Bayport Buccaneers Page 5

  Before he could stop himself, he stepped on the foot of a young woman dressed in a purple and gold pirate’s outfit.

  “Hey, watch it!” the girl squawked. Her dreadlock wig snapped around like a mane of whips as she wheeled on us. The name on her entry ticket read KENYA KRUGMAN.

  “Sorry,” said Frank. “I tripped.”

  “You shouldn’t be here, anyway,” Kenya said, “not unless you’re competing.” She hopped up and down on one foot, checking her other boot.

  “We competed last night,” I told her. “Are you okay?”

  Kenya looked at us suspiciously, like she thought Frank might have stepped on her deliberately. “I think so,” she said. “If I’m not, I’ll be asking your lummox friend for my share of the prize money.”

  “I’m Joe Hardy,” I said. “The lummox is my brother, Frank.”

  “Sorry,” Frank repeated. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I don’t care if you meant to,” Kenya snapped. “I’ve been training for this show for a long time. The last thing I need is somebody lousing up my chance just when I’m ready to hit the big time.”

  “So you think you can win Buccaneers?” I asked.

  “Count on it,” she said confidently. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win—including stomping back if guys like you stomp on me. Now get out of here. You’re ruining my concentration.”

  “Sorry,” Frank said again as we walked away.

  Leaving Little Miss Attitude behind, we managed to get right next to the ship without any further mishaps. It wasn’t hard to spot Samantha Olson among the crew. Her blond hair stood out like a beacon. Plus, aside from the PAs, she was about five years younger than anyone else working on the set. She was relaxing in a director’s chair, sipping coffee, when we caught up to her.

  “Hey,” I said, “remember us? Joe and Frank Hardy.”

  She nodded, looking very worn out. “You’re the guys who almost fell from the rigging last night.”

  “Sorry if I insulted you before, thinking Sam Olson was a guy,” I said.

  “Forget it,” she said. “I was kind of tense last night, with the trouble on the set and the boss yelling for me and all. Plus I didn’t know who you guys were then.”

  “You’re pretty young for a designer, aren’t you?” Frank asked.

  “I’ve been doing props and sets for ages,” she replied. “I worked with my dad before I finished high school.”

  “So you were already working on Buccaneers when he …, ” Frank began. I almost thought he was going to put his foot in his mouth (my brother is good at that), but he stopped short instead.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I was working on the show with him when he died.”

  “That must have been tough,” I said.

  Samantha’s blue eyes got very cold. “Dad was careless, and that’s what got him killed. It wasn’t the show’s fault. I won’t make the same kind of mistake.”

  “What do you think happened with the rigging last night?” asked Frank.

  She shrugged. “Manufacturing defect on the ropes maybe?” she said. “I’m a designer. I don’t handle that stuff.”

  “I thought you designed sets and props,” I said.

  “I design them, I don’t make them,” she explained. “That’s Clay’s job. Of course sometimes Marlene has me step in when he’s …” She stopped in midsentence.

  “You mean Clayton Folwell?” Frank said.

  “When he’s … what?” I asked.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I talk too much. Sometimes Clay’s … under the weather, that’s all. Talk to him if you want to know more. You’ll see what he’s like.”

  “Do you know where he is?” asked Frank.

  “On the ship or the island maybe,” she suggested. “I don’t know. His job takes him all over—when he’s up for doing it. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste time asking about the rigging—I’d have my lawyer do it.” She smiled wryly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to catch some rest until the next crisis.”

  “You think there’ll be more trouble?” I asked.

  She smiled at me. “When you’re working for Marlene Krall, there’s always more trouble,” she said. “She makes her own when she can’t find any. Sometimes I think the show would run a lot more smoothly without her.”

  “She’s kind of a cold fish, isn’t she?” Frank observed. “After the accident last night, she seemed more concerned about the show than she did about whether we were okay.”

