Bonfire Masquerade

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Of course I’m right,” said Lenni. She looked at an imaginary watch on her arm. “Look at that, time for me to go. There’s a second line tonight, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  She pulled her skateboard out of her bag and hopped on it. Soon she was zooming off.

  “Wait!” I yelled. “Where are you staying? How can we contact you?”

  “I’ve still got your phone!” Lenni yelled as she disappeared around the corner, leaving Frank and me scratching our heads.

  “What’s a second line?” I asked Frank.

  He shrugged.

  With nothing else to do, we decided to follow our last remaining clue. The phone we’d followed to the Bywater belonged to one Andrew Richelieu. According to the police records, he was the spoiled son of a rich banking family and had had no idea his phone was even missing. Chances were, he wouldn’t have much information for us, but we had to try.

  I pulled out my phone and called the number the police had given us for Andrew.

  “What?” a surly voice answered on the other end.

  “Hi, is this Andrew Richelieu?” I said, surprised.

  “Uh, duh.”

  “Well, this is Joe Hardy. I’m working with the New Orleans Police Department. I believe they mentioned I might be contacting you about—”

  “Whatever. I don’t really care, and I have a party tonight to get ready for. What do you want?”

  Man, the police report had been kind! This guy was a brat.

  “I’d like to talk to you about the theft of your phone.”

  “Fine. Party starts at eight p.m. Ask the butler to find me when you get here.”

  The line went dead. Andrew, it seemed, was a man of few words—and all of them were hostile.

  Four hours later, Frank and I were seated in the back of a taxi, on our way up to the Garden District. Parties seemed to be the order of the day. The streets were lined with huge columned mansions, all of them lit up with tiki torches and mini spotlights, with parties that spilled out onto their lawns and balconies. Some were formal affairs—black ties and evening gowns, with elegantly simple masks. Others were wild, raging parties with dancing and blaring music. And the parties weren’t contained to the houses. Every corner seemed to have an impromptu band performing, people dancing, laughing, singing.

  I could really get to like this town, I thought.

  Finally we arrived at Andrew’s house. Unlike many of its neighbors, his house was clearly modern. It was made of glass and burnished bronze and looked like a tiny skyscraper, complete with a pointy tower on top. It was out of place on the street of old French houses, but somehow, it worked. Weird as it was, it was beautiful.

  Much, much weirder than the house itself were the people. The costumes here were among the most extravagant we had seen yet. One man was wearing a suit made entirely of blue and red feathers, which extended from his body to impossible lengths, creating huge parrot wings and a long tail that trailed behind him. A woman was wearing what appeared to be a live ivy plant, growing out of a pot on the top of her head. There were animal masks that seemed to be grafted onto people’s necks, making it look as though they really were half-man, half-animal.

  “Wow,” said Frank. “And I thought people went all out on Halloween in Bayport!”

  We ducked past the revelers on the front lawn, who were all surrounding a giant sculpture that was made out of test tubes filled with various colored liquids. Every now and then, one of the partygoers would grab one and drink from it, but the stuff inside was sort of sludgy and odd, and not like any beverage I had ever seen before. It took twenty minutes to find the butler, and forty more for Andrew to come find us.

  He was wearing a costume that seemed, at first, boring: a simple gray suit, nicely tailored. As he approached us, however, I realized I was wrong. The suit wasn’t gray. It was brown. No, blue! Finally I realized that whatever the suit was made of, it was shifting colors as he walked, pulsating in time to his movements. It must have been unbelievably expensive.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be police?” said Andrew, before we had even introduced ourselves. In person, he was even ruder than on the phone. He had short spiky brown hair and a mouth fixed in a permanent sneer. He looked like the sort of kid who had been half bully, half coward. Also, there was no way he was that much older than I was.

  “We’re part of a special crimes unit,” Frank said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

  “It’s about time the police department realized I’m an important person in this town, and sent some specialists in,” sniffed Andrew. “Did you know that my father owns half the casinos in Louisiana?”

  I took a deep breath and told myself to count to three before I answered. There was only one useful tack to take with someone like this.

  “Of course, Mr. Richelieu. How could we not?”

  This pleased Andrew, and his mouth twisted up into a sour smile.

  “Now, about your stolen phone. Is there anything you can remember from that day?”

  “Oh, who knows! I mean, I have six phones. Or maybe seven? I can never keep track of them anyway. Honestly, until the police called, I didn’t even know it was missing.”

  Frank and I traded looks. Seven phones? What did he need that many gadgets for? Frank pressed him a little.

  “Do you remember anything about when it disappeared? Where? If anyone strange was following you around?”

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “Look, I told you I don’t know. Jeez. Shouldn’t you be out solving crimes? Can’t you, like, dust for DNA or something? Are we done yet?”

  If he wasn’t even going to try, there seemed to be little point in asking further questions. I gave him a card with my number on it, in case he remembered anything more. He turned away and dropped it on the ground before he’d gone two feet.

  Our last clue had proven to be a dead end.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said to Frank. We turned to leave, and ended up getting completely lost inside the strange modernist architecture and the swirling party.

