Trick-or-Trouble Read online

  “Not completely,” Joe said. “We know we got to that last clue before anyone else. That gives us a bit of an edge.”

  “Only if we can figure out what Granted directions, with one hitch, to abandon your trailing means,” Callie replied. She pulled her letterman jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Are you guys cold, or is it just me?”

  “Hang on a second,” Frank said, coming to an abrupt stop. “Do you hear anything?” he whispered.

  Joe and Callie stopped and listened.

  “Voices?” Joe finally whispered. “So?”

  “They’re coming from those bushes,” Frank replied. “There’s no path through that stand of woods.”

  “So, they’re not supposed to be there,” Callie said. “And—if I heard right—they’re talking about the contest.”

  Frank nodded. “I thought so, too.”

  “Well,” Joe said, keeping his voice low, “let’s sneak closer and see what we can hear.”

  Cautiously they moved off the path and toward the copse of spruce trees and evergreen bushes. As they drew close, the voices became clearer.

  “If we work together, we can sew up a lot of these prizes,” one muffled voice said.

  “I’m for that,” replied a second. “No sense letting the chumps cash in when we can do it ourselves.”

  “It’s working so far,” said a third. “I got a pretty good haul already.” The voices were unrecognizable and sounded eerie in the autumn darkness.

  The Hardys and Callie peered through bushes and saw three Halloween-masked figures huddled together in a tiny clearing. They all wore dark, bulky jackets and jeans.

  “No devil mask in the bunch,” Joe whispered.

  “It’s easy to change masks,” Frank noted.

  “So,” the figure wearing a horribly scarred puppetlike fright mask said, “I’ve got an extra about burning monsters. Who wants it?”

  “The turn, turn one?” said a conspirator in a Frankenstein’s monster mask. “Already got it.”

  “Me, too,” replied their wolf-faced companion. “And I’ve got the one that goes with it. Don’t you have anything better to offer? I’ve got some prime goods here, but I’m not about to hand them over for that kind of garbage. I want to win big here, not pick up your trash.”

  Callie’s brown eyes widened and she hissed to the brothers, “They’re trading clues to fix the contest!”

  11 The Unholy Three

  Frank and Joe nodded. “Let’s see how far they’ll take it,” Joe whispered.

  The wolf-masked conspirator held up a clue. “I’ve got a sweet duplicate about a haunted car,” the wolf’s soft voice said. “I got the minor prize, but it leads to a big clue. What do you have to trade?”

  “I’ve got one about some foreign guy,” the monster replied. “I ain’t figured it out yet.”

  “I’m looking for stuff about ships or UFOs,” the one in the scar-faced fright mask said. “I’ve got mummies and cars to trade.”

  “The mummy clue has been solved,” said the wolf. “This is getting us nowhere fast, and I want to get back in the game. Let’s lay our duplicates out, and then see who wants to trade.”

  “Yeah, okay,” the Frankenstein monster replied. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of clues.

  Scar Face nodded and did the same. “Hope you don’t mind if I don’t put ’em down,” he said. “I don’t entirely trust either of you.”

  “We don’t trust you, either,” the wolf said, holding out a half dozen clue cards. “Now, let’s take a look, and see what we’ve got.”

  All three stared intently at each other’s cards for a moment.

  “An interesting way to play the game,” Frank said, stepping through the trees and into the circle of conspirators. “Kind of like liar’s poker.”

  “If any of you want to come clean about this,” Joe added, following his brother, “I’m sure the Bayport Chronicle will be interested in hearing about your little alliance.”

  The three masked treasure hunters pocketed their clues, then turned and ran in opposite directions.

  “I’ll get Scar Face,” Frank said, taking off after the one in the fright mask.

  “Señor Stein is mine,” Joe said, chasing the Frankenstein monster.

  “Leave the wolf to me,” Callie said, sprinting after the last of the group.

  Scar Face sprinted away from the river, toward Perrin Avenue. Frank lit out after him, but the fright-masked conspirator was clearly in good shape. He hit the street first, then dodged into an alleyway.

