The Bad Luck Skate Page 3

  “They don’t stay.” Pam looked at the ground.

  “They don’t?” Joe asked, confused.

  “Figure-skating routines only last three and a half minutes. That’s it. Then you’re done, win or lose. We practice just as much as hockey players. More, even. But they get ninety minutes of ice time. We get less than four. It’s so not fair.”

  “What happens the rest of the time?” asked Joe. “Do they cut the ice between each skater?”

  “Nah. They only cut after a whole group goes,” Pam explained. “It would take way too long if they did it after each routine.”

  Joe’s interest was piqued. Maybe this conversation would end up helping his investigation after all. “How long does it take to cut the ice?”

  Pam thought for a moment. “Around ten or fifteen minutes if you wait till the ice freezes. Otherwise, you’re skating around in a swamp.”

  If that was true, then there was no way that Wally could be the saboteur. He didn’t have time. Wally was innocent.

  GETTING COLD FEET

  Joe thanked Pam for the information and wished her luck in her competition. After hearing about all the work she’d put in, he really hoped he’d be able to see her perform her routine. “If we can solve this mystery in time, I’ll be by to watch you skate,” he told her.

  Pam thanked him but didn’t make eye contact. She must be really concerned about the competition, thought Joe. But the clock was ticking. If he wanted to keep his promise, he couldn’t lose any more time on this case. He needed to find Frank and share what he’d learned.

  Frank had just finished up speaking with Adam. Joe watched as the big bully stalked off toward the restrooms. Kids, and even their parents, hurried to get out of the way as Adam stormed by.

  “Any luck with Adam?” Joe asked as he came to Frank’s side. “Please tell me he did it.”

  “Nah. I’m pretty sure it couldn’t have been him. Besides, the handwriting doesn’t match Adam’s. Sorry, Joe. Adam’s not our guy.”

  “That’s a bummer.” Joe groaned before crossing Adam’s name off the suspect list. “I was hoping he’d be the culprit this time. One of these days, we’ll catch him in the act.”

  “What about Wally?” asked Frank, nudging his brother out of his wishful dreaming.

  “Turns out we’re on thin ice there, too,” Joe said with a sigh. “Wally isn’t really friends with the Snipers’ coach. He was just giving him a locker-room key. Then he went to cut ice. That’s where he was when the Checkers’ lucky skate was messed with. Pam says that it takes at least ten minutes to do the entire rink. Wally wouldn’t have had time to do both.”

  Joe put a big line through Wally’s name. “Unfortunately, that was our last suspect.”

  They’d hit a wall again.

  “Come on, Joe.” Frank motioned for his brother to follow him over to a bench in the lobby. “We can’t give up now. That’s not the Hardy way.”

  “I know,” Joe said. “It’s just… I’d love for one of these mysteries to be easy. You know, pull the mask off and there’s Old Man Jenkins. Then we could go for cake.”

  “What are you talking about?” Frank was pretty sure his brother was rambling.

  “Nothing,” Joe said, waving it off. “I just saw those kids over at the birthday table, and now I want cake.”

  “Tell you what,” said Frank. “Let’s brainstorm some suspects, and when we catch the culprit, I’ll find you a snack.”

  Joe immediately perked up. “Okay. Who else could it be? A player from the other team?”

  “I don’t think so. Their locker room was right by the water fountain, so I would have seen them. And how would they have known which stick was Pete’s?”

  Frank made some good points. “Okay. So not them. Who else?” Joe asked. Then he had a thought. “Wally said the Checkers were in some kind of prank war. Could they have done this themselves?”

  Frank frowned. “I would hope not, but we should check it out. Maybe there’s someone on the team who doesn’t want the game to go on.” He paused. “I know he’s your friend, but Freddy seems to be trying to avoid playing. Do you think it could be him?”

  Joe was hesitant to make Freddy a suspect. “I’m not sure he had time to dump the paint. He was with me at the café.”

