“The new mail carrier delivered it to Konawa Lake Inn by mistake,” Joe replied.
“That’s twice now!” Jons yelled, kicking the dirt. “I’m gonna see to it that guy gets fired!”
Frank noticed two stripes on the shoulder of Jons’s uniform and a small flag sewn over the pocket of his shirt: a yellow star in a white circle against a blue background.
“What flag is that?” Frank asked, pointing at his shirt.
“Who are you?” was Jons’s answer.
“This is Frank and Joe Hardy,” Sandy said. “They’re on the summer staff.”
“Name’s Gus Jons. I’m a soldier of fortune,” Jons said to Frank. “I like to collect things from the different places I visit.”
“Is there a war going on in Konawa Valley I don’t know about?” Sandy asked, nodding at the rifle Jons was still holding.
“Sorry if I scared you,” Jons said to Joe. “I thought you were a thief. I heard about the break-in at the resort last night.”
“How did you hear about the break-in?” Joe asked.
Jons hesitated. “I know one of the cooks there. We figure it’s that Daniels fella.”
“Why do you figure that?” Sandy asked, his mouth tightening.
“He likes to pester tourists,” Jons replied. “Thinks he’s the only one that has a right to be on that mountain. Well, thanks for the package,” Jons added with a smile, and went into his cabin.
“That was strange,” Sandy said. “Mr. Craven never mentioned that the mail mix-up had happened before.”
• • •
Riding on the back of the dump truck, Frank and Joe talked about the encounter with Gus Jons. “He got very nervous when you asked how he knew about the break-ins,” Joe said. “Maybe he knew because he and his Doberman pinscher were the culprits.”
“Mrs. Gregory thought it was a gray wolf, and Mr. Flatts thought it was a reddish tan dog,” Frank pointed out. “Hard to believe it was a black Doberman.”
“Still, I want to talk to the cooks,” Joe said. “See if one of them really is Gus Jons’s friend.”
“IEV,” Frank said, thinking aloud, mulling over what Joe had told him about the tags on the luggage. “I’ve never seen that airport code either,” Frank said. “Jons said he was a soldier of fortune, so maybe he just came back from another country.”
“But why would he have two pet carriers with him?” Joe wondered.
Frank was stumped. Back at the Sweatbox, he and Joe changed into swim trunks, hoping to squeeze in a dip before lunch.
Chet walked into their room and stood at the foot of one of the beds.
“Hey, Chet,” Joe greeted him. “How’d it go this morning with the housekeeping crew?”
Without answering, Chet teetered forward and fell facedown on the bed. Joe and Frank laughed.
“Any news about the soap?” Frank asked.
Chet raised his head. “Julia says she’s replaced soap in five cottages the last two days. This morning we found three more cottages that were soapless, even though she knows they were stocked yesterday.”
“Either Konawa’s on a bathing craze, or your hunch was right, Frank,” Joe said. “Mrs. Gregory’s isn’t the only cottage the thief has been to.”
“But why does he need a wolf to steal soap?” Chet asked.
“To warn him, to protect him?” Joe guessed.
“Or to guide him,” Frank said. “To guide him to the soap.”
“Then we’re back to my first question,” Chet griped. “Why soap?” His face dropped back into the pillows.
• • •
Joe decided not to show off and did a simple dive into the cool, deep lake. He was swimming back to the surface when his foot caught on something. As Joe struggled to break free, he realized someone’s hands were wrapped around his ankle, holding him underwater.
Joe had just begun to panic when the hands suddenly released him. Joe broke the surface and saw Frank standing on the diving board.
Frank was frowning and shaking his head. He nodded to the right of Joe, where Joe saw Katie Haskell treading water and smiling. “Did you think the salamader-man had you?” she asked.
Joe shook his head and swam to the ladder. Frank gave him a hand up. “I was about to start kicking whoever it was in the head,” Joe complained. “One of us could have drowned.”
“Katie enjoys practical jokes as much as she enjoys flirting with boys,” Frank told him.
“If that’s her sense of humor, maybe it’s not beyond her to go on soap raids in the cottages,” Joe suggested.
