"Uh - oh," Joe told her. "Are you sure he's not after your fortune?"
Aunt Gertrude gave him a look. "If I were you, I wouldn't joke about fifty thousand dollars."
Frank let out a whistle. "Not bad, Aunt Gertrude!"
Gertrude Hardy smiled proudly. "Well, I worked all those years when I was younger, and I managed to save a bit for a rainy day."
Frank's voice was quiet as he broke in. "If you've saved that much money, are you sure you want a near stranger taking charge of it?"
"Cyril is not a stranger, Joe. Besides, anyone who works for Colt Fadiman — "
"Did he tell you exactly how he was going to invest it?" Joe asked.
"Well, not exactly, but he said to let him worry about it. Something about capital something - or-other securities—"
Joe tried to hold in his disbelief. "Aunt Gertrude, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you barely know the guy, and you have no idea where your life savings are about to end up. I mean, the papers are full of stories about swindlers — guys who work for these big-and-mighty companies and steal clients' money left and right!"
"Joseph, I will not hear another word of this! Cyril is as honest a man as I've ever met, and I have the utmost confidence in his intentions!"
"I'm sure Joe just meant you might want to start off in small chunks—maybe ten thousand or so," Frank suggested.
Gertrude shook her head. "I've already promised Cyril the full amount — changing things now would make it seem as if I didn't trust him."
"And you're sure you want to trust him . . ." Frank shrugged. They rode in silence for the rest of the ride.
***
"What's wrong with it?" Callie Shaw asked as she parked her car in front of the Hardy house. "I mean, she's a perfectly attractive woman!"
"Cyril Bayard certainly thinks Aunt Gertrude is attractive." Frank laughed. "But I have other ideas about what makes a woman attractive."
Callie tossed back her medium-length blond hair and smiled at Frank. "Want to share your ideas?" She drew her face to within inches of Frank's and closed her eyes expectantly.
"Well, to start—" Frank answered. He wrapped his arms around her and touched his lips to hers.
Honnnnk! A sudden blast broke the spell. With a start Frank and Callie pulled away from each other.
"What the — " Frank said angrily. He turned and was confronted by a shiny black slab, which he immediately recognized as the side of the Hardy van.
"I see you in there," Joe's voice rang out. "Even though the windows are all steamy."
Callie slumped back into her seat.
"Sorry, Callie," Frank said. He stuck his head out the window and called, "Thanks, Joe, for the ride home from Callie's house! If I'd waited for you, I'd still be there."
"Doesn't look like you minded too much!" Joe answered with a grin.
They were interrupted just then by a strangled-sounding scream from inside their house.
"Trouble!" Joe burst from the van, tearing for the house. Callie threw open her door and started running, too, closely followed by Frank.
"Hope this isn't like the last time we dashed to the rescue," Frank muttered.
It was. They found Aunt Gertrude standing in the middle of the kitchen, trembling. On the floor, splattered around and on her, was a huge mound of spaghetti with red clam sauce.
"What happened?" Frank asked. "I thought you were having dinner with Mr. Bayard tonight."
Aunt Gertrude looked furious. "That's what I thought too," she said through tight lips. "Five o'clock. That's what he said. It's almost six. But is he here yet? No!"
"Is this what you were going to serve him?" Joe asked, looking at the mess.
"No, we were going out! But I was going to whip together a little something for you and Frank. And now look what happened. He's got me so angry — "
Frank thought back. It had been a rocky two weeks since Aunt Gertrude had started seeing Mr. Bayard. At first everything had gone smoothly, but lately Mr. Bayard had stood her up a couple of times. Even though his excuses had always been good, Aunt Gertrude was beginning to feel hurt.
"Oh, I was so mad at him last week. And then — " Her eyes began to water, and she turned away from her nephews. "Then we took a nice walk last night, and everything seemed fine."
"Maybe he was called in to his office, like that day last week," Frank suggested. "They may still be in."
He went to the phone, got the number for Colt Fadiman from Information, and called Mr. Bayard's office.
"Colt Fadiman, Mr. Bayard's line," a cheerful voice answered.
"Hello, may I speak to him, please?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bayard is on vacation."