  “She was that way when my dad died, too,” said Samantha. “It’s just her way. Eyes on the prize, all the time—that’s our Marlene.”

  “Do you think she could have set up last night’s accident to get publicity for the show?” I asked.

  “Forget I said anything,” Samantha replied. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Since Clay was under the weather, I was up all night helping put that obstacle course together.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “See you later.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. Good luck with the competition.” She grabbed a Buccaneers baseball cap from nearby, pulled it over her eyes, and leaned back in her chair as if to take a nap.

  Frank and I walked away.

  “Let’s poke around the ship, if we can,” I suggested.

  “Good idea,” Frank agreed.

  As we walked up the gangplank, both of us were amazed at how much the ship had changed from last night. All traces of the rigging challenge were gone. Instead there were bars and metal tubing stretching from the bow almost to the bridge in the stern. The tubes were bent in strange, snake-like shapes and suspended about ten feet above the deck of the ship. It looked like a maze, hanging in midair. A thick wire led from the edge of the maze down into a hatch amidships.

  In the middle of the maze was Clayton Folwell, puffing and sweating and mumbling to himself as he worked on the metal. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands shook.

  “Hey, Clay,” the PA named Paula called to him. “Have you seen the treasure props for the diving challenge?”

  Folwell looked up, seeming worried for a moment. “I had to move ’em,” he answered. “They were in my way. They’re in the belly of the ship with the rest of the challenge stuff. I’ll get ’em for you later.”

  “That challenge is next,” Paula said. “We need them so we can set up.”

  “I told you… later,” snarled Folwell. He scowled at Paula and went back to work.

  “What do you think he’s doing?” I asked Frank.

  “That’s the electric eel maze,” Frank replied. “I researched Buccaneers online last night, before I went to bed. The contestants have to navigate from one end of the maze to the other while holding a metal pole. If they touch the metal ‘eels’ suspended above he maze, sparks fly and they’re disqualified.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” I said.

  “It looks dangerous,” said Frank, “but there’s not a lot of electricity running through the metal eels—just enough to set off the flashes.”

  Just then Paula the PA spotted us. “Hey, you kids,” she called. “Clear the deck! We’re about to test the maze.”

  “Sure, no problem,” I replied. Once we were out of her sight, I shoved Frank into the captain’s cabin at the stern (that’s the back of the ship). There was a hatch in the cabin with a ladder leading down into the ship’s belly.

  “Why’d we come in here?” he asked.

  “Folwell said the challenge equipment was in the belly of the ship,” I reminded him.

  “So?”

  “Maybe we could get a look at the ropes that broke last night,” I said.

  “Good idea,” Frank agreed. “Let’s go.”

  The area below deck looked like a messy hardware store. Wires and sheet metal and pipes and pieces of sets were scattered everywhere. Obviously the production company used the belly of the ship as a warehouse for all the sets and supplies needed on the show.

  We saw treasure chests of all sizes, fake swords, plastic palm trees, a net full of fake coconuts (which we could tell were fake because most were broken in half), a bevy of stuffed parrots, axes, ladders, ropes, skeletons, hammocks … just about everything you could imagine a pirate might want or need.

  “I can see why that PA couldn’t find those treasure props down here,” I commented.

  “Check out the fancy power plant,” Frank said, pointing. “I guess they need it in case the port they tie up in doesn’t have enough juice for their gear.”

  I looked to the stern and saw an area blocked off with yellow wire mesh. A big red and white sign on the mesh said DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE. Behind the mesh, a huge generator hummed away. Beside it stood an electrical panel with a series of outputs, each labeled with a different voltage. Obviously the generator had to run a lot of different appliances on the show.

  “That green cable was running to the eel maze, wasn’t it?” asked Frank.

  “I guess,” I said. Leave it to Frank to pay attention to a stray wire! “Why?”

  My brother pointed inside the electrical cage. “Because the green cable isn’t running to one of the low power outlets,” he said. “It’s running to the high voltage. There’s enough power in that line to electrocute someone!”