“Sorry, Joe,” Katie said as she climbed up the ladder behind him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. The lifeguards are throwing a swimming party down here tomorrow night. I hope you’ll come. And Frank, too, of course.”
“Thanks, Katie,” Joe replied, drying off. “We’ll play it by ear.”
• • •
After lunch Frank and Joe stopped in the kitchen to talk to the cooks, but none of them said they knew Gus Jons. The Hardys spent the rest of the afternoon mowing the athletic field. Heading back to the Sweatbox for a shower before dinner, Frank spotted a mail truck outside the inn. The mail carrier was just climbing into the driver’s seat.
The man introduced himself as John Dossett and was very friendly until Frank mentioned Gus Jons.
“That guy is a time bomb,” Dossett complained. “He asked me about a package he was expecting from out of the country, and I told him I delivered it here by mistake. He nearly tore my head off!”
“Did you get the package back to him,” Frank asked.
“I offered to, but he insisted that he’d take care of it himself,” Dossett explained.
“I wonder if the package is still here?” Frank said.
“Ask Ms. Jones,” Dossett said.
“Sandy’s wife?” Frank asked.
“The lady in charge of housekeeping,” Dossett replied. “That was my mistake. The package said ‘Jons,’ and I thought it said ‘Jones.’ ”
Dossett put his mail truck in gear. “Konawa Lake—Lake Konawa . . . it’s no wonder I’m confused.”
Frank told Dossett about the second missed delivery that day, and Dossett thanked him for the warning.
Frank recounted what he had learned from Dossett over a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and turnip greens.
“Let’s go see Borda Jones before we set up the chairs for the square dance,” Joe suggested as he dropped the drumstick that he’d just finished off onto his plate.
• • •
The air in the laundry room beneath the inn complex was hot and humid from the twenty giant dryers and thirty washers that ran almost around the clock. Borda Jones didn’t hear Joe calling her name until the third try.
“Joe! Frank! How y’all doin’?” the hard-working, no-nonsense housekeeping chief shouted while dragging a load out of a washer and dumping it into a rolling basket.
“The postman delivered a package a few days ago!” Frank shouted.
He then explained that the package was intended for Gus Jons. “Did Mr. Jons ever come by to claim it?”
“No, he didn’t,” Borda said. “But I know which box you mean.” Borda pointed to a stack of flattened cardboard. “It’s probably still in there.”
The boys begin sorting through the boxes. “Here it is!” Joe exclaimed. “To ‘Jons. One hundred Konawa Lake Road.’ ”
“Look where it’s from,” Frank pointed out. “Prossk Home Products, in Kiev, Russia.”
“Do you remember what was in the box?” Joe asked Borda.
“Uh . . . no, I don’t rightly know,” Borda said, looking away. “I have to get back to work.”
Frank sniffed the box. “Smells like perfume or deodorant.”
“Or soap?” Joe suggested.
“Soap!” Borda spoke up. “That’s it. A hundred bars of soap.”
“Where is it now?” Joe wondered.
“All over Konawa,” she replied. “We distributed it to the guest cottag
es and the inn.”
Frank looked at his brother. “The pieces are finally starting to fit together.”
“But if Jons wanted his soap back, why not just ask for it?” Joe wondered.
“Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know it was his,” Frank replied. “Because it wasn’t just bars of soap.”
Joe snapped his fingers. “He was smuggling something into the country.”
“Borda?” Frank asked, turning to Sandy’s wife.
He saw fear in her eyes for a moment, then she smiled. “I don’t know much about such things,” she said, backing away. “I need to finish the dinner linens.”
“She’s really dedicated to her work,” Joe said to Frank.
“More than that, Joe,” Frank said. “Talking about what was in that box made her very nervous.”
Suddenly the boys heard a man shouting from the other side of the inn. “Help! Someone help!” Frank and Joe ran around the corner of the inn. Mr. Tringle yelled to the Hardys from his third-story balcony, “Help! I’ve been robbed!”
5 Lightning Strikes
* * *
Jim Craven and Sandy Jones rushed up beside the Hardys as Tringle continued shouting, “Someone stole my gold watch and all my cash!”
