Chapter 11
WITH A RHYTHMIC chunk - a - chunk - a - chunk, the brushed-chrome commuter train disappeared into the tunnel.
"What do we do now?" Joe asked.
His question was answered by the track announcer's next words: "Three-thirty train for Kirkland now boarding. Track Twelve. All aboard!"
"Come on, Joe!" Frank said. "Kirkland's close to Bayport. We can catch a lift from there."
They ran back up the stairs and followed the crowd to Track 12. This time they were early for the train and grabbed two seats in a rear car.
As the train pulled out of the station, Frank looked out the window and drummed his fingers on his armrest. "I hope we're not too late," he said. Worry showed in his eyes.
Joe nodded. "I can just see the headlines: 'Commuter Shooter: Murder on the Bridgefield Express.' "
"They'll probably wait to nail Clifton until after they reach Bayport," Frank stated objectively.
"Sure, go ahead and be logical," Joe retorted.
The brothers fell into a gloomy silence as the train chugged through the tunnel. Their aunt Gertrude had spent the night and most of that day in jail, and the man who could help them get her out was riding on a train into a deathtrap.
***
"Thanks, Chet." Frank patted their friend Chet Morton on the shoulder as his car pulled up beside the Hardy van at the Bayport train station. Joe was already halfway out the door. "Call you later with the whole story."
As Frank climbed into the van's passenger seat, Joe was already shifting into first.
The van sped out onto the highway that ran beside the train tracks. "At least nothing happened at the station," Joe said as they ate up the road. In a few minutes they passed a sign that said Entering Cliffside Heights. Joe turned off the highway and drove through lazy, winding side streets. The houses here were larger and farther apart than the ones in the rest of Bayport, and each lawn seemed to be tended by a professional gardener.
"Do you remember the address Officer Riley mentioned for Mrs. Simone?" Joe asked. "Wasn't it Archer Street?"
Frank thought back. "Yeah. Four seventy-seven."
Joe turned onto Archer Street, while Frank looked out the window at the house numbers. "Hey, slow down!" Frank said. "There it is!"
Joe pulled the van in front of a large white colonial with a bay window. A manicured lawn sloped up to it, and a gravel driveway cut beside it to a three-car garage in back.
"Whew, a family could live in that garage," Joe remarked. "Alexandra Simone must be doing well."
Frank raced to the front door and pounded on it. "Mrs. Simone!" he called out. "It's Frank and Joe Hardy!"
Joe was still coming up the drive as the door was swung open by Alexandra Simone. "What's all this commotion, guys? I have a doorbell," she said.
"Look, we're sorry, but have you heard from Clifton? We lost him at the — "
"You lost me?" a voice behind Mrs. Simone said. "I'm the one who made the train!"
Frank's face brightened. "You made it! We thought that — "
Clifton nodded. "I picked up your hand gestures just fine. Besides, I'd had my eye on those two drones when they got on the train."
"What did you do? They were armed!"
"No kidding. The stop before Bayport, I got up and headed between the cars. When they followed me, I got the drop on them, took their guns, and locked them in one of the rest rooms." He grinned. "I even put a sign on it—Out of Order. They'll probably be in Bridgefield before they get loose. And I called the cops to meet them there."
Frank smiled. "Very neat."
At that moment they were interrupted by the sudden ringing of the phone.
"I'll get it," Mrs. Simone said, running into the kitchen.
Frank watched her leave and then turned to Clifton. "Did you tell her about the scarf?" he asked.
Clifton shook his head. "No, but I'm about to."
"Good, because we really should get back to the station house. Our poor aunt is probably going out of her mind."
"Clifton, it's for you!" came Mrs. Simone's voice from the kitchen. "It's urgent."
"Look, you go and take care of your aunt. I'll handle this end of it." He gave the brothers a wink before he started off to the kitchen. "Call me later."
Frank and Joe ran off to the van. "He's a good guy," Joe remarked as they climbed in.
"Sounds like he handled those goons pretty well," Frank agreed.
As they approached the station house, Joe gazed curiously into the parking lot. "That looks exactly like Dad and Mom's car," he said.
