Hide-and-Sneak Page 7

  Nearby an older guy in a blue jacket was finishing his story. “The man known as the Buccaneer lived large and died the same way. Accident? Suicide? All we know is that he vanished in a blazing ship, like a Viking funeral.”

  Joe rolled his eyes at that.

  “We’ve got a real, live media frenzy,” Frank said. “Everybody must be trying to get fresh tape for noon news.”

  He spotted Zack Harris standing inside the gate. Their director was talking with one camera crew. As the Hardys neared the gate, they had to pass a gauntlet of microphones.

  “Are you working on the film? How involved was Mr. Buckmaster?”

  “Did any of you talk to Buckmaster before he took his life?”

  “How did he seem?”

  Frank and Joe just kept their heads down and pressed on. For Chet, although he’d spent the most time on camera, facing so many cameras at once seemed to bring on a case of stage fright.

  Finally the boys got through. The three of them were happy to put the fence between them and the news vultures.

  Willow Sumner and her friends were next to arrive. The three girls looked happy to be in front of the cameras. But Willow, Trisha, and Christy really didn’t have that much to say. They hadn’t seen Buckmaster or his yacht. All they could describe was the sound of the explosion.

  The cameras quickly turned on Andy Slack and Hal Preston when they arrived, but the boys met the reporters’ questions with silly grins.

  As soon as Zack had everyone together, he led the group away from the gate to where Melody stood. She had what looked like a new set of clue packets.

  “Good news, people.” The filmmaker’s face showed that he was pleased with himself. “I talked to the folks who’ll be going over Buckmaster’s assets. They said we can keep using the docks for a few more days. Sprock is already hiding the McGuffin. Melody has the clues. We’re going to go for another round of Hide-and-Sneak, this time for two days. Whoever brings the McGuffin to the secret destination wins.”

  Zack cleared his throat. “If we have a tie, like what happened around Mr. Buckmaster’s yacht, we’ll give the win to the team that holds on to the McGuffin the longest.”

  Willow nodded. “That sounds fair.”

  Sure, Frank thought. Right now your team has the best record.

  Naturally Andy Slack, who had never even got a hand on the McGuffin, disagreed. “Why not do another round?” he said. “A tiebreaker?”

  “We really can’t afford it,” Zack said.

  “Your budget should look a lot better after selling that tape to AmericaNews,” Andy snarled. “You might think about springing for a prize—or paying us.”

  “I can see you have no idea about how filmmaking works,” Zack said stiffly. “The postproduction costs—”

  Luckily a rather sandy Sprock Kerwin arrived, breaking the tension. The three filmmakers went into a huddle. Andy and Hal stood off to one side, scowling. Frank had to smile when he saw the girls gravitate toward the cameras. He laughed when he saw Joe follow the girls.

  “Typical,” Frank said, turning to Chet.

  “I didn’t think Joe would be giving any interviews,” Chet said with a smirk.

  Frank turned to see what Chet was talking about, then laughed louder. One of the newspeople had managed to catch Joe.

  “Toby Gregson,” she said, holding out a microcassette recorder. That stuck out in this high-tech crowd. So did the way she was dressed: jeans and a checked shirt. Her graying hair was long and frizzy, unlike the carefully coiffed reporters in front of the cameras.

  Must be a newspaper reporter, Frank thought, moving closer to eavesdrop. Unlike the TV folks, Gregson asked some intelligent questions—especially when she learned Joe had been watching from the clifftop.

  “Did you actually see Buckmaster board the Jolly Roger?”

  “Well, no,” Joe said. “We weren’t looking. But he had to be on the yacht, didn’t he?”

  Toby Gregson leaned forward for her next question. Her hair shifted, revealing her ear.

  Frank couldn’t believe what he saw. He swung around and walked past Chet, straight for the filmmakers.

  Zack was annoyed at the interruption. “Can’t you see—”

  “No,” Frank cut him off. “There’s something I need to see.”

  He turned to Sprock. “Do you have the film you shot the first day handy? I’ve got to see it now.”

