“It’s poison, I tell you!” Elizabeth wailed, clutching her middle.
Joe was on her left. He took her arm and said in a soothing voice, “Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. We’ll take care of it.”
Elizabeth blinked a few times. She looked at Joe as if she had never seen him before. Then she turned to Bettina. “Please excuse me,” she said. “I think I need to rest.”
“Do that, dear,” Bettina replied.
“You want me to come with you?” Joe asked.
Elizabeth straightened up and returned her nose to its usual airborne position. “Certainly not!” she said. “I am quite in control of myself . . . unlike some people I could name.”
She left, taking the door that led upstairs.
“Did you notice something?” Frank murmured to Joe. “For all her talk about poison, she didn’t leave in much of a hurry. I don’t think she was actually nauseated.”
“Daddy?” Evan said, tugging at David’s shirt. “I don’t feel so good. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Okay, take it easy, son,” David said. “You’ll be all right. Take deep breaths.” He hurried the boy out of the salon. Just then Boris came back in, his face white and drawn.
“Oof!” he said, dropping onto his chair. “Whatever I ate, I hope never to eat it again!”
Arnie was still standing by the buffet, horrified. “Ms. Dunn,” he said. “There was nothing wrong with the food, I swear it. All the ingredients were bought fresh this afternoon, from the most reliable sources.”
“No one’s accusing you or your food,” Bettina said.
This diplomatic lie seemed to serve its purpose. Arnie calmed down.
Joe studied the table. It was just as he thought. “Frank,” he said in an undertone. “Everybody who got sick ate dessert. And nobody who skipped dessert got sick.”
Frank, too, scanned the table. “You’re right,” he replied. Aloud, he said, “Arnie? Would you mind if we take a closer look at the fruit compote?”
Arnie’s hysteria started to mount again. “There is nothing wrong with it!” he declared.
“Then it doesn’t matter if we check it out,” Joe said. “If we want to waste our time, so what?”
Bettina caught Arnie’s eye and nodded. He gave the Hardys an irate look, but he stepped aside.
Joe leaned over the bowl and sniffed deeply. Then he moved back to give Frank room. Frank, too, sniffed the dessert.
“There’s something,” Frank said.
“Sort of like cough syrup?” Joe replied. “That’s what I thought.”
Arnie was listening. “This dish is perfectly fine,” he said. “I had a portion myself. It was delicious.”
“Smell,” Joe suggested.
Arnie looked at him suspiciously before lowering his head over the bowl. When he raised it, his expression had changed to one of fury.
“Okay, what clown messed with my coupe royale des fruits tropicales?” he shouted, glaring around the table. “Come on, admit it!”
There was an awkward silence. During it, Jason and Lisa came back inside, both pale. Joe hid a smile. Even attacked by nausea, Lisa had kept her miniature tape recorder in her hand.
“Arnie—when did you last taste the fruit cup?” asked Frank.
“Why . . . this afternoon, not long after I made it,” the chef told him. “I remember I had just rinsed my bowl when those pizzas arrived.”
“And there was nothing wrong with it then?” Frank pursued.
“Nothing!” Arnie declared.
“What then?” Joe asked.
“Then I put it in the galley fridge to chill,” Arnie said. “I took it out a little while ago to top it with the sorbets.”
“But you didn’t try it then?” Cesar asked.
Arnie shook his head. “No. If I had, I would have known something was wrong. I certainly wouldn’t have served it. I would have fed it to the fishes.”
“I have the feeling anybody can go into the fridge,” Frank said. “Right?”
“Sure,” Arnie replied. “We keep a shelf loaded with juices, bottled waters, and sodas just for the passengers.”
“So if somebody wanted to put something in the fruit, it wouldn’t have been hard to do without getting caught,” Joe said.
“I guess not,” Arnie admitted. “Put that way, we come out sounding pretty careless. Maybe we should change the way we do things. But we’re not used to having poisoners as passengers.”
“Look, everybody!” Boris shouted from the doorway. “I found it!”
