The Caribbean Cruise Caper Page 8

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Joe promised.

  Lisa came over to him. “I’ve been thinking,” she began. “It’s really important for you and Frank to find out who’s behind all these dirty tricks. I’d like to help you.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Joe said. He looked around. Frank was all the way at the other end of the beach, talking to Bettina and David. “I’ll—”

  “Here’s my idea,” Lisa continued, interrupting him. “I’ve got all these tapes I’ve been making, you know? Talks I’ve had with people, of course, and also tapes of them talking among themselves. At meals, sitting out on deck, whatever.”

  Joe smiled to himself. Lisa’s microcassette recorder was in her hand, dangling inconspicuously at her side. He was pretty sure it was going. She was taping herself telling him about taping people!

  “Anyway,” Lisa continued, “I bet a talented detective like you would find tons of clues on the tapes. I can’t promise that they’ll lead you to the trickster, but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? I need my recorder, of course, but I also have a tape player in my cabin that has a speaker. I don’t have a roommate. You could listen without anybody bothering you. And if you find anything, I can write about it in my story for Teenway. What do you say?”

  Joe found himself uneasy about listening to conversations that had been taped without people’s knowledge. There was something else that Lisa had apparently overlooked. To listen to twenty hours of conversations, he would have to spend at least twenty hours in her cabin with his ear next to her machine!

  “Thanks for the offer,” Joe said. “I’ll check with Frank and get back to you, okay? After dinner?”

  “Yeah, right,” Lisa said. It was clear she didn’t believe him. Her back was stiff as she turned and walked away.

  • • •

  At four o’clock the motorboat took everyone back to the yacht. Frank went straight to his cabin. After an afternoon on the beach, he needed to rinse off. The mixture of salt, sand, and sunscreen made his skin feel like a dry-rubbed roast.

  After his shower, Frank pulled on a pair of blue volleyball shorts and a Bayport Boosters T-shirt. Someone started pounding on the cabin door. When he opened the door, a white-faced Evan almost fell into the room.

  “Frank, help!” Evan blurted. “Some bad guy’s going to blow up the boat!”

  “Hey, hey,” Frank said. He put his arm around the frightened boy’s shoulders. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it.”

  “I looked for my daddy,” Evan continued. “He’s not in our room. I don’t know where he went. And I had to tell somebody right away. It couldn’t wait!”

  Frank pulled over a chair and said, “Here, sit down. Tell me all about it. Then we’ll go find your dad and tell him.”

  Evan took a deep breath. “You know that walkway along the outside of the room where we eat? I like to sit there and read. Nobody ever comes there, and I can look out at the water.”

  “Sounds nice,” Frank said.

  “When we came back from the beach, I got my book and went out there,” Evan continued. “There’s a door that goes inside, to the hall where the stairs and the telephone are. The door was open. I could hear whenever anybody went through, but they couldn’t see me because I was sitting on the deck.”

  “Okay, I get the picture,” Frank said, nodding. “What then?”

  Evan’s lower lip started to quiver. “I wasn’t paying any attention. I was at an exciting place in my book. Then all of a sudden I heard a man talk about blowing up the boat. I scrunched down and listened hard. I was afraid he’d see me.”

  Frank considered what to do. He did not want to make Evan more nervous than he already was, but the boy had to understand how important this might be.

  “Evan? Do you think you can remember any of the exact words you heard?” Frank asked.

  Evan closed his eyes tight. “Something about sinking the project,” he said. “ ‘I’ll send it to the bottom.’ And something about making a bomb, too.”

  “ ‘Making a bomb’?” Frank repeated. “Could he have said making it bomb?”

  “That’s it!” Evan said, opening his eyes. “I knew it didn’t sound right. What does that mean?”

  “It may mean you heard the person who’s been playing all these dirty tricks,” Frank told him. “Now think carefully, Evan. Whose voice was it?”

