Terror at High Tide

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Wait!” Joe shouted. He jumped out of the Jeep and caught up to her, then quickly told her about Ferrier and the torn sailboard. “Do you know if the sail was frayed?” he asked.

  Alicia glanced down uncomfortably, tracing a pattern in the sand driveway with her sneaker. “Don’t ask me,” she finally said. “It was an old sail, so it must have just torn.”

  “Do you know the name of the blond woman next door?” he pressed.

  “That’s Katie Hall, the publisher of the Island News,” Alicia answered.

  “The person Ferrier was having lunch with,” Joe said. “Are they friends?”

  Alicia shrugged. “I see him over there sometimes on Saturdays dropping off magazines and stuff. That’s probably why he was there. And now, I’ve really got to go.”

  “Alicia,” Frank said, leaning out of the driver’s seat. “Before you go, tell us whether you’ve heard from the kidnapper.”

  Alicia’s head shot up, then she instantly looked away. “Please go away and leave me alone,” she said icily.

  “No,” Joe said. “Your father’s missing and you might be in danger yourself,” he said. “Besides, we’re supposed to be helping you, not deserting you. Come with us while we talk to Harrison Cartwright. We won’t make you answer any more questions—Scout’s honor,” he added, flashing a lopsided grin.

  Alicia’s face turned red. “Please stop your investigation,” she said. “The police are taking care of everything. I’m sure my father’s fine.”

  “How do you know that?” Joe demanded. “And when did you go to the police?”

  Instead of answering, Alicia turned and marched up the walkway to her front door. Looking back with a scowl, she walked inside and slammed the door behind her.

  Frank and Joe exchanged glances. “Weird,” Joe muttered as he climbed into the Jeep beside Frank.

  “You’re not kidding,” Frank said, shaking his head. “But she didn’t ask for her Jeep back. We can still investigate Cartwright.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “But I’d like to know what’s going on with Alicia. It’s as if she’s a completely different person.”

  The Hardys drove in silence to Harrison Cartwright’s house, about fifteen minutes outside of town near a stretch of moors and a cranberry bog. The sun was setting, and patches of mist rose from the open fields of marshland and scrub.

  A tall row of trees hid Cartwright’s house from the road. As Frank scouted around for the driveway, a man wearing a navy jersey stepped out from the property and peered inside a mailbox.

  “Hello,” Frank said, stopping the Jeep. “We’re looking for Harrison Cartwright.”

  The man crossed the road to their side. “Well, you’ve found him.” Cartwright gazed at Frank from under the peak of a white yachting hat, his gray eyes twinkling. Cartwright’s skin was weathered from the sun, and his hair at the edge of his hat was white, but he looked strong and healthy, his posture ramrod straight. As Cartwright shook hands with Frank, Frank noticed he was missing part of his little finger. “How can I help you boys?” Cartwright asked, smiling.

  Frank told Cartwright that Geovanis had been missing since the dinner party the night before. “We wondered what you and Mr. Geovanis were talking about last night at the party,” Frank said. “And did Mr. Geovanis mention anything about going anywhere after the party?”

  Cartwright shook his head. “He didn’t tell me about any plans. He was trying to get me to contribute money to the shipping museum, and I refused to pledge an exact amount. I told him it wasn’t the time or place to fund-raise, and George got angry. I didn’t see him after that conversation.”

  “What time was that?” Joe asked.

  Cartwright furrowed his brow. “Oh, I’d say about eight—just after dinner.”

  “Thank you very much, sir,” Frank said.

  “You’re welcome, and I hope you find Geovanis soon.” Cartwright waved as Frank and Joe drove off.

  “Now what?” Joe asked. “We didn’t learn a thing from him. The trail’s gone cold.”

  “Not really,” Frank said. “We still need to track down our main suspect—Scarlatti. And also check out the museum again—see if we can find a link between the vandalism and Mr. Geovanis going AWOL.”

  About thirty yards past Cartwright’s mailbox, the Hardys heard a pop, then a loud slap of rubber. The Jeep sagged to one side. “Oh, no,” Frank groaned. “A flat.” He brought the Jeep to a halt by the edge of a cranberry bog, and the Hardys got out.

