Mystery of the Phantom Heist Page 4

  “Hi, Connie!” I said.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked.

  “I’ve got something for you guys,” Connie said. She grinned as she held up something that looked like an earbud for an MP3 player. “Guess what this is? Take a wild guess.”

  “Um . . . can I listen to music with it?” Joe guessed.

  “It does a lot more than that, Joey,” Connie said. “Pop this in your ear and you’ll be able to hear conversations up to one hundred feet away. Even whispers.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Way cool!” Joe said.

  “Here. Consider it a gift,” Connie said, slipping it into Joe’s hand. “So what are you guys doing here today? Visiting the old man?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “We were hoping Dad would give us the name of the owner of a vanity plate we saw.”

  “But according to Dad, that information is top secret,” Joe added.

  Connie snorted and flapped her hand. “Your dad’s retired,” she said. “I’m the big cheese here now.”

  Connie waved us to her computer. After about five minutes of searching files, she was able to give us the full name of Awesome Dude.

  “Colin Sylvester,” Connie reported. “Name ring a bell?”

  “I think so,” I said slowly. “Don’t his parents own a line of cruise ships or something?”

  “Whatever they do, they’re superrich,” Joe said. “I think they have a house by the bay that makes the Peytons’ look like a shack.”

  “Is there anything else you want me to look up while I’m here?” Connie asked.

  I thought about the YouTube clip and slickbro13, but shook my head. “You’ve done plenty for us already, Connie,” I said. “And if Dad finds out—”

  “Tell him whatever you want,” Connie said with a grin. “If he doesn’t like it, I’ll probably read about it in that book of his.”

  We left Dad’s office building with the best clue we’d gotten all day—the name of the guy in the black Benz.

  “Now we know that it was Colin Sylvester outside our school today,” I said when we were halfway home. “But we still don’t know why he was there.”

  Joe shrugged and said, “Maybe it’s no big deal. Maybe he saw the commotion and stopped his car to be nosy.”

  “With that look he gave us?” I said, remembering the icy glare. “I don’t think so.”

  We were walking up Foley Street when Joe’s tablet beeped.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I got a text or an e-mail,” he said, pulling it out.

  “That thing gets e-mails too?” I said, impressed. “It really can do everything.”

  Joe stopped to check out the e-mail. He wrinkled his brow and said, “I don’t recognize the sender. There’s an attachment, too.”

  “Then delete!” I declared. “Never open an attachment you don’t recognize.”

  “Too late,” Joe said. “I already did.”

  I peered over Joe’s shoulder as a video appeared on the small screen. As he and I watched the clip, our eyes popped wide open. It showed some guy hurling a rock through the window of Bayport’s only flower shop. His back was to the camera as he jumped up and down, cheering.

  “Another Scaredevil,” I said through gritted teeth. “But why was it sent to you? That’s what I want to know.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Joe said. “And how did those lowlifes get my e-mail?”

  Joe was about to replay the clip when I heard what sounded like heavy footsteps behind us. Spinning around, I saw two tall, beefy guys coming our way. I blinked hard when I saw what they wore: steel breastplates, leather sandals—and heavy, glistening swords!

  “Um . . . Frank?” Joe said when he saw them too. “Who are those guys?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “All I do know is that they’re armed—and dangerous.”

  INVITE ONLY

  6

  JOE

  FRANK AND I STOOD FROZEN LIKE STATUES. The armored guys’ eyes were on us as they came closer and closer. My own eyes stayed fixed on those swords!

  “Either we’re in a time warp,” I murmured, “or I’m seeing ancient warriors.”

  “In case they attack,” Frank said out of the corner of his mouth, “do we fight them off?”

  “With what?” I whispered. “Our backpacks?”

  The steel-plated giants came within inches of Frank and me. Before I could ask what they wanted, they made a sharp right turn. We watched as they headed straight up the front walkway of a large Colonial-style home.

  “Who are those guys?” Frank asked.