  “I don’t know!” Evan wailed. “It wasn’t anybody I know, I’m sure of that. I wish I’d peeked, but I was too scared.”

  “You did just right, Evan,” Frank assured him. “Come on, let’s go find your dad.”

  David was in his favorite private spot, on the sundeck atop the bridge. Joe was with him. Frank quickly filled them in on Evan’s discovery. David took Evan off for a comforting talk.

  “If Evan didn’t know the voice, the guy we’re after must be one of the crew!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Unless he was disguising his voice,” Frank pointed out. “But why would he do that?” He countered his argument immediately. “He had no idea someone was overhearing him. I think we’d better hunt up Captain Mathieson.”

  The captain was in his office. The room looked different without a strangled dummy sprawled on the deck. When Frank explained what they wanted, Mathieson shook his head firmly.

  “I know every member of the crew well,” he said. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Do you know if any of them might have money problems?” Joe asked. “Someone might have bribed one of them.”

  “This whole region is devoted to the luxury trade,” the captain said with a frosty smile. “Anybody who’s trying to live around here on an ordinary salary has money problems. That doesn’t mean we would agree to anything that might harm our passengers.”

  Frank scratched his head. “So all the crew have worked for you for a long time?” he asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” Mathieson replied. “I said I know them well. In fact, there’s one member of the crew who has never sailed with me before. But I’ve known him for years. He agreed to work this charter as a favor to me. One of my usual crew fell ill at the last moment. You probably met him. He was helping the chef at the picnic today—Chuck Arneson.”

  “What does Chuck do when he’s not working for you?” Joe asked with mounting excitement.

  “Why . . . he usually crews on a smaller private boat that’s based at St. Hilda. A gorgeous fifty-foot sloop, the Stet. I don’t know where the name comes from.”

  “I do,” Frank said grimly. A few more pieces of the puzzle had just fallen into place. “It’s a term used by proofreaders. It means roughly, ‘Leave it the way it is.’ Who is the owner?”

  “A retired magazine publisher,” the captain said. “Fellow named Mares.”

  The Hardys went in search of Chuck. “Mares—he’s the guy who snubbed Bettina at the yacht club,” Joe said. “I told you about that.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “So Chuck’s boss has a major grudge against Bettina and Teenway. It fits.”

  They went out on the afterdeck. The whole group was there, including David and Evan. Chuck was standing behind a table to one side, mixing fruit drinks. He saw them coming and noticed their grim expressions. His shoulders hunched.

  “Some juice?” he asked, picking up a pitcher.

  “No, thanks,” Frank said. “Tell me, Chuck—the captain tells me this is a temporary job for you. You usually work for Walter Mares, who used to own Teenway. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  Chuck’s knuckles whitened. “What of it?” he growled.

  “Your phone call this afternoon,” Joe said. “Somebody overheard you bragging about the dirty tricks you’ve been doing.”

  Chuck’s eyes blazed. He didn’t waste time on denials. He raised the pitcher of papaya juice and flung the contents in Joe’s face. Then he threw the pitcher itself at Frank. It struck him in the chest, crashed to the deck, and shattered.

  Joe and Frank recoiled from the sudden attack. Chuck spun on one
foot, took two running steps, and dived over the rail into the sea.

  12 The Timetable’s Tale

  * * *

  Everyone on the deck started yelling. Frank ran to the rail. Chuck was already twenty yards from the yacht and moving fast. He looked as if he was a strong swimmer. He would have no trouble making the beach.

  Frank tore off his shirt and started to climb over the rail. Captain Mathieson appeared, drawn by the uproar, and grabbed his arm. “What’s all this?” he demanded. “What are you doing?”

  “Going after Chuck,” Frank said, pointing to the dot in the water that was Chuck’s head.

  “I can’t allow you to swim to shore from here,” the captain declared. “You’re my passenger. It’s too risky.”

  “Then radio the cops,” Joe said urgently, wiping the juice off his face. “Tell them to pick up Chuck.”