Joe saw a dozen guests pour out onto their balconies. Craven held his palms up, gesturing to Tringle to keep it down. “Let’s talk about this calmly, okay?”
Inside Tringle’s room, the frantic guest explained how he was returning from a walk when he noticed the door to his room was ajar. “And I always lock it!”
Frank checked the keyhole on the doorknob and found no scratch marks. “It doesn’t appear that the lock was picked or that the door was forced open,” Frank said, then turned to Craven. “Who has passkeys for the guest rooms?”
“Me, Sandy, and Borda,” Craven replied.
Milo Flatts, wearing tennis attire and holding a racquet, peeked in from the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“My room was burglarized!” Tringle growled.
“A robbery, huh?” Flatts said.
“Did you see anything, Mr. Flatts?” Frank asked.
“Well, sir, I did. I don’t know if it has anything to do with this, but a few minutes ago I saw that red dog again. Two dogs, in fact, crossing the creek beyond the tennis courts with a bearded fellow about as broad as a grizzly bear.”
“That’s Daniels and his dogs!” Tringle declared.
“Did anyone else on the tennis courts see them?” Frank asked.
“No, I was alone practicing my serve,” Flatts replied.
“Okay, Joe, check with the other guests,” Frank directed. “I’ll look for clues in here.”
“Hold it, guys,” Craven said. “I know you wear a lot of hats on the maintenance crew, but since when are you detectives?”
“Sorry, Mr. Craven,” Frank apologized. “Our dad is a private detective in Bayport, New York.”
“We’ve helped him with a bunch of investigations,” Joe added. “It’s almost automatic.”
“I’d prefer that you let the adults handle this,” Craven told them.
“Look!” Tringle said, pointing to his bed.
Frank knelt down to see a cluster of coarse, reddish animal hairs on top of the bedspread. “These sure look like they could be from Rob’s dog.”
“I told you!” Tringle said. “He took three hundred dollars in cash and an expensive gold watch.”
“Sandy, you’d better ring Sheriff Lyle,” Craven told his maintenance chief.
“No need for Sheriff Lyle. I’ll go get Rob Daniels, Jim,” Sandy offered.
“That’s what you said last time,” Tringle complained. “I hear you and Daniels are old college buddies.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Sheriff Lyle isn’t going up the mountain tonight,” Sandy said. “Not with that thunderstorm brewing. I’ll go and try to convince Rob to come down; we can send the law after him tomorrow.”
“I’m going with you,” Tringle said.
“That’s a rough climb, Mr. Tringle,” Sandy said. “I wouldn’t recommend it for someone your age.”
“Beg your pardon, sir, but how about if I go with Sandy?” Flatts offered.
“Much obliged, Mr. Flatts,” Tringle replied. “I’d like for someone without a passkey to be involved in this investigation.”
Sandy bit back a comment. “All right, Mr. Flatts, let’s go.”
• • •
The men headed for the front desk to get flashlights. Frank grabbed Joe’s shoulder, holding him back. “Do you remember when Sandy told us he went to college with Rob Daniels?” he asked Joe.
“Yeah, we were coming down the mountain—” Joe broke off midsentence. “You think Mr. Tringle was the one following us?”
“Maybe,” Frank replied. “This robbery doesn’t make sense for Daniels. Why would a man who prides himself on living off nature steal money?”
“Could Flatts be lying about seeing Daniels and his dogs?” Joe wondered.
“This is twice he’s been the only eyewitness who saw them,” Frank answered.
Joe thought for a moment. “If you’re right about Tringle’s door not being forced, that throws suspicion on the people with passkeys—Mr. Craven, Borda, and Sandy.”
“Unless Tringle set up the robbery himself,” Frank suggested.
Joe whistled. “Man, that’s a lot of possibilities.”
“Let’s tag along behind Sandy and Mr. Flatts and see what we can find out,” Frank said.
“Good idea,” Joe agreed. “Besides, if Flatts is up to something, Sandy might need us to cover his back.”
Frank and Joe raced across the grounds to the Sweatbox to grab their flashlights, running into Chet in the hallway. “What’s the rush?” Chet asked.
