Trick-or-Trouble Page 9

  “After we accidentally overheard you on the phone,” Frank said, “we decided we should follow you. Someone’s been messing with the Spooktacular, and, after what we heard, we thought it might be you.”

  “We think that someone is trying to rig the contests,” Joe said.

  “We’re trying to put a stop to it,” Callie added.

  “Well, I must say that I admire your determination,” Blasko said. “Though when I thought you were burglars you nearly scared the fangs out of me!” He put his withered hand over his heart. “Now I know how Christopher Lee felt every time Peter Cushing popped up in those old Dracula movies.”

  Frank snapped his fingers. “Cushing was Van Helsing, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s right,” Blasko said. “And Lee was Dracula.”

  The elder Hardy turned to Joe and Callie. “In that clue we have, what if Vlad and Van aren’t references to the characters, but to the actors who played them?”

  “That’s it, Frank!” Callie said.

  “We could do an Internet search and see what we turn up,” Joe added.

  “Well,” Blasko said, showing his red teeth again, “if I’ve helped you in some way, I’m happy to have done so. Sorry about the curtain—and terribly sorry about the plank. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some rest. Tomorrow is the big finish, you know.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Blasko,” Joe said. “Sorry we scared you. We’ll hoist the fire curtain before we go.”

  “I would be much obliged if you did,” Blasko said.

  While Blasko put away the piece of wood, the three friends used the pulley system to haul the heavy curtain back into the rafters. Finally, they bade Blasko good night and walked back to the van.

  “Do you buy his story?” Joe asked.

  “It makes sense,” Frank said, “but he could still be part of the trouble. Money is a powerful motive. We’ll have to stay on our toes.”

  “I think he’s just a nice old man,” Callie said.

  “Who happens to make a living playing vampires,” Joe added.

  Callie shrugged. “Playing the undead beats being one.”

  “Have you guys been listening to the local news?” Callie asked as she walked into the Hardys’ kitchen late the next morning. Joe and Frank sat at the breakfast table, looking worn out from all their treasure hunting.

  Frank shook his head. “We just got up a little while ago,” he said.

  “Our brains aren’t working yet,” Joe added. “Want some eggs, or an English muffin?”

  “A muffin, thanks,” Callie said, taking a seat beside them. “There was a report on WBPT called ‘Local Teens Capture Contest.’ They interviewed Allison, because she’s won so many prizes. She picked up a leather jacket last night.”

  “She’s been on a roll,” Joe said. “No doubt about it.”

  “With a little help from her friends,” Frank added.

  “They also talked about Ren Takei,” Callie continued. “In addition to the handheld computer, he’s won a pager, a skateboard, and Bayport Barons tickets. Even Brent Jackson has won some books from the Book Bank and a free oil change.”

  “At least the oil change will do him some good,” Joe said. “I don’t think he’s cracked a book in his life.”

  “Allison hinted that she’s closing in on some major prizes,” Callie said. “She seemed very sure of herself.”

  “She should be,” Frank replied. “She’s clearly done better than the rest of the kids in school—including us.”

  “We’d be doing better if we weren’t wrapped up in this mystery,” Callie said. “And today’s the last day of the contest.”

  “We may pull out a big win yet,” Joe said.

  “Anyway,” Callie said, pushing back her chair, “I thought you’d want to know.” She finished her muffin and headed toward the door. “I’ve got to help Iola with the float. The parade’s tonight, you know, just before the contest ends.”

  “We’ll drop by and pick you up later,” Frank said. “Joe and I need to do some research first.”

  “And some brainstorming,” Joe added. “Maybe now that we’ve a good night’s rest we can figure out what’s going on in this case.”

  The brothers worked on their computers and exchanged ideas all day long. But when it came time to pick up Callie at the old dock warehouse, they still hadn’t found anything.

  “There must be clues we’re missing,” Frank said to Callie, “both in the contest and in the case.”

  “Then we’ll just keep at it,” Callie said, “until we can make all the puzzle pieces fit.”

