Blown Away

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Well, I’m not supposed to say, but I would be shocked if it went for anything under a million,” Maria said.

  “A million dollars? On one car?” I asked.

  Maria nodded. “People get crazy at these things.”

  I quickly did the math. A million-dollar sale meant a $100,000 profit for Henry. Not all of the cars would go for that much, but still, ten percent of the sale of 145 fancy old cars had to add up to a lot of cash.

  Chief Malrova had raised a good point about Beller’s insurance policy on the Billington Resort. Forgetting the danger and just focusing on the money, if the resort was destroyed, Beller wouldn’t lose much. But if a bomb destroyed all of the cars at the M&P auction, Henry would get nothing. It’s not like you can insure cars that don’t belong to you. Plus, if people heard that Henry’s Phoenix auction had attracted a terrorist, they might be reluctant to put their cars in his five others. It could ruin his whole business. And while Beller had at least ten companies and The Candidate, his own reality television show, Henry Peterson had only his auction.

  Would Peterson really risk all that just to get back at Jake Beller? It was hard to imagine. . . .

  “So, have you been to many other auctions?” I asked.

  “Oh sure,” said Maria. “My dad has a garage nearby. We’ve been working on cars together since I was six years old. I’ve been coming to the M&P auction for years.”

  “And how long have you been working for Henry?”

  “This is my third year,” Maria replied.

  “Do you like it? Are these auctions decent places to work?” I asked. “What’s Henry like?”

  Maria tilted her head to one side and stared up at me. Her pretty brown eyes sparkled in the sun. “You sure have a lot of questions,” she said.

  Whoops. “Oh, sorry. It’s just that I’m really into vintage cars and would love to work for M&P. Any advice on how I can do that?”

  “Well, you should definitely drop your résumé off with Henry,” said Maria. “And I’ll put in a good word.” She finished shining the hood of the car and put her rag in her back pocket. “Why don’t you come and meet some of the other car handlers?” she asked.

  Perfect, I thought, following Maria to the rest of the group. She introduced me to three guys: Justin Jones, Douglas Selby, and Tanner McCarthy. They were all high school students from different schools in Phoenix. Luckily for me, none of them went to Langston in Scottsdale.

  “So, what’s a typical day of work here at the auction?” I asked.

  “It depends,” said Justin. “Most of our work happens before the auction. We wash and clean the inventory, which takes forever. The actual viewing hours, when this is all open to the public, can be very tricky. We’re responsible for keeping the cars clean—and you’d be surprised by how many people leave fingerprints everywhere.”

  “The actual auction is the most fun,” said Douglas. “We’re the ones who get to drive the cars up on stage.”

  It sounded like they had lots of access to the cars and to the resort in general. But did any of them have a motive to blow it all up? It didn’t seem that way.

  As we were talking, though, I noticed something strange. Tanner’s shirt was a little different from the others. I had to look for a while before I finally figured out why. Then it hit me. Rather than an M&P, Tanner’s shirt was embroidered with an M&B.

  Unfortunately, he caught me staring.

  “My regulation shirt disappeared,” he said. “I couldn’t tell Henry because he’d get really mad, so I managed to pick this one up at a secondhand shop.”

  “That’s a good fake,” I replied.

  “That’s what I thought, until I saw you staring,” said Tanner, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the fake logo. “I’ve been wearing it all week, and you’re the first person to notice.”

  Something about the way he said it left me wondering. And experience has taught me that it’s often those who are the most suspicious themselves who end up being guilty.

  “How long have you been working for Henry, Tanner?” I asked.

  “Six months,” he said. “Through the organizational stages, and now, at the auction. I’ve been with Henry ever since my family moved to Phoenix from Baltimore.”

  Before I could ask him anything else, he said, “It’s been nice talking with you, Frank, but we need to get back to work. Don’t you think, Maria?”