  13 A Clue from the Camera

  * * *

  Sprock Kerwin looked a little surprised at Frank’s insistence.

  “It’s important,” Frank told him.

  Sprock turned to Melody Litovsky. “Mel?”

  She cleared the papers off the large silvery box they’d been using as a desk. It looked more like a metal-wall oversize suitcase.

  Sprock set the case on its side and opened it. Most of the space within was taken up by sponge padding, which held the three cameras and the laptop computer Sprock had used. The rest of the box held cassettes of digital film.

  Kerwin ran through these cassettes, checking labels. “Here’s my first one,” he said, putting a cassette in one of the cameras.

  He handed the computer to Melody and took a cable out of the case. Then he shut the top again and retrieved the computer from his friend. Sprock rested the laptop on the silvery surface, connected it with the cable to the camera, and booted up. “Was there any scene in particular that you wanted to see?” he asked.

  “Right at the beginning, when you were shooting Chet on the dock.”

  Sprock fiddled with the camera, typed in a couple of commands on the keyboard, and soon Chet’s picture swam into view on the computer screen. Chet’s voice sounded a little tinny coming out of the small laptop speakers, but that wasn’t important.

  “Okay, that woman Chet’s talking to. Do you have a close-up of her?”

  “Yeah, I tried, hoping for a reaction shot. Problem was, she wasn’t giving me very much of a reaction.”

  Sprock fast-forwarded the camera. The image of the woman on the boat grew. Then the camera panned, moving from a full-face view to a profile.

  “Hold it there.” Frank leaned in, looking carefully. “So,” he said, “I wasn’t crazy.”

  “If you say so.” Zack gave him a snotty look.

  “What did you see?” Melody asked.

  “That woman has a torn left earlobe,” Frank replied. “Exactly like the reporter who was just talking to my brother.”

  Frank rushed back to the gate. Now Joe was standing with Trisha Eads, trading jokes. Frank scanned the crowd. “Joe,” he said, grabbing him by the arm, “where’s the woman who just interviewed you?”

  Most of the camera crews were clustered around the vans. There was no trace of the boys’ reporter.

  Joe looked around and shrugged. “Dunno.” He looked in puzzlement at his brother. Frank turned around and walked over to Chet.

  “What’s with him?” Trisha asked, her eyes hinting suspicion.

  I guess he’ll tell us when he’s good and ready,” Joe replied. “One thing I know about Frank. When he gets that look, there’s usually a surprise revelation on the way.”

  Joe went after Frank, to find him talking with Chet about jewelry, of all things.

  “Hey, look,” Joe said. “Trisha brought her own car. We’re going to grab some lunch and hang out for a while. She’s pretty decent, despite her choice of snobby friends.”

  Joe half expected a lecture about giving away secrets to the enemy. Instead Frank just gave him a nod. “Sure. Okay. I’ve got some work to do anyway.”

  • • •

  Frank looked up from the computer monitor when Joe popped his head in the room.

  “Just got in. Dinner’s in five minutes.” The younger Hardy gave his brother a curious look. “Mom said you wanted to eat early.”

  Frank didn’t give any clues to why he wanted dinner early. Instead he asked, “How was lunch?”

  Joe grinned. “Fun. I like Trisha. She’s feisty. She doesn’t put up
with much, even from Princess Willow.”

  He gave Frank a knowing look. “Hey, we didn’t even talk about Hide-and-Sneak if that’s what you’re worried about. As far as movies go, we were more interested in choosing a flick to go see tonight.”

  “Cancel your date,” Frank told him. “I already talked to Chet. We’re spending the evening at Shipwreck Cove.”

  “Ah, Frank—” Joe began.

  Frank shrugged. “I guess I could always get Tony Prito. We’re going to catch the intruder tonight.”

  “Ooh,” Joe said, pretending to be wounded. “You really do know how to fight dirty. I’m in.”

  • • •

  The sun was low in the sky when Frank parked the van. They were well away from the front gate and close to the chain-link fence with the secret entrance cut in it. They had a bit of a walk to get to their destination.

