The Dead Season

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "Maybe," said Logan, considering the idea. He didn't look too convinced, though.

  The tide was rolling in now with full force, and the combination of the damage done by the storm and the weight of the two men was taking its toll on the old dock. It began to lurch violently. Joe struggled to hang on.

  Without warning the part of the dock that Logan was standing on collapsed, and with a muffled cry Logan was washed away by the fierce current of the tide.

  "Reach for my hand!" cried Joe, lying down flat and desperately reaching out with his hand toward where Logan had just been. It was too late. Logan was gone.

  The dock began to crumble under Joe's feet, and he was certain that he, too, would be sucked out to sea. He grabbed for something to hold on to, found a short section of railing, and held on as tightly as he could.

  At that moment the small section of dock that he was on broke loose, and he dropped into the water and would have been lost if it hadn't been for the grip he had on that railing.

  It wasn't the railing that gave way. It was still securely anchored, and it wasn't a railing.

  It was a lever.

  Joe's weight was forcing it into a position it hadn't been in for sixty years.

  Joe looked up and watched as the rear wall of the boathouse was swung to one side and the entrance to a secret cove opened up in the hill behind it.

  Logan really had found it, but he would never know.

  As suddenly as the old machinery had been brought back to life after so many years, it collapsed into a dusty heap of wood.

  Behind it was a cavern large enough to hide a boat from the curious eyes of U.S. inspectors on the lookout for shipments of rum.

  Joe pulled on the lever and raised himself out of the water and onto the remaining section of solid dock. He crawled off the dock into the boathouse and walked cautiously into a place that no one had entered for sixty years.

  Chapter 15

  It took the fire department well into the night to finally bring the blaze under control.

  All during the effort, Frank worried about Joe. Where could he be? Was he back in the tunnels underground? Was he in pursuit of the Ghost Gunman? Was the Ghost Gunman after him? What, if anything, did Earl Logan have to do with all of this?

  Frank had also given a lot of thought to who could have set Runner's Harbor ablaze. The fire had convinced him more than ever that he knew who was behind all of this.

  But it was only a hunch.

  He knew he would need solid evidence to take to Sergeant Wrenn. He had to be able to prove his case to force them to let Gary and Janet keep Runner's Harbor open.

  He had to prove it soon, because it was well past midnight and time was running out.

  Finally the last embers of the fire were sizzling and dying as a final spray of water washed over them.

  Only a handful of people remained. Once the fire department had arrived, almost everyone had left.

  Now the diehards were finally saying good night to Gary and Janet, thanking them for everything.

  When everyone had left, Janet gave Gary a big hug, but they said nothing.

  Frank could guess what they were thinking. There weren't going to be any other dances. Gary and Janet were about to lose Runner's Harbor. Once more Frank vowed not to let that happen.

  Callie walked up to him and gave him a hug. She looked exhausted after helping to put out the fire.

  "How're you doing?" asked Frank.

  "Tired," said Callie. "How about you?"

  "I'll be okay."

  "You two amaze me," said Frank to Gary and Janet, who were standing arm in arm, smiling.

  "Why?" asked Janet.

  "Well, you've just spent the night trying to save the hotel you may not own by the end of the day tomorrow, and you're smiling."

  "What else can we do?" asked Gary.

  "Gary's right," said Janet. "We met a lot of nice people tonight. We did save the hotel. And tomorrow's another day."

  "Right," said Gary.

  "I'm beat," said Callie.

  Janet said, "I think we could all use a good night's sleep."

  Frank said, "I'm not sure I can sleep until I know where Joe is."

  The four of them walked back into the hotel.

  As they walked, Frank said, "You know, I was thinking. If the fire had been set in one of the sections that was already renovated, which has sprinklers, this fire would have been a lot easier to fight."

  "You're right," said Gary with a yawn.

  "Is that important?" asked Callie. "I mean, as far as solving this case goes?"

