A Will to Survive

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Carl looked away. “It was a spade,” he muttered. “Most people don’t know the difference. You were asking all those questions. I figured you were after the treasure. I wanted to scare you off. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, just scared.”

  Tanya picked up her phone and pressed a button. “Bruce? Will you come see me, please? Yes, right away. Thanks.”

  She turned to Carl. “Will you wait in the hall?”

  Carl left as Bruce came in. Tanya gave a summary of the Hardys’ discoveries and Carl’s confession. “He’ll have to go,” she concluded. “After that booby trap on the cliff path, we can’t possibly keep him on staff. If anything happened to a visitor or one of the staff, we’d be looking at a ruinous lawsuit against the center.”

  “I agree,” Bruce said. “We should clear this with Roger, though. We don’t want Carl suing for wrongful dismissal. As for this treasure business, we shouldn’t take it too seriously. Whenever a rich eccentric dies, you hear tales of fabulous troves of diamonds hidden in the walls.”

  “If we did find a treasure, it would resolve our current crisis,” Tanya said wistfully.

  Bruce glanced at Frank and Joe, as if wondering why they were in on this discussion. Then he said, “We need a real-life solution, not a fairy tale. We are lucky enough to have one available, if we act promptly and decisively.”

  “Cleland’s proposal?” Tanya snorted. “In trying to save Shorewood, we would destroy it! After selling off the water frontage, perhaps we should clear-cut the forest as well. Then we would have given up both our shore and our wood!”

  • • •

  While Joe ran upstairs to change into dry clothes, Frank thought over Carl’s statement. If it could be believed, his only motive had been to find the treasure. Why would he also try to wreck the center? If nothing else, the harassment attracted attention and made it harder for him to carry out his secret searches of the building.

  If Carl hadn’t set the skunk scent and the smudge pot and the deadfall, who had? Frank thought. And what about Carl’s accusation against Dylan? No question, the guy was a riddle that called out for an answer. Was he hanging around simply because of Wendy? Or did he have some hidden purpose?

  Joe returned, and he and Frank went down to the dining room. Dinner was almost finished, but Maureen made plates for them. As they headed to the table, Rahsaan approached Frank. In an undertone, he said, “If you dudes need a hand anytime, I’m your man.”

  Frank gave him a puzzled look.

  “The nickel finally dropped,” Rahsaan said with a grin. “I remembered where I’d heard your names before. My oldest sister is married to a guy who’s on the force in Bayport. You probably don’t know him, but he sure knows about you two. Don’t worry—I can keep my lips buttoned.”

  Frank and Joe took seats with Callie. By now the room was almost empty. Frank leaned closer and said, “Can you talk to Wendy? We need to find out what she knows about Dylan.”

  “I already thought of that,” Callie replied. “We had a talk. Frankly, I don’t understand her or Dylan. She’s seeing so much of him, and she doesn’t even know where he lives or who his parents are! He said he’d tell her everything in a few days.”

  “Tell me again how they met,” Joe asked.

  “He came to take a tour of the center,” Callie said. “Wendy was the guide. They obviously clicked. The rest is history.”

  “So he could have come looking to worm his way into the center,” Frank mused. “Who knows? If he hadn’t found Wendy, he might have tried to hit on you instead.”

  Callie gave him an indignant look.

  “Not that you would have fallen for it,” Frank added hastily. “You would have known right away that it had to be an act.”

  “Exactly what are you saying?” Callie demanded. “That no one could possibly be attracted to me for real?”

  Frank tried to think of a reply that would steer the conversation back into calmer waters.

  Suddenly Frank raised his head and frowned. Was that a shout he had heard? A moment later any doubts vanished. Somewhere nearby two people were having a loud, angry argument. The words were muffled, but the emotion wasn’t.

  Frank gave Joe a quick glance and jumped to his feet. As he hurried toward the door, he heard a startled yell, a thunderous crash, and the sound of shattering glass.

  13 A Crossed-Off Name

  * * *

  Joe, Frank, and Callie dashed up the stairs to the main floor. They found Jack, Sal, and Rahsaan clustered in the doorway to the first exhibit room, staring inside.