“We don’t have time, Chet,” Joe called over his shoulder. “We have to tail someone.”
“Tail someone?” Chet asked, following the Hardys into their room. “Who are you tailing?”
Joe knew that his friend loved helping them on their investigations. “Okay, Chet,” Joe said, smiling. “Grab your flashlight.”
• • •
Joe, Frank, and Chet made it back to the inn just in time to see the beams from two flashlights bob into the woods behind the cottages.
“We’d better hurry or we’ll lose them,” Frank said, setting off at a fast jog. Thunder rumbled as the three friends headed into the woods.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves and giving Joe a chance to fill Chet in on the case without being heard by Sandy or Flatts.
Chet stopped, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “Let me get this straight,” Chet said, speaking between gasps. “We think the soap thefts have to do with the contents of Gus Jons’s lost package, which Borda Jones knows something about but isn’t telling.”
Joe picked up the story. “Rob Daniels is either involved and Sandy’s trying to cover for him or Rob’s being framed by Milo Flatts.”
The wind suddenly died down. Frank put a finger to his lips, warning Joe not to speak. “I thought I heard something,” he whispered.
All three boys listened. After a moment of silence, the wind picked up again.
“Probably just the wind,” Joe said. “We’d better get go—” Just then a powerful arm wrapped around Joe’s neck, cutting off his sentence.
“Joe!” Frank shouted, shining his flashlight at his brother’s attacker. Sandy squinted back from the bright light.
“Frank?” Sandy asked, surprised.
“What are you boys up to?” Milo Flatts asked as he stepped out from behind a tree. “You doing a little recon?”
“We thought you might need us,” Frank replied, trying not to rouse Flatts’s suspicions.
“I heard someone talking and circled back,” Sandy told them. “Hope I didn’t hurt you, Joe.”
“I’m fine,” Joe said.
Thunder cracked louder and closer than before. “Let’s find Rob and get off this mountain,” Sandy said.
• • •
Five flashlight beams crisscrossed, surveying the spot that had once been Rob Daniels’s campsite. A campfire was still burning, but all the man’s belongings were gone.
“He’s broken camp,” Joe said.
“Looks like we just missed him,” Sandy added, squatting down by the campfire, pulling out one of the logs and examining it. “This log hasn’t been burning for long.”
“I’d say it was lit between nineteen hundred and nineteen-thirty hours,” Flatts said, squatting down beside Sandy.
“Over here!” Chet called out. Frank reached into a fissure in the rocks and pulled out an old worn blanket. The blanket unrolled, and a gold watch and a wad of twenty-dollar bills were deposited on the ground.
“Isn’t this Rob Daniels’s blanket?” Joe asked Sandy.
“Appears to be,” Sandy said in a low voice.
“It’s covered with reddish tan dog hair,” Chet pointed out.
Frank turned to Joe and said quietly, “Maybe Mr. Daniels is behind the break-ins after all.”
A mournful howl carried down to them from higher up the mountain. “That sounds like it’s coming from Timber Gap,” Sandy said. “Let’s go.”
“We have three teenage boys in our charge,” Flatts said. “Do you think it’s wise to go on a search-and-destroy with a thunderstorm about to let loose?”
“You’re right, Mr. Flatts,” Sandy agreed. “I’ll go alone.”
“And leave us to navigate that unmarked trail?” Flatts asked, concerned.
Sandy paused. “I’ll lead you back down.”
“We can make it on our own,” Joe insisted.
A light rain had begun to fall. “No, Mr. Flatts is right,” Sandy said. “Douse that fire, Frank.”
Frank stirred the fire with a stick, then covered it with dirt.
“Okay, gentlemen, let’s get a move on.” Sandy started leading them back downhill.
Frank shined the flashlight down to make sure the fire was fully extinguished, and its rays caught a glint of metal in the ashes of the campfire. “Joe?” he called quietly. Frank knelt down, picking up a piece of half-burnt foil with the emblem of a gold bear on it.
“It’s the same emblem that was on the cigarette butt we found,” Frank said, showing Joe the foil.
The Hunt for Four Brothers Page 3
