The Hunt for Four Brothers Read online

  “And you think that yelp we just heard might be one of them?” Sandy asked.

  Frank nodded. “Jons is probably up on that mountainside with them right now, watching us.”

  Sandy shook his head. “You’ve cooked up quite a theory to explain someone stealing three hundred dollars in cash and a watch.”

  “It’s not about that,” Frank explained. “It’s about Gus Jons’s shipment from Russia. Something was in the soap.”

  “Look, you need to forget about the soap. Come on, we’ve wasted enough time,” Sandy said abruptly, turning and walking back toward the dump truck. “Let’s get back to work.”

  “We can’t just walk away—” Frank argued.

  “Even if you’re right,” Sandy said, interrupting, “I’m not traipsing up the mountain to hunt a professional soldier. Remember, his gun rack was empty.”

  “Then what are we going to do?” Frank asked.

  “When we get back to Konawa, you can tell Mr. Craven your theory,” Sandy replied, stepping up and sliding behind the driver’s seat.

  Something Frank said had spooked Sandy. From the back corner of the truck, Frank watched Sandy’s face in the sideview mirror. Sandy was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes anxious. Frank stepped up onto the bumper, and before he could yell “Clear,” Sandy took off, nearly throwing Frank off the back of the truck.

  Sandy had gotten anxious the moment Frank brought up the notion there was something hidden in the soap. More and more, Frank was beginning to think the stone he saw at Sandy’s house was more than a piece of red glass.

  Frank guessed that Jons and his cohorts were making Rob Daniels the fall guy for their setup theft of Mr. Tringle’s room to put everyone off the track about this mysterious shipment of soap. But how was Sandy connected to Jons?

  Frank was jolted from his train of thought as Sandy stopped the truck at the trash pit. Hopping off, Frank motioned for Sandy to start backing up toward the edge. “Okay, stop!” Frank called, but Sandy kept backing. “Stop!” Frank screamed, and Sandy slammed on the brakes, the rear tires hanging half over the edge.

  Sandy threw the lever and the dump truck bed raised up, dumping the day’s garbage. Sandy lowered the truck bed back and turned off the engine. For a split second, Frank thought he heard another engine, which then shut off.

  “Did you hear that?” Frank asked.

  “Hear what?” Sandy asked back.

  “A second engine, just for a moment,” Frank said.

  “Nope,” Sandy replied. “Frank, you’re getting as antsy as an aardvark’s stomach,” the maintenance chief said, handing Frank a box of matches. “Let’s light this thing.”

  Climbing down into the pit, Sandy and Frank lit the mound of garbage at several places and then climbed back up to watch it burn. In a few minutes the bonfire was blazing.

  “Frank, get that bag that’s caught on the corner,” Sandy said, pointing to a plastic trash bag wedged at the top of the truck bed. Frank climbed up and into the truck bed. Grabbing the bag, he yanked it out of the crack where it was wedged.

  At that moment the truck bed began to rise, throwing Frank off balance and onto his back. “Sandy!” Frank shouted, but the truck bed kept rising. Frank tried to get to his feet, but the floor of the truck bed was slick, and the incline was growing steeper every second. Frank’s feet slipped out from under him again, and he began sliding toward the back end. He reached out, but could not find anything to hold on to. The bag of trash slid off the back of the dump truck and fell into the blazing inferno, and Frank Hardy fell right after it.

  11 Fire Trap

  * * *

  Frank struck the bank of the pit hard. Reaching out, he grabbed a root sticking through the red earth of the embankment. Frank checked over his shoulder. He was hanging just a few feet from the top of the flames, and he could see a propane gas canister that was hissing from the heat. If it exploded, Frank knew he was a goner.

  A boot was suddenly thrust near Frank’s face. “Grab hold!” Sandy shouted. Sandy was clinging to the back of the tailgate. Frank couldn’t decide whether or not to trust the man who had put him in this predicament. The propane tank hissed louder, and Frank took a gamble, grabbing Sandy’s boot. The powerful maintenance chief struggled to pull up Frank’s entire weight with his leg. Sandy strained, grunted, and with a final effort pulled himself into the dump truck bed. Frank grasped the edge of the tailgate and pulled himself up behind Sandy just as the propane tank exploded. Shards of metal ricocheted off the bottom of the tailgate.

