The Prime-Time Crime

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “You’re right, Joe,” Frank said. “Look at that mailbox. It’s got the name Whalen on it.”

  Frank drove past the house, parked the van about a hundred feet down the road, and turned the motor off.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Joe asked. “We’ve found out where Ted Whalen lives, but I don’t see any guys in black suits with guns hanging around the yard.”

  “I think we ought to get a closer look,” Debbie said.

  “That might not be such a hot idea,” Frank said.

  “It’s a great idea,” Steve said, climbing out the back door. Debbie quickly climbed out of the passenger door.

  “Maybe we should just drive off and let those two get into trouble all by themselves,” Joe suggested.

  “Bad idea,” Frank said, opening his door and climbing out of the van. “If they get in trouble, we get in trouble, too. Remember, Whalen thinks they’re working with us.”

  “Let’s just hope Whalen and his pals don’t see us,” Joe said. He climbed to the front of the van and jumped out the passenger door. “Let’s go.”

  Steve and Debbie were already halfway across the lawn and running toward the mansion as Frank and Joe started after them. For a moment the Hardys could hear the two would-be detectives squabbling over which side of the house to look at first. Then they saw the twosome disappear into a small grove of trees next to the house. By the time Frank and Joe reached the grove, Steve was halfway up a tree, trying to get a look through one of the first-floor windows.

  “What are you doing?” Frank asked, looking up at Steve as the red-haired teen climbed out on a limb.

  “Checking out the house,” Steve said. “Maybe I’ll see something that’ll give us a clue.”

  “Maybe you’ll get us all arrested as prowlers,” Joe said.

  “I think we should sneak into the basement,” Debbie said. “There’s a door just down there.” She pointed at the wall of the house.

  “If you get caught, you could be charged with breaking and entering,” Frank said.

  “We’re just trying to save poor Clarence Kellerman,” Debbie insisted. “That’s no crime.”

  “Hey,” Steve whispered, clinging tightly to the far end of the limb. “I can see somebody inside. It looks like Ted Whalen—”

  “It is Ted Whalen,” said a new voice. The Hardys and Debbie turned to see the short muscular man who’d been in Whalen’s car standing next to the corner of the house. He had thick black hair slicked straight back from his forehead and wore a dark suit and tie. He glared at the four teenagers.

  “And you kids are trespassing on Mr. Whalen’s property,” he continued. “I’m afraid this is the end of the line for you.”

  He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a gun, and pointed it directly at Joe.

  8 Narrow Escape

  * * *

  Joe stared at the gun-wielding man in surprise. “We can explain what we’re doing here.” He glanced desperately at his brother. “Isn’t that right, Frank?”

  “Right,” Frank said. “We were, um, looking for Mr. Whalen. We wanted to talk to him for a minute.”

  “Well, Mr. Whalen doesn’t want to talk to you,” the man said in a menacing tone. “And he doesn’t much like people hanging around his house and looking in his windows, either. You’d better come up with a better explanation of what you’re doing here or you’re going to be in big, big trouble.”

  “We’re trying to find out what happened to Clarence Kellerman,” Steve said, still sitting on the limb of the tree.

  “Yeah,” Debbie said. “And we think Mr. Whalen had something to do with it. He’d better have some good answers himself or he’s going to be the one who’s in trouble.”

  There was a noise from the corner of the house. The Hardys turned to see Ted Whalen walking around the corner. The tall, broad-shouldered man was with him. Whalen’s jaw fell when he saw the four teenagers clustered around the tree.

  “Not you kids again!” he said angrily. “Don’t you ever give up? I told you that I never wanted to see the four of you again—and I meant it.”

  Steve leaped out of the tree and, with a thump, landed on the ground. “What are you covering up, Whalen?” he said. “Where do you have Clarence Kellerman stashed away?”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Whalen snapped.

  Frank took a deep breath. “What Steve is trying to say is that we’d like to question you about Clarence Kellerman’s disappearance.”

  “One thing we’d like to know, Mr. Whalen—” Joe began.

