Hide-and-Sneak Page 2

  “Our budget will allow us to shoot for three days.” Zack’s smile got even bigger. “That should give us enough footage to make a feature-length film!”

  There it was, Frank thought. Most student projects were short films, twenty minutes or so. Zack wanted to create something four times as long.

  I bet he had to dump his friend’s script to do it, Frank thought. He looked over at Kerwin’s tight expression. Something isn’t making him too happy either.

  “So why did you need us to bring boats?” Joe asked.

  “That’s part of the fun.” Zack brought his hands together in a sharp clap. “Also, it’s why we’re calling the project Hide-and-Sneak.”

  The door flew open, and a handsome face peeked in.

  “Hey, is this the movie thing? Sorry we’re late. I was helping my bud Hal move out of his dorm, and there was all this traffic. We got held up.”

  The salesman’s smile slipped off Zack’s face at the interruption, but it soon reappeared. “As I was saying, welcome to Hide-and-Sneak.”

  This time he was cut off by a loud, metallic crash.

  “Sorry!” a voice outside shouted.

  Zack sighed, looking around at his audience. “Okay,” he said. “I suppose we might as well start by introducing the McGuffin.”

  3 The Phantom of the Marina?

  * * *

  “Who’s this McGuffin?” Joe Hardy asked as Zack stepped outside. “An actor? The stunt coordinator?”

  Kerwin shook his head. “You’ll see.”

  A second later two newcomers came staggering in, carrying a large piece of metal junk.

  At least that was what it looked like to Frank Hardy. Somebody had welded together a bunch of steel rods and balls into something five feet tall, that was very hard to move around. The two guys almost dropped it twice just getting it through the door.

  “Hey, Hal, watch it!” The guy who’d first poked his head through the door said as he managed to keep the ugly thing from crashing to the floor. He grinned at the girls. “I’m Andy Slack,” he said. “Everybody calls me the Slacker. And this is my best bud, Hal Preston.”

  Zack paid no attention, his eyes on the large, ugly metal construction. “This is the McGuffin,” he announced.

  “And what’s that?” Trisha asked.

  “I guess you’re not fans of Alfred Hitchcock.” Zack gave them a superior smile.

  The girls shrugged.

  “Hitchcock was a director of mystery films, a cinematic genius, I’d say, and I know Ms. Athelney will agree with me.” Zack smiled at the businesswoman. “Whatever caused the mystery or action in Hitchcock’s films, he called the McGuffin. It could be a clue, a person, an event—”

  Or a really ugly thing, Frank finished for him silently.

  “In our film this is what you’ll be looking for,” Zack said. “First you’ll have to find it; after that you’ll be searching for whichever team has gotten hold of it. Tomorrow evening bring your boats to the Bayport Marina. You’ll get a package of charts and . . . other things that should lead you to where the McGuffin will be hidden. Find it, keep hold of it for three days, and bring it—well, clues about what you should do with it will be in the package for you too.”

  “What about filming?” Willow Sumner asked.

  “Yeah,” Chet said. “Lines and things.”

  “There’s no script.” Zack looked as if he were above such things. “Our film will be improvised. Each boat will have one of us along as camera-person.” He turned to the girl with the clipboard. “Melody, I suppose you should go with the girls.”

  Zack then turned to Andy and his friend Hal. “I’ll be with Andy here. That leaves you with the other guys, Sprock.”

  Joe looked at the tall, bony guy. “Sprock?”

  “It’s a dumb nickname,” Leonard (“Sprock”) Kerwin growled, “from the days when film had sprocket holes.”

  “We’ll all be using digital cameras,” Zack said. “They’re much more handy, which will be good, since the whole film is going to be shot on Barmet Bay.” He sent another toothy smile toward Ms. Athelney. “Just like the first film of that famous Polish director—”

  Frank tuned out. Apparently, what’s his name was another favorite of the woman who was putting up the money for the film, but even she looked a little embarrassed at the way Zack kept kissing up. Ms. Athelney fidgeted in her seat, running a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair. Her restless hand, with a glinting gold and ruby ring, had revealed her right ear for a moment. A bare ear. No earring.

