Stolen Identity Read online

  “But you can’t blame us for—” I began.

  “I blame you completely,” Reynolds interrupted. “And you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to get even with you two.” He jutted a thumb at his son. “With the help of Billy here, we researched you, your friends, most of your old cases. You know, you kids with your social media make it almost too easy. Anyway, we came up with a real doozy of a plan.”

  “And they fell for all of it,” Billy added. “Every clue, every lead. They couldn’t resist.” He grinned at his father. “They even created their own archnemesis.”

  Reynolds laughed. “Yeah, that was a hoot when I heard about this Moriarty guy. I don’t read the stuff myself, but Billy’s a fan.”

  Billy stepped closer and glanced around. “It’s kind of fitting, don’t you think? Since Holmes and Moriarty had their final confrontation at Reichenbach Falls.”

  “Yeah, but they both went over the falls,” I said.

  “And Holmes lived,” Frank added. “Moriarty didn’t.”

  Billy shrugged. “Well, those were just stories. This is reality.” He leveled the pistol at us.

  “I truly enjoyed torturing you two,” said Reynolds Sr. “Keeping you off guard, giving you just enough time to keep from getting arrested.” He wheeled himself closer. “I thought our last setup would do the trick, you know. Everything else had gone according to plan. But looks like you were too slick to be caught by the cops. Heck, when Billy told me about the cops finding the page in your car, well, I thought we were done. But this . . .” He smiled. “This is going to be so much better.”

  “If you just wanted to frame us, why kill us now?” Frank asked.

  Reynolds held up his hands. “Hey, I’m no killer. I just want you to go over the side there. You’ll have the same chance that I had. You’re both young. You might even survive.”

  “It was an accident,” I said. “You tried to push Frank over first.”

  Billy snarled. “Well, now we get to finish the job, don’t we?”

  “Look,” Frank said. “The police are on their way. Our friend told them everything we know and where we are right now. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Why add murder to your list of crimes?”

  Reynolds waved his hand dismissively. “Let ’em come. I used a remote to close the gate when we came through. You forget. These are my old stomping grounds.” He gestured at his legs. “As it were. Anyway, the gate has a magnetic lock, very hard to cut through.”

  “Besides, after you jump, we’ll be long gone,” Billy added. “No one knows about Dad, and Josh Jenkins doesn’t exist.”

  “Yeah, there’s an old access road on the other side of the dam that no one remembers,” said Reynolds. “We’ll be out of the state before they pull your bodies out of the spillway.”

  “Boy, they did plan everything,” I muttered.

  Josh/Billy (whatever his name was) stepped forward and thrust the pistol at us. “So let’s get on with it.”

  Frank and I turned and peered over the side. The thick torrent roared below. It splashed over the side of the dam and into the spillway below.

  “I just have one more question.” I looked back at our captors. “How did you get the job at the museum, Josh? Could you really have faked a resume and that much experience?”

  Reynolds growled. “Stop wasting time, Hardy.”

  “Come on. At least let me close the case before I jump to my death.”

  Josh/Billy chuckled. “You two make things fun, you know that? A real flair for the dramatic. Luckily for me, Bayport Museum isn’t the most high-tech of facilities. Faking a resume wasn’t hard at all. Just had to create a fake LinkedIn account and email address. And I really do I have a degree in art history. They were so excited about the crime exhibit I proposed that they hired me on the spot. Lovely people. I am sorry to have broken their trust.”

  “Think about how sorry you’ll be after our deaths. You may hate us but I don’t think you want our deaths on your hands,” Frank reasoned.

  Reynolds leaned forward in his chair. “I bet it’s real hard to swim with a bullet in your leg.” He turned to his son. “Billy, plug one of them in the leg, will ya? I’ll let you pick which one.”

  I raised both hands. “Okay, we’re going, we’re going!”

  Frank and I each swung a leg over the railing. Straddling the rail, we faced each other.

  “Maybe if we push off hard enough,” said Frank.

  “We’re really going to do this?” I asked.

