Without it . . .” Mr. V’s voice started to shake.

  He took a minute to collect himself, then looked directly into the camera, his gaze intensifying.

  “Whoever you are, you have served that turtle with a death warrant.”

  DEADLY MEDICINE

  4

  FRANK

  MR. V’S WORDS ECHOED IN MY head. Captain Hook was in grave danger. I knew the vets kept a close eye on her, but I hadn’t realized how serious her condition truly was. We had to find her, and fast.

  There was one major problem. Usually when I’m on a case I have a hunch about where to begin. Not this time.

  Mr. V walked out of the aquarium with his head down and made his way to the Rolls-Royce parked right in front. A tall tuxedoed chauffeur who reminded me of Alfred from the Batman comics opened the back door for Mr. V and Laura. They drove off with the news cameras still rolling, leaving Ron behind to handle the reporters.

  With Mr. V gone, most of the cameramen turned their attention to a group of protesters from the Bayport Animal Liberation Force (aka BALF) waving signs in front of the aquarium and chanting, “Free the fish! Free the fish!”

  One girl had a sign with a drawing of a turtle behind bars wearing a prison jumpsuit. When she spotted me in my Bayport Aquarium staff shirt, she screamed in my direction.

  “How would you like it if someone locked you in a cage and exploited you for commercial gain, huh?!”

  I should have ignored her, but I couldn’t just stand by and listen to her and her BALF friends bad-mouth the aquarium without all the facts. I thought maybe if they knew more about how the aquarium really operates, they might be more open-minded about things, so I went over to talk to her.

  “Excuse me, but I think you have it all wrong,” I said. “Bayport Aquarium does more to raise awareness for endangered species protection than just about anyone. The aquarium takes great care of its animals. They saved Captain Hook’s life! They aren’t exploiting her. She’s a symbol of hope for the whole local conservation movement.”

  “Turtle torturer!” the girl yelled. It was like she didn’t even hear me.

  “Forget them, kid,” Ron Burris said, pulling me aside. “Types like that, they won’t see any opinion but their own.”

  Ron was right. Sure, I understand some of the arguments against keeping wild animals in captivity, but in the case of a top-notch aquarium like Bayport’s, the pros clearly outweighed the cons. BALF wasn’t going to see that, though. They believed that it was wrong to put animals in captivity for any reason, regardless of the potential benefits to the animal or environmental causes.

  “I only have a minute, but I wanted to see if you have any theories yet about the turtle situation,” Ron said, talking quickly as we moved away from the protesters. “You think those crazies could have had something to do with it?”

  “It’s too early to speculate,” I said, making a mental note to add BALF to my list. “We’re just starting to gather information.”

  Ron handed me his card. “You give me a call as soon as you get any leads. Mr. Valledor is going to want regular reports.”

  “No problem, we—”

  Ron’s phone chimed before I could finish my answer.

  “Excuse me.” Ron held up a finger as he checked the caller ID. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. You boys keep up the good work.”

  A second later he was headed in the opposite direction with the phone up to his ear.

  “This is Ron. . . . That’s right, we want to do the entire office in oak and leather, very executive and classy. . . . Yes, you can quote me on that. . . . No, that’s Burris, B-U-R-R-I-S,” I overheard him say as he walked away. With his accent, the way he said “R-R” sounded more like “Ah-Ah.”

  I thought it was a little rude of him to be worrying about another client’s office decor at a time like this, but I figured Mr. V’s people still had a business to run even during a crisis.

  Joe came over to join me.

  “Figures Eric the Ecoterrorist would be here.”

  Joe nodded in the direction of the dreadlocked guy at the front of the BALF protest holding the biggest sign and shouting the loudest.

  The kid in question was a Bayport High student named Eric Frohman, whom everyone called Eric the Ecoterrorist. He had a reputation for taking activism to the extreme, protesting anything and everything to do with animals or the environment that might be considered the least bit controversial.

  “You heard about the chimpanzee incident, right?” I asked my brother. “When he was arrested for trying to climb into the monkey house at the zoo to free the animals.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, laughing. “When the security guard caught up to him, he had his dreadlocks tangled in the fence and was trying to get unstuck while the chimps pelted him with their poo.”

  The story had been a big hit at Bayport High, and Eric wasn’t likely to live it down anytime soon.

  “Because he was a minor and didn’t have a record, the judge told him the humiliation factor was punishment enough and let him go with probation,” I said to Joe. “But it sure hasn’t stopped him from protesting.”

  “And we know he’s willing to break the law for his cause,” Joe added. “He did it once. . . .”

  “He might do it again,” I finished the thought. “We’re going to have to take a closer look at where Eric the Ecoterrorist was when Captain Hook disappeared and see if he or his crew knew anyone who could have helped him get into the aquarium.”

  I pulled out the case file notebook I carry with me and jotted down “Eric the Ecoterrorist” under the heading “Suspects.”

  When I looked up, I saw another familiar Bayport High face in the crowd.

  “Hey, it’s the Collector,” Joe said, spotting him as well.

  Murph “the Collector” Murphy got his nickname because that’s what he does—he collects things. Lots of things. From comic books to vintage Japanese toy robots to dinosaur fossils, if it can be collected, there’s a good chance he either collects it or
knows a ton about it.

  “If you’re the president of the Bayport Nerds Association, then Murph Murphy is its chairman,” Joe joked.

  “You’re just jealous because we’re more enlightened than you,” I said. “Simply because we like to be knowledgeable about a lot of different subjects doesn’t automatically make us nerds.”

  “Sure it does, bro,” Joe said. “But you have to admit, Murph really does have you beat when it comes to knowing obscure facts about random stuff.”

  Murph also had me beat in the wardrobe department. He was what you might call a nerd fashionista, combining classic geek style with a trendy GQ fashion sense.

  “He’s really rocking the aqua-hipster look today,” Joe observed as Murph walked along the pier, sporting an ocean-blue blazer and matching bow tie dotted with tiny sharks.

  “We’ve been seeing a lot of our man Murph since we started hanging out at the aquarium, huh?” Joe asked.

  “He’s a member,” I told my brother. “He considers himself one of Bayport’s foremost amateur aquarists, and from what I’ve seen, I’d have to agree with him.”

  “Is that a fancy way of saying he’s a fish fanatic?” Joe asked.

  “Pretty much. The guy really knows his fish. He had me over to his house to check out his new saltwater tank—it’s one of the coolest I’ve ever seen outside of an actual aquarium.”

  “Looks like you guys just found your next case,” Murph observed after catching my eye and heading over. “This is the biggest aquarium heist I’ve ever heard of. The online aquarist message boards must be crazy right now.”

  “You mean you’ve heard of other aquarium heists before? Like that’s an actual thing?” Joe asked.

  “Sure,” Murph said. “There’s a huge underground market for rare fish. Usually divers illegally smuggle them from reefs to sell for top dollar to private collectors, but every once in a while you hear about fish disappearing from aquariums, too. Typically the smaller fish go missing because they’re less noticeable and easier to transport. A five-hundred-pound endangered turtle has to be a record!”