  One warrior rang the doorbell with the handle of his sword. While the two stood facing the door, Frank and I inched closer to the house and hid behind a shrub. We peeked out and watched as a woman wearing a white uniform opened the door.

  “Hello, ma’am,” one warrior said. “Is Stacy Chung here?”

  The woman looked super nervous as she stepped away. In a matter of seconds a girl of about sixteen came to the door.

  “Does she go to our school?” Frank whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” I whispered back.

  We watched as the other warrior held up what looked like a large square envelope. “Stacy Chung, lend us your ears!” he boomed. “By orders of the royal empire, you are hereby invited to the Sweet Sixteen of Empress Lindsay Peyton!”

  The two then beat their chests and declared, “Veni, vidi, Versace!”

  Stacy stood with her mouth open. Then, without warning, she let out an earsplitting shriek.

  “Lindsay Peyton’s Sweet Sixteen—no way!” Stacy screamed happily, jumping up and down. “No way! No way!”

  I leaned over to Frank and said, “I get it. Those guys are the gladiators Lindsay was talking about at our interview.”

  “Yeah, but why is she getting an invitation today?” Frank said. “The party is this weekend.”

  We ducked behind the tree trunk as the gladiators stomped by. I could hear one of them saying, “Was she the last on the B-list?”

  “Yeah.” The other one sighed. “Let’s ditch these tin cans and get some pizza.”

  Stacy was still shrieking as the gladiators walked up the street.

  “B-list,” Frank scoffed, shaking his head. “No wonder her invitation’s late.”

  “Let’s go,” I said. “Before Stacy detonates my eardrums.”

  “Not yet, Joe,” Frank said. “If Stacy goes to Bay Academy, she might have some info on Colin.”

  Frank slipped out from behind the tree. I raced to catch up with him as he approached the house.

  “Um—Stacy?” Frank called as she began to shut the door. “Can we ask you something?”

  Stacy was still smiling from ear to ear as she said, “I think I’ve seen you guys around.”

  “I’m Frank Hardy, and this is my brother, Joe,” Frank said. “You go to Bay Academy, right?”

  “Right,” Stacy said. She wrinkled her nose impatiently. “Um . . . is that all you want to know? I’ve got to text my friends and tell them the awesome news.”

  “Real quick,” Frank promised. “Do you know a guy at your school named Colin Sylvester?”

  Stacy rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately,” she groaned, before holding up the invitation. “He won’t be going to this party—that’s for sure.”

  “How come?” I asked.

  “Du-uh!” Stacy said. “Everybody knows Lindsay can’t stand Colin.”

  “Why doesn’t she like him?” Frank asked.

  “It’s complicated,” Stacy said. “Look, I can’t hang around and talk right now. I’ve got a gazillion things to do!”

  “But—” Frank started to say.

  “I’ve got to call Elise, Lily, and Beth, make a hair appointment, shop for a new dress and shoes. . . .”

  Stacy’s voice trailed off as she shut the door in our faces. We stood staring at the door before Frank said, “So Lindsay can’t stand Colin.”

  “Can you blame her?” I said, walking away from the
door. “Now can we forget about Colin for a minute and try to figure something out?”

  “Like what?” Frank asked.

  I turned to my brother and said, “Like—how did the Scaredevils get my e-mail address?”

  • • •

  “See?” I said, holding out my tablet. “More and more videos are going viral, and they’re coming straight to me.”

  Frank, Chet, Iola, and I were holding court in our usual favorite booth at the Chomp and Chew. But no one was looking out the window or at the game on the TV. We were too busy checking out the latest viral video starring the Scaredevils. This one showed the same bunch of bandanna-sporting thugs setting a Dumpster on fire.

  “That’s enough to make anyone’s skin crawl,” Chet declared. His eyes then darted around the Chomp and Chew, busy with the dinner crowd. “Should we even be watching these videos out in the open like this?”

  “Why not?” Iola asked.

  “What if the Scaredevils are here?” Chet whispered. “They could like burgers too, you know.”