  She nodded. “Tanner is right. We don’t want to get caught goofing off. Henry is a good boss for the most part, but he has a really bad temper. Once he starts yelling, it just builds and builds. . . . He’s totally explosive.”

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Henry Peterson

  Hometown: Dallas, Texas

  Physical description: 42 years old, 6’2”, large stomach, pale skin, dark hair. People say he always wears an Indy 500 jacket over a mechanic’s jumpsuit.

  Occupation: Owner of M&P Car Auction

  Background: Started out as a mechanic, then bought a car dealership, and then a chain of car dealerships, until he started the auction fifteen years ago.

  Suspicious behavior: Threatened Jake Beller and challenged him to a fistfight. (Beller refused.)

  Suspected of: Planting a bomb at the Billington Resort.

  Possible motives: This guy is ego-driven. He doesn’t care how much money Jake Beller has. He resents that Jake tried to bribe him. He’s had his car auction on the same weekend at the same resort for fifteen years, and he’s not gonna budge.

  Explosive sure was an interesting choice of words.

  Maria nodded and winked at me. “Yup. But I’m here all weekend, so just drop by whenever with your résumé.”

  I sneaked a look at Tanner, who rolled his eyes. Then I smiled at Maria, pretending like I hadn’t noticed. “Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”

  I waved good-bye and then headed to the orchid garden.

  I still had a few minutes before Joe was supposed to show, so I leaned up against a wall and pulled my notebook from my back pocket. So Henry was explosive? I wondered if Maria was hinting at something. She had winked.

  At the moment Tanner McCarthy was the only one I could legitimately add to my list of suspects. His shirt was a big red flag, and something about his excuse seemed a little fishy. I did have to wonder, would he actually blow the entire resort to smithereens? And what kind of motive could a seventeen-year-old high school senior possibly have?

  I was just writing down the question, when a heavy shadow loomed over me.

  It was Tanner. He’d followed me out.

  “Hey, Hardy,” he said gruffly.

  I quickly flipped my notebook shut. “Hi, Tanner. While you’re here, maybe you can help me out. I just thought of one more question. Do M&P employees travel from show to show? Or do you guys just handle the Phoenix auction? See, I really want to work for M&P, but I have a pet dog and I can’t leave her overnight because she has this nervous condition. Whenever we’re apart for more than a day, she starts chewing on her own tail.”

  For some reason Tanner was looking really mad. “Aw, cut it out, man. I know you’re not really trying to get a job here.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  He laughed, but it wasn’t a “ha-ha, you’re so funny” kind of laugh. It was more like a “ha-ha, I’m gonna kick your butt” laugh. “It’s so obvious,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  Tanner took a step closer and replied in a tone that told me he meant business. “We both know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not going to say anything, but just know that I’m on to you. You think you can get in the way of this, but you can’t. And now that I know what you’re doing, you’d better watch your back.”

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Tanner McCarthy

  Hometown: Phoenix, Arizona

  Physical description: 17 years old, 5’11”, blond hair, brown eyes, wiry build.

  Occupation: High school student and
part-time car handler at the M&P Car Auction

  Background: Moved to Phoenix from Baltimore, Maryland. Has been working at the auction for six months.

  Suspicious behavior: His shirt is obviously a fake. It has an M&B logo on it, rather than M&P. He’s also really paranoid—he noticed Frank looking at his fake uniform and came up with an excuse right away. Later on, he threatened Frank.

  Suspected of: Planting a bomb that will blow up the Billington Resort.

  Possible motives: No idea, unless maybe Henry Peterson or Jake Beller put him up to it.

  I kept my face as deadpan as possible. He obviously wasn’t buying my cover, but I still wasn’t going to blow it.

  When it was clear that I wasn’t going to say anything else, he walked away. I glanced down at my notebook and underlined his name. Okay. I still wasn’t sure of Tanner’s motive, but obviously the guy was guilty of something.