  The captain released Frank and spread his hands. “The nearest police station is two islands away,” he said. “By the time we could get an officer here, a skilled sailor like Chuck would have found a boat and been long gone. In any case, what is it you’re accusing him of?”

  “He was the trickster,” Frank said.

  “Frank!” Joe shouted. “The motorboat!”

  The yacht’s motorboat was still tied up farther forward. Joe and Frank sprinted toward it and jumped down into the cockpit. While Joe went to the bow to handle the line, Frank took the wheel and reached for the starter button.

  There wasn’t one. Instead of a button, he found an ignition lock like one in a car—and no key.

  “Hey!” someone shouted from the deck of the yacht. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Frank looked up. A crew member was staring down angrily at him.

  “We need the ignition key,” Frank said. “Quick, where is it?”

  The crew member gave them a nasty grin. “If it isn’t there,” he said, “maybe Chuck has it in his pocket. He was the last to use the boat.”

  “There has to be a spare somewhere,” Joe said.

  Frank gave a frustrated sigh. “Sure,” he replied with a hint of bitterness. “But by the time one of the crew decides to cooperate and finds it for us, Chuck will be miles away.”

  David and Bettina came hurrying forward.

  “Joe, Frank,” Bettina called. “Please wait. Come back. We have to talk.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re not going anywhere,” Joe said, scowling. “We can’t.”

  Frank and Joe clambered up the rope ladder to the deck of the yacht.

  “Let’s go to my cabin,” Bettina said, glancing over her shoulder at the little crowd of curious contestants and crew members.

  One corner of the owner’s cabin was furnished with a sofa and two club chairs. The Hardys took the sofa.

  “You boys have done a remarkable job,” Bettina began. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Frank said. “But while we’re sitting here shooting the breeze, the guilty party is getting away.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Bettina said. “Is what David told me correct? One of the crew is actually employed by Walter Mares? And he is the one who has been sabotaging our cruise?”

  “That’s right,” Joe said. “His name’s Chuck Arneson, and right about now he’s landing on the beach where we were this afternoon and getting ready for the next stage of his escape.”

  “Let him go,” Bettina said.

  “Let him go?” Frank repeated incredulously. “Just like that?”

  Bettina gave a decisive nod. “Just like that. For one thing, I still have a lot of respect and fondness for Walter. I don’t want to drag him through the muck. For another, a public scandal of this sort would not do me or the shareholders of Teenway any good.”

  “And suppose you guys caught up with Chuck? What then?” David added. “Okay, we all know he’s guilty. The way he ran shows that. But what about proof that would stand up in a courtroom? And what was it he did, anyway? Some tasteless pranks. The police would listen with polite faces and laugh at us behind their hands.”

  “Making people sick by putting a drug in their food is more serious than a prank,” Joe pointed out. “It was bad enough for you to talk about canceling the contest and sending us home.”

  “You’re quite right, Joe,” Bettina said. “That was a very nasty thing to do. But as you and Frank said at the time, the amount of emetic Chuck put in the fruit came to much less than even an ordinary dose per person. Nasty, yes, but not actually dangerous. I was so concerned out of a fear that his next move would hurt someone. Fortunately, your detective skills kept that from happening.”

  “So call off the dogs and throw them a bone,” Frank muttered resentfully.

  “Frank, listen,” David said. “I understand that the case feels incomplete to you. I share your sense of frustration. But there’s nothing more to be done here. You and Joe should be satisfied with the fine work you’ve done. You unmasked Chuck and brought his campaign of dirty tricks to an end. Now we can put all that behind us and get on with the contest and the cruise.”

  “Fine,” Joe said. “But how about we go ashore and try to catch Chuck? Even if the law can’t touch him, we could at least get a confession from him. With that in our hands, we’d be sure that this Mares guy won’t try anything else.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bettina said stiffly. It was obvious that she wasn’t accustomed to having people argue with her decisions. “We’re on a tight timetable. There’s nothing to be gained from pursuing this any further.”