  Frank and I glanced around. The booths and tables were packed, probably because of the free dessert special they had that night.

  “Doubtful,” Frank said. “The Scaredevils strike mostly at night.”

  “Yeah, they’re too busy being evil to stop for hot fudge sundaes,” I scoffed.

  “Speaking of,” Chet said. “Where’s our food? I’m starving.”

  “Eat a pickle chip,” Iola said, pushing a dish of pickles and olives toward her brother. She then turned to Frank and me. “If the Scaredevils are a gang, how will you catch them? There could be dozens of members running around Bayport!”

  “Every gang has a ringleader,” Frank explained. “If we get him, we get the whole gang.”

  I was about to grab a pickle myself when my tablet began beeping. “Here we go again,” I sighed.

  “Is it from slickbro13?” Frank asked.

  I glanced down at the user name. “Who else?” I said. “But this time he sent me a little message.”

  “What does it say?” Iola asked.

  “Special delivery,” I read out loud.

  Everyone huddled around my tablet as I opened the attachment. The latest video was different from the others. Instead of showing vandalism, it showed two Scaredevils rolling on the ground in a fight. I turned up the volume to hear voices in the background, cheering them on.

  “Why do you think they sent me a fight video?” I asked.

  “Could be a warning,” Chet said. “That next they’re coming after you and Frank!”

  “Thanks, pal,” Frank said.

  Chet shrugged and said, “Just saying.”

  But as I watched the fight clip, something about one of the guys looked familiar.

  “I know this sounds crazy,” I said. “But I think I know one of those guys.”

  “But you can’t see their faces,” Iola said, squinting to get a better look. “Can you?”

  “It’s not his face,” I said, studying the video. “It’s those long, skinny legs—”

  “Okay, who gets the chunky chili burger with the sweet potato fries?” a voice asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  I looked up to see a waiter holding a tray filled with our long-awaited burgers.

  “Sweet potato fries, baby!” Chet said, hungrily rubbing his hands together. “Bring it!”

  The last thing I wanted was pizza burger sauce all over my tablet. But just as I was about to put it away, Frank gave me a kick under the table.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Tony Riley’s here,” Frank said.

  “So?” I said. “He works here.”

  Frank shook his head. “He’s not bussing tables,” he said. “He’s sitting at that booth over there.”

  I followed Frank’s gaze. Sure enough, Tony was in the house—sharing a booth with a cute red-haired girl. Tony was smiling coolly at her as he stretched his lanky leg into the aisle.

  “I know her,” Iola said as she shook a clogged ketchup bottle upside down. “That’s Carolyn Meyer from school. She’s in my gym class.”

  “Looks like Tony’s on a date,” I said. “It’s probably his night off.”

  Frank furrowed his brow as if he didn’t get it. “Why would Tony spend his night off in a place he hated?” he asked.

  “Unless the guy quit,” Chet said through a full mouth.

  “Yeah, but he said he needed the money,” Frank said. “To buy that phone he wanted.”

  “For a guy with no money, he sure ordered a ton of food,” Iola pointed out.

  “And if I’m not mistaken,” Chet said, glancing over his shoulder, “that’s the lobster burger Tony’s eating—the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  Frank and I traded grins. If anyone was an authority on the Chomp and Chew menu, it was Chet.

  “So the guy could have saved up,” I said, glancing back at Tony. It was then that I noticed something other than his date and lobster burger.

  Tony had what looked like a deep scratch under his left eye. When I quietly pointed it out, Chet said, “Tony works in a restaurant. Maybe it was some kind of kitchen accident.”

  “That,” I said, “or some kind of fight.”

  “Tony in a fight?” Iola said unbelievingly. “He’s so nice one of the teachers calls him Gentleman Riley.”

  Tony was a nice guy. Even if somebody did beat on him, he probably wouldn’t fight back.

  “I guess you’re right,” I decided.

  I was about to turn away from Tony when I spotted his jacket hanging from a hook over his booth. Sticking out of a pocket was something dark blue with some kind of white paisley design.