  "It could be," said Frank. "It may mean that whoever set the fire knew a lot about the hotel. Of course, if Tyler hadn't dragged his feet on the construction, the whole place would have had a sprinkler system by now."

  "Well, it wasn't so much Tyler's fault as it was Brady Jamison's," said Janet.

  "What are you saying?" asked Frank.

  "Just that," answered Janet.

  Gary said, "Janet's right. Tyler didn't seem to care one way or another, but Brady seemed to make it a special mission to check and recheck every detail."

  "Yes," said Janet as the four of them paused at the bottom of the lobby stairs. "Brady said he wanted everything to be perfect, but it sure seemed to me that he was stalling."

  Callie yawned and stretched, then said, "You people can all talk the night away, but I'm going to bed."

  She kissed Frank good night on the cheek.

  Gary and Janet said good night and headed for their room.

  Frank stayed where he was. He seemed very distracted.

  "Aren't you going to bed, Frank?" asked Callie.

  "No. I couldn't sleep with Joe out there. He may be in trouble. I'm going out to look for him."

  ***

  Joe Hardy entered the hidden cavern and told himself that no one had probably entered it in more than sixty years.

  Or left it, he thought.

  He carefully stepped over large sections of the wall of the boathouse that had hidden this secret place for so long.

  This must have been Wiley Reed's hideaway, Joe thought. He couldn't see much in the darkness but moved as best as he could by his sense of sound. He was walking on a wooden dock that seemed to circle the water.

  Somewhere, not too far ahead of him, he could hear what sounded like a boat rocking in the water. The collapse of the dock outside and the entrance to the wharf had certainly stirred up the water, and as he walked, Joe heard the unmistakable sound of waves lapping against wood.

  Eager to see what was there, Joe searched his pockets and found a wet pack of paper matches.

  It was his only hope.

  He struck one on the package. Nothing. He tried another one. It was wet, too.

  The third match did catch fire, and Joe held it out in front of him to get his first glimpse of the boat.

  It was resting some thirty feet away, tied to a piling and rocking gently back and forth in the water.

  About five feet from him Joe saw a torch sitting in a rack mounted on the wall. He lit the torch with the last bit of flame from the match. It took a few seconds, but soon the torch was blazing brightly, and Joe could proceed.

  The boat was about thirty feet long. As Joe moved closer he could see its name painted on the bow.

  It was the Reed Runner.

  Joe had found Wiley Reed's lost boat.

  He wanted to feel good about his discovery, but the cavern was so desolate and spooky that Joe couldn't feel good about anything right then.

  Still, he knew what he had to do.

  He had to board the boat. This mystery had to be solved once and for all.

  Joe paused at the edge of the boat to get his balance. The old motorboat was still rocking awkwardly in the rough water.

  Joe had his left hand on the ship's rail while his right hand clutched the torch. His right foot was balancing on the dock as he eased his left foot over the rail and then jumped aboard.

  For the first time in more than
sixty years the Reed Runner had a new passenger.

  Joe stood there a moment, getting his sea legs and trying to figure out what to do.

  The deck seemed empty, and he decided the logical place to check first would be the wheelhouse.

  Slowly he walked along the rocking deck. He had one hand on the rail and the other on his torch.

  The bridge was just ahead.

  The boat lurched in the water, and Joe lost his balance, waving the torch awkwardly in the direction of the wheelhouse. The flame cast an eerie light, but he had no difficulty picking out the figure at the wheel of the ship.

  It was the remains of a man. Bits and pieces of rotting clothing clung here and there to the slender bones of the skeleton.

  Joe stared in amazement at the sight. He tried to stay calm and regain his balance in the tiny space.

  When the boat finally stopped rocking, he held the torch overhead to cast a clear light on the scene. The flame made the right hand of the skeleton burn red as it cradled a large and priceless ruby.

  He recognized it immediately as the ruby pendant Millicent Reed wore in the painting that hung in the hotel lobby.