He rushed into the room. In his right hand, held high, was a small brown bottle.
“What did you find?” Bettina demanded.
“And where?” Jason added.
Boris handed the bottle to Joe. As soon as Joe saw the label, he understood. “It’s ipecacuanha—syrup of ipecac,” he said to Frank. “Remember? From that first-aid course?”
Frank snapped his fingers. “I should have guessed!” To the others, he said, “Syrup of ipecac is a powerful emetic. In other words, it makes you throw up. It’s used when somebody’s swallowed a noncaustic poison and you need to get it out of their system fast.”
“You mean somebody put a powerful medication in our food?” Sylvie said. “How could they dare? What if one of us died from it? That would be murder!”
Joe studied the label. “The usual adult dose is a tablespoonful,” he reported. “And this whole bottle holds only two tablespoonfuls. Spread across a dozen portions of fruit, there wasn’t much chance that anybody would even come close to a normal dose. It must have worked so well because people were already feeling queasy from the rough seas.”
“Boris, good job finding this,” Frank said. “Where was it?”
Boris beamed. “There is a wastebasket in the rest room next to the galley,” he explained. “I found it under some paper towels.”
“What made you look there?” Lisa asked.
“I was sure something had been put in the food,” Boris replied. “I didn’t think the trickster would risk leaving evidence in the galley. But I didn’t think whoever it was would want to carry it very far either. So I looked near the galley, and there it was.”
“That was very bright,” Sylvie burbled.
“And very convenient,” Jason said sourly. “It’s almost as if you knew where to look.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Boris demanded, clenching his fists, his biceps bulging.
“Oh, nothing,” Jason said. “So you spotted it in the wastebasket and you just reached in and picked it up. Didn’t you ever hear of fingerprints?”
“Sure I have, wiseguy,” Boris retorted. He gave Jason a narrow-eyed stare. “Everybody has. Including whoever put that stuff in the dessert. I figured he must have taken precautions.”
“And in case he didn’t,” Jason pursued, “you made sure that your fingerprints were all over the bottle. Not to mention Joe’s and Frank’s.”
Boris gave a low growl and started around the table toward Jason.
Joe quickly blocked his way. “Take it easy,” he said. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“He’d better not let me get to him,” Boris threatened. “When I’m done with him, he’ll look like a pretzel!”
Bettina rapped her spoon against the table. “Stop it right now, all of you,” she commanded. “I want no more taunts. Joe, Frank—you were starting to ask some very good questions. Please go on.”
“Well . . .” Frank said. “There’s one obvious question. Why did Boris find that bottle?”
Boris let out another growl. Frank held up a hand and said, “No, wait. What I’m getting at is this. There are thousands of square miles of open sea around us. If I wanted to get rid of something, I’d toss it over the side. Poof—gone forever. Why throw it in a wastebasket, where somebody might—where somebody did—find it?”
Cesar spoke up. “Simple as A-B-C. Because you want it to be found.”
“And for a simple, twisted reason,” Sylvie said. Her voice trembl
ed with emotion. “This person wants us to know he is playing tricks on us. He wants us to believe he will play more and worse tricks. He wants to shake us up so we will not do so well in the contest.”
For the last twenty minutes, Kenneth had been prowling the room, snapping candid shots of everyone. Now, to Joe’s surprise, he spoke. “You’re saying it’s one of the other contestants?”
For a moment Sylvie looked confused. “I’m not accusing anyone,” she insisted. “I don’t know who’s in back of this. But whoever it is, I think he gets a kick out of seeing us puzzled and upset. And I think that is really nasty!”
“I thoroughly agree, Sylvie,” Bettina said. “Ordering those pizzas I can excuse as a juvenile prank. But jeopardizing people’s health, even slightly, is another matter. You are all the guests of Teenway. If anything happens to you, the good name of Teenway is in danger. I won’t have that. If these tricks do not stop at once, I shall have to think very seriously about canceling the contest and sending you all home early.”