  Somehow we ended up in a very long hallway—but every door was locked. We turned to go back the way we had come, only to find three costumed partyers blocking our way out. All three were wearing long robes in different colors, with simple silver masks.

  “Frank and Joe Hardy,” said one, in a deep, gruff voice. “Prepare to die!”

  CHAPTER 9

  NANCY MADAME LEVEAUX KNOWS ALL

  It was almost impossible for me to keep from laughing as Bess, George, and I advanced on Frank and Joe. The two of them had backed up against the wall and were crouched down in fighting stances.

  “We don’t want to hurt you,” said Frank.

  “Too bad,” said George, in a fake, growly, baritone voice. “Because we want to hurt you.”

  “Bring it,” said Joe. He waved us on with the tips of his fingers, like he was the hero in a martial arts movie.

  Finally, when we were almost on top of them, I reached up and yanked off the mask.

  “Nancy Drew!” yelled Frank.

  “What the heck?” “What are you doing here?” said Joe. He was still in his crouching tiger position.

  “Funny, I was about to ask you the same question,” I said.

  “Scaring the pants off you,” said George.

  “You got that right,” said Bess. She crouched low in her robe, mimicking Joe. He hastily stood up as he realized that he and Frank weren’t about to duel their way out of this hallway, and that he looked silly.

  “Very funny,” said Joe. “But really, what are you guys doing here?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “Though something tells me you might already know parts of it.”

  I don’t think it took the best detective in the world to figure out that the Hardy boys weren’t just here for Mardi Gras. And my intuition told me that whatever they were working on, it was connected to Daniel’s death. Why else would we have ended up at the same party?

  Joe smiled. “We’ll
tell you our story if you tell us yours.”

  I laughed.

  “We were just about to head out,” Frank said. “Want to go somewhere and compare notes?”

  “And get some food?” said George. “Did you see the food at this party? None of it was actually … food. It was all, like, foams and liquids in test tubes with labels that said ‘pulled pork’ and ‘mac ’n’ cheese.’”

  “They tasted all right,” said Bess. “If you ignored the texture issues.”

  “So that’s what those tubes were!” said Joe. “We were wondering.”

  “I saw a diner not far from here,” I said. I remembered noticing it through the window of the taxi as we came in. “It was kind of overflowing with people, but I think that’s true for the entire city right now.”

  We decided to take our chances.

  Bess, George, and I pulled our costumes off. Andrew, the host, had given them to us when we walked in, saying that the evening gowns Yvette had lent us “wouldn’t do.” We dropped them with the butler on our way out.

  The party had been lame anyway. Aaron had been too busy talking with Andrew and all their other friends to spend much time with us—even with Bess. Everyone else seemed totally shallow and boring.

  The diner was as packed as I remembered, but we spent the twenty-minute wait getting caught up. By unspoken agreement, we didn’t mention our cases until we were seated at a table.

  “What happened to your hair?” said Bess. “You guys trying a new look?”

  “It’s a disguise,” Frank said quietly. “Undercover work.”

  “I kind of like it,” I said. “Makes you both look edgy.”

  “Or totally ridiculous.” George laughed.

  Joe grinned. “We can do your hair next, George.”

  “No way!”

  Finally, in a booth next to a group of people dressed as the characters from The Wizard of Oz, we got the chance to compare notes.

  It took us all of about ten seconds of talking to realize that our cases were probably connected. Turned out that Daniel’s warehouse was on the list of properties that the New Orleans Police Department had given to Frank and Joe as part of this gang’s crime wave. They told us all about Lenni, and the Krewe de Crude, and the rest of their adventures.

  I started to tell them about our investigations, when Joe suddenly snapped to attention and blurted out, “Oh my God!”

  “What?” I said. We all tensed up. What had Joe realized? What important clue had we all missed?

  “Did you see this on the menu? Tater tachos? They’re like … nachos, but with Tater Tots. That’s brilliant. This is the best city on Earth.”

  We all agreed that that was amazing, and ordered five of them. Then it was back to detective work.

  “It doesn’t sound like any of your gang would have been at Daniel’s party,” I said, when I’d finished recounting our experiences.

  “No,” Frank agreed. “But I wonder … Joe, what was it Sybil said about the stolen stuff?”

  “That none of it was showing up on the black market.”

  “Right. If the gang was selling the stuff to someone directly, they wouldn’t need a pawnshop or a fence.”

  “But that person would need to be pretty well off,” said George.

  “Like Aaron!” I said. Even after the rescue, I still didn’t trust him 100 percent.

  “Or Nicole,” added Bess.

  “Or Andrew,” said Joe. “I mean, he certainly seemed rich.”

  “True, but he doesn’t have any connection with Daniel.”

  “That we know of,” Frank said. “Maybe it’s time we did some more research on his phone. Even if he won’t give us any more information, maybe it will.”

  “I’ve got some experience with bringing dead machines back to life,” said George. “Want me to take a crack at it?”

  “Sure,” Frank said. “Why don’t we go down to police headquarters tomorrow? We gave it back to their evidence room for safekeeping.”

  “While you guys are on that,” added Joe, “Nancy and I can look into this Nicole Leveaux character, since she seems to be the one we know the least about.”

