Deadfall

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "Mike Stavisky?" Joe tried to hide his excitement. "Are you sure, ma'am?"

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  "Of course I'm sure!" Peg Robbins drew herself up to her full height. "Michael's used that lighter at this counter a hundred times. It's a real keepsake, this is." She smiled at Callie. "He'll appreciate getting it back."

  "Uh, do you know where we might find him?" Frank asked.

  A wry smile appeared on Peg Robbins's lips. "I have a very good idea," she said smugly. "Though I'm not sure I should tell."

  "Of course you should," Callie said, coaxing her.

  Peg hesitated only one more second before she leaned her elbows on the counter and whispered to them. "Well, don't tell them I told you," she said. "But with poor Buster Owens out of the picture, I'd bet the store that Mike's over at Millie Owens's right now."

  "Millie Owens?" Joe said, surprised.

  Meg nodded importantly. "I happen to know that Mike's been smitten with that girl since high school. For years he's been after her to marry him. But her dad wouldn't hear of it, and he was Mike's boss. Now, though. Buster's no longer in the way."

  Peg straightened up, smoothed her apron over her dress, and glanced guiltily toward her husband. "Now," she said in a much louder voice, "how about some of my famous blackberry pie?"

  "Turn left here," Callie said from the passenger seat of the jeep as Joe steered down a dark

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  mountain road. She held Frank's pocket penlight close to the paper on which she'd scrawled Peg Robbins's directions to Millie's house.

  ''Just a couple of miles more," she said. 'Then a right at the Owenses' mailbox, and Millie's house is about half a mile farther on."

  "Boy, the Owenses really like their privacy," Frank remarked from the backseat as the jeep made its way through the deepening gloom. A few minutes later he added, "Look. I see lights through the trees."

  "We're in luck," Callie observed. "Millie must be home."

  The dirt road suddenly dipped as it went around a sharp comer, and Joe lost sight of the house. But as he drove out of the dip, he heard the sounds of angry shouting.

  "Do you hear that?" he asked Callie. "It sounds like two people fighting."

  Callie rolled down her window to hear better. The shouts came again. Then Joe heard a scream.

  "Did you hear what 1 heard?" Joe asked Callie.

  She was staring at the house, her eyes wide. "Step on it, Joe!" she yelled. "Millie's in trouble!"

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  10

  Instinctively Joe's foot slammed down on the accelerator. The jeep flew the final fifty yards to the Owenses' home. Frank caught a quick glimpse of thinning trees and a sprawling ranch house. Joe braked the jeep to a grinding halt beside a rusty pickup parked at the end of the drive.

  Frank jumped out onto the lawn.

  '*The scream came from the house," Callie said, running toward the house with Joe following. "See? The front door's open."

  Light glowed through the curtains covering a picture window at the front of the house. Frank could see two figures silhouetted against the curtains. One was tall and clearly female; the other was somewhat shorter, stockier, and male.

  "Stay away from me!" Frank heard a female

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  voice cry as he raced to the front door. "I told you, Mike, it's over between us!''

  ''But, Millie, I did it for you!"

  Frank recognized Mike Stavisky's voice. As he reached the door, he saw Mike's silhouette advance toward the woman's. She backed away and screamed again.

  "All right, that's enough!" Frank shouted, bursting through the open doorway, Joe and Gallic right behind him.

  Mike Stavisky stared at the teenagers in open-mouthed amazement. The tall, plain-faced woman who'd been arguing with him was speechless, too. Her resemblance to Buster Owens left no doubt that she was his daughter, Millie.

  "Clear off!" Stavisky finally growled, his face above the beard and mustache a bright red. "This is none of your business!"

  "We're making it our business, friend," Joe said, moving closer. "We could hear Ms. Owens scream all the way out in the driveway."

  "I'm okay." Millie clutched a handkerchief as though she wanted to tear it to pieces. Frank noticed that the room in which they were standing was filled with expensive-looking antiques. A large fireplace was set into one wall, and the other walls were hung with paintings. Clearly, the mill had earned a big income for the Owens family.