  As Joe inspected the tire, Frank glanced over at the cranberry bog. In the misty dusk he thought he saw something move. “Joe, look,” he whispered.

  As Joe snapped to attention, Frank made out a hunched-over figure in a dark shirt darting down a path through the bog about a hundred feet away. “I wonder if that’s Cartwright,” Frank said. “This guy’s wearing a dark shirt, too, but I can’t see much else in the mist. Why is he all hunched over—like he’s sneaking somewhere?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Joe said. “Let’s follow him.”

  Frank and Joe jogged onto a narrow path that bordered the bog. Thick rows of cranberry bushes choked the swampy water, and the mist made the going treacherous. Frank kept his eyes on the ghostlike figure ahead, weaving its way through the fog.

  Frank heard a sudden splash behind him, and he turned around to see his brother knee-deep in the bog. As Joe scrambled back to the path, his muddy sneakers made a squeaking sound. “I’m okay—let’s just move,” he said.

  The Hardys continued down the path, but the figure was gone. “We’ve lost him,” Frank said. “And the mist is getting thicker. Maybe we should come back tomorrow when we can see what’s out here.”

  “Hey, Frank, what’s this?” Joe bent down and picked up a small round object. Turning it over in his fingers, he said, “It’s a gold cuff link shaped like an anchor, with the letters EP on it. I wonder if it belongs to the guy we were chasing.”

  Frank took the cuff link from Joe, peering at it in the semidarkness. Then he looked at Joe, his eyes wide with excitement. “EP—those are the initials of the Ebony Pearl!”

  10 The Secret Tunnel

  * * *

  “What would the Ebony Pearl have to do with this?” Joe asked in surprise.

  “Beats me,” Frank said with a shrug. “Mr. Geovanis or someone could have owned some cuff links that came from the Ebony Pearl.”

  “Alicia told us her father was just a kid when the ship sank.” Joe thought for a moment, then added, “Maybe he took them as a souvenir.”

  “Maybe,” Frank agreed. “Mr. Geovanis could have been wearing them when he disappeared. It was a fancy dinner party, and he might have worn a dress shirt with cuff links.”

  “We’ll have to show this to Alicia,” Joe said, slipping the cuff link into his pocket. “If she ever talks to us again, that is.”

  Frank and Joe scanned the path for other clues, then headed for the Jeep. After changing the tire, they drove into town to pick up Callie at the newspaper. Soon they were all sitting down to a lobster dinner at the Easy Street Café at Steamboat Wharf.

  “No way am I wearing one of these,” Joe muttered, crumpling the plastic bib the waitress had brought. “I mean, I’m not two years old anymore.”

  Callie laughed as she and Frank put their own bibs aside on an extra chair. “A lot of people don’t want to ruin their clothes eating messy lobster. That’s why they give out these bibs. Still, I know what you mean, Joe.”

  “My sweatshirt can handle it,” Frank commented. “It’s seen worse.”

  Before ordering, Frank and Joe had filled Callie in on the case so far. “So, what are your theories about all this?” she asked as they all dug into their lobsters.

  “I think that someone’s looking for something in the museum,” Frank said. “The culprit’s trying to force Geovanis to tell him where it is, so he kidnapped him.”

  “What do you think the guy’s looking for?” Callie asked.

  “Who knows?” F
rank answered, cracking open his lobster’s shell with a nutcracker. “If we can figure that out, we might get more leads to Geovanis’s whereabouts.”

  Callie took a sip of water. “What about suspects? I hope you’ve at least ruled out Mr. Ferrier.”

  “Not completely,” Joe told her. “He was the only person who knew we were going to the mill. He had an alibi for the time we were there, but he could have an accomplice. And it was strange that he appeared in front of Alicia’s house this afternoon.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “He was dropping off stuff at the publisher’s house—he often does that. He probably just decided to go fishing right then.”

  “Someone else could have heard us planning to go to the mill,” Frank said. “And Ferrier’s motive does seem far-fetched. Also, why would he ransack the museum?”

