Chapter 6
FRANK STARED at the silver tags. They were clean, with no airport codes written on them. What were they doing here? Did this mean that Danny was somehow involved in the luggage theft ring?
Frank needed to talk things over with Joe. He quietly closed the drawer and mopped up the spilled soda. Then he went back to join the others in the living room.
Joe was curious, wondering why it had taken Frank so long to get a soda.
"We need to get our stuff out of the car," Frank said to his brother.
"Need any help?" Danny asked.
"No thanks. We don't have that much,"
Joe responded, knowing that Frank must want to talk to him in private.
Outside, a soft dusk was beginning to fall, enveloping Atlanta's beautiful old trees and aging homes in the hazy glow of a southern sunset. Frank was glad they had decided to stay at Danny's apartment instead of a hotel. He wasn't sure where the silver tags would lead them, but they sure wouldn't have turned up in a hotel room.
"What's up?" Joe asked as they walked toward the car. "Did Mapes tell you something?"
"No," Frank replied. "It wasn't anything Mapes said. It was what I found in one of Danny's kitchen drawers — a whole pile of those silver luggage tags."
"You're kidding!" Joe hated the idea of Danny's being involved in the theft ring.
Frank shook his head. "I wish I was. I like Danny. We'll just have to see where this lead takes us. There's always a chance that somebody planted those tags to frame him."
Carrying their bags, they made their way slowly back inside, both considering the next step they should take.
Early the next morning when Frank and Joe reported for work, they met Bob Briggs, the burly crew chief.
"I get some students on summer vacation in here who don't know what it means to take a job seriously." Briggs eyed them challengingly. "We work hard here and expect you to do the same."
"Yes, sir," Joe replied. He resisted the impulse to make a joke, sensing that Briggs wouldn't appreciate it.
"Good," said Briggs. He turned to Frank. "And no more riding on the luggage carousel. This isn't an amusement park." "Yes, sir," Frank answered quickly. "Okay," Briggs said. "Minifee! Get over here and show Rookie Number One how it's done. Nance, you take the other one."
Frank figured he must be Rookie Number One. That was okay with him. By being split up, both he and Joe could cover more ground. During the course of the morning, Frank grumbled about the hard work and joked about the rocks that the travelers must be packing in their bags to make them so heavy. Danny laughed. When Frank went on to suggest that there must be a quicker, easier way to make money, Danny pointedly ignored the remark.
On the other side of the baggage area, Joe was making similar remarks while he stacked luggage onto a tug to transport to another flight.
"Someday I'll find a way of getting rich without having to work so hard," he complained to Ted.
"Do you think I'd be working as a baggage handler if I could get my hands on easy money?" Ted said with a laugh. "If you find some, let me know."
It was a long morning, but Frank and Joe were in good shape, and the work, though boring, wasn't difficult. At Joe's insistence, they avoided getting their lunch from the vending machines, opting instead to eat at a snack counter in the airport. They ate quickly, using the rest of their break time to familiarize themselves with the airport and its routines.
In the afternoon, when their shift ended, they compared notes as they walked to their car.
"Security's pretty tight," Frank pointed out. "Slipping luggage out shouldn't be that easy."
"It might not be that hard for someone who's worked here long enough to be trusted," Joe replied. "Maybe as long as you're wearing an Eddings uniform, you can blend in so nobody'd notice you."
As they made their way across the parking lot, Frank saw someone standing next to their rental car. Frank grabbed Joe's arm and nodded in the man's direction.
"What's Forrester doing there?" Joe asked as they approached the security chief.
They stopped a few feet from the car. "Raise the hood," Forrester directed. "Let's check out the engine." Frank paused, then unlocked the car and released the hood.
"What's going on?" Joe questioned Forrester.
"That's what I want you to tell me. We're going to pretend that you're having car trouble and I'm helping you out. Gives us a chance to talk without your being seen hanging around my office," Forrester explained. "I'd like a progress report."
"We haven't been — " Joe started to complain.