  “At least we turned up some things in our research,” Joe said. He turned the van onto Racine Street, and headed for the Book Bank.

  “Like what?” Callie asked.

  “I checked on the actor Dana Andrews,” Frank replied. “Though he was mentioned in the opening, he wasn’t actually in Rocky Horror—but he was in a movie called Curse of the Demon. I found a summary on the Web. In the film, an evil magician tries to summon a demon to kill the Andrews character. But Andrews turns the tables, and the demon kills the sorcerer instead. The final scene of the movie takes place in a train yard.”

  Callie’s eyes lit up. “That explains the ‘ran off track’ part of To burn the runes he ran off track, but demon had him for a snack. It’s a train reference.”

  “I thought so, too,” Frank said. “Though I’m not sure how it ties into the contest.”

  “Hang on,” Joe said. “I just remembered something. When I was checking on Cushing and Lee, I found a lot of Dracula movies—but I also found one called Horror Express. Remember the clue Vlad and Van took the trip, but not in their usual seats? That could mean both actors were in the picture, but not as Vlad and Van Helsing.”

  “And trip and seats could be a reference to traveling by rail,” Callie added.

  “So we have two train references,” Frank said. “But where do they lead us? There aren’t any famous train museums or shops in Bayport.”

  Joe nodded. “And there are too many local train tracks and terminals to just check them all, hoping to find a prize or another clue.”

  Callie sighed. “Maybe there’s another clue in the series that we’re missing.”

  “Let’s pick up our clues at the Book Bank,” Frank said. “With luck, that will give us something more to work with.”

  They stopped in at the bookstore. Kathryn and Daphne were working extra hard. Chet bustled around, helping them out. Iola had stayed at the old warehouse to put the final touches on the float before the parade.

  The brothers and Callie lined up at the register and, when darkness fell, they picked up their clues for the night. The three of them went outside and checked their envelopes.

  “Another Kool Kone certificate,” Joe said, “to file for later.” He smiled and stuffed the prize into his pocket.

  “No wood in this undead camp, just the brainy taste of Naugahyde,” Callie read. “Ick!”

  “That’s as cryptic as the rest,” Joe said.

  “Try this, then,” Frank replied. “Riding chopper failed to get ahead stalking Carl; Would a handgun have helped?”

  “Hey,” Joe said. “I think I know that one. There used to be a show called Kolchak: The Night Stalker. The main character was a reporter named Carl. He once got chased by a headless motorcyclist.”

  “Was he caught?” Callie asked.

  “Nope,” Joe replied. “They failed to get a head.”

  Frank laughed at his brother’s joke. “That explains the first part of the riddle,” he said. “And the second might be a location clue.”

  “Handgun could be Magnum—of Magnum American Motors,” Callie said.

  Frank nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Let’s go,” Joe said. The three of them jogged off toward the cycle shop.

  The chime on the door rang as they let themselves in, but no one came to greet them.

  “That’s funny,” Callie said. “I wonder where Harley and Mr. Magnum are.
”

  “I think I’ve found one of them,” Joe said.

  He pointed to the floor where a pair of black boots protruded from behind the sales counter.

  13 Parade of Death

  Rod Magnum lay prone on the floor behind the long, Formica-topped desk. An antitheft monitor installed under the countertop cast pale light on his still form.

  “Is he dead?” Callie asked as they raced to Magnum’s side.

  The shop owner groaned as Frank knelt down beside him.

  “Just knocked out,” the elder Hardy replied.

  “I’m okay,” Magnum said groggily. “Who hit me?”

  “We don’t know,” Joe said. “We just got here.” He gave Magnum a hand and the store owner slowly climbed to his feet.

  Magnum rubbed his head.

  “You should see a doctor,” Callie said. “Blows to the head can be serious.”

  “No,” Magnum replied. “I’ll be okay. Motorcycle riders are used to getting banged around.” He leaned heavily on the counter and tried to regain his bearings.

  “Was it a robbery?” Joe said. “Is anything missing?”

