Ghost of a Chance

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Or who tampered with my rigging,” Terry said.

  Frank focused on the small screen. Finally, after half an hour of viewing, something clicked. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Go back a little.”

  Terry rewound the tape and played it again.

  “There!” Frank said. “See that guy—the one in the red shirt?” The shot showed the man from the side. He was nearly bald, with a fringe of pale hair. A large scar emerged from under wraparound sunglasses and snaked down his cheek. “I talked to him yesterday. I didn’t get his name, but he’s one of the extras.”

  “And?” Terry asked.

  “Last night I thought I recognized the voice of the person who chased us away from his cabin,” Frank said. “That’s the guy,” he said, pointing to the man in the viewing window. “The person at the cabin sounded like this extra.”

  Frank turned to Joe. “Did the cabin guy walk while you watched him?” Frank asked. “This extra has a limp.”

  “I didn’t see him move,” Joe said. “But he was standing sort of lopsided, now that you mention it. He was leaning over to one side, like maybe one leg is shorter than the other.”

  Terry popped the tape into his editing viewer and printed a still shot of the video where Frank had asked him to stop the tape. He handed Frank the photo of the extra in the red shirt.

  After they finished viewing Ernesto’s tapes, Lloyd slipped his tape from Joe’s stand-in rehearsal into the editing viewer.

  “What’s that?” Joe asked as they watched. Terry paused the tape, and Joe pointed to a bulky shadow near a large tree. The shadow was a long sleek form next to a rounder bulge. Terry cut and printed that shot and scanned both prints into his laptop computer.

  Terry’s photo-viewing software allowed him to enlarge the views, lighten the tones, and sharpen the images. With Frank’s guidance, he worked on the two photos. It took a while, but when they were through, there was no doubt about what they saw.

  Terry called up both shots, side by side. The image on the right showed the actor in his costume as an extra in the film’s cast.

  ’The image on the left was the same man, only this time, he had shaggy hair and a beard and was crouching near a large tree. His arm was resting on the back of Elvis, the puma that had attacked Joe, and his hand was clutching the fold at the nape of Elvis’s tan neck.

  14

  The Illusion Crumbles

  “It’s the same man,” Terry said. Frank studied the two images. The man who had unleashed the puma on Joe and the man who’d caught them trespassing was the man he’d talked to—an extra in the movie. All three were the same man.

  “Let’s go,” Frank said. “It looks like we’ve had a break in this case at last. We need to get more evidence before we go to the police, though. Let’s see if we can find this man at the filming location. I also want to see if I can find Ernesto in town and have him look at the strips of leather and silver chain I found in the well. He’s the ranking expert around here on Jumper Herman artifacts. He might be able to authenticate them for us.”

  “The rain has let up, so they’re probably thinking about shooting at the cabin after lunch,” Lloyd pointed out.

  “I could try to find Ernesto for you,” Terry said. “Maybe set up a meeting for later.”

  “Good idea,” Joe said, looking at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty now. Frank and I will be at the food tent on the mountain between one and one-thirty.”

  “Lloyd and I should be through with our meeting with Dustin by then,” Gene said. “We’ll meet you there.”

  “One of you call me here about then,” Terry said. “I’ll try to get Ernesto lined up.”

  “It’s a plan,” Joe said. He and Frank took Ernesto’s videotapes and the two enhanced photos and left.

  On the way to the location, Frank and Joe talked about the events of the last two days and how they could possibly be related.

  “If the guy in the photos is really responsible for Elvis’s attack on me,” Joe suggested, “he could be behind all the weird stuff that’s been going on. He’s got those costumes and disguises in that trunk in the cabin. Even the shaggy beard and hair could be fake, for all we know. He could use all those disguises so it would be hard to trace the crimes and pranks to just one person.”

  “He had a Bigfoot costume in the trunk, too,” Frank said. “He could have been the one that knocked me down Monday. He even could have been spying on us through the window of the abandoned shack that Terry took us to on the way to the hospital. He could be the one behind all the Bigfoot sightings around here.”