  That’s funny, Frank thought. Shiny gold watch, shiny gold necklace—but no shiny earrings?

  Maybe she lost them, Frank thought, and glanced around the floor. Anything was better than sitting and listening to Zack’s voice.

  “So, there you have it,” the would-be film genius finally said. “You’ll have a day to get your boats ready. We’ll meet at the marina tomorrow evening at six. You’ll tie up, get your packages, and decide on a course. The next day at noon we’ll set off, and we’ll be filming to see if you guessed right and whether you get caught.”

  “The boats have to stay overnight at the marina?” Andy Slack said. “Who’s gonna pay for that?”

  “Already taken care of.” Zack shot another cheesy smile at Ms. Athelney.

  He’s spreading it pretty thick, Frank thought. From the look on Melody’s and Sprock’s faces, they agreed with him.

  Maybe Joan Athelney also agreed, but her serious expression didn’t give any emotions away. She looked at her gold wristwatch. “I think that covers everything,” she said, “and I have a meeting. Good luck to all of you.”

  With a nod to everyone, she left.

  Zack looked around, realizing he’d been subtly upstaged. Ms. Athelney had effectively ended the meeting. “I’m sure we all have lots to do.”

  “Yeah,” Sprock Kerwin said, clearly trying to keep a grin off his face. “Lots.”

  Taking their cue from Zack, the filmmakers left. The eight kids in the room looked at one another for a long minute.

  Hal ran a hand through his dark, spiky hair, shooting a frown at his pal. “This sounds like one of those dumb reality shows on TV where they make people jump through hoops.”

  “Except there’s no prize,” Joe added.

  “What are you talking about?” Chet demanded. “We’ll be in a feature-length movie.”

  “Yeah, a movie with no script.” Christy O’Hara smirked. “I wonder how writer girl with the clipboard liked that tidbit of information.”

  “Better for us,” Trisha Eads said. “No lines to learn.”

  “Yeah,” Chet said quietly. Frank could see the wheels turning in his friend’s head. Without a script the camera would end up pointing mainly at whoever gave the best performance. Chet probably thought his TV experience would be a plus.

  Willow Sumner tossed her hair over one shoulder. Looks would count too. “So,” the girl said to Andy, “what kind of boat have you got?”

  Andy’s face broke into another grin. “We’ve got a bunch of them,” he said. “My dad’s a fisherman—”

  “And he figured you’d be helping him out now that you decided to ditch college,” Hal said.

  “He gave me the summer to explore choices.” Andy glared at his buddy. “I’d say this is an interesting choice.”

  “How about you guys?” Trisha said, walking over to Joe. “What kind of boat do you have?”

  “Oh, the Sleuth’s a great boat!” Joe said, but he yelped as the toe of Frank’s shoe caught him on the ankle.

  “Whoops, sorry,” Frank said, collecting his brother and Chet. “Yes, we’ve got a great little boat—and a big job getting it ready by tomorrow evening.”

  • • •

  Joe was still complaining about Frank’s interruption the next evening. “I can’t believe you kicked me!” He glared at his brother.

  Frank rolled his eyes and turned toward Chet. “How are you doing with the sleeping bags?”

  Chet climb
ed aboard with three bulky nylon sacks. “Last load.”

  A full moon rode the clear skies overhead. Its light was bright enough to read by. Frank opened the package they’d been given. “Let’s get down to business.”

  The first thing they found was a folded map of Barmet Bay with some odd squiggles drawn on it.

  “I still say we could have just tailed that loudmouth Zack. It would have saved us a lot of nonsense.” Joe squinted at the next sheet of paper. “Oh, great. It’s marked ‘Clues.’”

  He began reading:

  To find McGuffin, sail Barmet Bay.

  Exactly where, we cannot say.

  You’ll know you’ve gotten where you oughta

  All’s quiet and dead in the water.

  “Poetry?” Frank said in disbelief.

  “Bad poetry too.” Joe handed over the sheet.

  “I don’t like that ‘dead in the water’ part,” Chet said.

