And if it was serious enough, that meant Joe and Jeanne must be in danger — life - and -death danger.
Chapter 9
An owl hooted mournfully up in the tangled branches of a tree. The night fog swirling around him, Frank stood near the back of a high stone wall that had once completely surrounded the three buildings that made up the Bushmiller Academy. He held his unlit flashlight in his right hand.
A large section of the wall had fallen away, and through the gap Frank could see the vacant buildings. The fog partially masked them, but any light in them would have been visible. And there was only darkness.
Frank moved forward to step through the jagged opening in the high wall. The grass was waist-high, some of the weeds even higher. Still not using his light, he headed for the largest of the three buildings.
It stood three stories high and had a spired tower at each of its four corners. It must have been pretty impressive once upon a time, but now one of the spires had begun to list. Mist tangled around the sagging structure like phantom flags.
Slowly and carefully Frank circled the dark building. When he was nearing the large arched front entrance, he spotted what he was looking for.
A recent path had been worn in the wild grass. It came from the direction of the front wall and led straight up to the cracked stone front steps of the academy's main building.
"So somebody has been using the place," he muttered, climbing the steps.
There was a large metal door, but it wasn't quite shut. He gripped its edge and tugged it open. The door made no noise, didn't creak at all. Someone had recently oiled its hinges. Taking a deep breath, Frank stepped into the darkness inside.
A mixture of smells hit him. Mildew, dampness, mice, decay, and—a newer smell — cigarette smoke.
He halted in the tall, cavernous foyer, listening. Far off something was dripping, but there was no sound or sign of life.
Frank clicked on his flashlight. On the hardwood floor he saw tracks in the thick dust. Following the beam of his light, Frank made his way down a long hollow corridor. Hanging on the dank walls were cobweb-shrouded oil paintings.
The dusty trail stopped at a double door with peeling gilt letters that said Gymnasium. Taking hold of the brass handle, Frank slowly pulled the right-hand door open. Again, there was no creaking.
The gym was two stories high, with long dark brown marks tracing water damage along its walls. In the center of the cavernous space were a dozen folding chairs, arranged in a circle around a small table. On top of the table sat an empty goldfish bowl. This is the place, Frank thought. As if he needed any more proof, the group had left its own calling card. Spray-painted on the wall, in bright crimson, was a large circle with a 12 inside it.
Frank was starting for the table when he heard voices echoing in the hallway. People were heading his way.
Frank took a rapid look around the gym. At the back of the big room, near a place where more folding chairs had been piled, was a wooden door. He darted for it as the voices out in the hall came nearer.
He took hold of the doorknob, turned it. The door opened, making a thin squeak. Frank flashed his light around and discovered it was a small storeroom. Shelves ran up one wall, holding just one battered old cardboard carton and a great deal of dust. There was a frosted-glass window at the rear.
Frank entered the room, turning off his light. He left the door open about two inches. Through the slit he could see the meeting table and the chairs surrounding it.
The doorway from the hall opened and three dark figures entered. Two were carrying lighted candles, and each wore a black robe with a black hood.
Frank blinked in disbelief. So, Tony Prito's story was correct. But even seeing it, Frank had a hard time believing this kind of mumbo jumbo was going on in everyday Bayport.
"We need some more candles, Biff," said one of the hooded figures, placing his candle on the table.
"So get some, Kevin."
"Hey, don't forget who you're talking to."
The biggest of the three figures was wearing a robe that was tight on him. Frank figured he had to be his football-playing friend, Biff Hooper.
Biff said, "Yeah, I know you call yourself number one in the Crimson Ring of Twelve. But I'm getting tired of your ordering me around."
"Perhaps we better discuss that at tonight's meeting." Anger showed in Kevin's voice.
The third figure placed his candle on the table, saying, "Look, I'll get the candles. Where are they?"
Kevin answered, "Back in the storeroom."
"Okay." The hooded figure, whose voice Frank didn't recognize, started walking right toward the room he was hiding in.
