A Will to Survive

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank focused all his attention on the fire and the water. Gradually he became aware that he heard sirens approaching. Three fire trucks roared into the parking area and skidded to a stop. Moments later somebody slapped Frank on the back.

  “Okay, buddy,” a voice shouted. “You’ve done your share. I’ll take over now.”

  Frank gladly gave his place at the nozzle to the firefighter. His arms and shoulders ached from battling the force of the water, and his face and eyes stung from the heat of the flames. He stepped back and looked around.

  Tanya was standing a few feet away. She had an arm around Carl’s shoulders. The caretaker was staring with disbelief at the destruction of his workshop. Farther away, Wendy and Dylan were part of a bucket chain that kept the bushes and tree trunks damp. Others in the chain included Maureen, the cook, and several people Frank didn’t recognize.

  A man in khaki pants and a short-sleeved blue shirt came up to Tanya. “I understand you’re in charge here,” he said. “I’m Robert Crowell, the district fire marshal. Can you tell me if any flammable substances were kept in this building?”

  Frank and Joe moved closer to the little group.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Tanya told the fire marshal. “This was Carl’s workshop. Carl?”

  “The main fuel tank is in a room off the garage,” Carl said. “I kept a little can of gas in the workshop, though. Just enough to refill the weed trimmer and leaf blower.”

  “Was it closed tightly?” Crowell asked.

  “You bet,” Carl said. “That’s not something I take chances with.”

  “Excuse me,” Tanya said. “I have the feeling you are not satisfied about this fire.”

  “It’s my job to investigate suspicious fires,” Crowell said. “I don’t think I ought to comment further at this point.”

  Frank turned to Joe and murmured, “The fire spread awfully quickly. When we first got here, did you smell anything?”

  Joe nodded. “Uh-huh. Smoke . . . and just a trace of gasoline.”

  Before Frank could respond, Bruce rushed over to Tanya and Crowell. “Are you here investigating the fire?” he demanded. “I was one of the first on the scene. I was out taking a stroll and I spotted the flames.”

  “Yes, sir?” Crowell prompted.

  “As I came up,” Bruce continued, “I saw someone running into the woods. I recognized him. It was a young man who has been hanging around the center lately, causing trouble. Just a couple of hours ago, our director had to warn him to stay away.”

  Those within hearing turned to stare at Dylan. His mouth fell open. “I . . . I . . . that’s a lie!” he cried. Jack stepped over and put his hand on Dylan’s arm. Dylan pushed him away and ran off into the night. Jack hesitated, then took a few steps after him.

  “Let him go,” Tanya said. “We can find him later. Fighting the fire is more important. If he is guilty, the law will deal with him.”

  “He isn’t guilty!” Wendy declared. “He was with me. He didn’t do anything. And I think you’re all horrible!”

  Frank grabbed Joe and pulled him off out of earshot of the others.

  Callie rushed over to join them. “Dylan didn’t set the fire,” she said indignantly. “We were watching him when it happened.”

  “We know,” Frank replied. “Why is Bruce so sure it was Dylan?”

  “Maybe he isn’t,” Callie suggested. “Maybe he simply wants to get Dylan in trouble. They had that fight before.”

  “In that case,” Frank said, “who was it he really saw? Who torched Carl’s workshop? Carl himself? He has a motive. Tanya fired him.”

  “Did you see his face while he was watching the building burn down?” Callie demanded. “He was devastated.”

  “People do things they feel sorry about later,” Frank pointed out. “Maybe he’s one of them.”

  “Hold on,” Joe said slowly. “What if Bruce didn’t see anyone?”

  “What do you mean, Joe?” asked Callie.

  “I haven’t worked this out yet,” Joe replied. “The center is in trouble because of all these incidents, right? So much trouble that it may have to sell the land along the water to that developer. Who’s been pushing the hardest for Tanya to sell? Bruce. What if he’s been pushing in more ways than one? What if the reason for the harassment isn’t revenge at all, but to force the center to sell that land?”

  Callie stared. “Are you saying that it’s Bruce who set off the smoke bomb and rigged the log deadfall and set fire to Carl’s workshop?”