  Frank considered that. Freddy definitely had access to the stick rack, and he would have known which one was Pete’s. But would Freddy have had enough time to tamper with the skate and still get back to the café? “Could he have done it before meeting you?” Frank asked.

  Joe shrugged. Freddy was worried about the game. Plus, he’d been acting strange all day. With a sigh, Joe admitted it was possible. “I guess we should add him to our list of suspects.”

  “If Bayport forfeits, Freddy would be off the hook,” Frank reasoned. “There’s even a chance that the game would get rescheduled when the regular goalie could play. I think it’s at least worth finding Freddy and confirming his alibi.”

  “You’re right,” said Joe. “I just don’t like it. The idea of Freddy sabotaging his own team tastes like black licorice. Yuck.”

  “What’s with you and food today?”

  “The birthday party has a piñata,” Joe said, motioning toward the café area. “It’s got me thinking of candy.”

  “Come on.” Frank laughed. “Let’s find Freddy.”

  It didn’t take long to locate the goalie. He was bouncing a ball off a wall near the Checkers’ locker room.

  “Hey, Freddy,” Joe called. “What’re you doing?”

  “It’s a pregame warm-up,” Freddy explained. “You’ve got to keep your eyes on the ball or you miss it, just like trying to stop a puck. You track its path, figure out where it’s going, what it will do, and then grab it before it gets into the goal.”

  “Kind of like we do with suspects,” offered Joe. “Keep your eyes on them. Track them down. Catch them before they do something again.”

  “Exactly,” Freddy said, catching the ball and launching it again.

  “That’s kind of why we’re here,” said Joe, his eyes following the ball. “We need to follow up on some leads.”

  Freddy stopped his warm-up. “Do you have a good suspect?” he asked, excited.

  “No one in particular,” Frank cut in. “We’re still trying to rule people out.”

  “Which brings us to you,” Joe said carefully.

  Freddy looked confused. “How can I help?”

  “We just need to rule you out,” explained Joe. “It’s part of the process.”

  Freddy nodded. “I understand. Check all the angles. Make sure nothing gets past you.”

  “Exactly.” Joe smiled.

  “Can you walk us through where you were from eleven o’clock until you met up with Joe?” asked Frank.

  “Sure. My dad dropped me off out front just after eleven,” Freddy began. “Once I came inside, I headed right to the café. I always get a candy bar and an orange energy drink before a game. That’s when I bumped into Joe.”

  “You didn’t go to the locker room first?” Frank asked.

  “The café is right in front of the entrance. It doesn’t make sense to go all the way to the locker room and then come back. Besides, if I had, I would have left my equipment there. That stuff is heavy. In fact, the ticket lady held the door for me when I walked into the rink. I bet she could tell you when I came in and which direction I went.”

  “He did have a full load of stuff when we bumped into each other,” Joe added.

  “What about these pranks we’ve heard about?” asked Frank. “Could someone else on the team be playing jokes?”

  “No way!” Freddy said. “The rink complained to Coach last week. He told us that anyone playing another prank is off the team. Besides, no one would ever mess with the lucky skate. That wouldn’t be funny. It would hurt the entire team. Everyone’s worked way too hard to reach the championship to do something like that.”

  “Thanks, Freddy,” Frank said. “We’ll let you get back to
tracking pucks.”

  “Good luck!” called Joe.

  “Good luck to you, too,” the goalie offered.

  “We’re gonna need it,” Joe muttered, looking up at the clock.

  Less than thirty minutes to game time, and they were out of suspects… again.

  WINNERS NEVER QUIT

  Frank and Joe went back out to the café. Not only was it a good place to think, but that was where the food was, and Joe was still hungry.

  Hungry, but indecisive.

  “It’s not rocket science,” Frank said, crossing his arms. “Just pick something.”

  Joe glared back at his brother. “I wanted a Super Chunk, but they’re all out.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. They had work to do and Joe was being picky about candy bars.

  “Hey, guys,” Chet called. “How’s the investigation going?”