"They're not back there," called Biff, his voice muffled by his dark hood. "I stored them over there under the stage."
"You weren't supposed to do that," said Kevin.
"So?"
"You sound like you've got an attitude problem."
"Yeah, and I'll tell you why. I don't like what you did to Jeanne."
"I didn't do anything to her."
"But you know who did, Kevin," accused the hooded Biff. "When I went by to pick her up tonight, their butler told me Jeanne had been kidnapped. Why? Where is she?"
"She's perfectly safe, Biff."
"Whose word do I have for that — just yours?"
"Just mine, yes. And I suggest you don't push this any further just now."
Biff took a step toward Kevin. "I haven't even begun to push yet. Where is she?"
"In a safe place. That's all I can tell you."
"That's all you can tell me, huh? How about telling me what any of this has to do with the Circle."
"A decision was made," answered Kevin. "For the good of all concerned, Jeanne Sinclair has to be kept out of the way for two days."
"Two days? What has this got to do with this club or with any of us? How can you just decide that my girlfriend is going to be — "
"The decision wasn't made by the club."
"Who made it then?" Lunging, Biff caught hold of the other guy's robe. "I thought we ran the Circle and made all the decisions."
"You misunderstood."
"Then you'd better start explaining things to me.
Kevin pulled free of Biff's grasp. "Chill out, Biff," he said evenly. "When the time is right, you'll be told all you need to know."
"That's great. That's just great. Maybe one fine day you'll get around to explaining just what — "
"Take it easy for now," advised Kevin, smoothing the front of his black robe. "But keep this in mind — if you don't make any trouble, Jeanne will be just fine."
Biff stood silently for a moment. "And if I do make trouble?"
"Trust me, it wouldn't be a good idea. Not at all."
The third young man said, "I don't like any of this. And I don't like the way the Circle has been going lately. Kevin, things are getting completely out of hand. I think I'd like to quit."
"Nobody is going to quit. Not yet, anyway," said Kevin. "Anybody who tries — well, just keep in mind what happened to Jeanne." He nodded at the doorway to the corridor. "Now, calm down, both of you. I hear some of the others coming."
The door opened and five more robed and hooded figures came in — three young men, two young women.
Frank moved back from the open door. He worked his way, slowly and silently, to the single window.
What he had to do was slip outside and wait. When the Crimson Circle of Twelve meeting broke up, he'd tail the one called Kevin. He had a good idea he'd turn out to be Kevin Branders, someone Frank knew casually and didn't like. Kevin would more than likely lead him to where Joe and Jeanne were being held.
Frank inched the window open, so slowly that it made no noise. Then, tucking his flashlight into his belt, he climbed out over the ledge.
There was a ten-foot drop to the ground.
He lowered himself until he was hanging from the window ledge by his finger tips.
That was when a gruff voice from below said, "Hold i
t right there, son. Unless you want to get shot."
Chapter 10
Joe rammed his shoulder into the thick metal door, straining against the handle at the same time. Nothing budged.
"Pretty solid," he finally admitted, leaning back against the immovable barrier. "You were right about it, Jeanne."
"I'm really very sorry about all this." Jeanne Sinclair had gotten up from the antique sofa she'd been sitting on. Now the dark-haired young woman stood in the doorway of their storeroom prison, staring down the short hall that led to the metal door. "If I'd used my head a little earlier, we wouldn't be in this mess now." Joe came back into the storeroom. "Suppose you tell me exactly what is going on, Jeanne— and why you tried contacting us."
She sighed and perched again on the sofa. "How much do you know about the Circle?"
"Just about nothing. You mentioned it in that note you left for us to find."
She nodded. "Yes, I was able to toss that— along with my scarf—out of the car window. I was hoping that you and your brother would be able to figure out the clues."
Grinning ruefully, Joe said, "I did follow your trail. The problem is, it ended up here."
