Terror at High Tide Page 4

  When no one answered his knock, Frank peered through the open window to the right of the door. Inside was a living room with a door opening onto a garden in back. A gate in a hedge led to another street.

  “Whoever kidnapped Alicia’s father might have lured him into the garden and then taken him through that back gate to a waiting car,” Joe said, looking over Frank’s shoulder.

  “Could be,” Frank said, nodding. “But just to be sure, why don’t we take a look inside—see if Mr. Geovanis is there?”

  At that moment a curly-haired boy about twelve or thirteen strolled up the path. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for Jonah Ferrier,” Frank said, smiling at the boy. “I’m Frank Hardy, this is my brother, Joe, and this is Alicia Geovanis.”

  “I’m Jamie Ferrier,” the boy said. “Mr. Ferrier’s my dad.” He searched in his pocket for a moment, then fished out a key. “He’s usually at the newspaper Saturday afternoons getting ready for the Sunday edition. You could probably find him there.”

  “Were you at your parents’ party last night, by any chance?” Joe asked him.

  “Nope. I slept over at a friend’s house.” Jamie started to unlock the door. “Nice to meet you, but I have to go.”

  Back inside the Jeep Frank, Joe, and Alicia talked about what to do next. Alicia wanted to go straight home to see if the kidnapper—or her father—had left any messages. Frank wanted to stop off first at the Island News to ask Jonah Ferrier some questions. The newspaper office was on the way to Alicia’s house, he pointed out. Callie was there, and Frank wanted to see if she could join them for the afternoon.

  “Why don’t you call your answering machine at home, Alicia?” Joe suggested. “You could do that from your car phone, right?”

  “Good idea,” Alicia said. She took out the phone and punched in some numbers. After a moment she clicked it shut. “No messages. So let’s stop off first at the Island News.”

  Joe swiveled around to face the backseat. “Are you considering Jonah Ferrier a suspect?” he asked Frank.

  “No, not really,” Frank replied. “But Mr. Geovanis was last seen at Ferrier’s house and he did call on Alicia’s phone when we were outside. He no doubt knows she usually keeps her phone in her Jeep.”

  “I can’t imagine what motive Jonah Ferrier would have for hiding Dad in his house,” Alicia said as she started up the Jeep. “Roberto’s the one with the ax to grind.”

  “You’re right,” Frank said. “But we still need to find out what Ferrier knows about last night. He might remember an important clue.”

  After a few minutes Alicia pulled her Jeep up in front of the offices of the Island News near the corner of Main and Easy Streets. She switched off the ignition, then immediately waved to a ruddy-faced man with curly dark hair who was on his way out of the newspaper building.

  “Hey there, honey,” the man said in a loud voice. He flashed Alicia a grin, his mischievous-looking blue eyes twinkling at her. “Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.”

  “Hi, Jonah,” Alicia said. She hopped out of the Jeep and shook his hand. “These are my friends, Frank and Joe Hardy. This is Jonah Ferrier, editor-in-chief of the Island News.”

  Frank and Joe climbed out of the Jeep and shook hands with Jonah Ferrier. Joe judged he was in his midthirties.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jonah said as he pumped Joe’s hand.

  Ow! Joe thought. That guy has some handshake. Joe gave Ferrier a friendly smile but at the same time studied him carefully. There was something about Ferrier’s too-friendly manner that Joe didn’t trust.

  Taking note of Ferrier’s brightly colored clothes—green pants embroidered with tiny whales and a pink Lacoste shirt—Joe thought the guy sure knew how to draw attention.

  “I saw your old man last night,” Jonah told Alicia.

  “I know that,” Alicia said. “And I talked to you this morning on the phone, remember? I asked you when you’d last seen Dad, because he never came home from your party.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jonah said, thumping his forehead with his fist. “Of course, you did call. Sorry I didn’t remember, but I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. Did your father ever come home?”

  “Not yet,” Alicia told him. “We’re all pretty anxious about it.”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’,” Jonah said, patting her mop of red curls. “I’m sure your father will show up soon. He was probably out having a good time. After all, the man deserves to kick up his heels every once in a while.”