Frank looked over and caught a glimpse of the license plate. "That is their car. I guess they cut their trip short."
As soon as Joe parked the van, he and Frank darted into the station house. The first thing they heard was a calm but commanding voice.
"Chief Collig, I had to interrupt a perfectly wonderful and long-overdue vacation to come here. My sister sounded absolutely distraught over the phone. And my lawyer tells me you're detaining her on the absurd belief that she committed — "
Frank and Joe instantly recognized who it was. "Hey, Dad, welcome home!" Frank called out.
"I'll get your sister right away, Mr. Hardy," said Chief Collig, standing across the desk from Frank and Joe's father.
Fenton Hardy turned around. "Well, if it isn't the traveling twosome! Don't you think you could have saved your trip to New York until after we got your aunt out of trouble?"
"That's why we went to New York, Dad. To get her out of trouble."
Fenton Hardy's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you start by telling me exactly what happened?"
"Well, you see, we think someone is — " Frank started to say.
But he was cut off by Aunt Gertrude's voice, choked with emotion. "Oh, Fenton!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're here!"
They turned to see Aunt Gertrude approaching Fenton with her arms outstretched. Beside her stood Officer Riley, the envelope of photos tucked under his arm.
Aunt Gertrude embraced Fenton and burst into tears. "I was nowhere near that pier, Fenton!"
"Of course you weren't, Gertrude," Fenton said reassuringly, patting her back. "Now, don't worry. I'll get to the bottom of this." He looked up at Officer Riley. "I'm sure you have an explanation for accusing my sister of the murder of Henry Simone, Con."
"Well, Fenton," Officer Riley replied with a sigh. "It's as strange to me as it is to you. But first I think you ought to look at these."
He handed Fenton Hardy the evidence and walked toward a demure, white-haired woman sitting quietly on a bench.
"Look at that, will you?" Aunt Gertrude said in a shaky voice, pointing toward the four photographs. "He thinks that's me in the pictures!"
"Funny, it does look a bit like you," Fenton Hardy said. "But even so ... "
Officer Riley said a few words to the elderly woman, then slowly brought her over to the four Hardys. "Uh, pardon me, Miss Hardy," Officer Riley said, "but do you recognize this woman?"
Aunt Gertrude grew fidgety and forced a smile. "Why, yes, of course. Edna Sutter," she said. "From Saturday night bingo."
"Hello, Gertrude," Edna Sutter said in a sober, clipped voice.
"What brings you here, Edna?" Aunt Gertrude asked warily.
Before the woman could answer, Officer Riley said to her, "Mrs. Sutter, I'd like to repeat what you told me over the phone. Now, you read the newspaper account of the Simone murder. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir," Edna said, jutting her chin out resolutely.
"And you remembered driving home with your husband late Sunday night — "
"That's right. We were returning from my grandson's birthday party up in Short Hills. He was six that day — no, seven — "
"That's wonderful, Mrs. Sutter. Congratulations. And what exactly did you see when you got back into Bayport?"
Edna Sutter's eyes darted back and forth between Aunt Gertrude and Officer Riley. "Well, the weather was lovely, so we decided to take the road along the pier.
I was about to suggest to Philip — that's my husband — that we stop to take a walk — "
"But you didn't..." Officer Riley continued.
"Well, no. You see, there was already another couple out there, and they seemed to be having cross words with each other. Now, I thought it would be improper to intrude on their privacy. I remember noticing how handsome the man was, and then the woman's face struck me as being familiar. I said to myself, 'Edna, isn't that Gertrude from bingo?' Of course, I didn't think any more of it until I saw the picture of the murdered man in the newspaper the next day. Then I realized who he was — the fellow who was walking with Gertrude!"
She set her jaw and looked Officer Riley straight in the eye. "Of course, I thought it my civic duty to report this. It was just as we were saying at my last bridge club meeting: this society needs to be more vigilant — "
"Uh, thank you so much, Mrs. Sutter," Officer Riley interrupted. He helped her into her coat. "You've been a big help, and I'll be sure to call you when we need you again."
As Edna Sutter walked away, Fenton Hardy shook his head. "I wouldn't trust that lady with a — "
But at that moment Aunt Gertrude burst into tears. "All right! All right! I've had enough!" she cried.