  “Maybe they have a transformer to reduce the voltage before it electrifies the eel maze,” I suggested.

  “I didn’t see a transformer on deck,” Frank said, “and I don’t see one down here, either.”

  “Well, let’s just pull the plug then,” I said, reaching for the thick green cable.

  “Stop!” Frank cried. “That could be live, for all we know.”

  I stopped. “We’ll cut it off at the source then.” I tried to open the reinforced mesh door to the generator cage, but it was padlocked shut. “No good!”

  “We hav
e to warn them,” Frank said urgently.

  “Hurry!” I said. “Before someone gets killed!”

  7 Shocking Developments

  Joe dashed toward the stern of the ship, with me right behind.

  We raced up the ladder and into the deserted captain’s cabin. We pulled on the door … but it didn’t open!

  “Someone’s locked it!” Joe said. We couldn’t break it down because the hinges were on our side.

  “Make some noise,” I suggested. “Try to get the crew’s attention.” Joe and I began shouting and pounding on the door.

  Outside, contestants were still running the obstacle course. Cheers and applause filtered in to us through the cabin’s portholes.

  “I don’t know if they can hear us,” said Joe.

  “They have to!” I said. “People’s lives are at stake!”

  We kept pounding and shouting. “Let us out! It’s a matter of life or death!”

  What seemed like an eternity later, someone finally opened the door. A very puzzled-looking Paula stood in the doorway. “What are you kids doing in here?” she asked.

  “Stop the test of the eel maze!” I cried.

  “Stop the test?” she said. “Why?”

  “We think there’s too much voltage running through it,” explained Joe. “Someone could be electrocuted.”

  “But Mr. Folwell is testing it out himself,” Paula replied.

  We looked over her shoulder and saw Clayton Folwell wobbling his way through the maze. He held a steel pole tightly in one hand, trying to keep it from touching the eel-like metal tubes running overhead. Folwell moved the pole through the fake eels, concentrating hard. He didn’t see us at all.

  A bunch of PAs were standing on the deck, watching and applauding as he went.

  “He’s doing it on a dare,” Paula explained. “He bet someone he could make it all the way through.”

  “Mr. Folwell, stop!” I cried.

  “Drop the pole and get out of there!” called Joe.

  Just at that moment the crowd in the park watching the obstacle course challenge roared.

  “Those metal eels could be deadly!” I shouted, but I knew Folwell couldn’t hear me above the cheers.

  Folwell swerved and swayed. He looked drunk, and he clearly wasn’t worried about touching the pole to the electrified eels. He had no idea he was taking his life in his hands.

  I looked for the green cable, hoping I could find some way to unplug it from the maze. I spotted the cable near the far side of the deck. I’d have to run through the maze and past Folwell to reach it.

  Could I do it without endangering him? I wasn’t sure. Joe looked around desperately, but he clearly didn’t have any better ideas. I steeled myself to try it.

  Outside the ship the crowd roared again—louder this time.

  Folwell must have heard them, because he turned toward the sound. As he did, the metal pole swayed sideways and touched one of the electrified eels.

  ZAP!

  Folwell gasped and sparks flew from the maze. Everyone on deck stopped what they were doing, and for a moment the whole ship fell silent.

  “Pull the plug!” I yelled.

  A PA on the far side of the ship dived forward and threw a breaker switch near the maze entrance. The sparks stopped flying, and Folwell collapsed to the deck.

  “Call 911!” I shouted. Everyone on deck reached for his or her cell phone.

  Joe and I raced to Folwell’s side, hoping all the power to the maze had been cut. We tried our best to revive the mechanic, but it was no use.

  By the time the ambulance arrived, Clayton Folwell was dead.

  Marlene Krall and Pedro Alvarado dashed onto the deck alongside the paramedics.

  “What’s going on here?” Mr. Alvarado demanded.

  “Who’s hurt?” Ms. Krall asked.

  “It’s Clay Folwell,” I said. “He’s been electrocuted.”

  “Something went wrong with the wiring for the eel maze,” Joe added. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

  Other members of the crew, including Samantha Olson and Miles Stillman, were gathering around the deck now as well.

  “But Folwell wired that maze himself,” Ms. Krall said. “He wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake, unless …”

  “Unless what?” Alvarado asked.

  “Unless he’d been drinking,” Samantha said, completing Ms. Krall’s thought.

  “He definitely smells of alcohol,” one of the paramedics confirmed.

  “Will he make it?” Ms. Krall asked.

  The paramedic shook his head and pulled a sheet up over Folwell’s body.

  Ms. Krall turned away.

  “I—I won’t have my company blamed for this,” Mr. Alvarado said. “We’ve put a lot of money into this show—too much to have this kind of thing happen. I’ve half a mind to pull my sponsorship and shut the whole thing down!”

  Ms. Krall rounded on him, anger blazing in her eyes. “You can’t do that!” she said. “This season is critical to us. We need to complete these episodes to get reruns in syndication! Besides, you can’t quit on us. We have a contract.”

  “The contract’s no good if you can’t film the show,” Mr. Alvarado said.

  Ms. Krall stared daggers at the sponsor. “We didn’t stop the show during that unfortunate string of robberies,” she said, “we didn’t stop when Greg died, and we’re not going to stop now.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” said a deep, firm voice. Up the gangplank came Officer Con Reilly, Officer Gus Sullivan, and a handful of Bayport’s finest. “This show is shut down until we’ve determined what happened here,” Con went on. The police officers with him immediately began taping off the crime scene.

  “But we have a schedule to keep,” Ms. Krall exclaimed. “We have obligations to our sponsors and the network!”

  “Those obligations will have to wait until we’re finished,” Con Reilly said.

  “A shutdown could mean bad press!” Alvarado protested. “I’ve got plenty sunk into Buccaneers, and I can’t afford any more!”

  “A man’s been killed here,” Reilly said. “And until we find out what happened, I don’t give a hoot about money or networks or anything. If you want to complain, take it up with my captain. Until then I’ll need each and every one of you to make a statement.”

  The police rounded up all the people on deck and everyone who had witnessed the accident or might have known anything about it. They spent the rest of the morning interviewing people—including Joe and me. We told our story pretty much as it happened, though we pretended we were just snoopy contestants looking around the ship rather than ATAC agents on a mission. ATAC is so secret, even our friends in the police department don’t know about it.

  During a break in the questioning, Joe and I called home, making sure we talked to Dad rather than Mom or Aunt Trudy. We knew that Dad would cast the accident in the best possible light when talking to Mom. He was concerned, but he understood that we were on a mission. After talking to him, we mingled with the other Buccaneers contestants and the show staff.

  Most people seemed conflicted about what had happened. They were concerned about Folwell’s death, but nearly everyone wanted the show to continue. Only a few contestants, including Kenya Krugman, seemed to know about the show’s past troubles.

  “In a competition like this, there are bound to be accidents,” Kenya said. “So a few people get hurt now and again. That’s life. The rest of us have to tough it out and keep going.”

  I didn’t much like that philosophy, and I could tell Joe didn’t either. We kept our lips buttoned, though, and our ears peeled for more info.

  After our encounter with Kenya, we found Paula the PA. Unfortunately she couldn’t remember who had dared Folwell to walk the electrified maze.

  “There were a lot of people around,” she said. “Everyone was busy.”

  “Tough it out” seemed to be the show’s rallying cry. Whether it was because they were loyal or because they needed the work, most of the staff seemed to want the show to go on. Only Samantha Olson was more cautious. As we stood outside the production tent, we heard her talking with the show’s major players. We found a secluded area nearby, where we could see and hear everything, and did some eavesdropping.