"Uh — yes. But is there any chance that he might have come in today?"
The person at the other end chuckled. "Oh, I doubt it. He's been touring Europe for the past few months — "
"Thank y — Wait a minute, did you say Europe?"
"Yes, sir. Until at least December first. May I leave a message?"
Thinking fast, Frank asked, "Well, uh, maybe you can help me. I met several investment counselors at the, uh — convention last month, and I'm not sure I have the correct person. Is Mr. Bayard a tall, thin, gray-haired gentleman?"
"Oh, no, sir," the other voice chortled. "Mr. Bayard would be so flattered. To tell the truth, he doesn't have much hair left, and he's only five foot seven—and rather, how should I say, heavy-set — "
"I see," Frank said. "Well, I guess I must have gotten his business card mixed up with someone else's. Thank you."
"What was that all about?" Joe asked after his brother hung up.
Frank tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. "Something's very wrong here. The secretary's description didn't match Mr. Bayard at all."
"What?" Aunt Gertrude said. "I don't understand."
"Let's go pay our Mr. Bayard a little visit."
Once again they took the route along Bay Road to Mr. Bayard's place. The cottage was pitch-dark. Frank grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment, and he and Joe helped Aunt Gertrude and Callie out. The four of them walked silently toward the front door.
"Not even a porch light," Aunt Gertrude whispered. "Maybe he did spend the day in New York City."
Frank flicked on the light and boosted himself up to peer in through the front window. "Well, wherever he went, it doesn't look like he'll be back for a while."
Joe raised himself up and pushed his face against the window. As Frank shone the beam around, Joe was stunned.
It looked as if the entire living room had been torn apart. The armchair where Aunt Gertrude had sat was on its side, the cover slashed to reveal the stuffing underneath.
The rug was rolled back, and even the logs from the fireplace had been rolled out.
There was no sign of Cyril Bayard.
Chapter 3
"SQUAAWWWWK! BUY LOW, sell high! Bull market! No sweat! Squaawwwwk!"
After Frank pried open the front door, the screeching of the parrot greeted them. It was the only sound in Mr. Bayard's living room. To the left, the couch had undergone the same slashing routine as the chair. Several wooden planks had been ripped out of the floor where the rug had been taken up.
"What happened to Cyril?" Aunt Gertrude murmured, her face frozen with shock.
"I'll call the police," Joe said. He went to look for the phone while Frank tried to comfort his aunt. "Easy now," Frank said. "We'll get to the bottom of this."
"Dinner? No sweat! Brrrock!" the parrot called out.
"I — I think he's hungry," Aunt Gertrude said listlessly. Frank followed her into the kitchen and over to a cupboard. Her face looked pale and drained. With shaking hands she reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a box of birdseed. But as she was lowering it to the countertop, she abruptly lost her grip. The seed spilled noisily onto the floor.
"Oh, no!" she cried.
"It's okay! I'll pick it up!" Frank said.
"No, no, it's not that, Frank. Look!" With an expression of horr
or she pointed to the countertop. On it was a copy of The New York Times from the week before, folded open to a story. Frank picked it up and read the headline.
WALL STREET CLERK SHOT MISTAKEN FOR BOSS BY GUNMAN?
And then Frank saw what had upset Aunt Gertrude so much. Below the headline was a smiling photo of Mr. Bayard in a jacket and tie with the caption Henry Simone.
"Henry Simone?" Frank muttered.
"Wh - what does it say, Frank?" Aunt Gertrude asked.
He read aloud.
"Yesterday evening, after business hours, a gunman gained access to the offices of the investment firm Thompson Welles. The intruder used a heavy-caliber pistol to fire three shots into Peter Lance, an assistant to executive Henry Simone. Mr. Lance died immediately.
The assailant escaped the building before the body was found. Police suspect that the attacker mistook the clerk for Henry Simone, an investment counselor of great notoriety in Manhattan finance. ..."
By this time Joe had returned and was listening intently. "Sounds like old Cyril — or should we call him Henry — had a bit of trouble back home," he said.