  “Okay, we get the message,” Frank said, getting to his feet. Joe stood also. “You’re the boss.”

  Bettina stood up. “Thanks for being so understanding,” she said. “Unless you object, I’d like to ask Arnie to prepare something special this evening as a sort of celebration.”

  “Sure, why not?” Frank said.

  “As long as it isn’t an ipecac sundae,” Joe added, without cracking a smile.

  As they left Bettina’s cabin, Frank muttered, “We’re not through yet.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Joe replied.

  The Hardys found Captain Mathieson in his office once again. Frank asked him for permission to search Chuck’s locker. The captain clearly did not like the idea, but he agreed.

  The crew quarters were in the bow, on the same deck as the passenger cabins. A locked door separated the two areas. Chuck had bunked in a two-person cabin on the port side. As the newcomer, he had been assigned the upper bunk.

  Joe did a rapid search of the bunk. He looked under the thin mattress and felt along the edges. All he turned up was a cassette. Apparently Chuck liked reggae.

  Meanwhile, Frank looked through the locker. He was careful not to disturb anything. This was still Chuck’s personal property, after all.

  “Nothing,” he reported. “A couple of changes of clothes, a portable tape player, half a dozen cassettes, and a book called Global Positioning System for Sailors.”

  “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at that,” Joe remarked. “So—no coded messages? No copies of the secret plans?”

  “Nothing,” Frank repeated. “Zip.”

  Joe and Frank returned to the afterdeck. Everyone crowded around them, asking how they had solved the case.

  “The credit really belongs to Evan,” Frank declared. He explained how Evan had overheard Chuck’s phone call and how they then found out Chuck’s background from the captain.

  “Who was Chuck talking to on the phone?” Cesar asked.

  “Good question,” Joe replied. “Offhand, I’d guess some friend who was in on his plans. We’ll be able to pin it down better from the ship-to-shore telephone records.”

  “Have you searched Chuck’s belongings?” asked Sylvie. “Maybe he left some clues behind.”

  “We can’t comment on that,” Frank answered.

  “Has anyone put out an alarm on Chuck?” Boris wondered. “Will he be arrested?”

  “No decision has been reached on that,” Frank said, ment
ally crossing his fingers.

  “How does it feel to break a case so fast?” Lisa asked.

  “Great,” Joe replied. “But we had luck on our side. Luck, and a very alert kid named Evan.”

  While Frank continued to answer questions about the mystery, Joe went to their cabin to wash his face. When he returned, he caught Frank’s eye and made a gesture with his head.

  Frank joined him at the rail. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “That call to the pizzeria was just before three-thirty, right?” Joe said in a low voice. “Look at this.”

  Frank looked. Joe was holding the receipt for the ipecac syrup. Next to the date was a time: 3:26 P.M.

  “There is no way Chuck could have bought the ipecac in town at three twenty-six and been back on board in time to order those pizzas at three-thirty,” Joe pointed out. “He must have been working with someone else . . . someone in the group who went ashore.”

  “Someone in our group, in other words,” Frank said. He tried to think. Had he noticed any of the others speaking to Chuck? He had to admit that, until an hour ago, he had barely noticed Chuck at all. The members of the crew became a little like the furniture, always there but not really seen.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Joe said.

  “Let’s hear it,” Frank said.

  “What if we set a trap?” Joe suggested. “Chuck’s accomplice, whoever it is, won’t be expecting that. We’ve all been talking as if Chuck was the one and only bad guy and the case is closed.”

  “Hmm, yes,” Frank said. “Here’s what we can do . . .”

  A few minutes later the Hardys moved closer to the group around the snack table.

  “We’d better lock all that stuff in the captain’s safe,” Joe declared. “It’s important evidence.”

  “That’s a total waste of time,” Frank retorted. “Chuck split. Who’s going to walk into our room and take that file? Besides, I want to spend some time on it tonight after dinner. There may be more to this case than we’ve realized.”