  Joe edged through them into the room. Bruce was stretched out on the floor near the windows, looking dazed. Dylan was hunched on the other side of the room, looking just as dazed. Between them was an overturned display case. The dozens of geological specimens it usually held lay scattered amid the shards of broken glass.

  “What has happened now?” Tanya wailed, pushing through the crowd into the room. “Is there no end to these disruptions?”

  Bruce reached for the windowsill and pulled himself to his feet. Rubbing his cheek, he said, “I came upon this boy behaving suspiciously. I asked what he was doing here and reminded him that the center closes to the public at six.”

  He paused.

  “Yes?” Tanya said. “Go on.”

  Bruce looked embarrassed. “Well . . . he threw a punch that caught me off guard. I stumbled against the display case and knocked it over, then fell down and bumped my head.”

  “You’re a dirty liar!” Dylan shouted. “I never touched you!”

  Wendy hurried over and took his arm. Dylan gave her a pleading look. “It’s true!” he declared. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Of course, of course,” Wendy replied. She sounded doubtful.

  “Dylan? What just happened here, according to you?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t get it,” Dylan replied. “I was hanging out in here, not doing anything wrong, just looking around. All of a sudden Bruce charged in and grabbed me. He started shouting that I was a thief. I tried to push him away. He deliberately turned over the display case. Then he flopped on the floor and pretended to be hurt.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Bruce said. “What a feeble attempt to dodge blame. I don’t know what you were doing in here, but you certainly acted guilty when I caught you at it.”

  “You didn’t catch me at anything!” Dylan said. His voice cracked.

  “That is quite enough,” Tanya declared. “Young man, you are not a member of the Shorewood staff. You have no right to be on the grounds when the center is closed. I must ask you to leave at once.”

  “Wait, you don’t—” Dylan began.

  Tanya raised her voice and continued. “If you behave yourself, you can come back during our normal hours, when we are open to the public. If you cause any more trouble, I’ll be forced to call the police. Is that clear?”

  “But he’s visiting me,” Wendy protested. “Can’t I have a guest?”

  “Ordinarily, yes,” Tanya said. “But he has abused that privilege. I’m sorry, Wendy, but I’ve made my decision.”

  Dylan took a deep breath. Joe thought he was going to try to argue further. But all he said was, “Huh!” He patted Wendy on the shoulder and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned and said, “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll show you.”

  Tanya’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she said. She looked down at the wreckage of the display case. “I must get Carl in here to put the room to rights.”

  “It’s okay,” Joe said. “We’ll sweep up. Do you have a box we can put all the rocks in?”

  Tanya sent Sal to find a carton. Wendy went over to her and said, “I know Dylan’s telling the truth. I just know it!”

  “I hope you are right, dear,” Tanya replied. “But I cannot afford to take chances. Come with me. We’ll have a cup of tea. Callie, will you join us?”

  Jack looked at his watch and announced that he was going to watch a
favorite program on TV. Rahsaan went with him. That left Joe and Frank alone with Bruce.

  “Dylan’s been hanging around for a while, hasn’t he?” Frank remarked. “What was he up to tonight that made you suspicious?”

  Bruce hesitated. Joe expected him to say that Dylan had been tapping on the walls. Instead, he said, “This may sound funny, but he was fiddling with that painting, trying to look behind it.”

  Joe looked where Bruce was pointing. The painting was hard to overlook. A weasel was crouched in the grass with its paw on a dead bird. It was snarling up at a red fox that was about to pounce from a rocky ledge. High above, a hawk circled, preparing to swoop down. All the colors seemed a little too bright and vivid to Joe.

  “Did Walter Parent do that?” Frank asked.

  “That’s right,” Bruce said. He sounded surprised. “How did you know?”

  “It reminds me of that big painting of his in the entrance hall,” Frank replied.

  “Except this one’s more true to life,” Joe added. “No bears having a chat with turtles.”

  “Good point,” Bruce said, with a short laugh.