  Chet started to complain, but Frank said, “We don’t want to make our guest suspicious by parking too close.”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t know how you can be so sure he’s in—”

  “There have been people in there all day,” Frank replied as they walked along the grass alongside the fence. “See? A couple of the construction trailers are already gone. Whatever’s going on will have to be finished tonight, before the whole place is disassembled.”

  They slipped through the slit in the fence and began looking for hiding places. The good news was that the afternoon sun had been hot, baking the clay soil dry again.

  “The idea is to choose a place to hide that gives cover from someone coming in,” Frank said, “and going out.”

  By the time they were set up the sunset was at its peak. Frank had already warned his friends not to talk. The intruder shouldn’t know they were there until it was too late.

  Now came the hard part of the stakeout: the waiting. Frank found himself looking at his watch again and again. The third time he really got annoyed with himself.

  You’re not supposed to be paying attention to your watch, he told himself.

  Frank scanned the area. Even though he knew where the others were hiding, he couldn’t spot them. Good.

  Chet’s head popped up, and he took a look around. At Frank’s hissed warning Chet ducked down again.

  Taking care that his own head wouldn’t be silhouetted, Frank went back to surveying the area. Nothing at the main gate. No suspicious shadows flitting around the remaining trailers at the site. Nobody heading their way across the roughly leveled expanse of clay. No one coming along the fence.

  Figuring that he’d used up at least half an hour, Frank allowed himself to check his watch.

  Thirteen minutes.

  He sighed, shaking his head.

  At that moment a pebble came flying down to hit Frank in the ankle. To judge from the direction, it seemed to have come from Joe’s hiding place.

  Cautiously Frank raised himself for another look. Although full darkness hadn’t yet fallen, it took him a moment to make out the figure picking its way along the fence.

  Frank picked up the pebble and flipped it toward Chet. The warning worked. This time he barely peeked out of his hiding place.

  All was ready. Just a little more waiting.

  The shadowy figure slipped noiselessly through the cut in the wire fence. Half crouched, the intruder looked back and forth. It was just dark enough outside that the boys couldn’t make out any of the stranger’s features.

  The trespasser rose slowly and took a couple of steps forward.

  Come on, come on, Frank silently urged. One more step . . . two . . .

  The dark figure finally obliged, setting off the trap. Joe rose from his hiding place and ran to block the way out.

  Chet jumped up, turning on his flashlight. “Hold it!” he shouted.

  Frank had to give their adversary full marks on guts. Unable to retreat, the intruder charged forward and broke past Chet.

  That was Frank’s cue. He got up and shone his flashlight directly into the running figure’s face.

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Buckmaster,” he said.

  14 Mrs. Who?

  * * *

  “What? Who?” Joe couldn’t believe Frank. His brother hadn’t given any hint of this.

  Joe and Chet quickly closed in on the intruder. Their flashlights helped them see whom they had cornered. The intruder took off her baseball cap and shook out her hair. It was shorter than Joe remembered, and much less gray.

  “You!” Joe exclaimed. It was Toby Gregson, the reporter who’d interviewed him.

  Chet’s beam was aimed directly at the woman’s face. “I talked with you at the marina. But you were wearing sunglasses.”

  Frank nodded. “As I said, you’ve met Mrs. Buckmaster before. In fact we all have; she was also Ms. Joan Athelney.”

  The woman gave them a “so what?” shrug. “Sara Buckmaster,” she said, sticking her hand out at Chet. “I’m sorry about what happened on the boats. I stumbled, and your head got in the way of my knee.”

  Chet shook hands with the woman. “It’s okay. I lived.”

  Then she turned to Frank. “You must be the older Hardy brother.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Frank said. “But you had the advantage of research. I managed to put together the clues about who you were only this afternoon. In the husband and wife interview you did for Lifestyles Monthly you mentioned the riding accident that left you with a torn earlobe. I’d already seen that on Toby Gregson and the woman on the sailboat. And I remember how Joan Athelney was loaded with jewelry—except for earrings.” He shook his head. “The names should have told me something.”