  “Nowadays, when people say something’s dead in the water, it usually doesn’t happen,” Frank explained. “It’s sailor’s slang, an expression that describes when a ship’s engines don’t work or if there’s no wind for the sails.”

  “Well, I spent the whole afternoon tuning up our engines.” Joe laughed. “And when it comes to wind, the bay usually has more than people want.”

  Frank and Chet nodded. Barmet Bay had a reputation for sudden squalls.

  As if in answer, the breeze off the water began picking up. Most of the docked vessels around them were sailboats. Riggings began to clang against tall aluminum masts. The marina filled with an echoing, ghostly sound.

  “We’re going to get a great night’s sleep with that racket,” Joe growled, grabbing the chart so it didn’t blow away. Frank was still looking at the clue list.

  You’ll know exactly where to pick it,

  A watery graveyard—that’s the ticket.

  “More cheerful clues,” Chet said, furrowing his brow. He bent over the map. “You see any cemeteries down by the bay?”

  “No, because your head is blocking the light!” Joe shifted the map. “Somehow a beach doesn’t sound like a good place for a graveyard. One good storm could wash everything away.”

  His finger went to an island at the mouth of the harbor. “But I think there’s a grave here on Merriam Island. They buried the old lighthouse keeper out there. It was a story on the news awhile back.”

  “We might be looking around the lighthouse,” Frank said slowly, “but for a different reason. Some of those squiggles on the map look like sunken ships, don’t they?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, squinting again. “There’s a big cluster of them near the lighthouse. I guess that’s why they built the thing.”

  Chet nodded. “To warn people off Barmet Shoals.”

  “Yeah. But there are rocks around the lighthouse too,” Joe said. “We almost tore the bottom off the Sleuth out there once.”

  “It’s not as bad as Cape Hatteras,” Frank said. “People called that the Graveyard of the Atlantic.”

  “‘A watery graveyard,’” Chet said.

  Joe leaned forward. “Where a lot of people probably wound up ‘dead in the water.’” The pieces were fitting together.

  “That gives us two possible, and fairly dangerous, places to go looking.” Frank cocked his head for a look at the map. “Any other places marked?”

  “There are a couple here and there.” Chet bent over, his finger tracing along the map. “Whoa! Here’s a whole crop of ’em!” Chet said.

  Joe followed Chet’s pointing finger. “‘Shipwreck Cove,’” he read. “Nice name. There are coves all along the shores of the bay. How did the channel here nail so many ships?”

  Frank tapped the map. “The only safe way in is this narrow channel. Sea captains would steer for what looked like a safe place to drop anchor. Instead they’d smash into these sandbanks.” He ran his finger along the shore. “Any other places like this?”

  They scoured the map but found no more clumps of shipwreck symbols. “That leaves us three places to check tomorrow,” Frank said.

  “As long as we don’t wrack up the boat getting there.” Chet stretched to unkink his back—and froze.

  “Uh, guys,” he said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, “don’t look now, but I think somebody’s spying on us.”

  4 Chasing Around

  * * *

  “Don’t be stu—” Joe broke off as his eyes caught a hint of motion. He lowered his voice. “Hey, what’s that? Two boats down, across the slip?”

  Chet nodded, leaning over the map as if he were pointing something else out. “Thought I saw somebody ducking down.”

  “Let’s get a little closer and see.” Joe made a big production of stretching and yawning. “I think I’ll go to the snack bar and grab a soda,” he said loudly. “You guys want anything?”

  “I’ll go with you,” Chet told him.

  They swung over onto the dock, heading for shore and toward the boat where they’d spotted the intruder. It was a good-size sailboat. Joe jumped up onto the deck.

  Suddenly, a dark figure sprang to the stern of the boat standing alongside.

  “Run ahead, cut him off!” Joe yelled to Chet, who was still scrambling aboard.

  Thudding footsteps on the dock told Joe that his friend was on his way. Meanwhile Joe charged along the narrow deck, then leaped off the front of the boat.

  His speed carried his body across the gap to the next vessel. He hit the deck, staggered, and continued his mad dash as the waves slapped between the two boats.