"What is it, Gertrude?" Fenton Hardy asked gently.
"I'll admit it! I lied!"
Gertrude Hardy lifted her tearstained face. "She was right. Cyril and I were on the pier!"
Chapter 12
GERTRUDE HARDY COLLAPSED into her brother's arms, her shoulders heaving. While she sobbed, Frank, Joe, and Fenton Hardy stood with their jaws open. Gertrude Hardy sounded like a broken woman about to confess to murder!
"And those people in the photo?" Fenton Hardy asked. "They are you and Simone, Gertrude?"
Aunt Gertrude nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. "Yes," she said softly. "But I can explain it all!"
Mr. Hardy put his arm around her and sat her down. "That's all right, Gertrude. Now, why don't you tell us exactly what happened — slowly, from the beginning." He gave her a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.
"I'm sorry, it's — it's just that the memories are so painful. ... " Her voice was choked as she looked desperately from face to face. Then, shaking her head ruefully, she let out a big sigh and began her story.
"The night he was murdered, Cyril and I went for a walk along the pier. As Frank and Joe will tell you, the two of us were having rather rough times. He seemed to be such a kind, gentle man at first. I'd never — never fallen for anyone so quickly. I felt like a young girl again!" A smile flickered across Aunt Gertrude's face, but it quickly dissolved into a frown.
"Then suddenly he changed. He wouldn't show up for our dates, he stopped returning calls. I was so angry with him that I decided to confront him at his cottage."
"And this was Sunday night, the night that he was murdered?" Officer Riley asked.
"That's right. It was about — oh, nine - thirty, nine forty - five or so. I found him in the cottage, working. He'd completely forgotten about the date we'd made. He apologized and suggested we take a walk down Bay Road to the pier. But all the way there he just seemed so — so distant, so uncaring. By the time we got to the pier, I'm afraid I completely lost my temper."
"And, uh, what exactly happened when you lost your temper?" Officer Riley asked.
Aunt Gertrude shifted uncomfortably. "You know, I've always been a peaceful, loving person. I've never done anything to hurt anyone — until that night. I — I guess I just lost control."
Frank was beginning to feel warm. He looked at Joe and his father and realized they were probably all thinking the same thing. Was Aunt Gertrude's "explanation" going to turn into a confession? Could she have done it after all?
"Before you go on, Gertrude," Officer Riley said, "remember, you have a right to remain silent and to have a lawyer present — "
"I slapped him."
A long, expectant silence stretched for several seconds. Finally Officer Riley looked at her blankly. "You—slapped him?"
"That's right. I think it shocked me more than it did him. Anyway, that's when we had our long talk, and we patched everything up."
"Then why did you leave by yourself?" Officer Riley asked, holding up the picture that seemed to show her walking away alone.
"I — I didn't. We left together," Aunt Gertrude replied. She took the picture and examined it pathetically. "I can't understand this. He and I were together the whole time."
"You're sure?" Officer Riley pressed.
Aunt Gertrude came back to life. "Of course I'm sure! Do you think I'm old and dotty? My memory is perfectly good!"
Officer Riley shifted uncomfortably from leg to leg. "Well, Gertrude, it's just that this was the last time Simone was seen alive. Now I want you to think about that night — try to recall the anger you felt, and whether you had the knitting needle with you — "
"My knitting needle?" Aunt Gertrude laughed. "Oh, please, Officer Riley, why would I bring a knitting needle on a walk?"
Con Riley shook his head and sighed, looking at the photos. "I don't know, Miss Hardy, I just don't know."
"May I see those?" Frank asked. Officer Riley handed him the photos and Frank riffled through them. "As far as we can tell, these first few pictures are Aunt Gertrude and Simone. But this one ..." He held up the photo of Aunt Gertrude walking away alone. "This one must be an impostor."
"How can you be so sure?" Con Riley asked.
"I start by assuming Aunt Gertrude is innocent. Not only because she's my aunt — "
"But because we're supposed to assume a person is innocent until proven guilty," Fenton Hardy said with a meaningful glance at Con Riley.