  “Told you what?” Chet asked.

  “Tobias Gregson and Athelney Jones were Scotland Yard detectives in the Sherlock Holmes stories,” Frank said.

  Sara Buckmaster gave them another shrug. “I always liked those old mystery stories better than the movies Peter made such a fuss over.”

  Frank nodded. “I guess your husband is the reason for all this fuss.”

  “I’ve been trying to catch up with him ever since he drained our joint accounts and dumped me a year ago,” Mrs. Buckmaster said.

  “He’s been living on his yacht for the past year,” Joe said.

  “Hiding out there,” Sara told him, “dodging me. I didn’t have the money to hire detectives, so I had to track him down myself.”

  “To do that, you had to become the Woman of a Thousand Faces.” Frank had to hand it to the woman for being clever.

  “Yeah, you’re also the Phantom of the Bayport Marina,” Chet added.

  “Yes, I’d been looking around the marina at night,” Sara said. “Pete might have been docking there.”

  “And your involvement with the film? Why?” Frank asked.

  “It seemed like a good way of getting next to Pete. I was sure he’d go for a movie that combined boats and a sculpture. But funding the film was expensive. Those college kids were using up the last of my money. I decided it would be worth it, though, for a chance at Pete.”

  “I guess there’s no chance of that now,” Joe said.

  “Are you so sure he’s gone?” Sara asked.

  “I saw his yacht—” Joe said.

  “But you didn’t see him on the yacht, right?” Sara interrupted. “That’s why I came around here today. I needed to hear if he was on the yacht from an eyewitness. Did any of you actually see him on the Jolly Roger?”

  All the boys had to admit they hadn’t.

  “So you think he wasn’t on that yacht when it went up?” Joe asked.

  “I’m saying it happened at an interesting time,” Sara replied. “It was just after the feds raided his office and found that millions of dollars were missing.”

  Chet laughed. “You think Pete has a treasure chest full of hundred-dollar bills?”

  “Maybe a briefcase full of thousand-euro notes,” Sara replied. “There are also smaller, more valuable items that you could fit in a lunch bag. If I could find where he stashed his loot, I could
really hurt him.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “Another reason for the film scam and getting aboard his yacht.”

  “It seemed like the obvious place to look,” Sara said in her defense. “At least till it blew up. I’ve tried looking around out here, but this site is too big. Can you guys suggest any places where Pete spent a lot of time?”

  “The mobile office for Matling Construction,” Chet answered promptly. “That’s where he usually was.”

  “An office?” Sara looked doubtful. “Seems like there’d be an awful lot of people going in and out.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a whole trailer,” Chet said.

  “One that could be wheeled out of here at any moment,” Frank noted.

  “But it’s still here now,” Mrs. Buckmaster said. “I guess it’s worth checking out.”

  “That won’t be so easy,” Frank said. “It’s sure to be locked.”

  Joe grinned. “We could take a look at it, see what we could do.”

  “Technically it wouldn’t be breaking and entering,” Sara said. “We’re trying to recover stolen property.”

  Frank wasn’t convinced of that, but he went along with the others as they headed for the Matling trailer.

  Joe examined the lock. “Not too easy, but not impossible,” he announced, taking some small tools from a case. It required a little work, but soon the door was unlocked and swung open.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Frank said, but he followed the others into the trailer. The interior was pretty crowded, with two desks, filing cabinets, a pair of computer terminals, and chairs for meetings.

  “Briefcases!” Chet announced, pointing to a rack with several bags.

  “Kind of out in the open for hidden millions,” Joe said. He picked one up. “This one isn’t even locked.”

  They checked all the briefcases but didn’t find any money. No other suspicious cases turned up, although they searched pretty thoroughly.

  Sara crawled out from under one of the desks and brushed off her knees. “A bag of gemstones would take up a lot less room,” she said. That set them off on a new search for nooks and crannies. They found a lot of dust, several lost pens, and someone’s secret stash of candy—but no secret fortune.