  Joe was certain he had found Wiley Reed. He told himself that there was no further reason for him to hang around any longer. He would take the ruby and go for help. Joe didn't like the idea of pulling the gem from the skeleton's grasp, but it had to be done. With a quick tug he removed it.

  Joe shoved the ruby into one of the pockets of his jeans and moved quickly out of the wheelhouse and toward the dock. As he raised a leg to vault across the rail onto the dock, a shot rang out. A bullet just missed Joe's ear.

  He wasn't about to give a second bullet a chance, so he dived off the boat and onto the dock. He landed hard but rolled over quickly to his feet, nearly singeing himself with the torch, and began to run.

  He was running away from the entrance. Where should he go? What should he do with the torch? If he kept it, he was a clear target. If he dropped it, he was lost.

  The answer came just then. A set of stairs that wound off to the right loomed just ahead, and Joe memorized its location. He threw the torch far out into the water, where it died with a sharp hiss. Then there was complete darkness.

  As he felt his way up the winding stone stairs, it occurred to Joe that there had been only one shot.

  Was he still being followed?

  Never mind, he told himself. You've got the ruby, and these stairs may lead to safety.

  The staircase went on for what seemed forever, and when Joe stepped on the next-to-last step, a door at the top of the steps began to open with a whirring sound. Joe took a deep breath and stepped up through an opening in the floor.

  ***

  The gunshot came from the direction of the boathouse, but when Frank got there he found, instead of the boathouse, a gaping entrance to a cavern. He had a penlight in his pocket and hurried through the musty cave.

  "Joe? Are you in here?" he cried, but the only answer was his echo.

  Frank was amazed as he noticed the Reed Runner, but passed up examining it for the stairs his penlight had just illuminated.

  Halfway up the stairs he guessed that they would end up in the pavilion.

  Near the top he heard voices.

  Frank peeked out the trap door. He was right - it was the pavilion. Joe was standing about fifteen feet away with his hands in the air, a ruby necklace dangling in his left hand.

  Across the large room was the Ghost Gunman. In his right hand was a pistol, and it was pointed right at Joe.

  Chapter 16

  Joe was silent, waiting for the killer to make a move.

  Frank stayed hidden in the secret entrance to the wharf, planning a course of action.

  "I'll take that," said the gunman, motioning at the ruby.

  There was something familiar about the voice, but Frank could not quite place it.

  Joe handed over the ruby but still said nothing.

  The Ghost Gunman put the ruby in a pocket and said, "Surprised to see me, aren't you?"

  Joe said, "A little. It was you shooting at me, wasn't it?"

  "I'm a ghost," said the gunman with a laugh. "I can be many places at once."

  "Funny," said Joe. "I never believed in ghosts."

  "Believe in this, then," snarled the killer, waving his pistol at Joe again. "Where are the rest of the jewels?"

  "That was all I found," said Joe.

  "Liar! Millicent Reed had tons of jewels. Everyone knows that. Just look at her portrait. And Wiley and the jewels were never found until you stumbled on them tonight. Where are they?"

  "I'm telling you the truth, that's all I found."

  "I should have killed you before when I had the chance," the gunman said in disgust.

  "What do you mean?" As he spoke, Joe began slowly to circle the gunman, looking for a weak spot and a time to attack.

  "It would have been so easy, too," the gunman continued. "Right after I set the fire, I saw you and your brother running around, taking charge, acting like you owned the place. I almost did it then."

  "Did what?" said Joe, inching nearer to the killer.

  "Put a bullet in your brain, what do you think?"

  "Why didn't you?" asked Joe.

  Standing in the darkness, Frank thought, good move, Joe. Keep him talking.

  "You talk tough now, don't you?" said the gunman. "But you wait. Just wait. And stand still."

  "I'm not so tough," Joe protested. "I'm just curious."

  "Oh, I was going to shoot you, even with a crowd around, but that fool Logan started chasing me."

  Frank found it almost impossible to believe that Logan's interference had saved Joe's life.

  "Then what happened?" asked Joe, moving a little closer to the gunman.