  Joe gritted his teeth as he listened to Ferrier’s casual tone. It was all he could do not to slug the guy. Couldn’t he tell Alicia was worried sick?

  Looking over at Frank, Joe was trying to gauge his brother’s reaction to Ferrier’s manner. Frank was staring poker-faced at Ferrier, but Joe knew Frank was probably just as turned off by the guy’s attitude as he was.

  “So you held the party last night where Mr. Geovanis was last seen,” Frank commented. “Do you know what time he left?”

  “Hmm,” Ferrier said, scrunching up his face as he thought. “I remember George filling his plate with food from the buffet around eight o’clock. That was in the dining room. About ten minutes later I heard George arguing in the hallway with another man. It sounded like Harrison Cartwright, the man I hosted the party for.”

  “Did you hear what they were saying?” Joe asked, curious.

  Ferrier shook his head. “I wish I could help you, son.”

  Joe stifled another urge to bury his fist in Ferrier’s face. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why the guy bugged him so much—maybe because he seemed so phony, Joe thought.

  “Did you see Mr. Geovanis after that?” Frank asked.

  Ferrier sighed. “I had so much to think about last night—I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. The truth is, I don’t remember seeing George after that incident, but I do remember seeing Harrison. He made a speech shortly after dessert.”

  “And what time was that?” Frank pressed.

  “You guys!” Ferrier said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “What is this—twenty questions?”

  “Jonah,” Alicia said, her voice icier than Joe had ever heard it. “We’re just trying to figure out where Dad went. Don’t you want to help us?”

  Ferrier gave Alicia a look of surprise, then fixed her with a condescending stare. “You’re getting to be quite a tough young lady.” He sighed, then added, “Dessert was served at around nine, but I really don’t remember much else. As I said, I was extremely busy.”

  “Did Mr. Geovanis talk to anyone else in particular?” Frank asked. “Or don’t you remember?”

  “George talked to everyone,” Jonah answered. “He’s a sociable guy, and many of his friends were there. But other than his talk with Harrison in the hallway, I don’t think he had any special conversation with anyone.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Ferrier,” Frank said. “Please let us know if you remember anything else.”

  “I certainly will.” Ferrier started to walk away. Then he turned around, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. “You’ve asked me some questions,” he began, “and now it’s my turn to ask you a few. Did you hear what happened to the shipping museum last night?”

  “You mean the break-in?” Alicia asked.

  “You bet. I have a reporter there covering it as we speak. Who would do such a dreadful thing?” Ferrier’s glance darted from Alicia to Joe to Frank.

  “I also heard the balloon may be a hoax,” Ferrier went on. “The paper ran an article today quoting Roberto Scarlatti on the subject. I wonder how your father’s going to take all this?” His blue eyes studied Alicia curiously—a bit too curiously, Joe thought—as if the guy wanted the article to upset Alicia, too.

  Before Alicia had time to answer him, Callie showed up. “Hi, guys. Hello, Mr. Ferrier,” she said. To her friends, she added, “I’m doing a story about the Corn Mill for tomorrow’s paper. Do you want to come with me?”

  “See you all
around,” Ferrier said, clapping Joe on the back. “I’m late for lunch.” He ambled across the street to a row of parked cars.

  Joe followed him with his eyes. “No!” Joe said suddenly. “I can’t believe it.”

  Across the street Jonah Ferrier was climbing into a blue dune buggy with a red lobster insignia on the front—identical to the one that had run them off the road earlier!

  7 Set for Sabotage

  * * *

  Joe grabbed Frank’s arm. “Jonah Ferrier was the nut who tried to push us off the road!” he said.

  “It appears that way,” Frank said grimly as he watched Ferrier drive down Easy Street.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Callie asked.

  “We’ll fill you in later,” Joe said. “We’ve got to follow that dune buggy. Alicia, will you let me drive? I think I saw where he went.”

  Alicia tossed Joe her keys, then she scrambled into the backseat of the Jeep beside Callie. “Hurry or we’ll lose him!” Frank said, strapping himself into the seat next to Joe. Joe pulled out of the parking space and headed down Easy Street. “He’s up there,” Frank said, “about to head up Oak Street.”