  “About as good as my ability to get a snack,” replied Joe. “Can you believe they’re out of Super Chunks?”

  “Not sure what I can do to help the investigation,” Chet said, “but I always bring an extra something to eat.” He pulled a Super Chunk bar out of his backpack, broke off a piece, and handed it to Joe.

  “Thanks, Chet,” said Joe, a huge smile lighting up his face. “This is the first good news we’ve had all day.”

  “No progress, then?” Chet asked.

  “Every suspect we’ve come up with has an alibi,” Frank told him.

  “Even Adam,” mumbled Joe before popping the piece of chocolate into his mouth.

  “Sometimes, when I’m stuck on a problem, it helps if I do something else for a bit,” Chet said. “Then, when I go back to my original problem, I can come at it with fresh eyes.”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” said Frank.

  Joe moaned. “Plus, this mystery is making my head hurt.”

  “Are you sure it’s not that candy bar making your head hurt? You did scarf it down pretty quick.”

  Joe frowned at his brother. Then he pointed at the ice. “Isn’t that Mimi?”

  “Yeah. She’s up next in the Junior Skaters’ Challenge,” Chet responded. “Want to watch with me?”

  Frank nodded. “It just might be the distraction we need to help us figure out this case.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Joe. “I was talking to Pam about figure skating earlier. It sounds really difficult.”

  “Just skating is hard enough on its own,” Chet told the brothers. “Then you add in all the spins and jumps. For her age, Mimi makes it look easy. She’s super talented. Even better than Iola. Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  Joe flashed Chet a grin. “I’ll keep it a secret for another bite of your Super Chunk.”

  Chet handed Joe another piece, and the three boys sat down to watch Mimi. Deep bass music filled the rink as Mimi started her routine. She effortlessly switched from gliding forward to backward. She spun. She leaped. The boys were riveted by her every twist and turn.

  As the music reached its crescendo, Mimi skated faster and faster. Then, with a final thump of bass, she stopped.

  “Wow,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, wow,” added Joe. “That was amazing.”

  “Told you she was good.” Chet beamed. “At first she didn’t even want to skate. But she would always come watch Iola practice. The coach finally got her to give it a try. And when Mimi got on the ice, she took to it like a fish to water.”

  “Frozen water,” Joe joked.

  “Nice.” Chet laughed. “You know what’s interesting? Sometimes talent turns up in the last place you’d expect it. Like Mimi being an amazing skater versus my skill with games and computers.”

  “Or me being smart and Frank being dumb,” Joe said, cracking up.

  “Very funny.” Frank wasn’t laughing. “Maybe you could turn that big brain of yours toward finding us another suspect. We are still on a case.”

  Joe sobered up quickly. Frank had a point. “Who else could it be?”

  That was when Pete came storming out of the rink shop with a new hockey stick. “I can’t believe it! Someone mashed up all the black tape into a big sticky ball, and the shop doesn’t have any more for my new stick.”

  “Can’t you use white?” asked Chet, peering from the café area through the shop window. There were big stacks of white tape next to smaller ones of green, blue, red, and a few other colors.

  “I’ve never played with any other color,” Pete complained. “It has to be black. Black tape helps hide the puck. Any other color won’t be the same.”

  “Slow down,” said Joe, pulling out the clue book. “You said something about tape being mashed together?”

  “Yeah. I needed to tape my new stick and I couldn’t find the roll I keep in my bag. I went to the store to get some, but they don’t have any. Mike, the guy who runs the shop, said he stepped out for a minute, and when he returned, the black tape was all mushed together. Destroyed.”

  “Sounds like another clue,” Joe said, writing down what had happened in the notebook.

  “Right. Let’s go see what happened,” Frank suggested, before heading to speak to Mike.

  The other boys followed Frank into the rink shop. “Excuse me,” said Frank, looking around. “Did something strange just happen in here?”

  “Yeah, dude,” the confused shop attendant responded. “It’s, like, the strangest thing. Somehow, all my black tape got stomped together.” He plopped a huge gob of black muck onto the counter—more than a dozen rolls of black stick tape had been mashed up into one sticky mess.

