Hide-and-Sneak Read online

  He glanced at Joe. “Which would you choose?”

  “The moving one,” Joe answered promptly.

  “Hmm. I think we should go for the other.” Frank started the engines again. “Sprock,” he called over his shoulder, “another rules question.”

  The cameraman came forward, still shooting the action. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a yacht ahead of us. It’s big enough to hide behind. Can I put a lookout aboard it so we can see if it’s safe to sneak back into this maze of islands?”

  Sprock thought for a moment. “At the risk of sounding as though I’m taking sides . . . why not?”

  The ship ahead slowly came into better view. It was a nice-size cabin cruiser, painted a perfect white.

  Joe whistled. “That little toy cost quite a bit of money.” He grinned at Frank. “Can you imagine how many little jobs we’d have to take to afford a boat like that?”

  “By the time we got that much money, we’d be too old to run the boat,” Frank replied with a laugh.

  As they swung around the vessel’s stern, they found a painting of a pirate flag: white skull and crossbones on a black background. Beside it large black letters announced the ship’s name, Jolly Roger.

  “Nice name,” Joe said. “I hope that doesn’t mean we’re going to be boarded by pirates.”

  “We’re going to board them—I hope.” Frank reversed the engines and brought the Sleuth to a stop.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  No answer.

  Frank tried again. “Ahoy, Jolly Roger!” He smiled at Joe. “Does that sound as corny as I think it does?”

  Joe shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They’re not answering anyway.”

  “Maybe something’s wrong.” Chet came forward and pointed to the rope ladder hanging from the yacht’s side. “I’ll go check.”

  Chet’s just trying to grab the spotlight, Frank thought. Then he shrugged. That was why they’d let Chet talk them into this whole crazy venture; so he could have his moment of film glory.

  “Knock yourself out, Chet,” he said.

  A couple of quick maneuvers with the throttle and the wheel, and Frank pulled the Sleuth to within grabbing distance of the rope ladder. Chet kept a determined look on his face as he seized the ladder. Then he almost fell into the water.

  While Sprock filmed Chet’s climb, Frank and Joe kept their comments to themselves. Their pal had another moment of trouble pulling himself onto the yacht’s deck. A moment or two later his head popped over the gunwale.

  “There’s nobody here,” Chet called down. “There’re all sorts of fancy computer controls. They seem to say the boat is just drifting.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged a look.

  “I’ll go check it out,” Joe said.

  Frank swung past the rope ladder again, and Joe began hauling himself up. He climbed much faster than Chet and swung himself aboard.

  In a few minutes he reported back. “The cabins are empty, and it looks as though this sucker slipped its anchor. Weird.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Hey, Sprock! Is this one of those plot twists Zack promised us?”

  Kerwin gave a quick laugh. “I wish.”

  Joe shrugged. “Maybe we should change the name from the Jolly Roger to the Marie Celeste.”

  Sprock looked confused. “The who?”

  “I guess you’re not the biggest nautical trivia fan,” Frank said with a grin.

  Kerwin shook his head. “Neither was Zack, until that businesswoman began talking about the romance of the sea. Poor Melody wound up doing this whole pile of research so Zack could impress Ms. Athelney.”

  Sprock bit his lip.

  I’ll bet he feels he’s giving too many inside secrets away, Frank figured. He decided to change the subject.

  “The Marie or Mary Celeste is one of the great mystery ships of sailing history,” Frank told Kerwin. “A merchant ship found it drifting along. All the crew and passengers were gone. There was a small, half-eaten meal on the table.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We’ll call this in to the harbor police—after we get away from here.”

  Frank called up to his teammates on board the Jolly Roger, “Come on back. Let’s haul out—”

  He was cut off by the whoop of a siren.

  Oh, great, Frank thought. Perfect time for the harbor police to catch up with us.

  9 The Financier

  * * *

  Chet Morton ran for the rope ladder. “We’ve got to get out of here!” he cried, panic in his voice.

  Joe took his friend by the arm. “If they haven’t spotted us already, the cops are sure to see us any second.”