"Basically we've spent our time making connections," Frank interrupted. "We've moved in with a coworker named Danny Minifee, and we've gotten together with a few other Eddings employees." He purposely avoided reporting the stash of silver tags he had discovered. He wanted to check things out a little more before implicating Danny. "We're keeping our eyes open and spreading the word that we're not exactly happy with base pay. We'll see what happens."
"That's it?" Forrester snorted.
Frank ignored the comment and continued, "It would be a big help if we could get access to the computerized personnel files. It would-save us a lot of time."
"Sorry." Forrester straightened up. "Can't be done." "Why not?" Joe asked. "You showed them to me before."
"That was a mistake. Those records are confidential. Besides, I've already gone through them. There's nothing in there that could help you." Forrester slammed down the hood and stepped back. "Glad to see you boys are doing so well," he said with obvious sarcasm. "Maybe when your dad gets here, we'll get some real detective work done. That is, if I haven't solved the problem by then." He stomped back to the airport terminal.
"He likes us a whole lot," Joe grumbled.
Frank grinned. "Maybe he just doesn't like detectives who haven't finished high school yet."
"Maybe he isn't very good at what he does and is afraid we'll show him up," Joe said.
The expressway was fairly crowded with fast cars, but Joe enjoyed driving even if their little rental car was short on horsepower.
"He did this on purpose," Joe groaned as he coaxed their reluctant car out into traffic.
"What are you grumbling about?" Frank asked.
"Forrester," Joe responded, "purposely rented the slowest car in the lot for us. I have this lemon floored, and we're not at the speed limit yet."
"Oh, gee, Joe," Frank chided, "you mean it'll take us a whole five minutes longer to get to Danny's apartment?"
Joe glanced in the rear-view mirror and frowned. "Someone's following us."
"Which car?" Frank said, craning his neck to peek over his shoulder at the traffic behind them.
"The dark red Lincoln, two cars back. Watch," Joe said as he moved over to the left lane. The Lincoln did the same.
"I wonder who it could be?" Frank remarked.
"Let's try to find out." Joe abruptly exited the highway. From the rear-view mirror he could see the Lincoln skidding to make the lane change and causing quite a few angry beeps from other cars. Frank held on to the armrest as Joe turned sharply at the bottom of the exit ramp. The Lincoln came much too fast down the ramp, not even bothering to slow for the yield sign.
"At least you can't complain about the steering," Frank remarked as Joe swung the car down another street.
"Yeah, who needs video games when you can have a good car chase down crowded city streets?" Joe replied. The car behind them made the corner and picked up speed. Frank turned around to study it. Its large size gave the impression of its being a shark about to gobble up a smaller fish. Deep tinting on all the windows and mud conveniently splattered all over the license plate made identifying their pursuer impossible.
"Can you get a look at them?" Joe asked.
"No way. That tinted windshield turns them into two big blobs," Frank replied.
"How big?"
"Big enough. Step on it!" Joe skidded around the next turn, onto a one-way street. He was bent over the wheel, con
centrating hard on the road. The monstrous Lincoln almost overtook them, pulling up along the passenger side of the vehicle. Frank pressed his face close to the glass in an attempt to identify the driver. He could tell that it was a large man with short hair, but the man's features were distorted by the dark glass. "He's crowding us toward the curb!" Joe shouted.
"Joe, look out! We're going to hit that parked car!" Frank yelled over the screeching of tires. At just the right moment, Joe managed to make the little car leap ahead, squeezing between the parked car and the Lincoln.
Frank checked again. The Lincoln had accelerated and was almost beside them. The driver-side window lowered a crack to show a glint of metal.
"Get us out of here!" Frank shouted frantically. "He has a gun!"
Chapter 7
JOE TOOK HIS EYES off the street for a second to glance over at the pistol barrel protruding out the window of the big sedan. He was close enough to see that it had a homemade silencer.
The pistol spat blue fire. A muted thwip was followed a split second later by a loud boom.
