The Caribbean Cruise Caper

by Franklin W. Dixon

  For a moment Joe had the feeling that Boris was about to throw a punch at Frank, but then thought better of it. A good thing for him, thought Joe. Boris might have spent a lot of time in the weight room, but Joe could tell by the way he moved that he didn’t have Frank’s martial arts skills. If attacked, Frank would have decked him.

  “We’re running late,” David said after glancing at his wrist. “We’d better put this off until later. Personally, I think one of the taxi drivers probably made a mistake. But if any of you was responsible for this stunt, I hope you’ll have the guts to admit it to me privately. It won’t affect your chances in the contest if you do. That’s a promise. If I find out that one of you did it, that’ll be another matter.”

  Joe met Frank’s eyes and saw that he was thinking the same thing. David’s threat was pretty empty. Unless one of the group suddenly recalled some crucial fact, the guilty party—if there was one—was not likely to be unmasked.

  Everyone crowded into the dusty van for the short ride to the yacht club. The clubhouse was a white wooden building with a shady veranda around all four sides. White wicker tables and chairs were scattered across the lush green lawn.

  The yacht club faced a sparkling blue bay, crowded with luxurious boats. As he climbed out of the van, Joe fell in love with a sleek fifty-foot sloop. It looked ready to sail around the world. He decided to sign on as a deckhand . . . once he had talked his dad into giving him permission.

  Frank nudged him. “Ground control to Major Joe,” he said. “Come in, please.”

  Joe indicated the sloop. “What do you say we swap Sleuth for something along those lines?” Sleuth was the name of the Hardys’ little outboard runabout.

  “Great idea,” Frank said with a grin. “We could probably swing it if we threw in three or four hundred thousand bucks on the side.”

  Cesar joined them. “Can you believe this place?” he said. “There must be millions and millions of dollars’ worth of boats out there . . . and this is just one island. Talk about loaded!”

  “Successful people are always the targets of envy and jealousy,” Elizabeth remarked from a few feet away. She did not look at anyone as she said it, but Joe saw the color rise in Cesar’s cheeks. Cesar pressed his lips together as if holding back a retort.

  A taxi pulled up next to the van. The woman who got out looked as if she had stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine’s resort issue. She went over to David and pushed her designer sunglasses up on her forehead.

  “I was so determined to be here to greet you,” she said. “Am I hopelessly late? Have you been waiting for me forever?”

  David shook his head. “We just arrived,” he said. “Gang, I’d like you to meet our hostess on this voyage, the editor of Teenway, Bettina Dunn.”

  He went around the circle, introducing everyone. Bettina had been very well briefed. She seemed to recognize each person and know a little something personal about him or her.

  When David came to Joe and said his name, Bettina smiled. “Ah yes—one of the celebrated Hardy brothers. I’ve met your father. I can see the resemblance. He must be very proud of you. And, of course, this is your brother and partner, Frank.”

  Joe could not help feeling a warm glow.

  When the introductions were finished, Bettina said, “We’ll have a more formal welcome after we board the Colombe d’Or. For now, I’ll just say how pleased all of us at Teenway are that you could take part in this thrilling and challenging—and rewarding—contest.”

  Everybody clapped.

  One of the staff started piling the group’s luggage on a wheelbarrow. David kept a tight grip on his computer case.

  Bettina led the way into the yacht club. Just inside the door, Joe noticed her stop to say hello to a white-haired man in white slacks and a blue blazer. The man turned away, pretending not to hear her. Bettina reddened and kept walking.

  David was a couple of steps ahead. Joe caught up to him. In a low voice, he asked, “You see the elderly man in the blazer? Do you know who he is?”

  David raised an eyebrow. “You caught that little exchange, did you? That is Walter Mares. He founded Teenway. A few years ago he was forced into retirement after a corporate takeover.”

  “And Bettina?” Joe asked. “What was her part in the story?”

  “She was his discovery,” David explained. “His crown princess, I guess you’d say. But when he was kicked out, she stayed on and rose to the top. He took it pretty hard. I doubt if they’ve spoken to each other since. I hear he’s retired now and living down here full-time.”