  “What about Cleo’s stunt?” Joe wondered.

  “Was it an accident? Or was it intentional? And if so, who set it up—and why? Terry swears someone sabotaged his rig, but he also swears he didn’t leave it long enough for anyone to tamper with it. He can’t have it both ways.”

  “You’re right—his story doesn’t add up,” Frank said. “But I really don’t think he’s behind this stuff. We’ll talk to him about it this afternoon.”

  As soon as Joe parked the truck, Sassy raced over to greet them. “Have you heard?” she said breathlessly. “Ernesto Roland has been arrested!”

  Sassy rattled on almost nonstop about how Ernesto had been caught lurking around the set again. “But this time he was caught and taken to the county jail in a town a few miles from Cross-cook,” she said.

  She turned to Frank, and her green eyes narrowed. “Remember when we ran into each other yesterday at the inn?”

  Frank nodded, and Sassy continued. “Well, when Ernesto went back to his room at the inn—practically at the same moment we were talking—somebody had completely ransacked it. You were in the area then. Did you see anything funny?”

  “No, but I have a question, and I can’t imagine anyone better to ask. You know everything that’s going on around here.”

  Sassy’s eyebrows rose when she heard Frank’s words. She leaned forward and said, “I certainly try to know everything. How can I help?”

  “It’s about one of the extras. He looks familiar to me—an old family friend, maybe. But I can’t remember his name. He’s got really shaggy hair and a shaggy beard—”

  “Hank Jeamer,” Sassy interrupted. “I’m sure that’s who you mean. He’s a local and kind of a character. A real loner. He’s not down here every day—just shows up occasionally. He lives up in the mountains. And he looks the part so perfectly that Dustin always signs him up as an extra when he does show up.”

  “Yep, that’s him,” Frank said. “I told Joe—if anyone would know, it would be you. Thanks a lot.”

  “Sassy, I’ve got a question for you,” Joe said. “What if I found something that looked like it might have a connection with Jumper Herman. My first impulse would be to have Ernesto Roland take a look at it. But it sounds like he might be out of commission for a while. Is there anyone else around here that could authenticate an item?”

  “You’re looking at her,” Sassy said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Of course,” Joe said.

  “I’ve collected some pretty interesting things myself,” Sassy said. “Have you found something? Tell me about it. Tell me everything.” She pulled her purple clipboard from the huge black bag hanging from her shoulder.

  “No, no,” Joe said, holding up his hands. “I don’t have anything yet, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Well, when that happens …” Sassy wrote a few lines on a piece of paper. “Be sure I’m the first to know.” She handed Joe the paper with her address and telephone number written on it.

  The Hardys started to move away, and Sassy called after them. “By the way, I haven’t seen Hank today, but if I do, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Frank said quickly. “I want to surprise him. Let’s keep it our secret.”

  Before she walked away, Sassy nodded and put a finger in front of her mouth, indicating that she would keep quiet.

  “I have an idea,” Frank said. “Com
e on.” He led Joe over to the makeup trailer. Frank reminded the makeup artist, Hilda, that he had been there before with Cleo. “I wanted to show my brother that cool software you have that alters facial images,” he said.

  “No problem,” Hilda said. “The program’s always open. Just don’t mess with any of my files. I’m going to pick up some lunch. Lock up if you leave before I get back. Everyone’s kind of nervous, what with all the peculiar incidents around here.”

  As soon as Hilda left, Frank scanned in the photo of the shaggy-haired extra. Then he used the computer to “erase” the big beard and shaggy hair.

  “So now we have a clean palette,” Joe said, staring at the picture. All they saw was a bald head shape, eyes, and a nose. Frank added a fringe of pale hair and a jagged scar down the cheek. “Yes!” he said. “It’s the man I talked to yesterday. They could definitely be the same person in two disguises.”

  Frank stared at the name he’d written on the bottom of the photo: Hank Jeamer. In the distance, he saw another photograph hanging on the wall.