  Joe caught a glimpse of a bright blue vehicle wheeling to the left a couple blocks ahead. “Hang on!” he shouted as he pressed the accelerator. The Jeep lurched forward.

  A crowd of tourists was crossing the street at the crosswalk in front of him. Joe gritted his teeth in frustration.

  “Chill out, Joe,” Frank said. “You don’t want to mow people down just to get Ferrier.”

  “I know, I know,” Joe said. “I just don’t want to lose that bozo.”

  Finally all the pedestrians made it across the street, and Joe was able to move forward again. But by the time he reached Oak Street, there was no sign of Ferrier anywhere. Cruising up the street, Joe craned his head from side to side. It was as though Ferrier had disappeared into thin air. Joe brought the Jeep to a stop in a parking space. “Now what?” he asked.

  “You could start by letting me know what this is all about,” Callie said.

  Frank quickly told Callie about the events of the morning, starting with George Geovanis’s disappearance. After he finished, Callie stared at Alicia in amazement. “Your father’s been kidnapped?”

  Alicia nodded gravely. “We haven’t heard from the kidnapper yet, but we’re assuming that’s what happened. There’s no other explanation for Dad to be gone so long.”

  Callie frowned. “He could have been in an accident, Alicia.”

  “But what about the dune buggy driver, and Dad’s phone call to me?” Alicia pointed out. “Someone wants Frank and Joe off the trail.”

  “But I can’t believe the driver of that dune buggy was Mr. Ferrier,” Callie protested. “He may be loud and obnoxious sometimes, but he wouldn’t kidnap anyone, or run anyone off the road.”

  Joe laughed in disbelief. “A regular guy, huh? All of us saw Ferrier get into the same car that tried to run us off the road. There couldn’t be more of those lobster paint jobs on the island.”

  Callie shrugged. “There could be.” She paused, then added, “But what’s Mr. Ferrier’s motive?”

  “Has your dad ever argued with Jonah Ferrier?” Frank asked Alicia. “Do they get along?”

  Alicia looked thoughtful. “They barely know each other, but they seem to get along. Jonah’s the type who’s friendly to everyone.”

  “Can you think of any reason why he’d want to trash the museum?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Alicia replied. “But Jonah does have a reputation for being a prankster. He’s been known to pull pranks to get publicity around newspaper subscription time.” She frowned for a moment. “I know this sounds far-fetched, but could he be hiding my father just to get a hot story?”

  Joe’s jaw dropped. “You think he’s that desperate for a story? What kind of pranks has he pulled?”

  “Last year he let loose a herd of pigs at a meeting in the town hall,” Alicia said. “He got some good stories out of that one, and apparently subscriptions went up.”

  “Maybe he also cooked up the balloon hoax,” Joe mused, “if it is a hoax.”

  “I don’t know, guys,” Frank said, shaking his head. “It does sound far-fetched to think that he’s doing all this just to beef up newspaper subscriptions. Kidnapping isn’t a prank, either. It’s a really serious crime.”

  “Mr. Ferrier would have to keep his identity secret from Mr. Geovanis,” Callie said, “or he’d be caught and sent to jail. Do you really think he’d go to all that trouble just for the newspaper?”

  “Probably not,” Frank said. “Still, I think the guy’s definitely worth watching. Even if Ferrier doesn’t have an obvious motive, Mr. Geovanis was last seen at his house, we got the phone call right there, and he does have that painted-up dune buggy. That’s a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

  A bright blue vehicle stopped at the crossroads up ahead. It was the dune buggy with the red lobster insignia!

  “Do you see what I see?” Joe asked.

  “Yup,” Frank said. “Go for it.”

  Joe started up the engine and accelerated out of the parking space. At that moment the dune buggy headed straight across the intersection on the street that crossed Oak Street. After stopping at the stop sign, Joe hung a left. The dune buggy was a block ahead.

  “Do you think it’s Ferrier?” Frank asked.

  Joe hunched forward over the steering wheel, squinting against the sunlight reflected off the back of the buggy. “Look, Frank! The driver’s wearing a cap—just like the guy who ran us off the road.”

  “Don’t take your eyes off him,” Frank said as the vehicle turned right up Main Street.