  “Are you going to put them in one of your plays?” Joe asked as they stepped onto the veranda and Frank joined them.

  David laughed. “I wish I could!”

  Frank gave Joe a questioning look. “I’ll fill you in later,” Joe said.

  Evan came running up. “Daddy? Which one is our boat?”

  Good question, thought Joe. At least three dozen big motor cruisers and ocean sailers were berthed in the yacht club marina, gleaming in the tropical sunlight.

  “That one, son,” David said. He pointed toward the end of the finger pier. “The one with the blue smokestack. That’s the Colombe d’Or.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. The yacht David indicated dwarfed all the others in the harbor. It was easily half the length of a football field, with two full decks above the water line.

  Frank gave a soft whistle.

  “Quite an impressive barge, isn’t she,” David said with a grin. “Some Greek shipping tycoon had her built back in the fifties for his French girlfriend. Then they broke up. After lots of ups and downs, the Colombe ended up here in the Caribbean as a charter craft.”

  Some of the others stopped to listen to David. When he finished, Sylvie said, “I have heard something else about this boat. I have heard that it is under a curse. Terrible things happen to people who sail on it.”

  3 Along Came a Spider

  * * *

  Sylvie’s startling statement was followed by a moment of silence. Then several people spoke at once.

  “A curse?” Jason said. “Cool! Are there ghosts, too?”

  “What nonsense!” Elizabeth said. Frank thought she sounded a little uneasy.

  “Where did you hear this, Sylvie?” asked David.

  “It is true, isn’t it?” she demanded. “The Greek millionaire who built it disappeared overboard one night. His body was never found. Others, too, have died mysterious deaths.”

  David raised both hands like a symphony conductor. “Now hold on,” he said. “It’s true that the boat’s first owner vanished at sea. He’d been having some serious money problems. A lot of people thought he must have jumped overboard.”

  “What about the other deaths?” Lisa asked. Frank saw that she was holding her tape recorder at waist level, where it wasn’t so obvious.

  David rolled his eyes. “People don’t always die in hospitals,” he said. “Sometimes they die in houses or apartments or hotels or airplanes . . . or aboard yachts. That doesn’t mean there’s anything sinister or mysterious about their deaths. Sylvie, where did you get all this curse nonsense?”

  Sylvie looked away. “There was a magazine article,” she muttered.

  “Huh!” David exclaimed. “If it’s the same one I’m thinking of, it appeared about four years ago, in a supermarket tabloid. How did you stumble across it?”

  Frank had to listen hard to hear her reply. “It came by mail last week. A photocopy. There was no name or message.”

  “Did you notice the postmark?” Frank asked.

  Sylvie shook her head. “No, but I’m pretty sure the stamps were U.S., not Canadian.”

  “Anybody else get a copy of this article?” asked Joe, glancing around the circle of listeners. No one responded.

  “Some friend who knew you were going on this cruise must have sent it to you,” Jason said.

  “Some friend,” Frank murmured to Joe. “With friends like that, who needs an enemy?”

  �
��Okay, listen, people,” David said. “We’re going to have a great time and solve some great puzzles. And if any ghosts or curses try to stop us, they are going to be in major trouble. Right?”

  “Right!” the group responded. Boris pumped his fist in the air and cheered.

  “Then let’s go on board,” David concluded. “Find your cabins and settle in. We’ll assemble on the afterdeck in half an hour for the official welcome and kickoff.”

  As they walked out along the pier, Joe leaned close to Frank. “I hope no one takes the word kickoff too seriously,” he said.

  • • •

  The guest cabins were one level down from the main deck, along either side of a central corridor. Frank and Joe carried their packs down and studied the name tags on the doors.

  Their cabin was partway along the corridor on the port side. David and Evan were on one side of them, and Elizabeth and Sylvie on the other. The cabins on the starboard side were assigned to Cesar and Jason, Boris and Kenneth, and Lisa, who somehow rated a single. Apparently Bettina was elsewhere on the boat, probably in the owner’s cabin.