Jeanne didn't share his smile. She flopped back on the couch, shivering. "I didn't think they'd get this violent, trying something as serious as kidnapping me."
"Who are they?"
Jeanne shrugged sort of helplessly. "Well, Joe, first off there's the Circle. That's twelve of us who got together to ... " she paused, looking down at her twined fingers. "At first, really, it was just going to be a sort of dare thing. Almost like a party game,' a scavenger hunt."
She looked up, half smiling. "We'd put challenges in this bowl and then draw one out. At first the dares were simple, just fun. Well, I guess some of them were mean—like spraying paint on the school. Still, they were meant to be just pranks — honest."
"But why start the Circle at all?"
Jeanne looked embarrassed. "I don't know. I was bored a lot of the time, my folks were off traveling—which they almost always are," she said. "There I was all alone in that big dumb house with nobody but Rollison. He's our butler, Rollison. Have you met him?"
"Not exactly. He was out cold the only time I saw him."
Jeanne gasped. "They knocked him out, too?"
"They did." Joe stood up. "Jeanne, are you telling me that you and your pals were so bored and restless that you actually went around smashing windows and setting fires?"
She looked down again. "When you put it that way, it does sound stupid. I don't know— Kevin was so persuasive, and, well, it was sort of exciting at first. We all felt like secret agents or private eyes or something."
"Would Kevin be Kevin Branders?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Slightly. And I know something about his brother."
"Brother?" Jeanne frowned. "I didn't even know he had a brother."
Joe asked, "Was this Red Circle bunch or whatever you call it Kevin's idea?"
"The Crimson Circle of Twelve," she said. "Yes, it was more or less Kevin's idea. He talked the rest of us into it, came up with the costumes and the secret headquarters. And it was Kevin who suggested we increase the difficulty of the dares."
"Costumes?" Joe said.
"We wear robes with hoods to hide our identities. I knew most of the kids in the Circle by their voices. But there were a few I was never sure of." She shook her head. "It sounds crazy, doesn't it? But somehow Kevin made it all work. I guess he's had practice. He's always had to try twice as hard, since his family lost its money. In a town like Kirkland that's worse than death."
Joe couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You mean, you actually went around in hoods? We heard stories about that but figured it couldn't be."
Jeanne nodded. "One of the guys talked a little after Kevin made a guy go on a really dangerous dare—smashing the window of Fowler's Jewelers. I got scared," Jeanne shuddered. "I didn't like what was happening—all of a sudden, everything was too heavy-duty."
"So you decided to quit."
She nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, but when I told Kevin, he said I'd already done things that were against the law. And if I left the Circle, I'd get in a lot of trouble," she said.
"He hinted that if I quit, he'd see to it that the cops found out I'd been one of the vandals."
"He couldn't very well turn you in without implicating himself."
"That's exactly what I told Biff, but he said Kevin had a lot of ways to hurt us and that we just better go along with him—for a while, anyway."
"Biff Hooper belongs to this Circle, too?"
"Don't blame Biff. I was the one who kept at him to join with me," Jeanne said. "He wasn't very happy about it. But then I pretty much told him if he didn't join, I'd quit dating him." She shook her head again. "He told me a lot about the famous Hardy brothers."
"So when you got scared," said Joe, "you decided to see if you could get Frank and me to expose the group."
"I was hoping you'd find me—and, well, maybe we could work out a way for everybody to put a stop to the Circle without any of us getting hurt."
"Sure, let the Hardys work out a way for everybody to avoid the consequences of what they'd done." He shook his head, frowning at her.
Very quietly the girl began to cry. "I guess I'm not exactly a perfect person," she said, sniffling. "My mother says I'm spoiled rotten, but then she doesn't like me much."
Joe went over and patted her on the shoulder. "Okay, Jeanne, okay," he said. "Now, why did they kidnap you?"
She rubbed tears from her cheek with the heel of her hand. "Somebody must have found out I'd contacted you."