  “I’m glad you’re finally seeing my point of view,” Callie said with a smile. “Now, what about Harrison Cartwright? There’s evidence against him—his argument with Mr. Geovanis, then the shadowy figure in the cranberry bog near his property.”

  “But Cartwright wasn’t wearing a dress shirt with cuff links when we saw him at the mailbox,” Joe said.

  Callie looked thoughtful. “Since none of your suspects has the initials EP, maybe EP does stand for Ebony Pearl and the cuff links belong to Alicia’s father.”

  “I want to search the cranberry bog first thing tomorrow,” Frank said. “I have a feeling the cuff link is a clue to where he is.”

  “I still think Scarlatti’s our strongest suspect,” Joe said, loudly cracking a lobster claw with his nutcracker. “He would have a key to the museum and know the alarm system. He wants Geovanis’s job. And remember the secret passageway in his house that Alicia mentioned? If it’s for real, it would be a great place to hide someone. Why don’t we check out his house after dinner?”

  “If we find nothing there,” Frank said, “then we should go to the police. It’s been twenty-four hours since Mr. Geovanis disappeared, and we can see whether Alicia’s reported him missing. I also want to get into the museum again.”

  When Frank signaled to the waiter to bring the check, Callie said, “The strangest development in the case is Alicia’s weird behavior. Why would she want you guys off the case? And what evidence does she have that her dad’s okay?”

  Joe shrugged. “I wonder if she sabotaged the sailboard—to scare us away. She knew we were coming over to the house. She could have planted the sailboard by the beach, knowing that one of us might take it out while we were waiting for her to come home.”

  “No way, Joe,” Callie said hotly, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Alicia would never hurt anyone. That theory’s even crazier than suspecting Mr. Ferrier of kidnapping.”

  “Maybe,” Joe agreed. “But you must admit that Alicia knows more than she’s telling. What if her dad stole something from the museum and then disappeared to make it look like he was kidnapped?”

  Frank looked at Joe with curiosity. “And Alicia’s helping him?” he asked.

  “Either she’s helping him, or she found out about his crime and doesn’t want to turn her own father in.”

  “You guys,” Callie said, pushing back her chair. “Let’s get out of here. That lobster’s made you crazy.”

  “Just the opposite,” Frank said with a grin. “Your theory’s pretty sharp, Joe. I wish I’d thought of it myself.”

  “Thanks, Frank,” Joe said, taking the check from the waiter. “All in a day’s work.”

  • • •

  “Looks like no one’s home,” Joe said from the sidewalk outside Roberto Scarlatti’s house. “There’s only one small light in the downstairs hall.”

  “Good,” Frank said as he scanned the mansion. He led the way up the porch stairs and tested the door. “Still locked,” he muttered.

  “Let’s see if we can find an open window somewhere.”

  Frank, Joe, and Callie explored the wraparound porch. “Here’s an open window with a screen,” Frank said from the side of the house. “Let’s see if I can pry it open.”

  Using the flat edge of his pocketknife, Frank was able to lift the screen, and he, Joe, and Callie crawled inside. Overstuffed living room furniture, faintly lit by the hall light, loomed up around them.

  “I sure hope no one’s home,” Callie whispered, taking a few steps toward the hall. “Whoa!” An unearthly howl pierced the silence as Callie stumbled. Frank reached to help Callie, his heart hammering in his chest.

  “I think it was a cat,” Callie said with a nervous laugh. “I felt something soft brush against my legs as I tripped.”

  A muffled thump came from the hallway, followed by a louder bang. “That’s no cat,” Joe whispered, moving quietly toward the sound.

  “It’s coming from under the stairs,” Frank said as he followed Joe. “But I don’t see a closet door there.”

  “I’ll bet it’s Scarlatti’s secret passageway,” Joe said excitedly. “And Mr. Geovanis is stashed in there.”

  “If it is a secret passageway, there must be a button or a spring somewhere that opens it,” Callie said. “Let’s see if we can find it.”

  Callie ran her fingers over the molding under the stairs while Frank and Joe pressed the panels along the side of the stairs.

  “I think I’ve got it!” Callie exclaimed. Her finger rested on a piece of molding just above her head. “There’s a tiny button hidden here.” Callie pressed it, and a panel sprung open under the stairs. A faint moan came from inside.