  “Are you okay, Frank?” Sandy asked, breathless.

  Frank felt a shooting pain near his shin. Pulling up his pant leg, he saw that a small piece of metal from the explosion had broken the skin and stuck fast.

  “We’d better get you some first aid,” Sandy said. “Did you get hit anywhere else?”

  “My feet feel a little scorched,” Frank responded.

  “I jumped in the cab as quick as I could and threw the lever to lower the truck bed, but it was too late,” Sandy explained.

  Frank studied Sandy’s face. It wouldn’t make sense for Sandy to try to kill Frank and then save him. He suddenly remembered the car engine he thought he had heard earlier. “Did you see anyone?” Frank asked, carefully removing his sneakers.

  Sandy shook his head. “Someone could have slipped into the woods after throwing the lever.”

  Frank checked for footprints near the driver’s side door, but the gravel on the ground made tracks hard to detect.

  “I’m guessing that bag of trash was set in place while we were down in the pit,” Frank told Sandy.

  “You’re right,” Sandy agreed. “Seemed funny we hadn’t noticed it before.”

  “Besides, no one in his right mind would put a propane canister in a trash bag going to be incinerated,” Frank added.

  Just then Frank heard a car engine rev. Sandy and Frank ran up the road, following the sound. They found themselves in a cloud of dust left by the fleeing vehicle.

  “If we go back to Gus Jons’s place,” Frank said. “I’ll bet we won’t find his truck parked behind the cabin anymore.”

  “You think he came down from the mountain and followed us?” Sandy asked.

  “It’s a distinct possibility,” Frank replied.

  Sandy had Frank ride up front with him. As they pulled onto the main road, they nearly ran into Mr. Craven, who blocked their way.

  “Turn around and follow me!” Craven shouted to them.

  “Where are we going?” Sandy asked.

  “The hospital,” Craven said. “Something’s happened to Frank’s brother!”

  • • •

  Joe opened his right eye and found himself in a hospital room. Katie Haskell sat in a chair across from him, still wearing shorts and a bikini top.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said with a smile.

  Joe smiled back, though it hurt. His arms were covered with red dots surrounded by white rings, each representing a different hornet sting. He was sore all over and still couldn’t open his left eye. “I bet I’m quite a sight.”

  “Dude, you should have seen yourself twenty minutes ago before the swelling started to go down,” Katie said, walking over to his bedside.

  Sandy walked in just then, followed by Mr. Craven and Frank, who was limping slightly, his shin wrapped with a bandage.

  “Frank!” Joe exclaimed, surprised.

  “Oh, yeah, this joint is crawling with Hardys,” Katie kidded.

  “What happened to you?” Joe asked his brother.

  “A little explosion at the trash pit,” Frank replied, dropping into a chair. “But I’d rather be me than you,” he added.

  “You were stung forty-five times, Joe,” Katie said. “It’s a Konawa record.”

  “It’s crazy. Both of you were involved in accidents the same afternoon,” Craven said, shaking his head.

  Frank furrowed his brow in anger. “Accidents?”

  “Suspicious accidents,”
Craven corrected himself.

  “If we could pin down Rob Daniels and get him to tell the truth about those huskies—” Joe stopped when he saw Craven shaking his head.

  “Sheriff Lyle already released him,” Craven said. “He’s somewhere up on Konawa Mountain, I’d imagine.”

  “Joe! Thank heaven you’re alive,” Milo Flatts exclaimed as he crowded into the room with the others.

  Craven moved into the doorway with Flatts. “Mr. Flatts, Sheriff Lyle would like to talk to you—”

  “About the rock that was thrown, sure,” Flatts interrupted. “We nearly caught the two kids.”

  “What two kids?” Craven asked.

  “The ones who broke open the hornets’ nest,” Flatts replied.

  “You’re claiming two kids did this?” Craven asked.

  “Campers from Camp Pinawanda, we figured,” Flatts answered. “No one from Konawa would do that kind of mischief.”

  “Why did you leave your boat?” Katie asked Flatts.