"How'd they find out?"
"I don't know, but for the dare at the Hickerson Mansion last night, I was teamed up with Kevin," she said. "He probably suspected I'd called you when you and Frank showed up there."
"Yeah, but kidnapping is serious. It's risking a long prison sentence - just because you may have talked to us."
Jeanne was silent for a while, thinking. "One of the guys who grabbed me said something about my having to be away for just two days or so."
"You mean they didn't kidnap you for ransom?"
She shook her head. "He said they'd let me go in a couple of days—if I behaved myself and didn't make trouble."
Joe said, "Is the Circle planning something important during the next two days?"
"Not that I know of."
"Yet they want you out of the way, where you can't tell anybody about them." Joe rubbed a thumb knuckle across his chin. "The people who brought you here—were they members of the Circle?"
"I don't think so. They were older, bigger men. They had to be at least thirty," she answered. "I'm not sure what they looked like, since they were wearing ski masks."
"Something's going to go down, something important." Joe frowned in thought. "It feels like the Circle is just a cover for it." He looked at Jeanne. "Do the members of the Circle talk about future plans? Have you heard anything strange?"
Jeanne shrugged, then paused for a second. "Does the name Gramatkee mean anything to you?" she asked. "While they were driving us here, I was tied up and gagged in the truck. I heard one of the men say something like, 'Now let's hope we can just take care of the Gramatkee job.' " She looked hopefully over at Joe.
"I don't know the name," he said, "but I think I know who's behind all this. I suspect this whole business is tied in with Kevin's brother."
"I don't understand."
"I'll explain later," he promised. "But right now we have to concentrate on finding a way out of — "
The harsh click of the heavy bolt on the metal door cut him off. The lock rattled, then the door groaned outward.
A lean, tan man in his late twenties stepped into the room. He had short-cropped, sun-bleached blond hair and wore dark jeans and a dark pullover sweater. In his gloved left hand he held a 9-millimeter Beretta pistol.
"Curt Branders," said Joe, recognizing the man from photographs he'd s
een in his father's files.
Branders smiled thinly. "I'm a bit disappointed in you, Joe," he said. "Didn't you suspect that I might have a bug in here to listen in on your conversation?"
"I didn't," admitted Joe. "I guess it took me too long to realize that this whole deal is a lot bigger than a bunch of dumb practical jokes."
Branders leaned in the doorway, letting the pistol dangle from his hand. "I'd like to suggest a deal," he said in a cool voice. "If you remain here quietly and don't make waves, you'll be released in two days."
"All we have is your word on that."
Branders gave Joe a thin smile. "That's about the best guarantee you can hope to get, right now. But I keep my word," he said. "So just relax, don't try to escape—and I won't have to kill you."
When Jeanne realized he was serious, she started crying again.
"By the way, Joe," Branders went on, "why not keep your detective theories to yourself? There's no need to upset this innocent young lady. Talk about homework or music — something safe." "You're going to be outside listening?" "Someone will, around the clock." Joe nodded, saying, "That's sure comforting.
Branders glanced over his shoulder and spoke to someone as yet unseen. "Get in here and tie these two up. The less they can move around, the better I'll feel."
***
Meanwhile Frank hung from the window, staring down at a thickset man of about thirty-five who stood in the high weeds directly under him. The guy was almost completely bald, his fringe of hair and droopy mustache almost the color of straw. In his right fist was a .45 automatic. It was pointed straight at Frank.
"Now, here's what I'd like you to do, kid," he said. "Just drop on down here. Then I'm going to turn you over to some friends of mine for a little chat."
"Hey, mister, don't turn me over to the cops," Frank pleaded, faking a shaky, scared voice. "I didn't mean any harm. And you can see, I didn't steal anything."
"It's not the cops I'm taking you to, punk."
"You're not going to tell my folks?" Frank started to shake as he clung to the sill. "I've never done this before, honest."
The Deadliest Dare Page 5