  He gave his pal a lopsided smile. “I’d rather explain what we were doing here than why we were running away. Besides, if we’re lucky, this won’t be our sunburned friend from yesterday.”

  But luck wasn’t on their side. The first face to appear over the rope ladder was sunburned and peeling.

  Obviously the harbor patrolman had recognized the Sleuth. His expression grew more grim as he got closer.

  “We had a report that the owner of this vessel wasn’t responding to calls.” The officer took Joe by the arm and began leading him toward the bow of the boat. “Can you tell us anything about that?”

  Joe noticed that the cop’s partner was questioning Chet, and taking him in the opposite direction—out of earshot. This was a typical police tactic, separating the suspects during questioning.

  “Look, Officer”—Joe squinted to get a look at the nametag on the cop’s blue windbreaker—“Nelson. We’re working on a college film out here. Hoping to get a better view of the bay, we pulled up beside this yacht and called to the people on board. When we didn’t get an answer, we figured we’d better check it out.”

  “You didn’t go into the cabins? You didn’t touch anything?” Officer Nelson demanded.

  Joe could feel the color rising in his own face. He fought down his anger before he said something stupid.

  “Uh, Charlie?” The other officer interrupted. “Better take a look here. I brought this kid to the stern, and he spotted something in the water.”

  Joe looked across the surface of the bay. What was that bobbing there? A head?

  Officer Nelson grabbed the mike to his radio and began giving directions to the police launch.

  In very little time the officers took off. The deck of the Jolly Roger gave Joe and the others a perfect vantage point to watch the ensuing rescue operation. As the launch returned and moved in toward the yacht, the head looked up, and a pair of frantically waving arms appeared. One of the crewmen, carrying a line, dived in. A moment later the harbor patrol had the body out of the water.

  Soon after that the rescued man stood wrapped in a police issue blanket on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Frank and Sprock Kerwin were also brought aboard. Sprock was of course filming everything.

  The man was probably average height, but looked shorter thanks to his stocky build. With his brown hair plastered to his head by water, it was easy to see that he was beginning to go bald. He had a small snub nose and a strong chin.

  What struck Joe, though, were the man’s blue eyes. They were piercing and sharp.

  The man abruptly stuck out his damp hand to shake with Joe. “Pete Buckmaster,” he said. “I understand I have to thank one of you young men for spotting me.”

  Joe had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. Everyone had heard about Peter Buckmaster, Wall Street’s latest big moneymaker; the man they nicknamed the Buckmeister and the Buccaneer.

  “Joe Hardy,” he managed to say. “But the one you really want to thank is my pal Chet Morton over here.”

  Buckmaster pumped Chet’s hand. “Son, I owe a lot to your good eyes,” he said. “I brought the Jolly Roger into the bay last night and set the anchor.” The moneyman’s lips twisted into a grimace. “At least I thought I did. When I tried a morning swim, the yacht kept moving away on me. Began to think I was a goner.”

  “Don’t you ha
ve a crew on board, sir?” Officer Nelson asked. Joe noticed his tone was a lot more respectful toward Buckmaster than toward the boys.

  “Don’t need one,” Buckmaster replied. “This boat is mechanized and computerized up the wazoo. Sailing gives me a chance to get out and be alone. Swimming, on the other hand . . .”

  He shrugged, and the blanket opened to reveal a soft middle. “Let’s say I learned my lesson. I think I’ll stick to sailing for peace of mind.”

  More engine noises filled the air. Joe looked over the side of the yacht to see the girls’ boat and Andy Slack’s trawler both bearing down on the Jolly Roger.

  Joe turned to Officer Nelson. “Here comes the rest of our film crew now.”

  “Film crew?” Buckmaster asked.

  Sprock Kerwin held up his camera. “It’s a student project. We’re filming an improvised chase situation here on the bay.”

  “A sailing picture, huh?” Buckmaster’s voice filled with enthusiasm. “You don’t see many of those nowadays. Are you the director?”

  “Um, no,” Sprock said. “The director’s on board the trawler down there.” Sprock pointed toward Andy’s boat.

  “What do you say we invite him and the others up?” Buckmaster said.

  Things were moving a little too fast for Officer Nelson. “Mr. Buckmaster,” he said, “what do you intend to do about these kids just climbing aboard your yacht?”

  “Well, as you heard, I thanked them.” Buckmaster sounded irritated. “Indeed I have to thank you, Officer Nelson, and the other patrolmen too. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll get on the line to the local chief. What’s his name?”

  “Chief Collig,” Nelson said, looking pleased.

  Buckmaster nodded. “And I’m sure there’s a police benefit fund where I can make a contribution?”

  When he wanted to be, the big businessman was good at smoothing things over. Almost before Officer Nelson knew what was going on, he was climbing down the ladder to his boat.

  Meanwhile, Pete Buckmaster was asking the crews of the other two boats to come aboard.

  Zack Harris’s thatch of bright red hair soon appeared over the deck line. The first words out of his lips were aimed at Sprock: “Does your team have the McGuffin?”

  “McGuffin?” said Pete Buckmaster.

  Clearly Buckmaster needed a more detailed explanation of what the “chase situation” was about. Interestingly, it turned out Buckmaster was a big Alfred Hitchcock fan, so their project was fairly easy for him to understand.

  Buckmaster insisted on being introduced to everyone involved in Hide-and-Sneak. As he asked more and more questions about Zack’s project, the filmmaker’s natural enthusiasm took over.

  Truly Buckmaster’s interest was more than flattering. Dollar signs were dancing in Zack’s eyes as he talked about the film. If a heavy hitter like Buckmaster got involved, Zack could expand his budget, and good-bye, Ms. Athelney.

  “Shipwreck Cove, you say?” Buckmaster laughed when he heard where the filmmakers had buried the McGuffin. “I’m building a new house there. Maybe you saw the docks?”

  Zack nodded.

  “Sounds as though you folks will need to regroup,” the financier said. “I’m sorry my rescue fouled up your plans. How can I make it up to you? Suppose you use my docks as your staging area? It’s the least I can do.”

  Trying not to appear too eager, Zack agreed.

  “I was heading to the cove now,” Buckmaster said. “Why don’t you kids come along? I’ll give you the guided tour.”

  They all headed back to their boats, then followed the Jolly Roger back to Shipwreck Cove and tied up at the docks.

  “There’s enough room for a small fleet here,” Chet said, looking at the big yacht and the smaller boats bobbing in the water.

  A rope ladder came down the side of the Jolly Roger, and Pete Buckmaster made his way down.

  The financier had changed into a designer sweat-suit, the kind that never actually sees sweat. He squinted as he looked at the stairway zigzagging up the cliff face.

  “They told me the property had a wonderful view, but they didn’t explain why. Remind me to talk to the architect about putting in an elevator.”

  “You mean you didn’t see the place before you bought it?” Joe asked in disbelief.

  Buckmaster shrugged. “That’s what staffs are for.”

  He didn’t need to go far for the architect. The moment he arrived on the building site, people came charging out of the trailers. The general contractor wanted approvals for several bills. The architect was waving complicated plans.

  “We had to resite the two swimming pools,” the architect said. He held out a sketch of a fancy building big enough to be a two-family house. “And you need to approve the design changes for the spa.”

  It was all a little much for Joe. But he saw that Zack, Mel, and Sprock were filming away as if there were no tomorrow.

  More contractors and foremen appeared, and Buckmaster marched off to a meeting in the Matling mobile office.

  “So much for the grand tour,” Frank said with a laugh.

  Willow Sumner sniffed. “I thought the mansion was all finished. Who wants to look at a bunch of holes in the ground?”

  “I would.” Joe turned to Frank and Chet. “What do you say, guys?”

  “I didn’t realize you were a construction buff,” Chet said as they walked off to one side of the bustling site.

  “I’m not,” Joe whispered. “I just wanted to get away from that bunch.”

  Most of the area had been scraped down to bare earth. A little strip of grass remained along the chain-link fence that surrounded the property.

  Joe led the way over to the grass so they could stretch their legs a little. The ground rose a little higher closer to the spot.

  “You know,” he said, “if we walk a little farther along, I’ll bet we’d get a decent view of the whole site.”

  He was right. The fence cut across a hilltop where the boys could look down on the area they’d searched the evening before. Chet leaned back against the fence. “It would have been a lot easier looking for Tony’s make-believe intruder if we—hey!”

  Joe and Frank turned to find their friend lying flat on his back, on the other side of the chain-link fence.

  “Leaving the property, Chet?” Joe asked.

  “Hey, I just went to sit down,” Chet said, scrambling to his feet. “The next thing I know, I’m out here.”

  Frank didn’t find it so funny. He shook the fence, and a section of the metal mesh fell off.

  “I think we can stop talking about make-believe intruders.” Frank gently pulled on the loose section. The gap he created was tall enough for a good-size person to get through without even bending.

  Frank let the section snap back. “I’d say a real, live person cut himself a private entrance.”

  10 Unhappy Ending

  * * *

  Frank held the slit in the fence open while Chet climbed back through.

  “We’d better let somebody know about this,” Joe said.

  Frank nodded, leading the way back to the Matling Construction trailer, where everybody else was. A flood of people was coming out of the mobile office. As the boys neared the trailer, they could see a guy with a hard hat marked SITE MANAGER blocking the door.

  “Sorry,” the man said. “Mr. Buckmaster has moved from the construction business to just plain business. He’s temporarily taken over my office.”

  Frank looked suspiciously at the manager. “That seems a funny way to do things, even for a Wall Street genius.”

  The site manager shrugged. “It’s the way he does things sometimes. I worked on another Buckmaster project and got kicked out of my own office several times. The guy lives on his cell phone. He’s also got a whole office set up on his yacht, so he can do business wherever he sails.”

  Sprock Kerwin came over. “Where did you guys go? Zack just got a message from Mr. Buckmaster.”

  Zack was trying to play it cool, b
ut Frank could tell that the film student was really excited. “Mr. Buckmaster—Pete—apologizes, but he’s going to be tied up the rest of the day. I’ve decided to suspend shooting. Mel, Sprock, and I have work to do. We have a two o’clock meeting with Mr. Buckmaster tomorrow!”

  Behind her glasses, Melody Litovsky’s eyes gleamed. Sprock punched Zack on the shoulder. “Way to go!”

  Zack turned back to his cast members. “Pete gave the okay for you to keep your boats at the dock,” he told them, “and he’s offering us lifts home.”

  “I could go for that.” Joe stretched. “A nice, long nap in my own bed . . .”

  “We’ll meet here tomorrow at three o’clock,” Zack said. “I hope to have some exciting announcements to make by then.”

  Joe was still chuckling over that as they got into one of the contractor’s company cars. “Big announcements,” he said. “Zack’s probably hoping for a special effects budget that will have us playing Hide-and-Sneak on starships!”

  “As long as he doesn’t replace us with real—I mean, professional actors.” Chet gave his address to the construction worker serving as their chauffeur.

  “I don’t think that’s likely,” Frank said. “Zack already has almost half his film shot.”

  They dropped Chet off, and then the Hardy boys were driven home to Oak Street. True to his word, soon after taking a quick shower, Joe hit the sack.

  Frank, however, sat down in front of his computer. Once on the Internet, he did a Web search for “Buckmaster.”

  It was almost dinnertime when Joe stuck his head in the door. “Have you been Web surfing all the time I was sleeping?”

  Frank leaned back in his chair. “I guess so,” he said. “Found some interesting articles about our new friend Pete Buckmaster.”

  Joe laughed. “Zack’s new friend maybe. So what did you find out about the guy?”

  “It’s your basic business story. He made a lot of people rich and got very rich himself in the process. Turns out he’s a real film nut. He collects film memorabilia, like a sword from Captain Blood, a pirate movie, the hat some actor wore while playing a detective. . . . Here’s a funny story about how he scored tickets for last year’s Oscars.” Frank brought up an article on his computer.