  “To pick berries,” Flatts replied. “Mr. Alvaro’s a city boy; he’s never done anything like that.”

  “Baloney!” Joe interjected. “You were meeting someone you called ‘the second brother.’ ”

  Flatts shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  Joe rose from the bed, forgetting all about his sore joints and limbs as he tried to get at Milo Flatts.

  “Hold it, Joe,” Sandy said, gently restraining him. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Why would anyone be trying to hurt either of these two young men?” Flatts asked.

  “You told Mr. Tringle not to press charges against Mr. Daniels,” Joe accused.

  “So I did,” Flatts replied calmly. “I ran into Daniels on my morning hike. He told me he had stolen money to buy food. I didn’t want to see him thrown in the brig.”

  “Okay, I think we need to let the boys rest,” Craven said, herding the others toward the door.

  “I’ll wait for you in the lobby, Joe,” Katie said as she left. “Whenever you’re up to it, I’ll drive you back. Oh, you, too, Frank.”

  After the others had gone, Craven closed the door. “I want you to know I’ve called your father.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank said. “We know we’re getting the boot.”

  “That was my reason,” Craven admitted. “But we talked a good while, and he asked me not to dismiss your suspicions out of hand. Said you have a good nose for these things and, well,” Craven said, “I’m thinking your dad might be right.”

  “Does that mean we’re not fired?” Joe asked.

  “You’re not fired,” Craven replied, smiling. “But you are on paid leave, at least for the next day or so.

  “Great. That’ll give us a chance to crack this thing open,” Frank said.

  “No, Frank,” Craven said. “I also promised your dad I would look out for you. Whatever’s going on here, it’s getting rough, and I want you boys to stay out of it.”

  “Mr. Craven—” Joe started to protest.

  “I’ve called in the authorities,” Craven assured Joe. “The state police, not Sheriff Lyle. This is where it ends for you, okay?”

  “Mr. Craven, according to the decoded signal, the crooks are meeting to discuss the first and fourth brother at the lakeside cottages tonight at midnight,” Frank reminded him.

  “And the state police can be waiting for them,” Craven replied. “I’ll see you boys later.”

  After Craven left, Joe said, “I don’t know if I should take him off our list of suspects or put him on.”

  “After my ‘accident,’ I feel the same way about Sandy,” Frank said, and recounted how Sandy and Borda hid away what appeared to be a large ruby. “Then Sandy refused to search for Clem and Beau behind Gus Jons’s place. He got antsy when I mentioned the shipment of soap.”

  “Wow,” Joe said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that it was a real ruby, and it was concealed in a bar of Russian soap,” Frank said.

  “On the other hand, I can’t picture Sandy and Borda as gem smugglers,” Joe said.

  “You’re forgetting—the package was addressed to Gus Jons,” Frank reminded Joe. “Borda might have found the ruby by accident.”

  “Where do Flatts and Alvaro fit in?” Joe pondered aloud.

  “And who are the ‘four brothers’?” Frank added. “Are these criminals part of some cult?”

  “I don’t think we’ll find any answers at the hospital,” Joe said.

  Frank rose from his chair. “I’m ready to limp back to Konawa if you are.”

  The Hardys discussed the case on the drive back with Katie Haskell.

  “For the crooks to take such desperate measures to get us out of the way, we must be close,” Frank said. “We know someone at the inn was sending signals to the asylum.”

  “Alvaro’s room is on the courtyard side of the inn, so that leaves Flatts,” Joe pointed out, then told Frank his theory that Flatts could have jumped from his balcony to Larry Tringle’s and set up the whole burglary.

  “That reminds me about the note we found at the asylum,” Frank said. “If L.T. isn’t Larry Tringle, who is it?”

  “And I can’t think of anyone else at Konawa with the initials L.T.,” Katie said.

  “I’ve got it,” Joe shouted. “The day we met Gus Jons, he was wearing a uniform with two stripes on his shoulder.”

  “So?” Frank said.

  “We guessed that L.T. were initials. But Lt. is also the abbreviation for lieutenant.”

  “Two stripes,” Frank repeated, catching on. “Gus Jons was a lieutenant in the Kormian army!”