Frank paced back and forth. "Obviously, somebody's after him, and he knew it. Otherwise why would he skip to Bayport using the name of someone he knew was going to be out of the country for a while?"
"When exactly did this shooting happen?" Joe asked.
Frank looked at the top of the newspaper. "Last Friday."
"That was just about the time he started acting weird around Aunt Gertrude."
Aunt Gertrude knelt down to gather up the birdseed. "I don't believe this has happened," she said, standing up again.
"Look on the bright side, Aunt Gertrude," Joe said. "There are no bullet holes, no bloodstains. Maybe Cyril—or Simone, or whatever his name is—is still alive."
Aunt Gertrude looked as if she were about to faint. "Bullet holes — bloodstains?"
"Nice work — really sympathetic," Frank said to Joe under his breath. He took his aunt by the arm and led her out of the kitchen to a seat near the dining room table, where she had left one of her knitting bags a week and a half earlier.
Just then the wail of a police siren sliced through the air. Joe went to the front door to let in Officer Riley and his partner.
"We found the place like this, but we don't know for sure what happened," Joe said. He handed Officer Riley the newspaper article. "But we did turn this up."
Officer Riley glanced at the article and surveyed the room. "Whew," he said. "I remember when stockbrokers led quiet, respectable lives."
"Whee -oo! Stockbroker, what a joker! Hey, no sweat!" the parrot squawked.
"Aah, pipe down before we book you," Officer Riley said with a smile. He took a look at the paper.
"Say, that's the fellow who stopped the cyclist thief!" Officer Riley's eyes narrowed. "Any of you know much about this guy?"
Frank and Joe looked at Aunt Gertrude, who was fingering a knitting needle nervously. "I do, Officer Riley," she said. "At least I thought I did — "
Officer Riley sat opposite her at the table. "Yes, I remember you talking to him."
Aunt Gertrude's worried look gave way to a deep frown. "I talked, but I guess I didn't ask the right questions," she said almost to herself. "I was fooled. I — I thought he was interested in me. But I guess my nephews were right. He wanted my money, the slimy, conniving — "
"A shame, Miss Hardy, a shame," Officer Riley interjected, shaking his head. "But if you'd just give me some facts about the man — "
"Some facts ..." Aunt Gertrude looked up at Officer Riley with bitter, hurt eyes. "The facts are that Mr. Henry Simone, alias Cyril Bayard, alias who-knows-what-else, swindled a woman's life savings, everything she had. Those," — she got up from the table and started pacing — "those are the facts, Officer Riley." Aunt Gertrude had turned her face away so Officer Riley couldn't see the tears that were forming in her eyes.
"Miss Hardy," Officer Riley said gently, "we may be able to find him, if you cooperate — "
"Good! Because if you do find him — that is, if he's still alive — then bring him to me right away. And I'll kill him!" She jabbed her magenta knitting needle in the air for emphasis.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then all at once Aunt Gertrude turned red with embarrassment. "Oh! Oh, what am I saying?" She sank back into her chair. "I'm so sorry, Officer! Of course I didn't mean that!"
"Not to worry, ma'am," Officer Riley said with a jovial smile. "You're upset and confused. We'll talk about this some other time."
After Officer Riley and his partner finished their report, they picked up the parrot to take it to the station house for safekeeping. Frank and Joe took their aunt home. For the rest of the evening they tried to patch up Aunt Gertrude's hurt feelings.
The next morning Joe sneaked quietly down the stairs to the kitchen. His aunt had looked so exhausted the night before that he didn't want to wake her.
As he moved toward the kitchen, he imagined he could smell the bacon he was about to cook.
Suddenly a voice called out, "Don't bother sneaking around. I'm up."
Joe entered the kitchen to see Aunt Gertrude sitting at the table in her bathrobe, nibbling on a piece of crisp bacon. "Help yourself," she said, pushing a plate of bacon his way. "How would you like your eggs?"
"How did you know I was going to come down just now?" Joe asked.
Aunt Gertrude gave him a sad smile. "I woke up at three this morning and couldn't get back to sleep."
The phone rang just then. "I'll get it up here!" came Frank's voice from upstairs.