  Joe followed his gaze. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Whoa, could it possibly be?” He darted across the room and took down the photo of Jumper Herman. Frank scanned Jumper’s image into the computer. Then he told the computer to age the image twenty-five years. It was the balding Hank Jeamer with the fringe of hair. Frank drew a scar on the cheek and the transformation was complete.

  The shaggy-haired Hank Jeamer and the balding man with the scar and Jumper Herman could all be the same man!

  Frank looked over at Joe, who was rapidly jotting letters on a notepad. “It’s an anagram,” Joe said, showing the notes to Frank. “If you scramble Hank Jeamer you get Jake Herman—Jumper’s real name!”

  Frank and Joe looked at the three faces on the computer screen, then at the anagram puzzle Joe had solved. “Jumper!” Joe said. “Still alive!”

  “Still taking chances,” Frank added. “Still fooling everyone, still taunting the authorities.”

  “An extra on the movie about himself,” Joe said. “It’s perfect. From everything we’ve heard, it’s exactly something this guy would do.”

  Frank printed the images he had concocted. Then he deleted all the work he had done in the computer. Joe hung the photo of Jumper Herman back on the wall and then headed out to meet Gene and Lloyd for lunch.

  The wranglers were waiting for them. They had been dismissed for the day and were eager to go up the mountain to look for clues. Over sandwiches, the Hardys shared their suspicions with the wranglers. Gene and Lloyd were excited by the possibility that Jumper was alive and hanging out on the set of Dropped into Danger. They all agreed that they should go back up to the cabin where the puma had led them the night before—perhaps the cabin where the famous Jumper Herman now lived.

  “Let’s stop by Terry’s first,” Frank said as the four piled into one of the wrangler trucks. “I want to ask him about the ghost illusion in Cleo’s trailer.”

  The inn was quiet. It was midday, and no one was in the lobby except a lone desk clerk reading a magazine. Frank led the others up the stairway and down the hall to Terry’s room.

  As they neared the door, they heard voices shouting. Frank turned to the others and held up his hand, urging the others to be still.

  “I swear I haven’t told anyone,” they heard Terry say from the other side of the door. “I promised I’d keep it a secret and I will. So stop bugging me about it.”

  “I can’t help it,” the other voice wailed. “ Nothing kills a career faster than being branded as trouble on a film. If anyone finds out we planned the whole thing, I’ll never work again.”

  Frank’s jaw dropped as he heard the second person speak. The voice was unmistakably that of Cleo Alexander.

  15

  You’re Too Late

  “I mean it,” Frank heard Cleo say from behind Terry’s door. “I trusted you with this whole scheme. If you rat me out, I’ll never forgive you. If I go down, you go with me.”

  “Relax, Cleo,” Terry said, his voice lower. Frank and Gene leaned toward the door. “No one’s going to find out.”

  The conversation stopped. Frank waited a minute, then knocked on the door.

  Terry opened the door. His face was flushed as red as his T-shirt. Frank wondered whether that was because of anger or embarrassment at seeing the group at the door.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Terry said. “You guys should have called first. I’d have ordered up some snacks or something.” He stood in the doorway, not budging.

  “We’ve been out here for a few minutes,” Joe told him.

  “Ernesto was arrested,” Terry said, not responding to Joe’s statement. “I tried to set something up for us with him. He’s out on bail now, and he’d be happy to look at the things you found in the well if you’re still interested.”

  “We’ll talk about Ernesto later,” Frank said. “Look, Terry, we know Cleo’s in there. We heard you shouting at each other.”

  “Well, come on in then,” Terry said with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Join the party.”

  Cleo was sitting on the sofa in front of the large bay window. She wore a yellow jumpsuit and her Olympic windbreaker. “Hi, fellas,” she said with a small smile. “I guess if I want to keep a secret, I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

  “We came over because we have a lot to tell you, Terry,” Joe said. “But first we need some answers. And you’ve got to be straight with us.”

  Terry frowned at Cleo, then turned back to the wranglers and gave them a crooked smile. “I think I know where you’re going with this. Go ahead—ask.”

