Trick-or-Trouble Page 4

  “You’re right!” Joe said. “The monster gets killed in a windmill at the end of the picture. It was Boris’s first big role.”

  “How does that lead us to another clue?” Callie asked.

  “It doesn’t,” Frank said, “unless you know something about Karloff, and about Bayport’s history. Karloff’s original name was Pratt.”

  Joe snapped his fingers. “And Pratt’s Antiques on Eagle Hill has an old Dutch windmill on the property!”

  “Pratt’s has been shut down for years,” Callie said. “It would make an ideal place to hide a clue. What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

  The three ran back to the van and sped up to the old store. Pratt’s Antiques stood near the crest of Eagle Hill, west of town. The shop had closed years ago, but the structure still stood. The road leading to the shop snaked around the hill ending in a weed-covered parking lot.

  The old windmill had been brought from Holland by Don Pratt during the business’s heyday. Now the windmill stood like a silent sentinel overlooking the abandoned property. Like everything else at Pratt’s, the windmill was in shabby repair, almost falling down.

  “It looks dangerous,” Callie said as they got out of the van.

  “It can’t be that bad,” Joe replied, “or they wouldn’t be using it in the contest.”

  “The city repossessed the property years ago,” Frank said. “There’s been talk about developing it, but nothing’s happened so far.” He looked around. “Do you guys see any sign of a clue?”

  Callie shook her head. “Maybe it’s inside the windmill.”

  “Good idea,” Frank said. Both he and Joe headed for the windmill’s battered doorway, with Callie following close behind.

  As they approached, though, the huge windmill blades suddenly spun toward the startled teens.

  5 Slashing Blades

  The windmill blades swooped down. Though the sails were tattered and their wooden ribs gray with age, they were still heavy enough to crack a skull.

  “Look out!” Joe called.

  He ducked in through the doorway of the old mill as Frank pulled Callie back out of the way. All of them sprawled onto the ground as the blades of the windmill swung between them.

  “Why did that happen?” Callie asked, watching the blades as they slowed down once more. “This place has been out of commission for years.”

  “The only reason it’d happen,” Frank said, “is if someone made it happen.”

  Joe glanced up and saw a fleeting shadow. “There’s someone in the mill upstairs. C’mon, Frank!”

  Frank ducked under the slowly moving blade and ran after his brother up the stairs. Callie followed.

  The rickety stairs barely held together under the weight of Frank, Joe, and Callie’s steps. The windmill tower had several floors, including one with massive, half-rotten, wooden gears. A rope attached to one gave a clue as to how the ancient blades had sprung to life.

  “He must have pulled that rope to spin the blades,” Joe said.

  “A pity his aim wasn’t better,” Frank said with a grim smile. “A pity for him.”

  A wooden ladder in the middle of the second landing led up through a trapdoor onto the third floor. Before they could reach it, though, someone hauled the ladder up through the hole.

  The brothers saw a shadow moving above as they ran to the trapdoor. Frank knitted his fingers together and held his locked hands at knee height.

  “Allez-oop!” he said.

  Joe put his foot in Frank’s hands and the elder Hardy thrust his brother up into the hole. Joe climbed halfway up, then dropped back suddenly without warning. He held on to the door by just his fingertips.

  Frank gave another shove on Joe’s feet, and he surged through the trapdoor. Frank leaped up, grabbed the ledge, and pulled himself after his brother.

  As he did this, a shadowy figure jumped out of the room’s only window. The prowler grabbed onto an unmoving windmill blade, and slid down a long vane as though it were a firepole.

  The ancient blade buckled and cracked under the intruder’s weight, and a large piece snapped off just as he hit the ground.

  Joe reached the window a moment later and looked as though he might go after the saboteur, but Frank held him back. “A second person trying that stunt would snap that blade,” the elder Hardy said.

  The intruder raced across the clearing at the windmill’s base, and vanished into the woods surrounding the hilltop.

  “Are you guys all right up there?” Callie called from below.

  “We’re fine,” Frank called back. “But the culprit got away.” As he lowered the ladder to his girlfriend, a motor sprang to life somewhere in the forested hill below the windmill.

  “Sounds like he had a motorcycle or four-wheeler stashed nearby,” Joe said angrily.

  “How’d he escape?” Callie asked, looking around the small room.

  “Out the window and down the windmill vane,” Frank said, “but it broke when he landed.”

  “Did you see who it was?” Callie crossed to the window and peered out.

  Joe shook his head. “Devil Mask again. He didn’t have his cape, though, this time.”

  “He got the clue,” Frank said, picking up pieces of a ceramic pumpkin lying on the floor.

  “Not the only clue,” Callie said. “Look!”

  The brothers joined her at the window and gazed out across the yard of the old antique shop. Written in white paint on the roof of the old building were the words: Vlad & Van took the trip, but not in their usual seats.

  “The rules said that there would be big clues to the big prizes,” Callie noted.

  “And that everyone would have a chance to find them,” Joe added. “I guess that’s because they’re too big to steal.”

  “A good thing, too,” Frank said. “Otherwise, Devil Mask would have left us with zip to go on.”

  “Then maybe it was a prize certificate he got in the ceramic pumpkin, not a clue,” Callie said.

  “That makes sense,” Frank said. “The rules said that putting two or more clues together would lead to some kind of reward. Maybe that could help us figure out who this bandit is.”

  Joe nodded. “If we could discover what prize was in that pumpkin.”

  “It should be something better than just a free cup of coffee,” Callie noted.

  Frank ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s a start, anyway.” He wrote the clue from the rooftop on the same paper as the two clues that had led them to the windmill. “We’ve got all we can here,” he said. “Let’s get back to town.”

  They piled back into the van and headed for downtown once more. As Frank drove, Joe said, “You know, working at Magnum Motors, Harley Bettis has access to motorcycles. And we know the Kings have worked with cars and cycles before.”

  “Bettis is a pretty athletic guy,” Callie added. “He could probably make that jump and slide down the windmill vane.”

  “But he cut us off in that car the first time we chased Devil Mask,” Frank said. “He could be working with one of the other Kings, though. Maybe he, Jay Stone, and Missy Gates are all in this together.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Joe noted.

  Midnight was fast approaching by the time the three teens parked the van and got back into the game. They stopped and redeemed their food prizes, picking up more clues and a certificate for a free CD along the way. Most of the clues turned out to be duplicates of ones they already had.

  “It’s like those fast-food contests where you get a billion of the same pieces, but can’t find the one you need to complete a set,” Callie noted.

  “Vanderdecken wouldn’t be caught undead tying one on here,” Joe said, reading aloud a clue that they hadn’t seen before.

  “Sounds like a beer reference,” Frank said. “Doesn’t ‘tying one on’ mean something like ‘getting drunk’?”

  “Right—but there are no bars or liquor stores in the sponsor list,” Callie said. “I’m sure the contest is meant
to be family friendly.”

  “Could Vanderdecken be the same Van as in the antique shop clue?” Joe asked.

  “Maybe,” Frank replied. “With Van and Vlad, though, I was thinking it might be Dracula and Van Helsing. The historical Dracula’s name was Vlad Tepes.”

  “Too bad Chet and Daphne are the only horror movie buffs we know,” Callie said.

  “And Allison Rosenberg, apparently,” Frank said.

  Callie bit her lip.

  “Some Internet searching after the deadline tonight may give us a leg up tomorrow,” Joe suggested. “For now, though, we better keep picking up clues.”

  Other contestants—many in costume—scurried along the darkened streets. The Hardys and their friends also prowled the shops, looking for new clues. They said hello to the people they knew, and occasionally stopped to chat with other clue hunters.

  Rumors of sizable wins by a few contestants spread like wildfire through downtown.

  “I heard that some guy won a motorbike earlier,” Tony Prito said. He was an old friend of the Hardys and worked in a local pizza shop.

  “Anyone we know?” Joe asked. “One of the Kings, maybe?”

  Tony shrugged. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t anyone I ever heard of. Allison Rosenberg won a pair of inline skates, though. Ren Takei scored a hand-held computer tonight, too.”

  “Bet that’s made him unbearably pleased,” Frank said.

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “He was smiling like the cat that ate the canary.”

  “I wonder if Allison will be using the skates or her bike from now on,” Callie said. “Have you seen her?”

  Tony nodded. “She’s not in costume tonight,” he said. “I think she’s playing it safe after the trouble last night—though I did see her earlier today, zipping around on her bike. How are you guys doing?”

  “Won some food and a CD,” Joe replied. “We found one of the big clues, too—but someone beat us to it. They swiped the prize and we just got another piece of the puzzle.”

  “Most of this stuff is over my head,” Tony admitted. “I’m going for the short, sweet stuff. That’s what a lot of the kids are doing.” Then he smiled. “The mysteries should be right up your alley, though. Time for me to run. Good luck, guys. I gotta get back to Mr. Pizza and finish up my shift. I’m only here on a break.” He hopped on his bike and headed back toward the mall where he worked.

  Frank rubbed his chin. “So,” he said, “Allison and Takei have both won expensive prizes tonight.”

  Joe frowned. “Among dozens of others, probably,” he said. “I’m thinking that finding the person who took the prize from the antique shop may be impossible.”

  “Me, too,” Callie said. “Let’s keep concentrating on the clues. If a lot of folks are going for the short-term prizes, that would still leave us a good chance for the bigger-ticket items. Slow and steady wins the race.”

  “Let’s hope,” Frank said.

  “I get the feeling that Allison may want it all,” Joe said. As he spoke, Allison Rosenberg zipped past on her bicycle. She waved; they waved back.

  “Let’s get going,” said Callie.

  They hiked up past the Browning Theater and stopped in at the CD Crate, where they picked up their CD prize and scored a few more clues.

  “More crocodiles,” Joe said, scratching his blond head. “And this: Orange, orange all around, carving clues are often found.”

  Frank shrugged. “As much as I hate to admit it, there may be some of these puzzles that we just won’t get.”

  Callie laughed. “The invincible Frank and Joe Hardy admit defeat?”

  “Not on your life!” Joe replied.

  As they walked back toward the center of town, Callie spotted a familiar figure at the Kool Kone drive-in restaurant. “I didn’t know Brent Jackson drove a motorcycle,” she said.

  Sure enough, Jackson sat astride a large dirt bike in the Kool Kone parking lot. The mud on the bike’s fenders looked fresh.

  Anger burned in Joe’s eyes, and he strode up to his football rival. “Been doing some off-road driving tonight, Jackson?” he asked.

  Brent Jackson regarded the younger Hardy coolly. “What business is it of yours?” he said. He stood and, laying his helmet on the seat of the bike, walked toward the Hardys.

  “Some jerk on an off-roader tried to mess with us while we were hunting up clues, that’s all,” Joe replied.

  “He nearly got all three of us,” Frank said. “He was wearing a mask, though, so we didn’t get a good look at him. Where were you about an hour ago, Brent?”

  “You ain’t my mother, Hardy,” Jackson said. “You want to know where I’ve been, figure it out on your own. Too bad that guy missed.”

  “Want a second crack at it, tough guy?” Joe asked, balling up his fists.

  “Nope,” Jackson replied, turning away. Without warning, he spun back around and threw a punch at Joe’s head.

  6 Ghost Riders

  Brent Jackson grinned as his fist sailed toward Joe’s face.

  Joe ducked out of the way and Brent’s fist merely grazed his shoulder. The younger Hardy counter-punched, but Jackson blocked the blow and threw another jab of his own.

  “You’ve needed your clock cleaned for a long time, Hardy!” Jackson said through gritted teeth.

  “Too bad the only thing you’ve ever cleaned is a plate,” Joe replied. He sidestepped the punch and hammered Brent in the ribs.

  Jackson staggered back, the air rushing out of his lungs. A crowd began to gather around the fight. About half the kids at the drive-in seemed to be cheering for Jackson, the other half for Joe.

  Jackson scrambled to his feet and lunged at Joe. Joe tried to back away, but got pinned against the burgeoning crowd. Jackson buried his shoulder in the younger Hardy’s gut, and the two of them tumbled to the ground.

  Joe kneed Jackson in the ribs, and rolled out from under him. As the two got to their feet, Frank and Callie stepped in between the boys.

  “That’s enough!” Frank said.

  “This isn’t doing anyone any good,” Callie added.

  The assembled crowd started to boo.

  “So, now your brother and his girl do your fighting for you, Hardy?” Jackson said, glaring at Joe.

  “Frank, Callie, keep out of this,” Joe said, not taking his eyes off Jackson.

  “What’s all the commotion here?” boomed an authoritative voice.

  Everyone turned and saw Officer Sullivan approaching, along with Sean M. Benson, the owner of Kool Kone. Benson was a brawny man, half a head taller than Sullivan, and just as wide. He wore an apron with a Kool Kone logo and a badge with his nickname—“Mike”—on his lapel.

  “Nothing, Officer Sullivan,” Frank said. “Just a little disagreement over contest rules.”

  The cop scowled. “Any more disagreements, and you’ll all be disagreeing with the chief of police,” he said. “Understand?”

  Joe and Jackson nodded sullenly.

  “I won’t have any fighting on my property,” Benson said. “Both of you scram. I don’t want to see either of you back here again until this contest is over. I don’t need troublemakers messing up my business.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Benson,” Joe said.

  Jackson put on his motorcycle helmet and sneered at Joe. “That’s another one I owe you, Hardy.”

  “Put it on my account,” Joe replied.

  As Jackson took off on his bike, Joe, Frank, and Callie walked down the street away from Kool Kone.

  Joe frowned. “I feel like a real jerk,” he said.

  “You could have picked a better time and place to fight, that’s for sure,” Frank said.

  “But the way Jackson talked, it made me feel sure that he was the one that made all the trouble up at Pratt’s Antiques.”

  “It seems to me,” Callie said, “that Jackson’s always like that—at least when it comes to you and Frank.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “Maybe. He better stay out of my way until the contest is over, though
.”

  “We should probably try to stay out of his way as well,” Frank said. “We won’t be winning any contests inside police HQ.”

  As they walked, the clock in St. Patrick’s Church struck midnight. The game was officially over for the day.

  “Let’s get home,” Callie said. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

  As they hiked back to the van, they noticed other contestants still running around town—Allison Rosenberg, Missy Gates, Jay Stone, and Ren Takei among them.

  “They must be following up clues,” Frank said.

  “Too bad I feel pretty clueless at the moment,” Joe replied.

  “It’ll all look better after a good night’s sleep, I’m sure,” Callie said.

  Joe sighed. “Let’s hope Allison and Ren leave some clues for us to solve.”

  Chores and homework left the brothers little time to think about the contest until after school the next day.

  They were slightly dismayed to hear that someone had solved the crocodile series of puzzles, and claimed a boat as a reward. “The newspaper has started announcing when the big prizes are won—so people won’t waste too much time working on puzzles that are already solved,” Chet said, as he walked home from school with the Hardys.

  “So, what was the crocodile riddle about?” Joe asked.

  “You’ll have to check the paper,” Chet said. “My lips are sealed.” He motioned as though he were zippering them.

  “Who won?” Frank asked.

  “Someone named Julie Kendall,” Chet replied.

  “No one we know,” Joe said. “We’ve got a lot of competition in this.”

  “And not nearly enough information to go on,” Frank added.

  “Keep plugging,” Chet said. “I’m sure you’ll solve one of the puzzles, sooner or later. See you at the shop tonight.”

  “Sure thing,” Joe replied.

  He and Frank stopped at home to complete their homework and have a snack. Then they went to the old dockside warehouse to pick up the girls.