  Magnum looked around, and his eyes grew wide. “My clues!” he said. “The contest clues I had for tonight are gone!”

  Frank’s keen eyes caught a flash of movement on the monitor under the desk. A hooded figure skulked near the shop’s rear door.

  “There’s someone out back,” Frank said. “Joe, go out front. Maybe we can catch him.”

  “I’ll stay here and help Mr. Magnum,” Callie called after them.

  Frank raced toward the back door as Joe burst through the front. The elder Hardy hit the door at almost full speed, but the lurker must have heard him coming. As Frank exited the rear of the shop, the shadowy figure was already running down the alley.

  Frank nearly tripped over a smoking trash barrel that the intruder had left in his way. He brushed past it, sending cinders dancing into the windy autumn darkness.

  By the time Frank hit the street, the running figure—dressed in jeans and a hooded gray sweat-shirt—was already a block ahead.

  “Did you catch him?” Joe asked, circling around from the front.

  “No,” Frank called. “He’s headed for the parade route!”

  Both brothers sprinted after the suspect. As they neared Racine Street, they started to run into crowds. Onlookers lining up for the parade hindered the culprit—as well as the Hardys.

  Cutting between groups of people, Joe caught up with his older brother. “I have a hunch about who we’re chasing,” Joe said.

  Frank nodded. “Me, too. The only way to know for sure who it is, though, is by catching him.”

  The parade route ran along Main Street, which was parallel to Racine. As the brothers neared Main, the sounds of the parade drifted through the cool air. The crowds thickened, and soon the Hardys found themselves winding through the throng, only a few dozen steps behind the suspect.

  The disguised person glanced back, but shadows hid his face. As soon as he saw the brothers closing on him, he darted out of the crowd and into the street—just as Dracula’s Dragster rumbled past.

  With many hurried apologies, Joe and Frank pushed their way through the crowd, and onto the street.

  The hooded man ran around the dragster, and headed for the crowd on the far side of the street. As he did, Officer Sullivan stepped out and blew his whistle. “Hey you!” he said. “You’re not part of the parade!”

  The culprit turned and ran up the street, into a bevy of youngsters dressed as dancing pumpkins.

  “You take one side, I’ll take the other,” Frank called to Joe. “We’ll trap him between us.”

  The brothers fanned out to either side of the dance troupe, trailing just behind the hooded man. Before they could catch him, though, he broke through the front of the group and dashed into the marching band. He darted left, toward Frank. Just before Frank could grab him, he threw a shoulder block into a nearby drummer. The drummer tripped and crashed into Frank.

  As Frank disentangled himself from the drummer, the hooded man tried for the sidelines again. But another policeman ran forward, joining Officer Sullivan in the chase.

  The hooded man darted left again, with Joe hot on his heels. He climbed on the back of an elaborate Halloween float that was decorated as a haunted forest.

  Joe vaulted up onto the float. The hooded man spun, aiming a kick at Joe’s head. Joe ducked back, nearly falling off the moving vehicle. The fugitive darted between the papier-mâché and chicken-wire trees, and headed for the front of the float.

  The younger Hardy scrambled to his feet just as Frank caught up with the float. Joe ducked around a fake tree and leaped forward, grabbing the hooded man with a shoestring tackle.

  The man fell forward, crashing hard into one of the trees. The culprit grunted. Before he could get up, both Joe and Frank were on him.

  The Hardys grabbed the suspect by either arm and held him down while Officer Sullivan and the other police arrived. Under the hood, the culprit was wearing a Frankenstein mask. “We’ve met before, I think,” Frank said.

  The monster struggled in the brothers’ grip. Joe pulled the mask off. “Just as we thought,” the younger Hardy said, “Brent Jackson.”

  “Why’d you run from Magnum Motors, Brent?” Frank asked.

  “I looked through the window,” Jackson said, “and saw Magnum on the floor. I thought you guys had put him there. I decided I better get the cops.”

  “You’ve got them, all right,” Joe said. He and Frank hauled Jackson to his feet and turned him over to Sullivan and the other police who were converging on the float.