  “I’m saying he has means and opportunity, and he may have motive,” Joe responded. “I have to admit, I don’t have any evidence, only suspicions.”

  “Wait!” Frank exclaimed. “I just thought of something. Remember when Bruce and Tanya were talking about what to do with Carl? Bruce made the point that when eccentric millionaires die, you always hear stories about fabulous troves of diamonds.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “So?”

  “Carl had just talked about a treasure,” Frank said. “No one had even mentioned the word diamonds!”

  Joe gave a low whistle. “So how did he know about the diamonds, unless he’s playing some sort of double game?”

  “I’m convinced,” Callie announced. “But how do we find proof?”

  “What if we track down the novelty shop where the skunk scent came from?” Joe suggested. “Maybe the people there could identify him.”

  “Or not,” Callie said. “That kind of place must get lots of customers. Anyway, we don’t even know if we’ll manage to find the right one. What if he bought it somewhere out of the region?”

  “Are you saying my idea smells?” Joe cracked.

  “Smells . . .” Frank repeated. “I just had a wild idea. It’s a long shot, but I think it’s worth a try.”

  “What are you going to do?” Callie asked.

  “Sniff the evidence,” Frank replied with a grin.

  Bruce was twenty feet away, still standing with Tanya and Crowell, the fire marshal. Frank walked toward them. When he got close, he stopped and knelt to retie his shoelace. His nose was just inches from Bruce’s right hand. He took a deep breath.

  The odor was faint but clear—gasoline!

  Frank jumped to his feet. He reached out and seized Bruce’s right wrist. Lifting it, he said to Crowell, “Smell this guy’s hand.”

  Startled, the fire marshal stared at Frank. Then he took two or three sniffs. His eyes widened. Frowning at Bruce, he started to say, “Would you mind—”

  Bruce tore his wrist out of Frank’s grasp. Spinning on the ball of one foot, he brought the other knee up sharply. His target was Frank’s belt line.

  Frank twisted and took the blow on his hip. The force of it knocked him a couple of steps backward. He recovered almost instantly, but by then Bruce had darted away into the darkness. He was running in the direction of the parking lot.

  15 The Puzzle Decoded

  * * *

  “What is Frank up to?” Callie wondered.

  “I have no idea,” Joe said. He watched Frank approach Bruce. When he saw Frank grab Bruce’s hand, he understood. A grin took over his face.

  An instant later Bruce attacked Frank. Joe’s grin vanished. “He won’t get away with that!” he growled.

  Joe darted forward, then changed course when Bruce ran away. Jack was standing nearby, watching open-mouthed. Joe had to slow down and dodge around him. The maneuver cost him. Bruce was already in the parking lot, jerking open the door of a black sport-utility vehicle.

  The starter whined. The engine caught with a roar. Joe told himself Bruce was just yards away from scoring a game-winning touchdown. Only Joe was in position to stop him. His legs pumped faster. Gravel sprayed from under his shoes.

  Gravel sprayed from under the tires of the SUV, too. It lurched backward out of its parking slot, then accelerated toward the exit.

  Joe pulled out a last burst of speed that allowed him to draw level with the SUV. He leaped onto the narrow step next to the re
ar door and grabbed the side rail of the roof rack. The side mirror gave him a glimpse of Bruce’s face. His jaw was set and his lips were pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared.

  Bruce’s eyes moved to the mirror. They widened when he saw Joe hanging from the side of the car. Instantly he jerked the wheel to the right. Joe felt his feet slip from the step. The force of the swerve swung his body outward. It was like a nightmare ride in an amusement park. Frantically he tightened his grip on the roof rack. Bending at the waist, he forced his legs back and groped for his footing.

  Bruce turned sharply back to the left. Joe slammed against the door. The door handle struck him just below the ribs, knocking the breath out of his lungs. For one moment he wondered how much more of this he could take. Should he jump off while he could still do so safely?