  "Mike and I were just having a—a difference of opinion. And Mike's leaving. Aren't you, Mike?"

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  "No, I'm not leaving," Stavisky said, still red-faced. *'Why should I? Because a bunch of Stan Shaw's buddies try to throw me out? I have a right to stay here until we settle things, Millie, and you know it!"

  ''What's there to settle?" Millie said sharply, forgetting the others for a moment. "The mill is mine now. My father's estate will be settled in the next few months. And if you want to keep your job, Mike, you'd better start speaking to me with more respect."

  Millie's words left Stavisky sputtering. Before Mike could recover, Joe patted his pockets ab-sentmindedly and said, "Hey, Mike, got a light?"

  "Sure ..." Without turning his gaze from Millie, Stavisky reached into the pocket of his jeans. Then his expression changed. "Hey," he said, momentarily distracted, "where's my—"

  "Looking for this?" Frank held up the lighter they'd found at the mill.

  "Yeah, it's mine." He made a quick grab for the lighter, but Frank snatched it out of his reach.

  "We thought so," Frank said. "We found this underneath the big saw at the Horizon mill— about ten yards from where Mr. Owens's body was found."

  Millie's jaw dropped open as she stared at Stavisky. "Mike," she said in a horrified voice. "You didn't—"

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  '*So I dropped it there!" Stavisky protested loudly. "I work at the mill! Big deal!"

  *'You work at the mill," Millie said slowly, *'but not anywhere near the saw. You cut trees, right, Mike? You don't saw planks."

  "So what? 1 was in there the other day, talking to your dad! What do you take me for, Millie, a murderer?"

  Stavisky stared at Millie. She stared back. As Frank, Callie, and Joe watched, Stavisky started backing slowly toward the door.

  ''Hold it, Mike," Joe said. "We're not finished talking to you."

  "Oh, yeah?" Stavisky made a sudden lunge to his left, grabbing a poker from the fireplace tools on the hearth. He waved it threateningly at the Hardys.

  "You think you can barge in here and wreck my life," Mike said, barely coherent. "You Greens always think you know everything. You're always willing to sacrifice everyone's happiness but your own. Well, you've got the wrong guy, buddy. Nobody's going to put Mike Stavisky in jail."

  "Mike, put the poker down," Joe coaxed, stepping closer.

  "Stay back!" Mike yelled, and he opened the door with one hand and sent the poker flying right toward Joe's head.

  "Hey!" Joe ducked as the poker whizzed overhead. Millie screamed as it sailed past her shoul-

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  der, and landed harmlessly in the carpet at the far end of the room.

  'That's not funny, Mike!" Joe yelled, checking the top of his head to make sure his hair didn't have a new part. Mike flung open the door and raced outside. "You won't get far!" Joe shouted after him.

  "I don't have to!" the enraged veteran shouted over his shoulder as he took off for his truck. Opening the door, he jumped inside before anyone could catch up with him. As Millie joined the three on the front lawn, Stavisky backed the truck onto the dirt drive. ''You haven't heard the last of me, Millie!" he yelled out the open window. "Not until I get what's owed me!" Then he jammed the truck in gear and disappeared into the darkness.

  Frank turned to Millie Owens. "What was that all about?" he asked.

  "Maybe I'll tell you," Millie countered sharply, "after you tell me who you are."

&
nbsp; "They're friends of mine," Callie said to her. "I'm Callie Shaw, Stan Shaw's niece. This is Frank Hardy, my boyfriend, and that's his brother, Joe. They're helping me try to clear my uncle of the charges that he . . ."

  "Killed my dad?" Millie said harshly.

  Callie frowned, then looked the woman in the eye. "You know they were friends," she said carefully. "You don't think my uncle Stan would have killed Buster, do you?"

  Millie glared at her for a moment, then re-

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  lented. "No," she admitted. '*Much as Td like to blame someone, I don't believe Stan's the one/'

  ''Good/' Joe stepped closer to her. 'Then maybe you won't mind telling us what your fight with Mike was about?"

  Millie's face quickly resumed its stonelike expression. "That was a personal matter," she said coldly. "Mike and I used to be, well— close. The trouble is, he didn't accept it when things cooled off. I got tired of fighting with my father about Mike. He never approved of him for me, so I finally decided to give Mike up. He wasn't worth the trouble to me anymore." She made a wry face. "1 had trouble convincing him, though, as you could see."

  "Do you think he could have killed your father?" Joe asked quietly. "We heard they didn't get along."

  She shook her head, mystified. "I've known Mike since fourth grade. I never would have suspected he was capable of such a thing. But just a week ago, he wrote me a letter."

  "A love letter?" Callie asked.

  Millie grimaced. "Sort of. I'd broken up with him for good the day before. In the letter he said he'd do anything to get me back. He knew I'd always wanted to run Horizon Mill myself. Dad never would let me, and Mike used to boast that when we were married, we'd take over the mill and run it together, even Steven. But I still can't believe he'd—he'd—" she stammered.

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  Then she got hold of herself. ''Let's go inside," she said. '1 don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up. The least I can do is offer you all some hot chocolate."

  ''What I don't understand," Callie said as they followed Millie into the Owenses' spacious kitchen, "is why Mike would act against your father now —assuming that he did anything. Your relationship had been going on for a long time, right? And you'd broken up with him, so it was really too late."

  "He might have been scared Dad would fire him," Millie theorized as she put milk to heat on the stove. "He'd just fired Mike's best friend, Freddy Zackarias. He caught Freddy stealing stuff at the mill. Mike might have thought he'd be next, and then he'd have no excuse to hang around me."

  She opened a cabinet and brought out a box of cocoa. "I don't believe it, though. Mike wouldn't be able to kill anyone in cold blood. There's something deeper behind my father's death. I just wish I could figure out what."

  For the first time Frank thought the tall, sturdy woman might break down and cry. "We'll try to help you find out," he said gently. "We're as anxious to clear Callie's uncle as you are to find the real murderer."

  Millie smiled weakly and nodded. Then, as she passed around the mugs of chocolate, Joe asked, "Millie, can you tell us what Freddy stole

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  from the mill? It might give us a lead on what to look for."

  ''Nothing much, that I know of," Millie said, surprised. "He was caught in my dad's office. Dad didn't keep valuables there. The payroll is issued straight from the bank. I heard they caught Freddy with a book of Dad's personal checks in his pocket. To tell you the truth," she said dryly, "Freddy Zackarias isn't very smart."

  Joe remembered Stavisky's shrill-voiced, stringy-haired sidekick. Then he asked, "Were any keys stolen?"

  When Millie turned to him, he explained. "We found out today that someone's apparently using a set of Horizon's keys to help himself to the company's equipment. Your father's keys are missing—we searched the mill today, and they weren't there. If you can account for all your copies of the keys, then the thief must have your father's key ring. And whoever has that key ring is probably the person who killed your father."

  Millie turned pale. "I'll have to make sure mine are still here. I'll be right back."

  It didn't take long for Millie to locate her own key collection. "Nothing's missing," she informed the boys. "I'm sure the only copies were with me and Walter Ecks—"

  "And we checked with Walter earlier," Callie broke in. "He has his keys, too. That means—"

  "The only missing keys are the ones taken from Owens himself," Joe said excitedly. "If we

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  can locate that key ring, chances are we've found our killer!''

  The loud ring of the telephone caused them all to jump. Milhe walked over to answer it.

  ''Hello?" she said into the receiver. Then her face darkened. "Oh, yes. My father told me he was due in today. He's late, isn't he?"

  As Frank sipped his chocolate and watched her, Millie listened to the caller for a moment. Then her eyes widened.

  "What?*' she demanded.

  She Hstened for a few more moments^ then said abruptly, "Stay where you are. I'm going to get in touch with our foreman, then I'll call you back. And I want to know if you hear anything else!"

  Millie hung up the phone and turned to the others.

  "Bad news?" Callie asked, concerned.

  Millie threw up her hands. "That was one of our loggers, down at the Sportsman. He says the truck driver who's delivering the first load of new equipment for the mill just stopped in for a bite to eat. He says they got a call from Johnson's mill this morning. Johnson told them not to bother delivering the new equipment to our mill. He said we couldn't afford to pay for it now that the buildings have burned down. He told them I'd agreed to sell the stuff to him at a decent price, so they should just deliver the stuff to him!"

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  11

  "Why would someone do that?" Callie demanded, sitting forward in her chair.

  *'Because Johnson's greedy," Millie said bitterly. ''He set up business here ten years ago, and he hasn't played fair since. Every time my dad found a good worker, Johnson tried to hire him away. If my dad heard of some new forest land up for lease, Johnson would grab it first. But this is the last straw."

  Millie sighed. 'Tm going to have a talk with Walter Ecks," she said briskly. ''It'll probably last awhile. I don't mean to be rude, but—"

  "I guess we'd better leave," Frank said quickly. "Thanks for the hot chocolate."

  As soon as they were outside, Frank added, "Well, that was interesting. What do you think Millie will do?"

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  ''Wait for the insurance money and rebuild, is my guess," said Joe.

  ''Do you think Mike Stavisky killed her father?" Callie ventured as they climbed back into the jeep.

  "I don't know," Frank answered thoughtfully. "At first I was sure he'd done it. Now Vm not sure."

  "He seemed crazy enough to me," Joe remarked from the back seat.

  Frank gunned the engine. "Maybe. But that phone call Millie received has me wondering about Johnson's mill. There may be more to this than healthy competition."

  "Fine. But for now, we go home," Callie insisted.

  "Right." Frank started the engine. "Let's hope Stan got those background checks on Collins, Stavisky, and Zackarias from the home office."

  The instant the Hardys and Callie turned the last bend and saw Stan's cabin they knew there was trouble. Cars were parked for a hundred yards in front of the house, and about a dozen people lounged on the lawn. The front door was shut tight, though, and Stan was nowhere to be seen.

  "Who are these people?" Callie asked.

  "Either your uncle invited all his friends for a party," Joe said, "or a bunch of reporters have decided Stan is the story of the week."

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  Joe knew the answer to the question the instant he stepped out of the jeep.

  "Hi there!" one of the reporters said loudly, approaching Joe with pen and notebook in hand. ''Are you friends of Mr.
Shaw's? Can you comment on how he feels, being a prime suspect for the crime of murder?"

  ''Has Save the Redwoods canned him yet?" shouted another reporter, running to join her colleague. Joe realized, as they reached the front porch, that the entire group was now in hot pursuit of them.

  A microphone was jabbed into Callie's face. "What made Stan Shaw bum a man to death in his own mill?" a reporter demanded at the top of her lungs.

  Before Callie or the Hardys could react, the front door swung open. All three of them ducked inside just before the door was slammed shut.

  Dazed, Joe turned to see a disheveled-looking Stan Shaw standing behind them in the vestibule. He had on pajamas and a robe, but he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week.

  "That was unbelievable!" Callie cried as they followed Stan into the living room.

  "You're telling me," Stan said, sinking down into his desk chair. "When the first one rang the doorbell I got up and answered it." He smiled wearily. "The guy was interviewing me before I had the door completely open. 'Do you believe in murdering for the environment, Mr. Shaw?' "

  His eyes met Joe's. "I honestly think he

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  wanted me to answer yes. Anything that would have sold copies of his paper."

  Joe nodded. "Have you heard from the sheriffs office?" he asked Stan.

  "Just once. The sheriff called to make sure I was sticking close to home," Stan said wryly. "They're counting on the arson investigators' report to put me back behind bars."

  "Stan." Frank leaned forward in the armchair he'd taken near the fireplace. "It would really help our investigation if you could fill us in on that meeting you had with Buster Owens before he died."

  Stan Shaw frowned. "I'm sorry, but that information's still confidential," he insisted. "I really don't believe it has anything to do with Buster's death. No one knew what the meeting was about but a few trusted associates. Sorry, but that subject has to be closed."