  “Whoa!” I gasped, realizing what it was.

  It was a bandanna—a dark-blue bandanna!

  SECRETS

  7

  FRANK

  THIS TIME JOE KICKED ME UNDER THE table. I stared at my brother as if to say, What?

  “Tony’s jean jacket is hanging next to his booth,” Joe said.

  “And?” I asked.

  “And take a look at what’s sticking out of the pocket,” he whispered.

  I glanced over to Tony’s booth and his jacket. Some kind of dark blue material with a white design was sticking out.

  “Rhymes with . . . banana?” Joe hinted.

  “Bandanna!” I said. “Tony’s got a dark-blue bandanna in his pocket.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Iola said, stretching her neck to see.

  “It’s a blue bandanna, all right,” Chet confirmed. “Good catch, Joe.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said. “But you know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Hard to believe,” I said. “Tony Riley, a Scaredevil?”

  Joe leaned forward, lowered his voice, and said, “No wonder the fighter in the video looked familiar. He had the same long, skinny legs as Tony’s.”

  “So that was Tony fighting?” Iola said, scrunching up her nose. “The guy doesn’t even arm wrestle in the school lunchroom for fun!”

  Trying not to look obvious, I watched Tony eating his lobster burger. Sure, the scratch and the bandanna made him look guilty. But I wasn’t going to accuse the guy until we got more facts. At least, that’s the way Dad taught us.

  “We’ve got to go over to Tony and ask him a bunch of questions,” I told Joe. “Before he finishes his food and leaves the place.”

  “Okay,” Joe said.

  But Chet shook his head and said, “Nuh-uh. Not okay.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because Tony is out with Carolyn,” Chet explained. “And the last thing he’ll want to do is answer questions in front of her.”

  “Especially since Carolyn Meyer is the ultimate gossip girl,” Iola said. “No one talks in front of her unless they’re totally clueless.”

  My shoulders slumped as I stared at the Mortons. Since when were they such drags?

  “You guys,” I complained. “If Tony is in the Scaredevils, he can lead us straight to the ringlea
der—whoever he is.”

  “Frank is right,” Joe said. “We have to get him to spill.”

  “Any suggestions?” I asked Chet and Iola.

  “Nope,” Chet said, going back to his burger. But Iola flashed a smile and said, “I know what to do.”

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “I’m going to tell Carolyn I just found something out that will make her teeth curl,” Iola whispered.

  “You mean you’re going to lure her away with gossip?” Chet said. “As if any girl would leave a date to dish with another girl.”

  “This girl would,” Iola said as she squeezed past me out of the booth. “Watch and learn.”

  The three of us did watch as Iola headed to Tony and Carolyn’s booth. I had a feeling she was speaking extra loud so we could all hear.

  “Carolyn, you’re not going to believe the dirt I just dug up on Deanna DaCosta,” Iola said.

  “The captain of the girls’ basketball team?” Carolyn gasped excitedly. “What are you waiting for? Spill!”

  “Tony doesn’t want to hear this,” Iola said, smiling at Tony. “Come on, Carolyn. I’ll tell you the whole story in the restroom.”

  “I’m there,” Carolyn said, already halfway out of the booth. “I’ll be right back, Tony.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Tony said. He barely looked up from his lobster burger as Carolyn followed Iola up the aisle to the back.

  “I can see who has the brains in the family!” Joe teased Chet.

  “But I have the good looks!” Chet joked.

  “Yeah, right,” I said, smirking. “Joe, let’s go over to Tony’s table and see what we can get.”

  “What about me?” Chet asked.

  “Stay here and make sure nobody eats our burgers,” I said.

  “Just let ’em try!” Chet chuckled.

  Tony looked surprised as we slipped into his booth. “Hey. What’s up?” he asked.

  “I’ll cut to the chase,” I said quietly. “It’s about the bandanna in your jacket pocket.”

  Tony’s eyes darted over to his jacket. “Wh-what bandanna?” he asked with a stammer. “It must be one of my gloves.”