  7

  Operation Bobo

  My meeting with Henry hadn’t given me much to work with. As far as I could tell, he was a nice guy. A little puffed up and arrogant, maybe, but certainly not a terrorist. Furthermore, he seemed totally decent. It was hard to imagine that anyone would be angry enough with him to blow his entire business to smithereens.

  I really hoped we’d have better luck with Ella and Jake. Being soon-to-wed celebrities, though, it’s not like they were going to be standing around a parking lot, or anywhere near as approachable as Henry. I’d come up with a great way to get close to them, but first I needed to get Frank up to speed. I pulled out my notebook and a pen so I could write some things down on my way to our meeting spot.

  When I made it to the orchid garden, Frank was already there.

  “So what’s the story with Henry?” he asked, as soon as he saw me.

  “Yes, the dude has a serious grudge against Jake Beller,” I said. “But I don’t think he’d resort to violence. He seems fairly harmless.”

  Remembering something else, I went back to my notebook.

  “Are you adding new suspects to the list?” Frank asked. “Because I have one I need to tell you about.”

  “Nope, this isn’t a suspect list,” I said.

  “So what is it?”

  I handed him the notebook and explained, “You need to do some studying before our next meeting.”

  Frank read my list out loud. “Legally Insane, One Bullet Junction, Dangerous Games, Two to Tango, an infomercial for the revolutionary machine that whitens teeth with the electric toothbrushlike device, now available for purchase in just three monthly installments of $19.98.”

  Frank looked at me like I was crazy. (It was something I was used to by now.) “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s a list of movies that Ella has been in. Oh, and the infomercial. She filmed it when she was starting out and desperate a few years ago, but they reissued it recently to capitalize on her success. Actually, that’s something you shouldn’t bring up. It’s probably upsetting. She starred in Two to Tango. I’m sure she’d love to talk about that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Frank asked.

  “You should really study up, so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

  Frank threw the notebook back at me and said, “Joe, this is nuts. It’s eleven fifteen. We’re running out of time. You have got to take this more seriously.”

  “This is veryserious,” I insisted. “Actors have crazy egos. Trust me. If you don’t know her work, she’s gonna be insulted. This is the easiest way in.”

  My brother groaned and said, “Sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that we share DNA.”

  “You’re not the only one who wonders about that,” I replied. “Come on, let’s go to the spa. Beller and Ella have massages booked in fifteen minutes. I’m hoping we can talk to them before.”

  “Okay, but remember, Beller’s security are all ex-CIA. I’ll bet they’re really intense. They’re not going to just let us into the spa,” Frank said.

  Oops. Looks like I forgot to fill my brother in on some of the details. “Um, don’t worry about that. We’ll get in, no problem. I booked us appointments for around the same time.” I kept my answer vague, hoping that Frank didn’t ask too many more questions.

  Frank nodded and said, “Okay, that sounds good, but don’t massages take a full hour? There’s no way we have time for that.”

  “I know,” I said. “My original plan was to book the massages and then slip out after we spoke to Beller.”

  “What do you mean, ‘your original plan’?” asked Frank.

  My brother doesn’t miss a thing—too bad for me. We were almost at the spa and he was going to find out soon anyway, so I decided to come clean. “Uh, all the masseurs were booked, so I had to get us other appointments. You’re getting a sports pedicure at twelve fifteen.”

  Frank stopped in his tracks. “You did not book me for a pedicure, Joe. Tell me you’re kidding. I know this is a big case, but I am not going around this place with painted nails!”

  “I just told you, it’s a sports pedicure. It’s for guys. No painted nails.”

  “I can’t believe I left you in charge of getting us a meeting with Beller,” Frank grumbled as he threw his arms up in the air.

  “Hey, you should be thanking me. This is gonna work. Trust me. Plus, I’m the one who’s stuck with something called an aromatherapy facial.”

  “But I still have to go to the spa and say, ‘Hi, I’m here for a pedicure.’”

  “Sports pedicure,” I reminded him again. “And we’re not sticking around for the appointments anyway, so relax.”