  Joe couldn’t make out the shadowy figure ahead. Whoever it was wore baggy clothes that blended in with the darkness, and some kind of hat—

  It was a baseball cap. Joe caught a glimpse of the visor as the intruder shot a glance over his shoulder.

  Just then the spy tripped on something on the deck. While his running feet stumbled, Joe poured on the speed.

  Chet must have seen what was happening too. “Hold it!” he yelled, rushing onto the deck.

  His cry of triumph turned into a squawk as the staggering figure’s knee connected with the side of his face. Chet tumbled sideways and landed in the water with a splash.

  The intruder pulled himself together, swung down to the dock, and ran off at top speed.

  Joe stopped at the prow of the boat, listening to his spluttering, splashing friend below. Sighing, he turned to find a rope.

  • • •

  For about the fifth time Frank said, “I don’t get it. What was this spy supposed to hear? The rattling from these masts would drown out our voices.”

  Joe turned to Chet, who sat huddled in a blanket, sipping the cup of hot chocolate Frank had gotten for him. “You got pretty close to this character, Chet. Did you see who it was?”

  Chet gave him a look. “All I saw was his knee. If I see it again, I’ll definitely let you know.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  Chet’s hand went up to massage his cheek. “It was bony.”

  “Most knees are,” Frank said. “Okay, so you didn’t see, or feel, much of anything. How about your other senses? Close your eyes and think back. Did you smell anything?”

  “Not till I got really close to the water,” Chet answered.

  “What was he supposed to smell on this guy?” Joe asked.

  “For one thing, proof that maybe it wasn’t a guy,” Frank replied. “For instance, your new best friend Trisha Eads wears a pretty strong perfume, as I’ll bet you noticed.”

  Joe was about to argue, but then he snapped his mouth shut. Could the intruder have been a girl? He tried to call up an image of the shadowy figure he’d pursued: baggy clothes, baseball cap . . .

  “It could have been a girl,” he said.

  “A nice, healthy chase would be just the thing to get us all off the Sleuth and let someone get aboard for a little sabotage,” Frank said.

  “You’ve got a very twisted, untrusting mind, Frank,” Joe remarked. “Speaking of twists, remember what Zack
said? To expect plot twists?”

  “I didn’t see any cameras,” Chet said.

  “You’re just hoping there weren’t any cameras to catch your belly flop,” Joe told him.

  “They didn’t need to film anything,” Frank said slowly, shaking his head. “Just plant a seed in our minds for a payoff later.”

  “You mean, someone might be playing with our heads,” Joe said angrily, “or setting us up?”

  “Whatever our visitor was after—sabotage or plot twists—I think we shouldn’t play his or her game.” Frank smiled. “Let’s just keep this among the three of us and see what happens.” He yawned. “Right now I want to turn in—unless you want to go looking for an all-night laundry to dry Chet’s clothes.”

  “Just spread ‘em out on the deck,” Chet said. “We’re not leaving this boat.”

  • • •

  By the time Sprock Kerwin arrived with his camera, the early-morning sun had dried Chet’s jeans and sweatshirt. The young cameraman immediately began filming Chet as he was explaining the whole hide and sneak idea to a woman on a nearby boat.

  The woman was sitting cross-legged, working to splice two pieces of rope together. As her fingers deftly wove the fibers together, she nodded, shaking her gray pigtails. Large sunglasses hid her eyes. Joe couldn’t tell if she was really interested in what Chet was saying or if her eyes were glazing over with boredom.

  Kerwin turned from the scene, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. “Your buddy did a good job of explaining the film.”

  “Probably better than your pal Zack,” Joe said. “I’m surprised he didn’t have you filming his little speech the other day.”

  Sprock’s face tightened. Joe had obviously hit a sore spot. “These cameras are the latest thing.” The young filmmaker held out an amazingly compact little unit, changing the subject. “Easy to handle, supposedly easy to use. They’ll work with whatever light is available.” He sighed. “I hear that even beginners can get good results out of them, and I hope it’s true. Zack ordered the top of the line, but they had to be shipped here. We only got them this morning. I had to teach the others how to use the stupid things while I was learning myself—”