  “Was anyone in the shop when you left? Or when you returned?” Frank asked.

  “There’ve been a lot of people in and out today, but no one was here when I stepped away,” Mike told them. “Technically, I’m not supposed to leave the shop, but I kinda had to go, if you get my meaning.”

  Everyone got his meaning.

  “Did you lock the door while you were gone?” asked Joe. If the door had been locked, that would definitely limit their suspects.

  “Oh, yeah. Like, no,” Mike responded, shrinking down in his chair.

  “This is a disaster,” Pete wailed. “I’ll never be able to score now. Our luck is totally gone. I don’t think I should play.”

  “You can’t give up,” said Frank as confidently as he could. “You have to play. The Checkers are depending on you.”

  “It’s not going to make a difference who plays,” Pete replied, sounding deflated. “We’ll never win. And, besides, with our luck gone, what if something worse happens?”

  “Are you really that superstitious?” Joe asked.

  “A friend of mine tried to play when all the luck was telling him not to,” Pete told them. “His skate blade broke. He fell and sprained his wrist. He couldn’t play for three months!”

  “We’ll figure this out,” promised Frank. “In the meantime, you need to get your head in the game.”

  “I can’t take the chance,” Pete said. “If our luck doesn’t change quick, I need to sit out.”

  “Everyone, into the locker room,” called Pete’s coach from the lobby. “Game time in ten minutes.”

  “Pete, you go get ready,” Frank told his friend. “Joe and I will handle this.”

  “Ten minutes to solve this case? That’s not much time,” Joe whispered to his brother as they walked out of the shop.

  Frank looked more determined than ever. “It’ll have to be enough.”

  A MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH

  As the boys walked Pete to the locker room, he still seemed worried about playing. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he told Frank. “Maybe I’m better off just watching from the stands with you guys.”

  “You need to get ready to play,” Frank calmly urged him. “We’ll figure out who’s been messing with your luck before the game starts.”

  “Okay,” agreed Pete reluctantly. “I’ll get dressed and ready, but I’m not taking the ice unless the team’s luck returns.”

  “We’ve got this,” Joe told him with less conf
idence than his brother. “The Hardy brothers are on the case, and we always catch our man. Or woman. Suspect. We always catch our suspect.”

  “You’re not helping,” Frank said, glaring at his brother. He turned back to Pete. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

  “Thanks!” Pete said before slipping into the locker room.

  “So,” Joe started. “How exactly are we going to figure this out, Mr. Promise Maker? We don’t have any suspects, remember?”

  “That’s easy,” said Frank. “We’ll walk back through all the information we do have and see where it leads us. There has to be something we’ve missed.”

  “Of course.” Joe crossed his arms. “Some clue will miraculously pop out of nowhere and help us figure out the mystery.”

  “Still not helping,” Frank snapped. “Come on, Joe. We’ve done this a hundred times. Focus. What do we know?”

  “Okay.” Joe took out the clue book. “Here are the facts we have.”

  Between eleven a.m. and eleven twenty a.m., someone snuck into the Checkers’ locker room and poured black paint on the team’s lucky skate.

  Sometime after the last practice, and before the team went out for warm-ups, Pete’s hockey stick was cut with a skate blade. The cut caused it to break when Pete tried to use it.

  A sign was put up in the exercise room saying the Checkers needed to forfeit the game to get their luck back. Everyone had access to the room.

  All the black tape in the rink shop was mushed together. Only the black. No other colors.

  Suspects: Adam, Wally, Freddy

  Joe flipped around in the clue book. “That’s all the facts we have.”

  “Okay,” Frank said, a small smile forming on his lips. “We may not need anything more than that.”

  “Really?” asked Joe. “Do you see something I don’t?”

  “There’s a connection between all the incidents. Whoever our suspect is, they know a lot about the Checkers. More specifically, they know a lot about Pete.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Joe said.