  Frank went over to the painting and tilted it up. “Nothing here,” he reported. “It’s just a blank wall.”

  Sal returned with a cardboard box. He helped Joe pick up the geological specimens from the floor. Frank got a broom and dustpan and dealt with the broken glass. Bruce watched the cleanup for a few minutes. Then he went away.

  When they finished, Sal went downstairs to join the others in the TV room. The Hardys had the exhibit room to themselves. They circled the room, testing every joint in the wood panels. Frank discovered one built-in cabinet. All it held were some old rags and an empty tin of furniture wax.

  Joe gave an exasperated sigh. “Did Parent really stick millions in diamonds in the wall somewhere?” he wondered. “How crazy can you get!”

  “If he did,” Frank replied, “he must have left some clue as to where they are. Remember, Carl said Parent meant this to be a puzzle. Puzzles have solutions.”

  “He kept buying more diamonds until just a few weeks before his death,” Joe pointed out. “Maybe there’s a clue in his last appointment book. You know, like an entry that reads, ‘Eleven-thirty—Hide diamonds in abandoned well.’ ”

  “It’s worth a try,” Frank said.

  Frank went to get the appointment book from the suitcase in his room. He and Joe sat at a table in the library and scoured it, page by page. After half an hour, Frank slammed it closed.

  “Forget it,” he said in disgust. “If there’s any pattern there, it’s too subtle for me!”

  He dropped the book on the table. It fell open at the first page. Parent had neatly written in his name, address, phone and fax numbers, driver’s license number, and blood type. The only blotch on the page was in the section headed In Case of Accident Please Notify. Something had been written in, then crossed out with angry pen strokes.

  Frank held the book up to the light. “I can’t read the name,” he reported. “But there’s a phone number. Take this down. . . .”

  The computer in the library had access to the Internet. Joe and Frank logged on to a personal search site that included a reverse directory. Joe typed in the phone number and hit Enter. A few seconds later, the screen showed a listing for an Elaine Silver. The address was in a nearby town.

  Joe stared up at Frank. “Silver? Isn’t that Dylan’s last name? Do you think . . . ?”

  “Let’s find out,” Frank replied. He reached for the telephone and dialed the number. After a pause, he said, “Hi. Is Dylan there? Oh, okay, thanks. No, no message. I’ll call another time.”

  The Hardys were silent for a few moments. Then Joe said, “Now we know why Dylan has been hanging around. He has some kind of close connection to Walter Parent. Remember, Tanya mentioned a distant cousin. What do you want to bet that cousin is Dylan’s mom or dad? He probably blames the Shorewood Nature Center for doing him out of a fortune. So he’s trying to get revenge.”

  “It makes sense,” Frank said somberly. “Now the big question is, what is Dylan planning to pull next?”

  “We’d better look for him,” Joe suggested. As he and Frank left the library, they ran across Callie in the hall.

  To Joe’s question, Callie told them she had not seen Dylan since the scene in the exhibit room. “I know he’s not with Wendy. I saw her just now in Tanya’s office. She’s pretty upset.”

  “Do you think she’d talk to us?” asked Frank.

  Callie shook her head decisively. “Not a chance,” she said. “She practically accused me of being part of a plot against Dylan, along with you guys, Bruce, Tanya, the King of Siam, and the U.S. Marine Corps Band.”

  “I get it,” Joe said. “The old ‘They’re all against us’ bit. Very romantic—like Romeo and Juliet.”

  Frank grabbed Joe and Callie by the arm and pulled them into an alcove behind a marble statue of a stag.

  “Wha—” Callie started to say.

  Frank put a finger to his lips, then pointed down the hall. Past the stag’s neck, Joe saw Wendy. She had just come out of Tanya’s office. She turned her head to look furtively up and down the corridor. Then she walked quickly toward the entrance hall and out through the front door.

  “You want romantic?” Frank said softly. “How about a meeting by moonlight with your banished boyfriend? Come on. Dylan may let her in on what he’s planning. I want to hear.”