A shocked silence followed this declaration. Bettina looked around the table at each of the teens. Then she walked out of the room.
After that no one was in the mood to socialize. One by one, the contest finalists mumbled good night and drifted away. The Hardys were left with Lisa, Kenneth, and Arnie.
Arnie picked up the big glass bowl. “That compote was primo,” he said regretfully. He started toward the door to the galley. “Why couldn’t he have put that gunk in something like clam dip instead?”
Arnie left. “Let’s go outside,” Lisa said. “Maybe there’s a moon.”
The four went to the aft deck. The sky was lit with stars, but no moon. Joe recalled that he wanted to ask Kenneth about that afternoon. “You came back to the boat early, didn’t you?” he said.
“Yes. I hadn’t carried enough film into town,” Kenneth replied. “I came back for more. Why?”
“You know the phone in the foyer?” Joe continued. “Did you notice anybody using it?”
Kenneth thought. “No. But I was just here for as long as it took to run down to my cabin, grab more film, and split.”
Lisa lifted her recorder a little higher as she asked, “Well, Joe and Frank Hardy, do you have a lead as to the identity of the pizza maniac?”
Joe rolled his eyes. “No comment, as usual,” he said. “Don’t you ever put that thing away?”
“Sure.” Lisa grinned. “When I’ve got my story!”
Joe and Frank kept at Kenneth, but they soon decided he probably didn’t know anything relevant. A little later the crew anchored the boat for the night in the lee of a small island. Frank and Joe watched, then went down to their cabin to turn in.
Some time later Joe suddenly woke up. He lay on his bunk in the darkness, listening intently. Something had disturbed him. What?
After a few moments he heard furtive scraping sounds. His mental map told him they were coming from the corridor just outside the door to their cabin. Could it be the burglar returning? Or paying a visit to one of the other cabins?
Stealthily Joe pushed back the covers and stood up. He tiptoed across the dark cabin, felt his way along the wall to the door, and opened it a crack. The light in the corridor, which was left on all the time, was off. A bad sign—someone must have unscrewed a bulb.
A faint, almost indetectable glimmer of light came down the companionway from the main deck. Joe walked silently along the corridor toward it. Suddenly a shape loomed up in front of him, cutting off the light. He sensed, more than saw, two hands reaching out to grab him.
9 In the Bag
* * *
The instant he realized that he was under attack, Joe tucked his chin into his chest and dropped into a crouch. Reaching up, he closed both hands around one of his attacker’s wrists. Then he did a half spin on the ball of one foot. His opponent’s extended arm was now trapped against the fulcrum of his right shoulder. He took a deep breath and prepared to use the power of his thigh muscles to execute a full shoulder throw. Even as he did, he wondered why the other guy was hanging limp instead of resisting.
“Joe, hold on, it’s me!” a familiar voice said in his ear. At the same time a hand grabbed the waistband of his pajamas at the back. This was a standard counter to his move. If he went ahead with the throw, he would find himself being pulled along with his opponent.
“Frank? What are you doing here?” Joe asked softly. He released his brother’s wrist and straightened up.
“I heard a suspicious noise and got up to check it out,” Frank replied, keeping his voice pitched low. “I saw a flickering light up on the main deck, near the head of the stairs. I went to see who it was, but by the time I got there the person had disappeared. What about you?”
“Same as you,” Joe said. “But in my case the suspicious noise was you. Did you turn out the hall light?”
“No, it was like that when I came out of our room,” Frank said. “I tried the switch. No go. The bulb must be unscrewed.”
“So we’re not dealing with somebody who just decided to get a midnight snack,” Joe remarked.
“No way,” Frank told him. “Do you remember where we put the flashlight? I want a closer look at the area near the head of the stairs.”
The Hardys found their flashlight and climbed up to the main deck. They searched the foyer and the passage that led to the salon and dining area. They checked the washroom where Boris had found the ipecac bottle. They peered into the galley. Nothing seemed out of place anywhere.
They returned to the head of the companionway.
“Maybe it was just an insomniac after all,” Joe said, disgusted.