  “I’ll handle the questions, Hardy,” Steve interrupted. “What did you do to Clarence, Whalen? Did you want him out of the way because he didn’t fit your plans for the station?”

  “You’re way out of line,” Whalen said hotly, pointing a finger at Steve. “I had nothing whatsoever to do with Clarence Kellerman’s disappearance. And if I wanted him out of the way, I’d simply give him a pink slip. I run the station—or have you forgotten that?”

  “Then why do you keep guys with guns around you?” Debbie asked. “Do you need mobsters to help you run the station?”

  “These men happen to be my personal bodyguards,” Whalen replied. “I’ve kept them by my side whenever I’ve left the station for the past three weeks.”

  “And why does a station manager need bodyguards?” Steve asked. “To do his dirty work for him?”

  “WBPT news has been running a hard-hitting series of stories on organized crime in the Bayport area,” Whalen said. “My life has been threatened several times. I won’t be intimidated by those who’d like to stand in the way of the truth, but I’d be foolish to risk my life. So I keep a guard around me. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  Joe looked at his brother. “Actually, that’s a pretty reasonable answer,” he said. “We heard you talking about that crime series back at the station.”

  Frank nodded. “Maybe we’ve been mistaken. Sorry we bothered you, Mr. Whalen.”

  “Hey, I’ve got lots more questions,” Debbie protested.

  “Yeah, so do I,” Steve said.

  “Write them down and send them to Mr. Whalen in a letter,” Frank said, grabbing Steve by the arm and pulling him toward the van. “We’ve got better things to do than hang around here.”

  “I don’t want you kids coming near my house anymore, do you hear me?” Whalen called after them. “And I don’t want you around WBPT either. I’ll call the police if I see you again. Don’t forget that.”

  “We won’t,” Joe said.

  Half walking, half running, the four teenagers rushed back to the van and climbed inside.

  “I don’t believe this,” Frank said once they were safely in the van. “You two clowns almost got us shot back there just because you have some sort of crazy idea that Ted Whalen is guilty.”

  “Well, I still think he’s guilty,” Debbie said. “And I really did have lots more questions to ask.”

  “I thought you Hardys were supposed to be really brave,” Steve said. “I figured facing a gun would be nothing to guys like you.”

  “We’ll face down guns if there’s a reason to,” Joe snapped. “But we have no real reason to suspect Whalen.”

  Frank revved up the van and started driving away from Whalen’s mansion. “Where’s your evidence that proves Whalen had something to do with Clarence’s disappearance?” he asked.

  “Whalen’s conceited and I don’t like him,” said Steve. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “No,” Joe said. “If being conceited were a crime, then the jails would have been full a long time ago.”

  “Okay, everybody,” Frank said. “Let’s call a truce. At least until we get back to the TV station.”

  The foursome remained quiet during the drive back to WBPT. Frank swung into the lot and parked the van in a distant corner, where he hoped that Ted Whalen wouldn’t notice it. As soon as they were out of the van, Debbie and Steve headed toward the building.

  “You two stay out of trouble,�
� Frank warned. “We don’t want to have to bail you out again if Ted Whalen goes after you.”

  Back inside the WBPT building, the Hardys found Marcy Simons pacing angrily around her office, muttering something about Matt Freeman.

  “More problems?” Joe asked. “I hope Matt Freeman hasn’t disappeared, too.”

  “No,” Marcy said, settling down behind her desk. “Just business problems this time. Mart’s asking for double his normal salary to do both ‘Faces and Places’ and ‘The Four O’Clock Scholar.’ I suppose he deserves it; doing two shows is a lot of work. But I hate the idea of bringing it up to Ted Whalen.”

  “I gather Ted likes making money a lot more than passing it out,” Frank said.

  “You bet,” Marcy replied. “Ted sees Clarence’s disappearance as an ideal opportunity to cut costs. By having Matt do both jobs, Ted gets two hosts for the price of one.”

  “Except Matt doesn’t see it that way,” Joe said.