The Hardys' rented car bucked and swerved, thumping over the curb and smashing past a trash can.
"He shot out one of the tires!" Joe shouted, wrestling with the steering wheel. A towering steel lamp post loomed in front of the car. Joe cranked the stiff, unresponsive wheel with all his strength and slammed on the brakes. The car veered back onto the street, spun around, and skidded to a halt.
Frank twisted his head around and caught a last glimpse of the sedan as it screamed around a corner and disappeared.
Joe popped the trunk release, jumped out, and grabbed the lug wrench out of the trunk, It wasn't much of a weapon, but he wasn't going down without a fight if the Lincoln came back. His heart was hammering in his chest, and every muscle in his body was taut, ready to explode into action.
"I think we're in the clear now," Frank said after a long, tense minute had passed.
Joe kept both hands tightly wrapped around the lug wrench. "I don't get it. We're sitting ducks. Why didn't they come back and finish us off?"
"1 don't think that was part of the plan," I Frank replied. "At point-blank range, the shooter didn't hit the tire by accident. That's what he was aiming at. I think this little encounter was meant to scare us off the case."
Joe seemed to notice the heavy iron tool in his clenched fists. "Well, since I've already got the lug wrench," he said, relaxing his grip, "we might as well change the tire."
Frank rolled out the spare tire. "You know, I really hate getting shot at—especially when I don't know who's doing the shooting."
"I don't think the bullet holes are any smaller when you know who made them," Joe responded as he slid the jack under the car.
"Still, I know what you mean. The only suspect we have now is Danny Minifee, and that definitely wasn't Danny's pickup truck.
"And even if Danny is involved with the theft ring," he added, "I just can't see him going along with a stunt like this."
Frank took the lug wrench and loosened the lug bolts on the ruined tire. "There's something else we have to consider."
"What?" Joe asked.
"Unless this was a random, drive-by shooting, somebody in the operation knows we're on the case."
"But only Eddings and Forrester know that," Joe said.
"They're the only ones who know that we're officially working on the case," Frank corrected. "Gina and Mapes know that we dragged Forrester down to that empty storage room."
"That's right," Joe said. "And let's not forget whoever it was who whacked you on the head and dumped you on the luggage carousel."
Frank nodded. "So now we have a nice long list of suspects. All we need is a few clues to narrow the field and some solid evidence to wrap up this case."
They finished putting on the spare, threw the dead tire and tools in the trunk, and drove to Danny's apartment, where they found Ted Nance and Danny in the living room.
"It took you guys long enough to get home from work," Ted observed. "Were you out seeing the sights, or did you make a wrong turn somewhere and get lost?"
"Somebody didn't like the way I was driving," Joe replied. "So he ran us off the road and shot out one of our tires."
"Shot!" Danny stared at them in open-mouthed surprise. "Are you sure?"
"Well," Joe said, "the guy waved a gun at us, and then the tire went blooey. So, if he didn't shoot out the tire, it was an amazing coincidence."
Frank studied Ted for a moment. Joe's news didn't seem to faze him at all. "Does this kind of thing happen a lot around here?" Frank asked him.
Ted shrugged. "You know how it is. Atlanta has its share of big-city problems. Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He paused and grinned. "Or maybe you snore too loudly and Danny decided to get rid of you."
"You should know," Frank responded in a joking tone. "The two of you were together when it happened."
Ted shook his head. "Don't look at me. i just got here." He looked over at Danny. "If you need an alibi, I'd cheerfully change my story for fifty bucks."
"Very funny," Danny said, clearly not amused. "Hey, I almost forgot. There was a phone call for you guys a little while ago."
"Who was it?" Frank asked.
"He wouldn't tell me. He gave me a phone number and said you should call as soon as you got in." Danny handed Frank a sheet of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.
Frank went over to the phone and dialed the number.
"Michael Eddings," a brisk voice announced on the other end of the line.
"Uh — yes," Frank said, glancing over at Ted and Danny and shrugging as if he had no idea whom he was talking to. "This is Frank Hardy. I got your message."