  “What’s going on here?” Sullivan asked.

  “Someone knocked out Rod Magnum in his store,” Joe said, “and we found this guy fleeing the scene.”

  “They’re lying,” Jackson said. “They’re the ones who clubbed Magnum.”

  “Which is why he ran over the marching band,” Frank said sarcastically. “He’s got nothing to hide.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about any trouble at Magnum’s,” Sullivan said, “but I’m inclined to bring all of you in.”

  “We were just trying to stop this guy,” Joe explained. “He’s the one who caused all the trouble.”

  “The kid’s right, Gus,” said a policewoman who had arrived just after Officer Sullivan. “It was Frankenstein here who was causing all the trouble.” The parade had halted around them.

  “You can’t take me in and not take them, too,” Jackson protested.

  “Just watch me, smart guy,” Sullivan said. He and the other officers took Jackson off the float. “And you Hardy boys,” Sullivan added, “don’t go anywhere we can’t find you. Chief Collig may want to talk to you.”

  “Officer Con Riley has our number if you need us,” Frank replied. He and Joe got off the float and headed back the way they’d come. They were now closer to the van than to Magnum Motors, so they picked up the car and headed back to the motorcycle shop.

  The trouble along the parade route had turned the whole downtown area into a clog of bewildered people. The parade was having trouble restarting, and tempers had begun to flare. The police had their hands full trying to keep the disappointed crowds under control.

  “Man,” Joe said, “Jackson really started something ugly.”

  “I’m sure it’ll calm down soon enough,” Frank replied. He guided the van through the back streets and around the end of the parade route, and finally back to a parking space in front of Magnum American Motors.

  “That’s funny,” Joe said as he opened the front door. “I’d have thought the cops would still be here.”

  “How’s Magnum?” Frank asked Callie.

  “Okay,” Callie said. “He wouldn’t let me call the police, though.”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Magnum said.

  “Well,” Joe replied, “you’ve got trouble, whether you want it or not. Brent Jackson disrupted the parade and stirred up the whole town. He�
��s the one we saw running from the back of the shop.”

  “It wasn’t Harley Bettis?” Callie asked. “I was sure it would be him or one of the other Kings.”

  “Why would Bettis slug me?” Magnum asked.

  “He and his friends tend to play by their own rules,” Frank said. “Where is he, by the way?”

  “He took the night off,” Magnum replied.

  “Have you seen any of Bettis’s friends lurking around?” Joe asked. “Do you think they could be involved in this with Jackson?”

  “I told you,” Magnum said, “I didn’t see anyone. You guys were the first to come into the shop since the contest started tonight—not counting whoever hit me.”

  “What about your video surveillance,” Joe asked, looking at the monitor beneath the counter. The black-and-white screen showed views outside the front and back doors, as well as several points within the shop. “It must have caught Jackson—or whoever hit you—on tape.”

  Magnum shook his head, clearly puzzled. “I forgot to put a new cassette in earlier. The old one ran out, and then I got distracted with a customer.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged frustrated glances.

  “You still need to call the police, Mr. Magnum,” Callie said. “They’ll want to know about the theft.”

  “They may already be on their way here,” Frank added. “We mentioned the theft when we caught Jackson.”

  “I’ll talk to the cops,” Magnum replied. “I’m just glad you kids came in when you did. Why did you come in by the way? I’m afraid I’m out of clues.”

  “Actually, we came because of a clue,” Joe said. “Riding choppers failed to get ahead stalking Carl; Would a handgun have helped? So, can you help?”

  Magnum laughed.

  “I was wondering when someone would figure out one of my prizes,” he said. Walking to one of the parts shelves, he took down a box with a new motorcycle helmet in it. “Show me the clue and it’s yours,” he said.

  Joe pulled out the paper and Magnum gave him the box. “Congratulations,” the store owner said, making a note in his contest journal. “It’s a top of the line model. Maybe I should have been wearing it myself.” He rubbed the back of his head gingerly.