  Once inside, Frank pushed the polished wooden door closed and dropped his bag on one of the two bunk beds. Joe wandered over to gaze out one of the two round portholes.

  Frank examined the room. In one corner was a closet—in the other a bathroom, complete with a shower that was not much larger than the closet. Instead of dressers, there were latched drawers fitted under each of the beds. A table and two chairs completed the furnishings. Everything was solid and comfortable, but the decor didn’t have the showiness he would have expected on a fancy yacht.

  As they unpacked and stowed their clothes in the drawers, Frank and Joe talked over the day so far. Frank was curious about the encounter between Bettina and her old boss. Joe was more interested in the article about the curse on the boat. Who had sent it to Sylvie, and why? If someone had sent it. She could have invented that part of her story. Maybe she had found the article herself by searching a database. But if so, why would she want to hide it from the others?

  Frank glanced at his watch. “We’re due upstairs. Oops—I mean, on deck.”

  Bettina was already on the aft deck chatting with Elizabeth and Lisa. The Teenway editor had changed into bell-bottom jeans washed almost white, a striped fisherman’s jersey, and boating shoes. Near her was a table loaded with platters of snacks and ice buckets of soft drinks. A big chocolate cake formed the centerpiece.

  As the others arrived, they hovered awkwardly around the refreshment table. Frank grinned to see Evan sneak a cookie. No one else had the nerve to take something first.

  Finally Bettina said, “Are we all here? Wonderful! You are a very special group, you know. You have been selected as the finest, most talented teen detectives in the country. Sherlock Holmes and Sam Spade should be happy they don’t have to compete with you!”

  Frank found it hard to keep a straight face. From the expressions of the listeners, most of them had no idea who the fictional detective Sam Spade was.

  “Over the next few days,” Bettina continued, “as we get to know these beautiful islands and one another, you’ll have a chance to use your talents. I know you will find it a challenge, and I hope you will find it fun as well. So, on behalf of Teenway magazine, I should like to welcome all of you and wish you bon voyage and the best of luck in the contest.”

  As the group clapped, Bettina moved over to the table and picked up a cake knife. “Now,” she said. “Who would like to be the first—”

  She let out a scream and jumped back. The cake knife clattered to the deck.

  Frank was the first to reach her side. “What is it?” he demanded. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Bettina pointed at the cake. Frowning, Frank moved closer.

  Trapped in the chocolate frosting were four black spiders.

  Gingerly, Frank picked one out. It was plastic.

  “May I see that?” David asked. Frank handed it to him. David took one look and growled, “Evan! Front and center, on the double!”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Evan wailed.

  “Is this yours?” his father asked.

  “Maybe. It looks like one of mine,” the boy admitted. “But I didn’t put it on the cake. Honest.”

  “Did you touch the cake?” David asked.

  “Well . . .” Evan licked a corner of his mouth. Frank grinned to himself. A small smudge of chocolate still showed on the boy’s cheek. “I tried a little of the frosting. Just to make sure it was okay. But I did it where it wouldn’t show. And I never put spiders on the cake. That’s not funny.”

  “I agree,” Bettina said. “It’s not funny at all. Who played this unfunny joke?”

  In the silence that followed, Frank heard seabirds calling and feet shuffling uneasily on the deck. Somewhere on the island, a car horn tooted.

  After a long moment David said, “I believe Evan. And I want to say that to pull a stunt like this is pretty childish. But to let it be pinned on a kid—that’s really low.”

  Bettina took a deep breath. She said, “Well—we shouldn’t let some twisted soul with bad taste in jokes spoil our welcoming celebration. Who would like a piece of cake . . . with or without spiders?”

  Everybody laughed, more from relief than because it was funny. David picked up the cake knife, carefully wiped it, and handed it to Bettina. She began passing out slices.

  Frank didn’t feel like cake. He took a plate and piled on some veggies and dip, two bite-size sandwiches, and a few cold shrimp. He paused, then added a small wedge of creamy cheese.

  He was pouring a cup of soda when he noticed a man with bushy sideburns and a deep tan move down from the upper deck. The newcomer was wearing white shorts, a white short-sleeved shirt with epaulets, and a blue baseball cap. He approached Bettina and murmured a few words to her.

  She nodded. Then she took his arm and said, “Everyone—this is our captain, Bruce Mathieson. He tells me we’ll be sailing in a few minutes. That won’t break up the party, though. In fact, it gives us an additional reason to celebrate.”

  Mathieson returned to the upper deck. A young crew member in cutoff jeans and a Key West T-shirt came aft and took up a position near the stern mooring line. While waiting for the signal to cast off, he gazed around at the little gathering. His eyes met Frank’s. Frank nodded and smiled. The crew member did not smile back or even seem to notice.

  Frank had the odd impression that the guy lived in another world that just happened to run side by side with the one the Teenway contestants inhabited. An invisible barrier separated the two worlds. Or maybe it was just that the crew had orders not to fraternize with the passengers.

  The ship’s horn let out a mournful bellow. The deck began to vibrate as the huge diesel engines came to life. The crewman untied the mooring line, then looped it twice around the bollard and gripped the loose end.

  The note of the engines mounted the scale. As the vibration spread and intensified, the crewman nodded to someone on the pier below. A moment later he reeled in the looped end of the mooring line. It left a sparkle of water drops on the deck.

  Bettina and David left to join the captain on the bridge. David took Evan with him. Everyone else gathered by the stern rail to watch the pier and the island recede. The Colombe d’Or was under way.

  As the boat left the sheltering arms of the bay and met the waves of the open sea, the deck began to move gently up and down and side to side. Sylvie clutched the rail and gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Ooo, this is fun . . . I think. Does the floor move like this always?”

  “Oh, sure, always,” Lisa said, giving Frank a wink. “Usually it’s a lot worse than this. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get used to it after a few days.”

  “We’re going to be on the boat for only a few days,” Kenneth pointed out.

  Lisa shrugged. “After that we can get used to being on land again.”

  As the laughter died down, Frank heard Elizabeth say, “I saw you hanging around
the cake.” He glanced over quickly. She was speaking to Cesar.

  Joe had also overheard. “Is that right, Cesar?” he asked.

  Cesar glared at Joe, then at Elizabeth. “None of your business,” he said.

  “That’s original,” Elizabeth said. “And it is our business. Stupid stunts like those spiders could ruin the trip for everybody.”

  “Okay, okay,” Cesar said loudly. “Yeah, I was hanging out near the cake. I’ve got a thing for chocolate, all right? I was tempted to try the frosting. But I didn’t do it. And I didn’t put those dopy spiders on the cake.”

  “Did you notice the spiders?” Frank asked.

  Cesar shook his head. “Nope. But maybe I wouldn’t have. I’m a little farsighted.”

  “You would have noticed somebody leaning over the cake and pressing the spiders into it, wouldn’t you?” Jason asked. “And you didn’t, did you?”

  “What’s your point?” Cesar demanded.

  “My point is, none of us could have put the spiders on the cake,” Jason said. “The only time any of us was close enough to do it, we were all standing around looking at the refreshment table. Even a magician couldn’t have sneaked those spiders past us and onto the cake.”

  Boris shouldered his way into the little circle and said, “They got there, though.”

  “Exactly,” Jason said triumphantly. “Which means the solution is obvious. One of the crew put them there.”

  “Oh, brilliant,” Boris said sarcastically. “You mean, ‘The butler did it.’ You’ve been watching too many old movies—bad old movies.”

  Jason reddened. “I suppose you’ve got a better solution, wise guy?”

  Boris snorted loudly. “You don’t have to be a cow to know when the milk tastes sour,” he replied.

  “Funny you should mention cows,” Jason said. “After the way you horned in on this conversation.”

  Boris gave him a mocking smile. “At least I’m not trying to give everyone a bum steer,” he said. “I guess that’s because I don’t come from Cowtown.”

  Frank admired Boris’s ready wit. How had he managed to recollect that Jason’s home was Fort Worth, Texas, popularly known as Cowtown?