  At the thought of giving up, Joe felt a savage growl rise from somewhere deep inside. He was not going to let this creep escape! Narrowing his eyes against the wind, he peered ahead. The single-lane road curved around the side of the main building. There it passed through a narrow gap in the hedges before joining the main drive.

  Joe took a deep breath and started counting. One . . . two . . . On three he lunged forward, stretched his left arm in through Bruce’s window, and grabbed the steering wheel. One well-timed jerk was enough. The SUV veered off the pavement onto the grass and crashed into the shrubbery.

  Joe was ready for the impact. Even so, he lost his hold on the roof rack. He had just enough time to tuck his head between his shoulders and hide his face in the crook of his elbow. Then he smashed into the bushes. By the time he managed to scramble free of the tangled branches, the others had reached the scene. Frank and Rahsaan pulled a dazed Bruce from behind the wheel. The fire marshal used his car phone to call in the police.

  • • •

  Later, people gathered in the basement dining room. Maureen made cocoa and produced plates of freshly made peanut butter cookies.

  Wendy paused in the doorway. “Tanya?” she said shyly. “Can I have a friend join us?”

  Tanya smiled. “Of course, Wendy. Bring him in.”

  Dylan appeared. His jeans were torn and muddy, and his cheeks were scratched. Otherwise, he seemed okay. He glanced around the room and gave Frank and Joe a nod.

  Once everyone had refreshments, Rahsaan said, “Okay, let’s have it. I don’t understand anything that’s happened.”

  “The ones to explain are Frank and Joe,” Tanya said. “I should tell you that they are both very accomplished detectives. I asked them to come here, hoping they could help with our problems. They did everything I hoped for and much, much more.”

  “Detectives!” Jack said. “So that’s it!”

  “I knew there was something funny about you guys,” Sal stated. “I have to admit, I had you down as part of the other team. Sorry about that.”

  Joe grinned. “That’s okay, Sal. I had my doubts about you, too.”

  “But what about Bruce?” Wendy asked. “What was he doing? What was he after?”

  “Joe and I took a look around his office a little while ago,” Frank said. “One thing we turned up was a tape recorder connected to the phone in Tanya’s office. Bruce was listening in on every call and every conversation. He knew why Joe and I were here from the first moment. That’s why he planted a spool of fishing line in Joe’s room, to cast suspicion on him.”

  “And that’s how he knew about the diamonds!” Callie exclaimed.

  “What diamonds?” Sal asked.

  “We’ll get to them,” Frank said. “We also found a contract between Bruce and Douglas Cleland, the developer. If and when Cleland managed to buy the waterfront property from Shorewood, Bruce would get both a finder’s fee and an interest in the development. That gave him a powerful motive to do whatever he could to force the sale.”

  “Bruce must have figured that if Shorewood got enough bad publicity, the trustees would have to sell,” Joe said, taking up the story. “We’re pretty sure he rigged the stink bomb and smudge pot and booby-trapped the trail. We found a receipt in his desk from a New York novelty shop. It doesn’t say what it’s for, but we’ll call first thing in the morning. My bet is that it’s for a little bottle of eau de skunk.”

  Frank said, “We think it was Bruce who made sure that local reporters found out about the incidents, too.”

  Tanya slapped her forehead. “Miss Channel Eight!” she said. “She is supposed to come tomorrow morning.”

  “Maybe the story of Bruce’s arrest will take her mind off the center’s problems,” Joe said with a grin.

  “Then it was Bruce who set the fire tonight?” Jack asked.

  “Right,” Frank said. “It was supposed to be one more example of the Shorewood jinx. And Bruce meant to use the fire to get Dylan out of the way.”

  “Why? What did he have against Dylan?” asked Sal.

  “He must have noticed something familiar about Dylan’s face and figured out who he really is,” Joe said.

  “Huh?” Rahsaan said. “Who is he?”

  “Maybe Dylan should tell us that himself,” Frank replied.

  Dylan’s face turned bright red. He grabbed Wendy’s hand and held it tight. “Um . . .” he said. “The thing is, Walter Parent was my mom’s cousin. We’re his only relatives.”