  “Sounds good,” said Bess. “And I can do some more research on Aaron.”

  I turned and gave her a look.

  “He asked me out again while we were at the party.”

  “You’ll be our mole,” I said. “Find out everything you can about him.”

  “On it,” said Bess.

  Right then, the tachos arrived.

  “Wow,” I said. “These are definitely the best things I have ever eaten.”

  “Especially after that space food at the party,” George chimed in.

  Detective work ceased while we devoured the food, which took all of about ten seconds.

  Once the food was gone, we talked for a little while longer, but soon the excitement of the last few days started to catch up with all of us, and we were yawning into the remains of the tachos. We decided to meet up in the morning at the Hardys’ hotel room and then go from there.

  We showed up on the boys’ doorstep bright and early the next morning. Frank answered almost as soon as we knocked.

  “Nice digs!” said George, as she snagged a muffin off the complimentary tray that was sitting outside their room.

  “You guys are fancy,” I said, as I took in the room.

  “It’s all ATAC,” said Frank.

  “BLAARGH TREAACKLE ACK,” said Joe into his pillow.

  “I believe he said ‘good morning,’” Frank translated for him. “Joe’s not a morning person.”

  The four of us “encouraged” him to get up by throwing pillows at him. Once he was out of the shower, we worked up a plan.

  “I never talked to Nicole at the party, but she may remember me, so I’ll need a disguise,” I explained. “Why don’t we pretend to be visiting for Mardi Gras, and see if we can get her to talk? Maybe we can even pretend we’re interested in buying property, or investing in her place, and see if she’ll say anything useful.”

  “That’s our plan?” said Joe.

  “You got a better one?” I said.

  “Okay, good point.”

  “I’ve already called down to the main store. She should be in today.” Despite her strange appearance, everything I’d heard about her painted Nicole Leveaux as a savvy—and tireless—businesswoman. I wasn’t surprised to hear she was working during Mardi Gras.

  “While you guys are on that,” said George, “Frank and I are going down to the New Orleans Police Department to see what other information we can coax out of Andrew’s phone.”

  “And I’m going to meet Aaron for lunch in the Central Business District, right by where he works,” Bess said. “Hopefully I can get him to take me back to his office, and I’ll get a chance to root around in there.”

  “Man, you got the best job,” said Joe.

  “You should try being cuter.” Bess winked at him.

  After I borrowed a baseball cap from the boys and some big sunglasses from Bess, we were all piling into separate taxis.

  Joe and I ended up at Nicole’s flagship store: a giant, four-story Voodoo Emporium right near the levee of the Mississippi River. The place was filled with more souvenirs—and tourists—than I could ever have imagined.

  “Who knew there were this many kinds of plastic spiders in the world?” said Joe, pointing to an entire wall filled with spiders in every size and color possible.

  “Snakes, too,” I said, pointing to another display.

  We wandered through the floors, looking at the strange items on sale. They had everything from shrunken heads to life-size witches that came alive and cackled when you wandered near.

  “This is the tackiest place I’ve ever been,” said Joe.

  “Oh,” said a voice from behind us. “Are you looking for real magic?”

  We turned and found ourselves face-to-face with Nicole. She seemed to have come out of nowhere. It was a little unnerving. She was wearing another crazy outf
it. This time, it was a gold turban with a purple shawl and a wrap dress. She obviously believed in this voodoo stuff a little too much.

  “Hi!” I said, in a peppy voice. “We were just browsing. We’re here on vacation. My name’s Cindy, and this is my boyfriend Alex.”

  “Really? Well, welcome to the Crescent City. As we say in New Orleans, laissez les bons temps rouler. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Cindy.”

  “Well, Cindy, would you like to see some real magic?”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering how we were going to get some information out of her.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Nicole held out her hand and I placed mine in it, palm up. She stared at it intently for a moment.

  “I’m getting a vision. The spirits are communicating with me.”

  Nicole started taking in rapid, shallow breaths. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her grip on my hand became tighter and tighter. It started to hurt. Her whole body started to shake. I looked at Joe. He shrugged, a worried frown on his face. This was getting scary.

  Nicole uttered a low, soft moan. When she started talking, her voice was a raspy whisper.

  “You are not who you say you are. Your name is Nancy Drew. You are a detective from River Heights.”

  I guess my disguise wasn’t very good. I tried to pull my hand away, but her grip was like a vise.

  “Your father is Carson Drew,” she continued. “He has interests here—a client. A dead client.”

  “How do you know all this?!”

  Nicole stopped shaking. Her eyes came back into her sockets normally. But her grip on my hand didn’t change.

  “Because I’m not a fool,” she said, her voice normal again. “You think I didn’t clock you the moment you walked into my store? I have a photographic memory, girlie. Helped me go from being just another street fortune-teller to the owner of the biggest chain of souvenir shops in all of Louisiana. I saw you at Daniel’s party, and when I heard who you were, I looked you up.”

  I had underestimated Nicole. She might look silly, but underneath her costumes was an impressive mind.

  “Did your dad put you up to this? Or are you working on your own? I’ve read all about your impressive mystery solving. And you!”