  “Right,” Marcy said.

  “Do you think he’ll get the raise?” Frank asked.

  “Probably,” Marcy replied, “but there’ll be a lot of flak. Good talent is hard to find, and it would cost us a bundle just to locate a replacement for Clarence. So even at twice the salary, Matt’s still a bargain. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

  “We won’t,” Joe assured her.

  “Worst of all, the end result of all of this will probably be that Ted will cancel ‘The Four O’Clock Scholar.’ Anyway, that’s really not your problem,” Marcy said. “How’s the search for Clarence coming along?”

  “Not too well,” Frank said. “We’ve got some questions for you, though. Are those big guys that Whalen keeps around him really bodyguards?”

  Marcy laughed. “They do look frightening, don’t they? Yes, Ted hired them a few weeks ago. There’ve been lots of nasty phone calls since we started airing that series on organized crime, and Ted got nervous. I don’t think anything’s going to come of it, though. Neither do the police. Anyway, the series is ending next week.”

  “Speaking of the police,” Joe said, “how are they doing in the search for Clarence?”

  “Not too well,” Marcy said with a sigh. “They’ve questioned all of Clarence’s neighbors as well as everyone at the station, but no leads so far.”

  Frank nodded. “We’ve been coming up empty, too.”

  “Do you want us to stay on the case?” Joe asked.

  “Of course,” Marcy said. “The police seem to be losing interest already. Apparently they’ve had other missing person cases like this and most of the investigations end up going nowhere, or the people return on their own. I told the police Clarence wasn’t the type of person to walk out on his job and his coworkers like that,” Marcy added. “He may have a strange sense of humor, but he also has a real sense of responsibility.”

  “That’s not what Matt Freeman said yesterday,” Frank said.

  “Matt has his own reasons for not liking Clarence,” Marcy said. “The two never got along very well, and Matt never made any secret of the fact that he’d like to have Clarence’s job. Now he’s got it.”

  Just then, the phone rang. The brothers turned to leave.

  “Thanks, guys,” Marcy said as she picked up the receiver. “Keep me posted on how things are going.”

  “We will,” Frank promised. After the brothers left Marcy’s office, they walked down the hallway. As they passed the engineering room next to Studio A, they spotted Matt Freeman having a conversation with two of the engineers.

  “There’s Matt,” Frank said. “Why don’t we talk to him now?”

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “He’s the only person we know so far with a clear-cut motive for getting rid of Clarence.”

  “Right,” Frank said. “With Clarence out of the way, Matt stands to turn a pretty nice profit, from what Marcy tells us. Let’s ask him a few questions.”

  The engineering room was lined with television monitors and banks of electronic equipment. A young engineer with curly brown hair sat before a console filled with dials and switches. As Frank watched, she pushed buttons and threw switches in response to commands that she was apparently receiving over a pair of headphones. Matt Freeman, who was talking to a second engineer, turned and smiled at the Hardys as they walked into the room.

  “How are you doing, guys?” Freeman asked. “I hear you’re looking for Clarence. Any luck?”

  “Not much, Matt,” Joe said. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about him yourself?”

  “Not a thing,” Freeman responded. “Like I said, maybe he’ll come jumping out from behind the curtain Tuesday night and announce that all’s well. If he does, I’m going to pop him one in the nose.”

  “Why?” Frank asked curiously.

  “Why?” Freeman echoed. “Because it’s a pretty stupid publicity stunt for him to pull, that’s why.”

  “And because he’ll probably want his job back?” Joe suggested.

  Freeman’s expression changed. “Very funny. You’re not thinking that I might be glad that Clarence has disappeared, are you? And I hope you’re not suggesting that I might have had something to do with his disappearance.”

  Frank flashed Joe a disapproving look. “We’re not suggesting anything, Mr. Freeman.”

  “Good,” Freeman said, turning back to the engineer. “Now go play detective someplace else. I’m busy right now.”

  “We were just on our way out,” Frank said, tugging his brother’s arm. “Come on, Joe.”