  12 The Bad Lieutenant

  * * *

  “If Flatts sent the signal and was referring to Gus Jons when he signaled ‘take second brother to LT,’ it means Flatts was sending the message to a third person in the the guard tower of the asylum that night,” Frank said, voicing his deduction.

  “Mr. Alvaro?” Joe guessed.

  “Nope,” Katie said as she drove. “Mr. Alvaro was in the lobby that night. I saw him while I was visiting my sister at the front desk. He was talking to some nasty-looking guy with a tattoo on his arm.”

  “Gus Jons!” Joe exclaimed.

  “That connects Alvaro to both Jons and Flatts,” Frank pointed out. “But we still don’t know who was holed up in that asylum with the huskies.”

  “We might find out tonight at midnight,” Joe said, “when they meet up with their accomplices at the lakeside cottages.”

  Katie pulled the car into the parking area beside the Sweatbox.

  “Thanks for the ride, Katie,” Frank said, climbing out of the car.

  “Yeah, thanks, Katie,” Joe said, then leaned down and added quietly, “And thank you for saving my life out on the lake.”

  “Hey, I’m a lifeguard; that’s my job,” Katie said, blushing. She smiled at Joe. “Don’t forget the swim party tonight, if you’re up to it,” she reminded him before driving off.

  The Hardys opened the door to their room and found Chet sitting on Frank’s bed, leaning against the wall, snoring. Two dozen bars of Russian soap sat in a pile on the bed in front of him.

  “He must have come in here to wait for us,” Joe whispered.

  “Chet?” Frank said, touching his friend’s shoulder.

  Chet woke with a start. “Frank? Where’s Joe? I heard he was stung three hundred times!”

  “I’m right here, Chet, and it was forty-five times,” Joe said, smiling. “Looks like your soap scavenging went well.”

  “Twenty-four bars, all from the eight cottages down by the lake,” Chet replied. “There’s not a bar left in the joint.”

  “Good work, buddy,” Frank said. “I’ll take your dinner shift in the kitchen tonight.”

  “Thanks, Frank. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to collapse,” Chet said as he clomped out the door and down the hall.

  “We have the soap,” Joe said, gingerly lying d
own on his bed. “Now what are we going to do with it?”

  “This,” Frank replied, slicing into the first bar with his penknife. Thirty minutes later Frank and Joe had finished cutting up the last bar, but they found nothing inside any of them.

  “Maybe we’re wrong about the ruby smuggling,” Frank said, sighing. “And Borda Jones really did just have a piece of red glass.”

  “Or maybe there was only one ruby and Borda Jones found it,” Joe suggested.

  Frank checked his watch. “I have to be in the kitchen in ten minutes if I’m covering for Chet.”

  “I’ll talk to the waiter at Mr. Alvaro’s table,” Joe said, slowly pushing himself up off the bed. “See if he can get any information about Alvaro during dinner.”

  Frank put his hands on Joe’s shoulders. “I’ll do it, Joe. The best thing you can do is rest right now. I’ll need you later tonight.”

  Joe rose up to protest, but he felt a little weak and dizzy and settled back on the bed.

  • • •

  Frank quickly found out that the kitchen staff worked just as hard as maintenance. Just minutes after he had filled the last serving dish, the dirty plates and dishes started returning from the dining room and piling up. Frank loaded them into the plastic racks and put them onto the conveyor belt as fast as he could.

  Phil Dietz, the waiter at Tony Alvaro’s table, slammed through the swinging door and talked to Frank while he unloaded his service tray. “Mr. Alvaro’s from New York City; he says he’s a traveling salesman and decided to stop at Konawa Lake Inn on a whim.”

  “What does he sell?” Frank asked, loading Phil’s dishes directly into one of the racks and sending it through the industrial dishwasher.

  “I can’t ask anything else. He’s already suspicious and getting testy,” Phil told Frank, then grabbed a tray of desserts and headed back into the dining room.

  As the swinging door popped open, Frank had a clear view of Tony Alvaro seated at his table. Milo Flatts was standing next to him, and both were staring through the open kitchen door at Frank. If looks could kill, Frank thought to himself, I would be dead.