  Frank barreled across the street. Just then, a car turned the corner and bore down on him. The sedan’s tires squealed and the driver leaned on the horn. The car pulled up short; unable to stop in time, Frank bounced lightly off the hood.

  “Crazy kid!” yelled the driver.

  “Sorry about that,” Frank said, trying not to let his frustration show.

  The car drove on. The elder Hardy sprinted to the alleyway, but found no sign of Scar Face.

  The Frankenstein monster headed for the footbridge into downtown. Joe ran as fast as he could, but his muscles began to ache almost immediately. He and Frank had expended a lot of energy earlier, towing the Werewolf’s Wagon out of the sand with their van.

  Joe grimaced and tried for one last burst of speed. He caught up with the monster at the start of the bridge. The masked man, though, suddenly turned and rammed his shoulder into Joe’s gut.

  Caught off guard, the younger Hardy staggered back into the low railing of the bridge. He reeled there for a moment, on the verge of toppling over.

  When he finally recovered, the monster was already disappearing into the shadows at the bridge’s far end.

  “Rats!” Joe said, kicking the bridge’s wooden planking.

  Frustrated, he turned and walked back to where he’d left the others. As he neared the small cluster of woods, he saw Frank returning from the opposite direction.

  “Lost him,” Joe said through gritted teeth.

  “Me, too,” Frank replied as they converged. “Where’s Callie?”

  “Right here,” she called, coming down the path. “Good thing I’m a little more spry than you bruisers. Wolfie here almost made it to her bicycle, but not quite.” She smiled and wheeled the bike over to the brothers. The wolf-masked conspirator followed close behind, snarling slightly.

  “Allison Rosenberg, I presume—judging from the bike,” remarked Joe.

  “So what?” Allison said, pulling the wolf mask off her face. “There’s no law against collaborating with other contestants. You three are doing it yourselves!”

  “Why’d you run then?” Frank asked.

  “I thought you were the masked bandit,” she replied. “After the other night, I need to be careful.”

  “Which is why you were meeting two masked guys in the woods?” Joe said. “Sorry, Allison, I don’t buy it.”

  “Okay,” she said, “maybe I’m not proud of it—but trading clues has done me a lot of good. And I’m going to keep doing it; there’s nothing in the rules to stop me.”

  “Who were those guys?” Frank asked. “Brent Jackson and Ren Takei, I’m guessing, judging by their size and the tone of their muffled voices.”

  Allison crossed her arms over her chest; her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I don’t know who they are,” she said.

  “You’re not that big a fool,” Callie replied. “You wouldn’t trust people you don’t know—not after getting mugged the first night.”

  “Unless, of course,” Joe said, “the mugging was part of some elaborate scheme to better your position in the game.”

  Allison’s blue eyes burned with anger. “Give me back my bike,” she hissed. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Give it to her, Callie,” Frank said. Callie handed over the bike. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Allison. Someone is working hard to rig this contest—and you’re one of the big winners so far,” Frank stated.

  Allison Rosenberg yanked her bike out of
Callie’s hand, mounted it, and rode away without another word.

  “So much for that friendship,” Joe said.

  Frank shrugged. “We can apologize—if we need to—once we’ve figured all this out. C’mon. Let’s go pick up those walkie-talkies before anything else happens.”

  They left the riverside park and went to Corman and Cross. Along the way, they saw a bunch of other contestants gathering clues. They didn’t spot Allison, Ren, or Brent, though.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the three of them lay low for a while,” Joe said, “to throw off suspicion, if nothing else.”

  They picked up their walkie-talkie prizes, then went to the pizzeria for a break.

  “The two-mile range on these could come in handy,” Frank said, fiddling with the two-way radios. He kept one for himself, gave two to Joe (one for Iola), and handed the last one to Callie. “I’ve put them all on the same frequency,” he said. “I doubt we’ll use them tonight, but just in case…”

  Callie rifled through the six new clues they’d obtained, handing them to Joe as she finished. “Three duplicates—too bad we’re not in Allison’s trading group.” She gave a weak smile. “A movie ticket instant winner, and a food prize for Kool Kone, which I guess we won’t be using until this is over.”

  Joe shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “Jackson just ticked me off.”

  “What’s the last one?” Frank asked.

  “A fishy destination finished this space race,” Callie said.

  Joe ran his hand through his blond hair. “Doesn’t sound like it fits with any of the others we’ve got,” he said. “Though it might be part of that UFO puzzle that Scar Face was after.”

  Frank nodded. “Let’s hit the C Cafe next. We can go online there and research some of the things we already have.”

  “Good idea,” Joe and Callie said.

  The three of them finished their pizza and drinks, then headed out.

  “If we cut through the alley behind the pizzeria,” Joe said, “we can save some time.” Frank and Callie nodded their agreement, and they cut around the back of the building.

  The alley behind the pizzeria led down to the old Kwik-Fill on Kenosha Street. As they neared the gas station, they spotted Vincent Blasko talking animatedly on a public phone in the parking lot.

  “Yes, I know how much I owe,” Blasko said. “I didn’t intend to run up those kind of debts—but these things happen.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Joe whispered. He put his arm out and motioned Frank and Callie to stay in the shadows of the alleyway. They all stepped back against the wall of the building.

  “I’ll have the money soon,” Blasko said. “Yes. Very soon. Perhaps as early as tomorrow if things work out.”

  He paused a moment. “Yes, I’m sure. No, I’m not having any trouble. Everything is working out just as planned. It’s all fixed up. I told you, don’t worry. This is a sure thing. The money is practically in my hands. Yes. I’ll call when I have it. No, you can’t call me. Good-bye.”

  Blasko slammed the receiver down and turned up Kenosha Street. He pulled a fruit pie from his pocket, unwrapped it, and began to munch as he walked away from the Kwik-Fill.

  “That seems a little suspicious,” Joe whispered.

  “Do you think he was talking about fixing the contest?” Callie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Frank replied, “but it seems like the best lead we’ve had so far. Someone who is on the inside, like Blasko, would have an easier time cheating.”

  “If he needs money, he might be willing to help some of the contestants to cash in—and then take a cut,” Joe added.

  “But who’s his partner?” Callie said. “He can’t enter the contest himself.”

  “Well, we know there are at least four people who will do most anything to win,” Frank said.

  “Allison Rosenberg, Ren Takei, Brent Jackson, and the Kings,” Callie said.

  “Right,” Joe concluded. “Let’s follow Blasko and see where he goes. He could be meeting someone. It means we won’t collect any more clues tonight—it’s too close to curfew—but I really want to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Me, too,” Frank added.

  Callie shrugged. “So much for the C Cafe.”

  “We can research on the Net tomorrow,” Frank said. “Following Blasko won’t wait.”

  The three of them stuck to the shadows as they followed the aging movie star. Blasko meandered down the sidewalks, keeping to the main roads until he reached the old Browning Theater.

  It was now after midnight, and the theater was closed. Blasko looked in the front, and then walked around the alleyway to the back. The Hardys and Callie followed.

  “What do you suppose he’s doing here?” Joe whispered.

  “Let’s find out,” Frank replied.

  When they were halfway down the alley, they heard a door creak open. Moving quickly, Joe sprinted around the corner and caught it before it swung shut again. Peering into the darkness inside the back of the theater, they saw no sign of Blasko.

  “He must have gone in, but I don’t see him,” Callie whispered.

  “Me neither,” Frank said.

  “We should take a look inside,” Joe said, “in case he’s up to no good.”

  The others nodded, and they all moved cautiously into the darkened theater. “Keep your flashlights off,” Frank cautioned. “We don’t want him to know we’re here.”

  They walked quietly from the rear exit to the stage area.

  When it was first built, the Browning had been home to live performances. Later it was converted to a movie house. But though films now made up the vast majority of its business, the stage still retained all the accoutrements of a live theater.

  Rigging ran high into the rafters, and catwalks arched above the stage. Ropes and pulleys operated the curtains, which were drawn back since the movie screen was lowered for the show earlier in the evening.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Callie whispered. “It’s quiet as a grave.”

  “I can hardly see anything,” Joe complained. “Let’s get out the flashlights.”

  Suddenly, a rope squealed—running fast through a pulley—as the theater’s heavy fire curtain fell straight toward them.

  12 Theater of Blood

  The shiny gray curtain rained down on the startled teens.

  “Everyone down!” Joe said, throwing himself flat on the floor. Frank and Callie did the same.

  The heavy fabric landed on top of them with a loud “Whoomph!”

  “Is everyone okay?” Frank called. He groped around, found Callie’s hand, and squeezed it.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “How about you, Joe?”

  “I feel winded,” Joe said. “But it could be a lot worse. Find the edge. We have to get out from under this thing.”

  They all crawled around, searching for the curtain’s edge. They found it near the front of the stage and pulled themselves out.

  Joe dusted himself off. “We could really have been hurt by this,” he said.

  “Look out!” Callie cried.

  Joe and Frank spun as Vincent Blasko charged toward them, a wooden plank clutched in his withered hands. Blasko raised the plank high. “Get out of here, you!” he screamed.

  He swung the plank at them. Frank stepped back, and the edge of the wood whizzed past his chest.

  “Vandals!” Blasko cried. His bloodshot eyes looked wild and unfocused, and his teeth were stained bright red—as though he had been drinking blood.

  Callie jumped aside, barely avoiding the blow. “Mr. Blasko, stop!” she yelled.

  Blasko tottered slightly as the heavy plank pulled him off balance.

  Joe dove for him, throwing his arms around the aging horror star in a textbook tackle. Blasko fell backward and, as he did, Frank grabbed the piece of wood out of his hands.

  “What’s this all about?” Joe asked.

  “Help! Police!” Blasko called.

  Frank put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Hold
on, Joe,” he said. He fished his flashlight out and turned it on so that the old man could see them.

  “Mr. Blasko,” Frank said, “it’s Frank and Joe Hardy, and Callie Shaw. We met you at the kickoff party.”

  Blasko peered at them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just took my contacts out. I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were burglars. What are you doing here?”

  “We might ask you the same thing,” Joe said, helping the movie star up.

  Blasko dusted himself off. “The owner of this theater generously offered to let me use the spare room behind the projection booth for the duration of my stay in Bayport. I’m sorry if I scared you, but you scared me as well.”

  “B-but your teeth…!” Callie said.

  “My teeth?” Blasko said. “What about them?”

  “They’re covered with blood,” Joe replied.

  “Take a look,” Callie added, handing him a mirror from her purse.

  Blasko opened the mirror and looked. Then he laughed. “It’s the cherry fruit pies,” he said. “I’m terribly fond of them, but they stain my dentures. I stepped out and bought a few at the Kwik-Fill just a little while ago.”

  “Why would a big star like you be staying in an old theater like this?” Frank asked. “I know they’re showing a festival of your films, but…Surely you can afford better.”

  Blasko looked around somewhat nervously. “I cannot. My finances have fallen on difficult times since the erroneous reports of my death. I cashed in my apartment downtown to save money.”

  “Then that’s why you were on the phone talking about owing money,” Callie blurted.

  “You were listening?” Blasko said, shocked.

  “We’ve been wondering about you since the other night at the Book Bank,” Frank said. “Just after you left, we found out that someone had broken into the store.”

  “And whoever it was locked us in the vault,” Joe said.

  “Oh dear,” Blasko replied. “I’m sorry to hear that. There’s a simple explanation for why I was there, though. I had hoped that Ms. Soesbee might advance me the rest of my appearance fee, so that I could pay off some of my bills. Sadly, the store was closed. Honestly, I know nothing about any vault or break-in. Now, what are you doing here?”