  Out in the hallway, Frank turned to Joe and said, “That was a dumb question. You really didn’t expect him to answer it, did you?”

  “Sorry,” Joe said. “It just slipped out. Maybe I’ve been hanging around Steve and Debbie too long.”

  “Yeah,” Frank agreed. “That pair is starting to take the edge off my detective technique, too.”

  Joe glanced at his watch. “Maybe we should call it a day and go home to get some dinner. I’m convinced we’ll be back to our normal sharp-witted selves in the morning.”

  “I hate to quit at all,” Frank said. “Clarence is still out there someplace, depending on somebody to find him. And it looks like we’re the ones who will have to do it, not the police.”

  “Well, he’ll probably still be there tomorrow,” Joe said. “Let’s go.”

  Frank and Joe walked back into the parking lot and climbed into the van. Joe decided to take the driver’s seat this time. Frank unlocked the passenger side and climbed into the seat.

  Joe frowned as he pulled open the door. “Didn’t you lock the driver’s side of the van when we got out earlier?” he asked.

  “I’m almost positive I did,” Frank said. “Why? Was it unlocked?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “But maybe you forgot to lock it when you got out, after all the confusion.”

  “Could be,” Frank said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Maybe we’d better have a talk with Steve and Debbie tomorrow,” Joe said, as he drove down Bayport’s main street. “If we let them run freely around the TV station looking for clues, they may cause more problems than they solve.”

  “You’re right,” Frank said, leaning back and stretching his legs. “They’re smart enough to be on the quiz show, but sometimes they do some dumb things. Maybe we should try to call them tonight. What do you think?”

  Frank turned and looked out the window of the van. He was beginning to relax a little now that they were away from the station. He hoped their investigation would go better after a night’s sleep.

  It was several seconds before he noticed that Joe hadn’t answered his last question.

  He turned to see his brother, perched at the wheel of the van, staring glassy-eyed out the front window. Then he noticed an acrid smell in the air, like ammonia or rubbing alcohol.

  “Joe?” Frank asked. “Are you okay?”

  Suddenly Joe slumped forward onto the steering wheel. Like a heavy stone, his foot plunged down on the accelerator, and the van shot
forward. Then it swerved to the right.

  Frank looked through the windshield and realized that they were heading straight toward the front window of a store.

  9 Deadly Fumes

  * * *

  Frank shoved his unconscious brother aside, grabbed the steering wheel, and desperately turned it to the left. The van skidded back onto the road. Frank heaved a sigh of relief.

  But they weren’t out of danger yet. As it veered away from the sidewalk, the van swung in front of a delivery truck that was barreling down the road. Frank grabbed the wheel and turned it just in time to avoid the truck. He swung back onto the road—right into the path of a car that was pulling out of a parking space. With another quick turn of the wheel, he avoided the car, too.

  Other drivers had begun to honk loudly as the van zigzagged back and forth down the street. Frank jostled his brother urgently, trying to bring him back to consciousness.

  “Joe!” Frank shouted loudly. “What’s the matter with you?”

  His brother didn’t respond. Instead, he slumped down into the seat. As he did, his foot slipped off the accelerator. Frank pushed him against the door of the van, then he squeezed halfway into the driver’s seat, and stomped on the brake with his foot.

  The van screeched to a halt in the center of the road. Trembling, Frank put the van into park, turned on the flashers, and then fell back into his seat. Suddenly he realized that his head was spinning—and not just from the effort of trying to control the van. He felt as though he had inhaled some kind of poison gas.

  Frank leaped out of the passenger door and gulped down breaths of fresh air. Then he ran around the van and yanked open his brother’s door. The younger Hardy tumbled out of the van into his arms.

  “Hey, are you kids out of your minds?” a man shouted angrily.

  Frank turned to see a nearby driver jump out of his car and run toward the Hardys. He was about to yell something else when he saw Joe slumped unconscious in Frank’s arms.

  “Something’s wrong with my brother,” Frank explained. “He collapsed while he was driving.”