"Can't get Bayard — Simone, I mean — out of your mind, huh, Aunt Gertrude?" Joe said.
"Not to mention my money." Aunt Gertrude sighed. "I feel like such a fool."
Before Joe could answer, the rhythmic thumping of footsteps interrupted him from behind.
"Get your jacket, Joe! We've got to move!" Frank called out.
"Wha — Wait a second! I haven't eaten! What's going on?"
"That was Callie on the phone. She says she saw ten cop cars swarming around the pier as she was driving to school. She couldn't tell what's happening, but thought we'd like to check it out."
Joe bolted up out of his chair. "Sorry, Aunt Gertrude," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. "We'll talk later, okay?"
Before she could answer, Frank and Joe were out of the house and into the van. Frank threw it into gear, and they took off to the pier.
As soon as they reached Bay Road, they spotted the revolving roof lights of the cruisers reflecting off the surrounding houses. A crowd of people stood behind a barricade of wooden sawhorses, stretching to see what was going on.
"Over here, guys!" Callie's voice rang out. Frank and Joe pulled into a space and ran to her. "Officer Riley's here. I'm sure if you tell him that I'm with you, he'll — "
Frank rolled his eyes. "Callie, I don't even know if he'll let us in."
"Sure, Frank, sure. This is the thanks I get for tipping you off? See if I ever help you again!"
Frank sighed. "Let's go talk to the man."
"Great!" Callie said, following them as they slid between two sawhorses.
The three of them were at the foot of the pier when they met Officer Riley, who waved them on. At the far end of the pier a group of police officers was gathered, watching a team of divers search beneath the dock.
Callie dodged excitedly left and right between the police officers to get a better view.
Frank and Joe worked their way up to the railing and looked down into the dark water.
Both brothers' jaws fell open as they saw what one surfacing diver was holding.
The body of Henry Simone—with a magenta-colored knitting needle stuck into his chest.
Chapter 4
CALLIE SHUDDERED AND turned her head away. "How horrible!"
Frank couldn't do much more than nod sadly as two police officers lifted the body over the railing and gently placed it on the ground. Around them, onlookers bu
zzed noisily. Police officers, led by Officer Riley, surrounded the body.
"Come on, Frank," Joe said, walking toward Officer Riley.
Frank looked back at Callie, who waved at him to go ahead without her. He joined his brother in looking over Officer Riley's shoulder.
"How long was he under, Con?" Frank asked.
"Oh, a day or so," he said.
"How did you know a body was down there?" Joe wanted to know.
"Received an anonymous tip early this morning," Con Riley answered, his mind obviously on something else.
Frank and Joe nodded solemnly, and Officer Riley looked away from them before speaking. "Uh — your aunt Gertrude," he finally said hesitantly. "Sounded to me as if she really wanted revenge on this fellow for swindling her."
"Well, she was angry," Joe replied. "I mean, she thought he was — "
Frank cut him off. "Why ask?"
Officer Riley turned back to face them and silently pointed to the bloodstained magenta knitting needle.
Joe stared at the policeman. "Wait a second! You mean, you think that Aunt Gertrude actually — "
Officer Riley shrugged his shoulders. "Obviously, I can't accuse anybody, but — well, you know, fellas, I've got to start this homicide investigation somewhere."
Frank and Joe exchanged disbelieving glances. "But, Officer Riley, how could you possibly suspect — I mean, of all the unlikely — of course she couldn't have done this — " Joe sputtered.
Officer Riley shook his head. "I'm sorry, boys, I'm going to have to ask you to bring her into the station for questioning. After school will be soon enough." He began walking to his squad car.
"No way!" Joe replied indignantly.
Officer Riley turned around. "If you don't," he said gently, "I will." He took in Joe's mutinous glare. "And, boys—I don't want her to know what evidence we've found — understand?"
That afternoon, right after school at two o'clock, Frank drove the van to the police station with his aunt in the back seat with Callie. Aunt Gertrude was nervously clutching the newspaper article about Henry Simone. "I still don't believe he's — " Her lips began quivering.
"Such a waste," Callie remarked, putting an arm around Aunt Gertrude.
A Killing in the Market Page 2