“An insomniac with a phobia about lightbulbs?” Frank replied. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, whatever he or she was up to, no traces were left,” Joe said. “Let’s take another look in the morning.”
“I guess you’re right,” Frank said. He waved the flashlight around for one last look. His voice changed. “Joe—look!”
He had stopped the circle of light on the bulletin board. Crudely painted in black on the white cork surface was a skull and crossbones.
A superstitious thrill touched the back of Joe’s neck and ran down his spine. After a moment he recovered his cool. He stepped forward and touched a fingertip to the bulletin board. It felt dry, but when he sniffed his finger there was a faint odor of paint solvent.
“It’s pretty fresh,” he reported.
“It has to be,” Frank replied. “We would have noticed if it had been there when we went to bed.”
“A skull and crossbones,” Joe mused. “The symbol for poison. And this evening ipecac, stuff that’s used in poisoning cases, turned up in the dessert.”
Joe paused and stared at the sinister drawing. It seemed to expand to fill his field of vision.
“You know what, Frank?” he continued. “Maybe whoever painted this is the same person who doctored the dessert. I bet this is meant as a threat. It’s a warning. The message is, next time they’ll use something more harmful than ipecac syrup. Something really poisonous.”
“Could be,” Frank said. “I can think of another explanation, though. And it’s one I like even less than yours.”
“What’s that?” Joe asked.
Frank cleared his throat. “A couple of hundred years ago this area we’re cruising around was infested with bloodthirsty pirates. People like Blackbeard and Captain Kidd, who preyed on innocent sailors and travelers, plundering and killing them. And what was the flag the pirates used? The Skull and Crossbones!”
There was a tense silence. Joe turned his face away from the menacing symbol. As he did, something on the deck caught his eye. It was small and black. He bent down to pick it up. Then he held it out to show to Frank. It was a plastic spider.
“I remember back in grade school,” Joe said, “I spent a lot of time drawing a skull and crossbones on the cover of my looseleaf notebook. I must have been about the same age as Evan is now.”
“I probably did
the same,” Frank admitted. “Lots of kids do. But there’s a difference between drawing something on your own notebook and painting it on somebody else’s wall. Can you really see a kid like Evan sneaking out of his cabin in the middle of the night to spray a pirate symbol on the bulletin board?”
“Well, no, I guess not,” Joe said. “And I can’t see how he would reach the lightbulbs to unscrew them, either. So maybe Evan dropped a spider here at some other time. Or maybe the prankster deliberately left the spider near the drawing to try to pin the blame on Evan. That would be a really dirty trick.”
“Or the prankster could have dropped it by accident,” Frank pointed out. “But let’s say the same person who painted this put the ipecac in the fruit. Finding this spider here makes it look pretty likely that he stuck the spiders on the cake yesterday, too. And if that’s so, it means that once we’ve solved one puzzle, we’ll have solved them all.”
Joe held back a yawn. “The sooner the better,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind having a little time to enjoy the cruise.”
• • •
Morning came quickly. Just after dawn the boat weighed anchor and started toward its next destination. When the Hardys passed the bulletin board on the way to breakfast, Joe saw that the skull and crossbones had vanished under a fresh coat of white paint. Captain Mathieson obviously ran a tight ship.
After breakfast everyone gathered in the salon. It was time for the second round of the teen-detective contest. David walked to the center of the room. He had a stack of booklets under one arm.
“This morning’s trial is a little different,” he announced. “For one thing, we haven’t attempted to stage it, not even on tape. For another, the focus is on the testimony of witnesses rather than physical evidence. In fact, what I’ve tried to do is give you something like a classic ‘fair play’ detective story.”
“Oh no,” Sylvie groaned. “You mean with timetables? Who did what when? I always skip over those chapters. They just confuse me.”
“I don’t skip those chapters, I skip the whole book,” Jason bragged. “Action, excitement, that’s what counts. Not all this intellectual hoo-ha.”
The Caribbean Cruise Caper Page 6