"Harrrrumph, yes, of course," Officer Riley replied.
"My theory," Frank went on, "is that someone is trying to frame her. We don't know who yet. Now, this last photo does resemble Aunt Gertrude, but it's just fuzzy enough so that we can't tell for sure — "
Joe looked over his brother's shoulder. "Is there anything about the person that's different? Clothing? Hair? Anything?"
They all examined it closely. Frank tried to make out details, but the lighting was so dark, it was hard to tell.
"That dress could be any color," Aunt Gertrude said. "And the hair looks like mine, but for all I know it could be a wig."
"The lights along the pier are the same," Mr. Hardy said, scratching his chin. "If there were only some way to tell that these pictures were taken at different times, or on different days - "
Joe scrutinized the photos carefully. "The same boats are in the water in each shot."
"And judging from the way they're reflecting the streetlights, they seem to be at the same level," Frank added. "That means the tides are about the same."
"Too bad the moon isn't in the photos," Fenton Hardy remarked. "We could check its shape and position."
Frank looked closely at the almost pitch-black skies. "This must be some film," he said. "It picked up every possible light source." He pointed to the stars, which showed up as tiny flecks of white. He flipped from photo to photo.
"Hmm," Frank said. "Same star formations in each one of these — "
Joe turned the last photo so he could see it better. He put his face close to it, squinting. "Except for the little dots in this one ..."
"Probably a plane passing overhead," Frank suggested. Suddenly his face lit up. "That's it!" he exclaimed.
"What's it?" Aunt Gertrude asked.
Frank grabbed Aunt Gertrude's hand. "Aunt Gertrude, do you remember seeing or hearing a plane?"
"Well — no, I don't believe so," Aunt Gertrude answered. "But honestly, Frank, that's not the sort of thing that would stick in my mind."
"True," Frank said, a gleam in his eyes. "But if there was a flight that night, there would be a record of it at the Bayport/Barmet Airport!"
"Good point," Fenton Hardy said with a proud smile. "Can you get it for us, Con?"
"You bet," Officer Riley answered. He went over to the phone a
nd punched the number. "Hello, this is Officer Con Riley, Bayport police. I need someone who handles the list of all flights in and out of the airport. Yes, hello, ma'am. I need to know all the flights into and out of the airport this past Sunday night. After twenty-one hundred hours, please." Officer Riley furrowed his brow. "Mm - hmm ... Yes ... You're sure?"
"What's she saying?" Joe demanded.
"Just a second, ma'am." Officer Riley pressed the hold button. "No go. There were three flights—nine forty-two, ten oh-seven, ten twenty-three."
A look of disappointment washed across everyone's faces. Frank stared at the picture again, as if looking for inspiration.
Officer Riley put the phone to his mouth. "Okay, thank you for your help, ma'am. ..."
"Wait!" Frank shouted before Officer Riley could hang up. He held up the picture and pointed to the water. "Ask her which flights had a pattern that took it over Barmet Bay."
Officer Riley asked her the question, grunted "mm - hmm" a couple of times, and hung up the phone. "All flights that night came in from the northwest." A wide smile grew across his face. "None of them had a traffic pattern that put them anywhere near the bay! According to the flight log, there was a flight over the bay on Monday night. Whoever took that picture had to have done it on Monday—the day after the murder."
"All riiiiight!" Joe yelled, giving a little punch in the air.
"Well," said Officer Riley with a smile, "this doesn't really prove anything. But it gives us cause to doubt. I'm going to allow you to go home if your brother will be responsible and post bail." Fenton Hardy nodded. "I apologize for the inconvenience."
Aunt Gertrude didn't say a word. But the warm hug she gave Mr. Hardy and the boys left no doubt how she felt.
Frank shrugged his shoulders. "That part was easy. Now all we have to do is figure out who took the picture—and who the impostor was."
Frank and Joe drove home in the van while Mr. Hardy took Aunt Gertrude in his car. They all arrived at the house at the same time to find the door locked and the answering machine blinking.
"That must be for one of you," Fenton Hardy said with a grin. "Everyone else thinks we're still away on vacation."
A Killing in the Market Page 7