  “Where were you yesterday morning?” Frank asked.

  Terry sighed and uttered one word: “Busted.”

  “I’m dead,” Cleo said. “My career is over.”

  “Terry!” Gene said. “Are you saying—”

  “Cleo’s RV … the ghost of Jumper floating down the hall,” Terry said, nodding his head. “A pretty good illusion, considering the small space I had to work with.”

  “But how could you do that to Cleo?” Lloyd asked. “You know how nervous she’s been with all the threats and everything.”

  “Get real, man. It was her idea,” Terry said.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Cleo said with a sigh.

  “I was tired of everybody laughing at me when I told them someone that looked like Jumper was hanging around,” she said. “I talked Terry into creating the illusion.”

  “Then she invited you there, Frank, so you could be a witness,” Terry said. “Neither one of us counted on you being such a great detective. It took you just a few minutes to figure the whole thing out. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me about it.”

  “What about the problems with her flying stunt?” Joe asked. “Did you two plot that, too?”

  “Absolutely not,” Terry said firmly. His dark eyes flashed with anger. “Someone sabotaged that stunt—it could have been a disaster. And I’m not leaving until I find out who did it.”

  “Okay, I believe you,” Frank said. The others nodded in agreement. “And we might just have a suspect for you.”

  The Hardys and the wranglers all talked at once, telling Terry and Cleo what they’d discovered.

  “Whoa, this is huge,” Cleo said. “You have to take me up to that cabin with you. If I can help solve this, I’ll have enough publicity to carry me for a year.”

  “Look, we can’t all go,” Frank said. “We’ll scare him off.”

  “Well, you’re not leaving me out,” Terry said. “I’d even offer my car, but it won’t seat us all.”

  “We can take my studio car,” Cleo offered. “It’s a luxury sedan. Plenty of room. But I go, too.”

  “What’d I tell you,” Terry said. “She’s got the guts of a stuntwoman.”

  “It’s probably a good idea not to take one of the wrangler trucks,” Frank said. “If Jumper, or Hank, or whoever it is spotted it, he’d know immediately who was coming.”


  There was no way the wranglers could leave Terry or Cleo behind, so they all climbed into the young star’s sleek car and started up the mountain, with Terry driving.

  Joe’s navigation skills were so attuned that he steered Terry onto the old road that they had seen leading away from the back of the cabin. There were no other vehicles around, but they parked about twenty yards from the cabin, just in case.

  They grabbed cables and ropes from Terry’s trunk. Gene and Lloyd were armed with their tranquilizer guns. Joe led them up the road.

  The smell of wood smoke hung in the air, but there was none coming from the chimney. It was about three-thirty, and the sun suddenly shot from around a cloud for the first time that day. The clearing around the cabin was suddenly painted with light and shadows chasing back and forth.

  When they reached the cabin, Joe paused for a moment, listening for any sound from inside the building. He heard nothing. His senses on high alert, he quickened his pace and headed toward the front window. The others followed closely behind.

  Joe crouched beneath the window, then slowly raised his head and peered inside. Elvis was lolling on his high-bunk perch, lapping his paw. There was no sign of the cabin’s owner.

  Joe turned to the others to report what he’d seen. Something fluttering in his side vision captured his attention. “Uh-oh,” he said when he spied the piece of paper tacked to the front door. “Come on, Frank,” he said. “The rest of you stay here.” Gene and Lloyd pulled out their tranquilizer guns, just in case.

  Joe and Frank crept to the door. With a feeling of total letdown, Joe yanked the paper off the door and read the message aloud: “ ‘You’re Too Late.’”

  When he pulled off the paper, the cabin door creaked open. Elvis looked up for a moment, but then went back to his bath. “The disguises are gone,” Joe said, seeing the empty corner where the trunk of costumes and accessories had been.

  “Except for that one,” Frank pointed out.

  The Bigfoot costume was draped as if it were sitting in the chair. On its lap was a letter from Jumper Herman. Joe sank down to a stool and read the letter: