Trouble Times Two

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Fenton was watching the television news when the boys got in. “You’re in late for a school night,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Joe and Frank gave him their own news report. Fenton leaned forward when he heard about the attack on Russ Gilliam. But he got really interested when they started to describe the attacker.

  “A slim man, young enough and agile, if he broke free,” Fenton summed up. “You couldn’t get a good look at his face because of the hood. But—” He tapped his nose. “You got a good whiff of cologne and rancid flesh.”

  Frank nodded. “Guy smelled as if he hadn’t had a bath in a month of Saturdays.” He frowned. “But the stink-water was expensive. One of those designer jobs—you know, fifty bucks an ounce.”

  Fenton almost jumped from his seat. “Bad body odor covered by expensive perfume. You know who that describes? Stinky Peterson!”

  Joe stared. “The burglar who handed over the pearls to that guy in the car?”

  “I wondered how he got that silly nickname,” Frank said.

  Fenton smiled. “In this case, his nickname is purely descriptive.”

  Joe wasn’t paying much attention. He squinted his eyes, trying to remember what the man in the rain had looked like. Then Joe shook his head. It had been too dark, too murky. He couldn’t match up any features with their attacker that night.

  “Why would a burglar attack a whistle-blower?” Frank wanted to know.

  “I can think of one reason,” Fenton said. “Because he had to. Because his fence told him to.”

  “This would be the same guy who burned down the rival pawnshop?” Frank asked.

  “For a specialized job, they probably brought someone in,” Fenton replied. “But as the new boys in town, they’d be spread pretty thin.”

  “Short of muscle,” Joe said thoughtfully.

  “So they asked Stinky to put a scare into Gilliam,” Fenton finished. “He’s on the lam right now. A little help—or money—would come in handy.”

  Frank nodded slowly. “I was saying to Joe that I couldn’t see Don Wylie hiring a leg-breaker to intimidate someone.”

  “Threatening legal action would be more his style,” Joe said. “Just like Kev. Lots of talk, not much done.”

  Frank frowned more deeply. “But why would the new fence in town be going after Mr. Gilliam?”

  “I think it’s time to go back to your theory,” Fenton said. “Turned around a little. Gilliam isn’t the front man for the mob. He’s threatening to blow the whistle.”

  “On what?” Joe asked. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

  “On the connection between the new fence in town and Tri-State Express!” Frank’s voice rose with excitement. “That’s the source of the mystery money Wylie has been using to expand the business.”

  Joe nodded. “In return, this foreign gang gets a very respectable pipeline out of Bayport.”

  “More than that,” Fenton put in. “By expanding, Tri-State puts offices and warehouses in other towns, other states—”

  “Other places to set up fences and move goods!” Joe realized.

  “Gilliam had part of the puzzle by looking at Tri-State’s books,” Fenton said.

  Joe leaned eagerly forward. “And we had another—because you were tracking those pearls, Dad.”

  “Put it all together, and you get a pretty ambitious picture.” Frank looked from his brother to his dad. “At least the start of something big.”

  “It’s still only a theory,” Fenton warned. “Although the facts we know hang together pretty well.”

  “Better than my original idea,” Frank had to admit.

  “I’ll pass it along to Con Riley tomorrow,” Fenton said. “We’ll see what proof the local force can dig up to fill in the gaps.”

  He and Joe shared a cheerful smile. But Frank didn’t join in.

  “That’s great,” he said. “But we still have Mr. Gilliam out there, who thinks he’s dealing with a local business scam.”

  “Okay, we’ll pass our theory on to Tom tomorrow at school.” Joe checked his watch. “And unless we want to be zombies in class, we’d better hit the hay pretty soon.”

  • • •

  Joe kept an eager eye on the other students as he went into school. But he didn’t spot Tom Gilliam anywhere in the thundering herd.

  Isn’t that the way things work out. When you don’t want to see people, they’re always underfoot. But the minute you need to find them . . .”

  He did see Liz Webling coming out of her first-period class. Joe peered into the classroom. “You have math with Tom Gilliam, didn’t you?” he asked.

  Liz shook her head. “Not today,” she said. “Maybe he’s sick.”

  Kev Wylie came down the hall. “Sick of school,” he sneered.

  Liz followed the boy with her eyes. “I guess he’s glad not to have Tom around.”

  “Yeah” was all Joe said as Liz set off for her next class.

  Anybody could get sick in this place, he told himself as he hurried down the hallway. There are probably enough germs in the air to infect the whole town.

  So why did he have such a bad feeling about what Liz had said?

  Joe’s next class was English. Today Ms. Browning was holding the class in the school library. As Joe came down to the first floor, he found himself walking past the dreaded Executioner’s Block.

  Suddenly he felt someone grab his arm. Joe turned to confront Russell Gilliam.

  Tom’s father still had his right arm in a sling. “They gave me pain medication in the hospital last night,” he said. “I just woke up.”

  Gilliam looked awful. Something far worse was wrong with him than the pain in his arm.

  “Are you all right?” Joe asked.

  Russell Gilliam didn’t seem to hear. “There was a message on my answering machine. It was from your Mr. Sheldrake. It was a truancy check. Tom hadn’t shown up for school . . .”

  The man’s eyes finally focused on Joe. They burned with worry.

  “He’s supposed to be here, Joe. I—I don’t know where Tom is!”

  13: Desperate Moves

  At the end of social studies, all Frank knew was that Tom Gilliam hadn’t shown for class. Before Frank got to lunch, though, he’d heard three rumors “explaining” Tom’s absence.

  Joe stood waiting at the cafeteria entrance. Frank listened closely as his brother reported the scene with Russell Gilliam.

  “He was demanding to see Mr. Sheldrake,” Joe finished. “I don’t know what Old Beady Eyes can tell him.”

  “Sheldrake probably believes Tom had second thoughts about that arson charge and skipped,” Frank said grimly. “Even though that’s a lot less colorful than the other stories I’ve been hearing.”

  “Which are?” Joe asked. “The one about Tom knocking over the convenience store? And being on the run from the cops?”

  “There was one about flying saucers and alien abductions.” Callie grinned, joining the conversation.

  Her face fell as she took in the serious expressions on the boys’ faces. “Not funny, huh?” she said. “You don’t think something happened to Tom, do you?”

  The brothers’ silence shook her up.

  “But Mr. Sheldrake is treating it as a case of truancy,” she said.

  “Of course, we know how highly Old Beady Eyes values Tom’s presence,” Joe responded.

  “Come on, guys. We’ve learned that Tom had a pretty rough time, and we’re sorry for him.” Callie leaned forward. “But that doesn’t mean he’s an angel. Are you a hundred percent sure he didn’t decide to skip school?”

  She saw Phil Cohen in the crowd and beckoned him over. “Let’s see what a neutral bystander has to say. Phil, what do you think about this Tom Gilliam thing?”

  Phil shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. Tom could be a real pain. But I don’t remember him ever cutting classes before.”

  “Not you, too, Phil!” Callie burst out. “Frank and Joe are acting as if—” She
broke off, noticing someone edging backward into their group.

  Although her back was to him, Frank recognized Liz Webling. “Hey, Liz,” he said. “Trying to get a scoop for the rumor mill?”

  Liz turned around, only a little embarrassed that they’d caught her eavesdropping. “I was hoping to get a little truth. It might help balance all the nonsense people keep telling me.”

  She looked at Frank and Joe. “Some kids noticed Mr. Gilliam was wearing a sling. They’re saying he and Tom went at it last night. Now Tom’s heading out of town.”

  Joe exploded. “That’s not true—I know how Mr. Gilliam got his arm wracked up last night—”

  Frank shot his brother a warning glance.

  “And—um—that wasn’t it,” Joe finished feebly.

  Liz, Callie, and even Phil wanted to hear more. Frank cut them off. “Let’s just say it had something to do with Mr. Gilliam’s whistle-blowing activities. Can we leave it at that?”

  His answer was definitely not enough for Liz. The would-be reporter leaned closer. “Do you think Tom’s disappearance might tie in with whatever happened last night?”

  “I don’t know.” Frank couldn’t keep the worried tone from his voice. “I just don’t know.”

  • • •

  Frank and Joe headed straight home after school. That night was the charity auction, and their mom and aunt Gertrude would have left early to get everything prepared.

  But Dad should be home, Frank thought. I really want to hear what he has to say about Tom dropping out of sight.

  As the boys came down their street, however, they found an unexpected visitor. Russ Gilliam’s rusty tan car was parked in the Hardy driveway.

  The whistle-blower leaped up from the porch steps as the boys came into sight. “Do you know where your father is?” he asked sharply.

  “We thought he’d be in the house,” Frank answered. “Since I’m sure you rang the bell, looks like he’s not here.”

  Gilliam’s stooped shoulders sagged a little more. “You mentioned last night that he was a detective. I want to hire him.”

  “Because of Tom?” Frank asked.

  Russell Gilliam nodded. “Your Mr. Sheldrake is convinced Tom was just cutting classes. The police have the same opinion.” Gilliam’s expression grew more sour. “Although there are some who suspect he may be a runaway.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged a glance.

  “I spent the afternoon being shuffled from one office to another,” Gilliam went on. “Never saw a police department so unwilling to take a missing persons report.”

  “Local law sets a period of seventy-two hours before they start looking for an adult,” Frank said.

  “But I thought they started searching immediately for kids,” Joe put in.

  “Unfortunately,” Mr. Gilliam said, “Tom’s a teenager—he seems to fall into a crack in that law. I was told to wait to see if he turned up after school. Then I was sent home to check if any money or clothing was missing.”

  “That’s the runaway theory,” Joe said.

  Russell Gilliam appeared to be numb. “Tom and I weren’t always happy together. But no matter how tense things got, there was one thing he hated more.”

  “Foster care,” Joe said.

  The older man nodded. “He hated the whole idea, and he knew that’s where he’d wind up if he took off.”

  “When did you last see Tom?” Frank asked.

  “Last night, when I got home after our little adventure,” Gilliam answered. “It was pretty late, but Tom was up, worried about me.”

  Gilliam shrugged, gesturing toward his sling with his good hand. “When Tom saw this, he was pretty upset. “He thought I should have brought him along as backup. Finally, we went to bed. The doctor in the emergency room had given me some pain pills. I took one, and it knocked me out until the phone woke me up. That was Sheldrake calling from the school.”

  “Was anything out of place?” Frank asked.

  Gilliam shook his head—an emphatic no. “Tom’s schoolbooks were gone. There were breakfast dishes drying by the sink.” Tom’s dad managed a wan smile. “He left just enough milk for me to have a cup of coffee.”

  The whistle-blower’s face hardened. “It was the usual setup for a schoolday—except Tom never made it to school.” Gilliam’s faded gray eyes suddenly flashed. “And what happens? That fool Sheldrake starts yammering about Tom’s permanent record. Meanwhile, the police want a recent photo so they can keep an eye on nearby bus depots.”

  He calmed down a little. “I did have an intelligent conversation with an officer named Riley. He had some pointed questions to ask about Tri-State Express.”

  Gilliam sighed. “He was honest enough to admit he couldn’t help me unless”—the man’s voice stuck—“unless there’s evidence of a crime.”

  Frank hated seeing the pain on Gilliam’s face. “Look,” he said. “We’ll do our best to pass on a message to our dad for you. But right now I think the place you ought to be is home. If there’s any news—any . . . contact—that’s where it will be coming in.”

  “You’re right, son.” Gilliam gave a tired nod. “That’s where I’m heading. Tell your dad. You have my number? Here—just in case.” He awkwardly scribbled the phone number with his left hand.

  Silently, Frank and Joe watched as Russell Gilliam drove off. Inside the house, they found a note from Fenton.

  Boys—

  A friend on the New York City force has a lead on the Nugent pearls. They seem to have turned up in the Big Apple. I’m off to help him check it out. Be back sometime late tonight.

  Dad

  Frank tapped a finger against the sheet of paper. “I guess Dad would think that was good news. Not exactly the same for us.”

  “No place to contact him,” Joe said. “I guess Mr. Gilliam will just have to wait until Dad gets back.”

  Picking up another piece of paper and a pen, Frank began writing. “But we don’t have to wait.”

  Joe looked at his brother suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m leaving a message for Dad about Tom and his father.” Frank finished writing. “Russ Gilliam doesn’t know what to do or where to turn. But I’ve got an idea. Maybe it will blow up in my face. Maybe we’ll end up with another door slammed in our faces. But I think it’s worth a try before Dad comes home.”

  He led the way to the van and got behind the wheel. In moments they were heading for the outskirts of Bayport.

  Both boys could remember a time when there were farms just outside Bayport. But Bayport had grown as they grew, and developers had bought the farms and put in whole neighborhoods of homes.

  Frank steered the van toward a very fancy development. The houses here were more like mini-mansions.

  Kev Wylie’s dad had bought a home out here to celebrate his success.

  It was a big house, but not many lights were on.

  “Could they be away?” Joe asked.

  “Everyone tends to hang out in the back,” Frank replied. “In the kitchen or the family room.” He went up the stoop and rang the doorbell.

  Kev Wylie answered. He stood in the doorway with a cardboard container of Chinese food in one hand and a fork in the other.

  “Frank! Joe!” He looked at them in surprise. “What’s up?”

  “We need to talk to you and your dad,” Frank said.

  “Um—we’re having dinner right now.”

  Frank glanced at the box in Kev’s hand. “So I see.”

  Kev’s face went bright red. “Yeah—well.”

  He held the door open and led the way inside.

  Frank and Joe followed Kev into a wood-paneled foyer with a skylight overhead. To the left was a formal dining room. On the right was a parlor right off the cover of Expensive Living Magazine.

  Odd, Frank thought looking at all the fancy furniture. None of those chairs looks as if it’s been sat in.

  The thick carpet under their feet gave way to tile floors. Frank noticed a scuff here and the
re as they went into the huge eat-in kitchen. Sitcom laughter burbled from a TV on the counter, and the air was full of delicious smells.

  Frank saw why. The table was strewn with boxes, foil bags, and plastic jars. It was a regular take-out feast.

  Donald Wylie hunched over a steaming food container. He was trying to lift a piece of broccoli to his lips with a pair of chopsticks. The morsel fell when he noticed he had company.

  “Hello, fellas.” Kev’s father looked a little embarrassed as he glanced at the mess. “Mrs. Wylie is out tonight, so it was just us guys for dinner. I guess we didn’t see the need to get any plates dirty.”

  He gestured toward the spread on the table. “Feel free to join us. There are ribs, and we haven’t even opened the chicken and peanuts—”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so,” Frank said. “We just came from a visit with a very upset Russell Gilliam.”

  Don Wylie looked grim. “After the trouble that family has caused us, we want nothing to do with them.”

  “But I think you may have something to do with the trouble they’re having now,” Frank said. “Russell Gilliam was attacked last night near your warehouse. We managed to stop that. But now Tom has disappeared. In spite of what’s being said, there’s no evidence he ran away. And kidnapping, I’d remind you, is a federal offense.”

  Kev leaped to his father’s side, a look of outrage on his face. “Are you guys crazy?” he demanded. “You come in here—”

  He stopped as the box of food dropped from his father’s trembling hand and spilled across the table. “It’s not my fault!” Donald Wylie said. “I was just going to set Gilliam up. Lure him to a meeting, take some pictures—I figured my lawyers could tie him up.” Donald Wylie shook his head. “But Nicolai said he’d take care of it. As for this boy disappearing, I didn’t even know about that.”

  “Who’s Nicolai?” Joe wanted to know.

  “He’s a man who came to me, offering big payments for special handling on shipments going out of town. He told me he had businesses in several other towns—even in other states, and wanted us to serve them. With the cash he advanced, I was able to expand. We set up new offices, warehouses.”

  Wylie used a napkin to mop his face. “There was lots of new business. I never connected Nicolai’s shipments with big burglaries and robberies.” He took a deep breath. “Not at first.”