"I want to see you and your brother as soon as possible," Eddings told him. "Okay," Frank replied. "I have to go to a meeting right now," Eddings said, "and you probably shouldn't come to my office, anyway. Somebody might see you. I should be home by about eight. There's a park across the street from my house. Meet me there at eight-thirty."
Eddings gave Frank his address and general directions to his house. "We'll be there," Frank assured Eddings as he filed the information in his brain. He didn't want to write down anything that Danny or Ted might see.
"It's really nice of you to invite us, Mrs. Miller," Frank added after Eddings hung up. Frank put down the receiver and groaned loudly. "You're not going to believe this, Joe. That was one of Aunt Gertrude's friends. She lives in Atlanta, and she wants us to come visit her—tonight."
Joe caught the glint in Frank's eye and suspected that the caller had never met their aunt. "Do we have to?" he moaned, playing along.
"You know Aunt Gertrude," Frank said. "If we don't go, we'll never hear the end of it."
Frank glanced at his watch as Joe pulled the car over to the curb next to a lush green, shady park. It was almost eight-thirty. The summer sun hung low in the western sky, casting long shadows on the road from the big houses across from the park.
The Hardys got out of the car and walked into the park. Frank spotted a tall, thin man sitting on a bench next to a duck pond.
"There he is," he murmured to his brother.
They joined Eddings on the bench and waited for the others to Pass-
"Some detectives you are," Eddings said in a low, sharp voice when they were alone. "You've only been here a couple of days, and already you've lost your cover."
Joe was startled. "What are you talking about?"
"Forrester tells me that missing luggage is suddenly showing up on baggage carousels at airports all over the country," Eddings said. "It's clear that the ringleaders of the operation are onto you and have decided to lie low while you're on the scene."
"It also means we're getting close," Joe countered. His eyes shifted to his brother. "Tell him about the luggage tags."
Frank told Eddings about the diamond-shaped silver luggage tags he had seen on the bags in the storage room and in Danny Minifee's kitchen. "I don't know if Danny is part of t
he luggage theft ring," Frank concluded, "but some of the baggage handlers must be involved. They have more access to the bags than anybody else."
"And that's not all," Joe interjected. "Your life could be in danger. That 'accident' with your plane may have been sabotage." Eddings stared at him. "What do you mean?" "Didn't Mapes tell you?" Joe responded. "He thinks that somebody may have tampered with the landing gear."
"Hold on a minute, Joe," Frank said. "Mapes changed his story. He told me that the bolt might have fallen off accidentally."
"Come on," Joe objected. "Do you really believe that?"
Frank shook his head.
"Listen, Mr. Eddings," Joe said. "If the sabotage theory is true, then the people running this operation aren't about to let anything—including you—stand in their way."
Eddings stood and stared silently at the pond for a minute. "I'll have to look into this," he finally said. "In the meantime, why don't you see what you can find out from Minifee — but be careful. I'll talk to you again soon."
Frank and Joe waited until Eddings was out of the park before they got up off the bench and headed back to the car. They drove around for a while to kill some time. When they got back to the apartment, Joe entertained Danny with a story about their fun-filled evening with the imaginary Mrs.. Miller, - who Joe claimed was a retired army drill sergeant who bombarded them with recruiting brochures.
About an hour later Solomon Mapes showed up at the door. He spoke to Danny in a low tone, and then Danny announced that he was going for a walk.
"I wanted to have a word with you two in private," Mapes explained after Danny left.
"So now we're alone," Frank responded. "What's up?"
"I got a call from Mr. Eddings tonight," Mapes said flatly. "He wanted to know why I hadn't told him that his plane might have been sabotaged."
"And why hadn't you?" Joe asked.
"Because I told Frank that I thought it might have been an accident," Mapes replied.
"And now?" Frank prodded. "Are you ready to come to a conclusion?"
"I had one of our top mechanics examine that broken bolt," Mapes said. "He thought somebody might have sawed partway through it."
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