  “I don’t see much of a choice,” Frank said, examining the fall once again.

  “Who first, huh?” Reynolds laughed. “Or both together? Hand in hand, maybe?”

  Suddenly a spotlight blinded me. Frank and I each raised a hand to shield our eyes. Through squinted eyelids, I could see the police helicopter hovering above. The roar of the water had completely masked its approach.

  “Billy, no!” Reynolds shouted.

  Billy raised the pistol, aiming it at the helicopter.

  Without a word between us, Frank and I launched ourselves off the railing. We flew away from the churning water and toward Billy. We hit him hard, tackling him to the ground. The pistol flew from his hand and slid across the pavement, out of the circle of light.

  Billy jerked an arm free and elbowed Frank in the stomach. I heard my brother grunt as he tumbled away. That left Billy’s hand free to whale on me. He punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Before I could recover, he had jerked me to my feet and was shoving me back toward the edge. I tried to dig in, but my shoes skidded across the pavement. I scrambled to break his hold, but the day’s activities had finally caught up with me. I was too weak to slow him down. We slammed into the railing and flipped over the side of the dam.

  21

  LOCAL EVENTS

  FRANK

  JOE!” I COULD ONLY SHOUT as I watched my brother fly over the side of the dam.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran after him, slamming into the railing to look down. The helicopter’s spotlight illuminated the scene below. I could see my brother holding on to the lip of the dam, his expression strained. Billy’s arms were wrapped around Joe’s waist. The two dangled over the churning water below.

  “Hang on!” I shouted as I ducked under the railing. I lay flat on the ground and reached for my brother. I grabbed his arms with both hands. Joe reached up and held tight to my wrists.

  I heard sirens over the sound of the water. The police were on their way, and they would have ropes and gear for this type of situation. Unfortunately, I could tell that my brother wouldn’t hold on that long.

  “Grab the post on three,” I grunted. “One, two, three!”

  I pulled with all my might, lifting Joe toward the handrail support post. He let go of my wrist and clamped a hand onto the post.

  “I’m going to pull again,” I said. “Try to lock your arm around it.”

  Joe gave a quick nod in reply.

  I growled as I pulled. Deadlifting Joe with just my arms would be hard enough. But it took everything I had to lift the weight of both Joe and Billy. I struggled to lift my brother high enough so he could wrap his arms around the post. He grabbed his wrist with his other hand, locking himself in place.

  Now, with both hands free, I went for Billy. I had to get the extra weight off my brother. He didn’t look like he could hold that position much longer.

  I reached down and clawed at Billy. He was locked tight on my brother, and I couldn’t get a solid grip. I tried for the back of his jeans, but they were just out of reach. I didn’t dare lean out farther for fear of going over myself.

  The sirens were louder, but they weren’t going to make it in time.

  Just then I heard something beside me. I jerked my head around to see Reynolds staring me in the face. He was out of his chair and on the ground beside me. He could easily roll me over the side. I was so focused on Joe that I had forgotten about him. Once again, I was at the man’s mercy.


  “Save my boy, please,” he pleaded. He grabbed the back of my waistband. “I can help.”

  Putting my trust in a criminal (and trusting that he didn’t want his son to fall), I leaned way out over the edge. With Reynolds holding on to me, I was able to reach the back of Billy’s waistband. “I got him!” I shouted. “Pull!”

  I felt myself being dragged backward as I lifted Billy up to the edge of the dam. He let go of Joe’s waist and grabbed onto another post. I heard my brother moan in relief as he shed the extra weight.

  Footsteps erupted around us and hands appeared from every direction. They grabbed at Joe and Billy and lifted them completely onto the dam. Relieved, I rolled onto my back and caught my breath. I stared at the hovering helicopter, while silhouettes of police officers moved around above me.

  “You okay, bro?” Joe asked.

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “But you’re the one who decided to go for a high dive. Are you okay?”

  “Oh, I think I could go to sleep right here for two days straight,” Joe said.

  I got to my feet. “Come on,” I said as I helped my brother up. “Maybe they’ll have clean sheets in our cells.”

  Red and blue lights flashed over the scene as police officers led Billy away in handcuffs. Another officer followed, pushing Bill Reynolds Sr. toward the line of squad cars. A single figure emerged from the chaos and moved toward us. It was Lieutenant Wolfe.

  “One thing,” she said as she stopped in front of us. “I ask you not to do one thing and what’s the first thing you do?”

  “Uh, Lieutenant,” I said.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she told me. “I come to your house, ask a personal favor—”

  “Favor?” I asked.

  “And in four days, just four days”—she glanced around—“I’m running a major police operation.” She pointed to the sky. “We brought the helicopter. I don’t know if you noticed that.”

  Joe raised a hand. “I . . . Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Hector should’ve told you everything that’s been going on,” I said.

  “Oh, he did,” she replied. “I almost locked him up on principle. You’re just lucky that the chief called to check in. It seems that whether he likes it or not, if you two have a lead, he takes it seriously.”

  Joe nudged me. “Chief Olaf really does like us.”

  “Lieutenant, are you going to lock us up as promised?” I asked.

  Lieutenant Wolfe sighed. “No, I don’t suppose I will.” She held up a finger. “But here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get both your statements, and when the chief returns, you’re going to come in and tell him the whole thing in person.” She rolled her eyes. “Because that man is not going to believe a word of my report.”

  “No problem,” said Joe. “We can do that.”

  “But don’t worry,” said the lieutenant. “I’ll make sure he reads the newspaper article before you come in. Get him caught up on the local events.”

  “Oh,” Joe said.

  I shook my head. This was not going to be good.

  READ ON

  DON’T MISS THE NEXT HARDY BOYS ADVENTURE!

  HARDY BOYS ADVENTURES #17:

  THE GRAY HUNTER’S REVENGE

  JOE

  THE HOUSE STOOD HIGH ON a hill, surrounded by the skeletons of trees. Dozens of crows perched on the trees’ branches, filling the silence with their harsh squawking. Frank and I stood next to the car, where he’d parked it after driving through the tall, wrought iron gates. Gates that had been kept closed for as long as anyone can remember. Closed and locked, until today.

  As an amateur detective, I’ve been up against some crazy stuff in my time. Ruthless criminals, fiery explosions, and killer sharks to name a few. But Cliffside Manor was a whole new level of terrifying. I mean, sure, it was just a house. But the things that had supposedly happened inside that house, well . . . They were things that would keep even the bravest soul up at night.

  I couldn’t wait to get inside!

  “You ready?” Frank asked, a chilly late-autumn breeze ruffling his dark brown hair.

  I zipped up my coat against the cold and glanced back up at the house. It was constructed out of stone bricks that were almost black with age and sported a chimney on each side—one of them crumbling. Two large bay windows looked out across the estate like unblinking eyes, dark and forbidding. “I was born ready,” I replied with a grin.

  We started to walk toward the house, passing a dozen other parked cars on the way. “Looks like we’re not the only ones coming to the estate sale,” Frank observed.

  I snorted. “Are you kidding me? I’m surprised the entire city isn’t here. Who in their right mind would pass up the chance to go inside the hundred-year-old, superscary, superhaunted house?”

  “Not Joe Hardy,” Frank muttered, smirking.

  “Darn right, not Joe Hardy!” I said. “Not only that; I might get to buy something belonging to one of the greatest horror writers of all time—Nathan Foxwood!”

  Frank’s smile fell. “It’s awful about the car accident,” he said. “I know you really liked his books.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, kicking a rock across the long driveway. “I did.” Not a lot of people knew about Nathan Foxwood anymore, but back in the day, he was one of the most famous authors in the world. A handful of his books had even been made into movies. When I was little, there was always a tattered Nathan Foxwood paperback on my dad’s nightstand—usually with some kind of scary picture on the front and a portrait of the author himself on the back. He was a wolfish looking guy—with dark hair and a short beard and piercing eyes that seemed to bore right into you. Once I found out I was supposedly too young to read them, I promptly “borrowed” one from Dad’s bedroom and hid in the closet to binge-read it with a flashlight. From then on, I was hooked.

  A few years ago the news spread that Mr. Foxwood and his wife were buying the abandoned estate on the outskirts of town—the infamous Cliffside Manor. No one could understand why he’d want to live in such a terrible place—but I could. Nathan Foxwood’s books were always full of the scariest things imaginable, so I figured maybe he was just trying to get some new material firsthand. I had always hoped to run into him in downtown Bayport and get to meet one of my idols, but it never happened.

  And now it was too late.

  Just a couple of months ago, sometime in the middle of the night, Mr. Foxwood came tearing down the hill from the manor in his car, lost control, and careened right off the side of the cliff that bordered the estate. The car burned at the bottom of the ravine for hours before anyone found out.

  Rumors had been swirling ever since that Mr. Foxwood had been working on a new novel since he’d moved into town—a book about Cliffside Manor itself and its dark history. If that were true, it was a shame that he’d never get to finish it. I’d been waiting years for a new Nathan Foxwood novel.

  As Frank and I approached the house, we saw a small group of people milling around near the front entrance. “Is that a reporter?” Frank asked, eyeballing a woman on the edge of the crowd holding a notepad and a camera bag. She was tall with deep brown skin and had twists of black hair cascading down her back.

  “Might be,” I said.

  “Well, try to control yourself this time, will you?”

  I rolled my eyes. I flirt with one reporter who then goes and writes an article slanted against the police, and now I’ll never hear the end of it. Granted, it did cause some problems for us. As we reached the crowd, the wind picked up suddenly, and I watched as the reporter’s notepad went flying out of her hands and landed at my feet.

  I picked up the notepad, threw a backward glance at Frank, and shrugged. “I was totally planning on controlling myself, bro,” I said. “But it looks like the universe has other ideas.” I strolled over to the young woman and handed back the notepad.

  “Thanks,” she said with a wide smile. “Seems like the weather is conspiring to be as creepy as this house.”<
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  “Totally,” I agreed. “Are you here to cover the estate sale?”

  She nodded. “Aisha Best. I’m a reporter with the local newspaper. I’m actually hoping to snag an interview with Heather Foxwood—the writer’s wife. I’ve heard that she’s got quite the story about what went on in there before her husband died. No one’s been able to get a hold of her since the accident, so I’m trying to get an exclusive.” Aisha quirked her head at me. “What brings you here to the sale, mister . . . ?”

  I sneaked a look back at Frank, who was standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, looking less than thrilled. “Umm,” I said, biting my lip. “Oh, I’m just a fan, that’s all. Looking to pick up some memorabilia.”

  Aisha raised an eyebrow, and looked like she was about to ask more questions when the front door of the manor opened. Everyone in the crowd went quiet instantly.

  A wiry guy with a shaved head and copper-colored skin poked his head out of the door, his eyes roving the scene through black-rimmed glasses. He was also wearing a bow tie that seemed to be decorated with other tiny bow ties—which I thought was a little weird, but hey, it’s fashion, who am I to talk? After checking his wristwatch and adjusting said bow tie, he stepped out of the house and opened his arms in welcome.

  “Hello everyone,” he said loudly, “and thank you for coming to the estate sale here at Cliffside Manor. My name is Adam Parker, and I’m the late Mr. Foxwood’s assistant. I’m sure you’re all eager to come in out of the cold, so please step inside the house, and I’ll explain how all this works.”

  Frank and I filed in behind the rest of the crowd as they trooped though the front door. I elbowed Frank in excitement as we climbed up the stone stairs at the entryway. “We’re going in! Hardly anyone has been inside this place in decades!”

  Frank nodded, his eyes flashing with curiosity. “The place is probably like a time capsule. It’s more than a hundred years old, you know. There might be boxes of nineteenth-century newspapers just sitting around in a basement somewhere!”