  "Do you think I can't tell that you're trying to sneak up on me? Do you think I'm stupid?" He waved the gun threateningly at Joe.

  "No," said Joe, taking a step backward.

  The gunman said, "I'm only talking to you because eventually I'm going to kill you. Now, where are the rest of the jewels?"

  "Maybe I know and maybe I don't," said Joe.

  A smile formed beneath the black mask. "Now, at least, we're getting somewhere."

  "Of course," said Joe, "there's a chance they don't exist at all. Maybe Gaines just invented them for his painting."

  "Doubtful. That senile old artist couldn't invent something like that."

  Frank thought, Gaines wasn't senile sixty years ago when he painted the portrait of Millicent Reed.

  "You said you had other chances to kill me, said Joe. "What happened to you then?"

  "I got away from Logan, and then I heard you running after him," the gunman began. "I couldn't believe my luck. Here you were, running right into my trap."

  "You didn't go into the tunnels as I expected," said Joe.

  "I'm telling you, I'm not stupid. That was the first place you would have looked. I was waiting outside the boathouse. If you'd gone in there, you would be dead."

  "You heard my conversation with Logan," guessed Joe.

  "The whole boring thing. I was ready to shoot you when you lucked into the wharf."

  The gunman dropped his gun hand for just a second and said, "I've been looking for that ship for years, and you found it by accident. By accident!"

  "Now, Joe!" shouted Frank.

  Startled, the gunman turned in the direction of Frank's voice, and in that split second Joe was on top of the killer.

  Despite the size advantage that Joe had over the gunman, the smaller man put up a good fight.

  Joe grabbed hold of his wrist and tried to wrestle the gun loose, but the killer would not let go.

  The two men toppled to the floor in a rolling struggle. Joe forced himself up on one knee, freed his right hand, and swung at the gunman but missed.

  Frank stepped in and wrenched the pistol from the killer's hand.

  "Don't move," said Frank.

  Joe stood up, but the gunman lay on the floor
. "Thanks, Frank," said Joe.

  "It's what brothers are for."

  "Now, my friend," said Joe to the gunman, "I think it's time we saw your face."

  He reached down and began slowly to pull up the black cloth that hid the identity of Randolph Tyler's murderer.

  A woman's voice said, "Don't do that, Joe."

  Joe and Frank both turned in response.

  "Drop the gun," said Heather, who stood some twenty feet away. She was holding an automatic pistol and had it aimed at Joe.

  "I mean it, Joe," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Drop the gun, Frank."

  Frank let the pistol fall to the floor.

  The gunman grabbed it quickly and stood up and walked toward Heather. "What took you so long?" he demanded of her. "They could have killed me."

  Heather didn't answer him. She just kept her automatic leveled at Joe and Frank. Finally she whispered to the killer, "Go on. Get out of here."

  "You coming, too?" he asked.

  She nodded. "I'll be right behind you."

  Joe stared at Heather, not believing what he heard.

  The gunman ran from the pavilion and disappeared into the darkness.

  Heather began walking backward slowly in the direction the gunman had gone. Joe stood still, watching her, his mouth agape. There was a confused expression on his face.

  Heather seemed on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, Joe. Really," she said.

  Joe took a step forward.

  "Stop right there," said Heather in a stronger voice. She held the pistol with both hands now.

  " But, Heather, why?" asked Joe.

  "I had to."

  "I don't get it. I thought we were - " Joe didn't finish the thought.

  "We are," she said. "Or at least, we were," she added quietly.

  Joe took another step toward her and said, "But - "

  Heather changed her expression. "Don't come any closer, Joe," she said. "I mean it. I'll shoot."

  Frank held out an arm to stop his brother. "She means it, Joe."

  With that, Heather turned and ran after the Ghost Gunman.

  The Hardys stood in stunned silence for a few seconds. Joe couldn't believe what had just happened. Frank had half expected it and was now planning their next move.

  "I know you're not ready to hear this, Joe," he said, "but we've got to stop them, and I don't think we have much time."