  It’s got to be Mr. Geovanis, Joe thought. He peered inside, then gasped in amazement as someone fell into his arms.

  11 Blown to Bits

  * * *

  “Alicia! What are you doing here?” Joe cried.

  “I’m so glad you guys found me,” Alicia said as she pulled away from Joe. “I would have been trapped in there all night with that lunatic Scarlatti around.”

  “Did he lock you in there?” Callie asked.

  “No,” Alicia said. “The door shut on me by mistake. I was—”

  “What’s that sound?” Frank cut in. They all held their breath, listening. A pounding came from the front porch, as if someone was climbing the stairs. Then a key rattled in the door, and the lock snapped open. “Scarlatti’s home!” Frank said. “Hide, or he’ll catch us.”

  The Hardys, Callie, and Alicia scrambled into the secret closet and shut the door. It was dark, except for a faint thread of light under the door.

  “Let’s wait here for a moment to see what Scarlatti will do,” Joe said.

  “Shhh,” Callie whispered. “He’ll hear us.”

  Nobody breathed as Scarlatti moved around in the downstairs hallway. After a minute he thumped upstairs, causing the staircase to shake around them. Soon the distant sound of a TV or radio filled the silent house.

  “Let’s hope he’s upstairs for the night,” Joe whispered. “Should we try to sneak out through the living room window?” He felt around the panel for a button or spring. “Strange,” he said. “I can’t find a way to open this door.”

  “I couldn’t, either,” Alicia said. “That’s why I banged when I heard Callie scream. I hoped you’d hear me and let me out.”

  “Well, your wish came true—for a moment, that is,” Joe muttered.

  “So we’re stuck here till someone frees us?” Callie said anxiously.

  “Remember the secret passageway I mentioned when we came here to look for Roberto this morning?” Alicia said. “I wonder if it leads from this closet. After all, the door was secret, and we had to find a hidden button.”

  “There’s no passageway that I can find,” Joe said, his voice muffled as he searched the back of the closet. “All I can feel is a wall.”

  “What are you doing here anyway, Alicia?” Frank asked. “Why were you inside the closet?”

  “I was just about to tell you when Roberto came in,” Alicia said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m really scared, you guys, and at this point I don’t know where to turn.”<
br />
  “Do you know where your father is?” Frank asked.

  “No. But when I got home this afternoon, I found a note in our mailbox. The note was from the kidnapper.”

  “What did it say?” Joe asked. He’d given up searching for the passageway and was standing between Callie and Frank.

  “It said that if I want my father back, I have to pick up a manuscript from his safe-deposit box on Monday morning and leave it in a trash can on the wharf when the ten o’clock ferry docks. But if I talk to the police or to you guys about this, Dad will die.”

  Callie caught her breath. “So your father’s still alive! We have one more day to find him until you have to deliver the manuscript.”

  “Do you know anything about the manuscript?” Frank asked. “Why would anyone want it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alicia whispered. “I only know Dad’s working on a book about shipwrecks.”

  “I wonder if that’s what the thief was looking for in the museum?” Frank said. “He could have stolen a few shipwreck artifacts to make the job look like a burglary.”

  “True,” Joe said. “He could have pulled down the papers on the shelves looking for the hard copy of the manuscript, then turned on the computer to see if he could find it there.”

  “Do you have a key to the safe-deposit box?” Frank asked Alicia.

  “The kidnapper included Dad’s key in the envelope with the note,” Alicia explained. “Dad must have had all his keys together on a chain when he was kidnapped.”

  “The kidnapper couldn’t go into the safe-deposit box himself because he’d be recognized,” Joe whispered.

  “So the kidnapper wants my dad to give up what he’s been working on so hard,” Alicia said hotly. “I’m sure the kidnapper wants to claim it for himself.”

  “Shhh,” Callie said. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Roberto must be the culprit,” Alicia whispered. “He’s jealous of Dad, and he knows the alarm code at the museum. That’s why I’m here. I decided to sneak in to see if Dad was hidden in the secret passageway, since Roberto had mentioned that he’d built one.”