  “Are you nuts? My eyeballs are glued to him.” Joe pressed the accelerator, and the Jeep bumped along the cobblestone street, skirting bicyclists and pedestrians.

  “He’s heading left out of town,” Callie said. “Hurry, or we’ll lose him.”

  Joe wheeled the Jeep to the left onto a smoothly paved side street. The dune buggy was a shiny blue blur several blocks ahead.

  “Gun it, Joe,” Frank said. “He’s getting away.”

  Joe switched to third gear as the traffic and pedestrians thinned out, and the Jeep roared up the empty road.

  “Have we lost him?” Frank asked, leaning forward. He saw a flash of blue heading right as the road forked up ahead. “Joe, go right!”

  “I can’t—I’m going too fast!” Joe yelled as he sped down the left-hand fork.

  “If you turn right at the next street, it will feed into the road you missed,” Alicia said.

  Joe slammed on the brakes as much as he dared. With a shower of sand and gravel, he turned the Jeep right.

  The buggy was slowly bumping along ahead of them. “This road leads to the Corn Mill two miles down,” Alicia explained.

  “Don’t get away from me now, buddy,” Joe begged. He had stopped the Jeep for a moment, waiting for some bicyclists to move from the middle of the road. Just then the buggy disappeared around a curve. “Rats!” he exclaimed, punching the steering wheel. Finally the cyclists moved to the side, and Joe drove on.

  “Do you see it anywhere?” Joe asked as he rounded a curve.

  “Not yet,” Alicia said. Three pairs of eyes scanned the empty road ahead as Joe gunned the accelerator.

  “There!” Callie said. “To the right. It’s parked on that little road next to Mehanuck Pond—right by the Corn Mill.”

  Joe slowed. Sure enough, the buggy was parked in front of a small pond in the middle of a field.

  “Bingo,” Frank said. “We’ve got the car, but where’s the driver?”

  “Do you think he went into the Corn Mill?” Callie asked. Joe brought the Jeep to a halt behind the dune buggy, and he and Frank looked across the pond at the windmill, a gray-shingled building that looked to Frank like a pepper shaker. The sails spun around in the breeze.

  Joe glanced at a row of bushes next to the parked cars. “He could be anywhere.”
<
br />   Frank’s dark eyes flickered with sudden awareness. Turning to Callie, he said, “Ferrier knew we were headed to the Corn Mill. He was with us on the street when you invited us along.”

  “I still don’t believe he’s involved in this,” she said. “I’m sure Scarlatti’s the one.”

  “Whoever it is, I wonder what’s up his sleeve,” Joe said. “This whole setup strikes me as fishy.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go in,” Alicia said nervously. “I don’t want to march into some trap this guy’s rigged, like some sort of lamebrain.”

  Frank smiled. “Then why don’t you stay in the Jeep?” he suggested. “That way we’ll have all bases covered.”

  “Okay,” Alicia said. She climbed back into the Jeep, then glanced around at the deserted field. “It’s kind of creepy out here, too. There’s no one else around.”

  “Give a shout if you need us,” Joe said. “We’ll be right inside.”

  Frank, Joe, and Callie strolled around the pond and up to the front door of the mill. Inside, the light was dim, and it took a moment for Frank’s eyes to adjust. Narrow rays of sunlight slanted across the rustic wooden interior, highlighting a young man in a blue T-shirt and a Boston Red Sox cap worn backward. The front of his shirt was covered with yellow dust.

  “Hi,” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Bob. I’m the guide here. Just let me know if you’d like a demonstration.” He pointed to a sack filled with corn kernels.

  Frank studied the grindstones. They were circular, about five feet in diameter, and the top stone was attached to a long wooden shaft powered by the sails at the top of the building. A chute led from the bottom stone to a hopper full of corn meal in the cellar below.

  “I’d like a demonstration,” Callie said. “And I’d also like to get an idea of the mill’s history. I’m writing up a story for the paper.”

  “Okay,” Bob said, scooping up some corn in a tin can. “Then let’s begin our lesson.”

  “Are we the only ones in here?” Joe asked. “Did anyone else come or go within the last ten minutes?”

  “Not a soul,” Bob said. “It’s been a quiet day.”