  The three friends hurried to the front door. Joe found the switch for the hall light. They didn’t want it to betray them when they opened the door to go outside.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Joe saw that there was still a hint of light in the western sky. The three-quarter moon was already high enough to light up the garden and the open area beyond. The encircling band of woods was black by contrast.

  “She’s headed for the reflecting pool,” Frank murmured. “Is that someone waiting by the bench?”

  “Yes,” Callie whispered. “It’s Dylan.”

  Joe and Callie followed Frank across the grass. They circled to the left, keeping the neatly trimmed shrubbery between them and their target. They stopped when they were close enough to hear.

  “I told Tanya,” Wendy was saying. Her voice quavered. “I swore you hadn’t done anything wrong. But she wouldn’t listen. She’s like all the rest of them. They have it in for you because you’re not part of the group. I can’t believe they’re so mean!”

  “Listen, Wendy,” Dylan said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “No, don’t!” Wendy pleaded. “I can’t bear it!”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dylan continued. “But . . . well, I’m not really who I’ve been pretending to be. You see—”

  He broke off and looked around. At that moment, Joe heard a noise like a giant blowing a lungful of air out through partly closed lips. A yellow-orange glow flickered on the bushes and trees.

  Joe looked over his shoulder. The center showed in silhouette against the strengthening light. An alarm began to clang.

  “Fire,” Joe said. “Fire!”

  14 Battling the Flames

  * * *

  Frank, Joe, and Callie jumped up and broke into a run. For a moment, Frank wondered if Dylan and Wendy would notice them. Then he dismissed the thought. This was an emergency. A minor concern like breaking his cover hardly mattered.

  The flames shot higher against the night sky. Over the clamor of the alarm bell, Frank heard people yelling at the back of the mansion. As they rounded the corner of the building, he saw the source of the fire.

  “It’s Carl’s workshop,” he shouted to Joe.

  Joe nodded and kept running.

  Sal and Jack ran across the staff parking lot a few yards in front of the Hardys. Each of them was holding one side of a big metal reel of rolled-up firehose. Up ahead, Rahsaan was waiting, wrench in hand, next to a red fireplug.

  Sal tripped and fell, letting go of the reel. Taken by surprise,
Jack, too, dropped the reel, which rolled across the pavement in the wrong direction. Hardly breaking stride, Frank and Joe changed course and picked it up. They carried it to the hydrant and helped Rahsaan attach one end of the hose.

  “Will it reach?” Joe wondered, eyeing the distance to the workshop.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Rahsaan replied. “Go! Yell when you’re ready for water.”

  The Hardys started unrolling the heavy canvas hose. Jack and Sal ran up to help. Sal was carrying a wooden pole.

  “Here!” he shouted. “We can use this as an axle!” He poked the pole through the hole in the center of the reel. Joe, on the other side, grabbed his end and tugged. Now the reel was a sort-of wheel. It rolled as fast as they could push it. The hose unwound as they went.

  When the nozzle end of the hose came off the reel, they were close enough to feel the heat of the fire. The windows of the workshop were filled with flames. Part of the roof had burned away, allowing the fire to leap up into the branches of the nearest trees.

  Frank took a quick survey. The line of evergreens stretched all the way to the garage, stable, and carriage house. Unless they stopped the fire now, it could spread until all of Shorewood was in danger.

  Joe and Jack stood on either side of the hose, holding the nozzle with both hands and bracing their feet. Sal waved his arm over his head and yelled to Rahsaan, “Let ’er rip!”

  For a moment, nothing happened. Frank had time enough to wonder if the fireplug was connected to a source of water. Then the hose swelled. Suddenly a stream of water as thick as a baseball bat shot out of the nozzle.

  Joe and Jack staggered backward from the force. Frank wrapped his arm around Joe’s waist to give him support. Together they arced the water upward, toward the smoldering branches. A cloud of white smoke appeared, and the licking flames went out. Nearby, somebody sent up a cheer.

  The next important area was the roof. It took time to learn to direct the powerful stream accurately. Soon, however, they started to get the feel of it. As the flames seemed to retreat in one place, they twitched the nozzle and sent the water shooting toward another part of the blaze.