  “Whatever. That is not cool,” said Frank.

  When we got to the spa and added our names to the sign-in sheet, I noticed that Beller and Ella’s names were already there.

  “Told you so,” I whispered to Frank.

  “Whatever,” he replied.

  “Let’s see,” said the woman behind the counter. “Frank and Joe—that’s one aromatherapy facial and one pedicure, right?”

  “That’s supposed to be a sports pedicure,” Frank said.

  The woman smiled and glanced down at her appointment book. “Oh, excuse me. You’re right.” She reached down under the counter and pulled out two fluffy white robes. “Changing rooms are in back. After you put these on, you’ll go to the waiting room. There’s fresh orange juice, water, and tea in there. Please help yourselves. We’ll call you when we’re ready for you.”

  “Wait, no one ever said anything about a robe,” said Frank. “I’m not wearing that thing.”

  “It’s spa policy,” said the woman. “If you don’t wear it, you can’t go in.”

  I elbowed my brother. “He’s just kidding. Of course he’ll wear it. We’re both thrilled to be getting these things, so thank you.” I took both robes and tucked them under my arm.

  “Enjoy,” said the woman.

  I shot Frank a warning look and he pasted on a fake smile. “Thank you,” he said. “We sure will.”

  As we headed into the dressing room, I said, “Just keep your clothes on underneath. That way we can make a quick getaway.”

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he replied.

  I understood where my brother was coming from. Yesterday we were shredding down Doomed River Run at breakneck speeds. And today we were at a spa? Our work at ATAC has taken us to some strange places—and the Billington Resort was by far one of the strangest.

  We left our shoes and socks in a locker and slipped into the spa’s flip-flops. Then we rolled our jeans up above our knees and put on the robes.

  “We’d better not run into anyone we know,” said Frank.

  “We’re two thousand miles away from home,” I reminded my brother. “Who do you think we’re going to see?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Frank replied.

  “You need to chill,” I said, as we headed to the waiting room.

  Bingo! Beller and Ella were already in there. It was funny. I’d seen them plenty of times on tele
vision, and I’d never missed any of Ella’s movies. But seeing them in person, in white, fluffy robes? It wasn’t what I was expecting. Beller looked much older than he did on TV. Ella was still beautiful, with shoulder-length black hair, blue eyes, and pale, Snow White skin. But she looked like a regular person, rather than a glamorous movie star. I don’t know what I was expecting—a silvery glow surrounding her body, maybe? Who knows?

  They were speaking in hushed voices. Frank and I sat on either side of them so we could listen in. I made sure to take the seat next to Ella because, well, just because . . .

  “I just don’t understand why you want to seat your publicist at the head table,” said Beller.

  “You wouldn’t,” Ella said with a huff. “But since two of your ex-wives are here, I don’t really feel like you can argue with me about an issue as small as the seating.”

  “If it’s such a small issue, then why are you so worked up about it?” asked Beller.

  “You’re impossible,” Ella hissed back.

  “Funny,” Beller replied, as he picked up his paper. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  When Ella went back to reading her book, I found my in.

  “That’s one of my favorites,” I said. “What part are you on?”

  “Oh,” she said, pulling her robe tighter around her. “Are you a big fan of Ernest Hemingway?” she asked.

  “The biggest,” I said. “We just read A Farewell to Arms in English class. It was amazing. Actually, it reminds me of this movie I just saw. It was sort of a modern version of the same story, except the soldier was played by a woman and she’s in the Middle East instead of Europe. Maybe you’ve seen it—Two to Tango.”

  Ella’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You saw that?”

  “Yeah, did you?” I asked. “If not, you really should. The performances in it were truly amazing.”

  “Actually,” she said, as her smile got even wider, “I was in it.”

  “No!” I acted as surprised as possible. “Wait a second. Are you—”

  “Ms. Sinclair,” said the masseuse who’d just popped her head into the room. “We’re ready for you now.”