  Tanya’s eyes widened. “The distant relation,” she said. “The family feud.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s us,” Dylan said. “I never knew what it was about. Face it, Uncle Walter was a little strange. Anyway, I came here because I wanted to hunt for a later will. I thought it might give us part of the estate. And now that I think about it, Bruce did give me a few funny looks.”

  “So Carl was right,” Joe said. “You were poking around the house. Just as he was. You were searching for a will, and he was searching for a treasure.”

  “Well, I was looking for treasure, too,” Dylan admitted. “When I was little, before he and Mom had their big fight, Uncle Walter used to show me the secret compartments in the walls. There was one where he kept a little velvet bag of jewels. If I managed to find the compartment and open it, I got to play with the jewels.”

  “Where was this compartment?” Tanya asked eagerly.

  Dylan shook his head. “I don’t know. I was really little then. I thought if I spent enough time around the house, maybe I’d remember. But it didn’t work.”

  “This fits with what we discovered,” Frank said. He told them about the missing millions in diamonds. “According to Carl, Walter Parent hid his treasure in the house and left the key to finding it in plain sight.”

  “It figures,” Dylan said. “Uncle Walter was a nut about puzzles.”

  “He was a nut, period,” Sal muttered.

  Dylan pretended not to hear. “Every time I came over, he’d give me some new puzzle to solve. I remember, he was wild about rebuses.”

  “What’s that?” Callie asked. “A kind of monkey?”

  Frank laughed. “No, it’s a puzzle where drawings of things stand for words,” he explained. “Say you wanted to write ‘I love you, dear.’ You’d draw an eye, a heart, a capital U—”

  “And Bambi,” Callie said, breaking in. “Got it. I remember doing those in third grade. I can’t imagine a grown man spending his time on them, though.”

  “He loved puzzles,” Joe repeated. “And besides, he was a painter. Connecting words and sounds to pictures probably came naturally to him.”

  Frank stared at Joe. He could feel the pieces of the puzzle falling into place in his mind, but the picture they made was still hazy. Picture—that was it!

  “Tanya?” he said. “That painting in the entrance hall. The huge one. Are Parent’s other paintings pretty much like it?”

  “Why . . . no,” Tanya replied. “Not at all. In fact, I’d call it unique. We have a number of his canvases. They are all fairly realistic scenes from nature. The fox and ferret in the first exhibit room is one of the better examples.”

  “Then why would Parent insist
on hanging such a weird picture in the most prominent spot in the house?” Frank continued. “One that shows an assortment of animals that would never be found together in nature?”

  “Because he was weird,” Sal suggested.

  “Frank!” Callie gasped. “It must be a rebus!”

  “The key that’s in plain sight,” Joe added.

  Rahsaan jumped up. “What are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s have a treasure hunt!”

  Everyone trooped upstairs to the entrance hall and looked at the painting. Frank could almost feel the discouragement in the air.

  “I give up,” Wendy said, after a minute or two. “A bunch of turtles, a bear, a bison, a sea lion . . . It makes no sense at all.”

  None of the others argued. Frank scowled. His idea had seemed so plausible. If it was correct, Walter Parent was a better puzzle maker than they were puzzle solvers.

  “Look at those turtles,” Tanya said slowly. “They are the most important elements in the painting. Why so many of them? And why are the markings on their shells so carefully painted?”

  “I give up. Why?” Sal said.

  “Of course!” Tanya shouted. “I am a fool! They are not turtles. They are terrapins—diamondback terrapins!”

  “Four diamondbacks,” Joe said. “Four diamond back . . . Not four, for! That’s it, Tanya! Now for the rest . . .”

  Encouraged by Tanya’s discovery, the others threw themselves into the game. Frank grabbed a notepad and pen. He tried to keep track of all the suggestions. Then he sorted them into three groups—possible, unlikely, and just plain strange. Soon every creature and object in the painting had been looked at, named, and made the object of bad puns.

  “Okay, what have we got?” Jack asked.

  Frank studied the page. “Say we read the painting from left to right and top to bottom,” he said. “We get, ‘For diamond back, bear right under stag.’ ”

  “Hey, it actually makes sense,” Joe said.