Bonfire Masquerade (11 page)

“All right, it's a LockJaw system,” said George. “This will be easy. Do you know where you'll be coming in?”

“The backyard,” I whispered.

“Are you guys in position?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. On the count of five, the cameras are going to go down for twenty seconds due to a localized power outage. Any longer than that and the alarms go off automatically, so move fast.”

I counted down under my breath. Right on five, the little red dots on the cameras went out, and they stopped swiveling on their bases.

“Go!” I said to Frank. “We've got twenty seconds.”

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen …
I counted in my head.

We raced to the cover of the trees and threw ourselves on the fence. We were up and over in record time, racing for the house.

Thirteen, twelve, eleven …

That was when the dogs hit us.

They came streaking out of nowhere, two all-black Doberman pinschers. They opened their mouths to bark, but no sound came out. They must have had their voice boxes removed, something people frequently did when they had dogs that were meant not to just scare people away—but to hurt them.

I pushed a button on the base of my glove. I could feel the sudden tingle in my hands as they powered up,
just in time. One of the dogs jumped at me. I ducked and swatted it on its side. A blue spark leaped from my hand. The dog whined once, and then passed out. The Taser had worked perfectly. The dog was down, but breathing. A few feet away, I saw Frank do the same. They'd wake up in two hours with a slight bruise.

Five, four, three …

We made it to the patio, and I already knew we were too late. We had three seconds to get the lock open before the motion sensors turned on and the alarms went off. There was no way we could pick a lock in that time.

Thankfully, we didn't have to. Frank grabbed the door—and it slid right open. We slipped inside and closed it behind us, right as the detectors came back to life.

“Best security systems in the world are useless if you don't remember to lock the doors,” whispered George in my ear, her laughter barely contained.

The house was dark on the inside. We slipped on our masks. In the hole where the eye should be was a carefully constructed infrared lens, made out of a flexible plastic. With the masks on, the inside of the house was lit with a dim red light.

“According to his contract with LockJaw, there are no detectors within the house. Looks like anyone who works for him has the night off for Mardi Gras. So get to it!” said George.

We didn't need any more encouragement. We started at the bottom of the house and planned to work our way up, but we didn't even have to.

The fourth door we opened was clearly an office of some kind. Or really, a trophy room. The walls were covered with photos—Andrew with a gun standing over a dead deer. Andrew with his arm around various beautiful women. Andrew shaking the hand of Louisiana's governor.

And there, on one whole wall, were photos of buildings on fire.

“Are you getting this?” I asked George.

“Already matching them up with the police files. Those are our robberies. Good job, guys!”

Andrew was our man. Or at least, one of them.

CHAPTER
13

NANCY
KNOCKING THE CASE OUT

At any moment I thought I might scream. Never had I been so horribly tortured. It just went on and on and on.

“And then, remember that time in 2007? All the monkeys? That was the best ball ever.”

Andrew droned on and on about Mardi Gras parties and costumes and insane cakes and famous guests. It was like listening to the gossip column in some local newspaper being read on repeat. And we were only on our appetizers. At least the restaurant we were at was nice. It was a weird old barbecue joint way out in the middle of nowhere. It was named, appropriately enough, the Joint. And the food was good.

Aaron wasn't much help. He and Bess were chatting
quietly with each other on the other side of the table, leaving me stranded with Andrew, who seemed to assume that I liked the sound of his voice as much as he obviously did.

I stared at my fork, idly wondering if I could somehow stab myself accidentally and get to go to the hospital.

“I said, don't you just love the Royal We?”

I snapped to attention. For once, Andrew was actually asking me a question!

“Yeah, I—”

“Right? They're great. They played at my birthday last year.”

I thought about telling him I knew Kijani, the lead singer of the Royal We. But I doubted he would even notice I was still talking.

I knew this was important, that by getting Andrew out of his house we were helping to solve the case, but man, would I much rather have been the one breaking in!

“Aaron throws the best parties, of course. Don't you, Aaron? He even threw a huge party immediately after Katrina. There can be no excuse, he says, for canceling a party. Right?”

Aaron shrugged. “Please, you flatter me. I try to make my own little additions to the social calendar of the city, that's all.”

“You'll be coming to his ball tomorrow, of course,” Andrew said to Bess and me. “Aaron's providing all the costumes! He won't tell us what the theme is. It's unheard of. Who knows what he'll have us dressed up as? Buildings, probably. My outfit better fit right, that's all I'm saying.”

Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Andrew took a deep breath, probably to complain again, and I saw my chance.

“So, Aaron,” I said, cutting Andrew off and leaning across the table. “Bess tells me you have big plans for New Orleans?”

Aaron smiled. “Yes!” he said. “I've always loved this city, but it's stuck in the past. It needs to join the twenty-first century. And I am just the person to bring it there. I have a ten-year plan to put this city on the map, architecturally. To make it a … a shining beacon for modern architecture!”

“You must be excited at the possibility of having Daniel's place to work on.”

“The sadness of his death makes excitement seem wrong. But it will be the first property I work on that I own outright,” he responded. “So I am excited. If I get it.”

“Since Nicole dropped out of the bidding, I can't see how you wouldn't get it. You're the only serious offer out there!”

“Nicole what?”

“She dropped out. I mean, that's what she told me.”

“You were talking with her?”

“Yeah,” I said. This was not where I wanted the conversation to go. The last thing I wanted was to tip off Andrew to the investigation. “Just helping my dad out some.”

“Nancy has a way of ferreting out information,” said Bess. “She's got quite the reputation for crime solving back in River Heights.”

Was I mistaken, or did Andrew twitch when Bess mentioned crimes?

“Interesting,” said Aaron. His eyes had a faraway look in them, as though he was looking right through me. He shook his head and snapped back to attention.

“I didn't know that. I guess this is a celebratory dinner, then!” He raised his glass in a toast. “To the future of New Orleans.”

We clinked glasses. I did my best to keep him on the topic of the city, which was infinitely more interesting than hearing about Andrew's outfit at his twenty-first birthday party. I could sense Andrew pouting next to me, but I ignored him as best I could.

Halfway through dinner, a text arrived from Joe.

“Keep them there! On our way!”

A tingle went through my spine. If they were headed to the restaurant, it could mean only one thing:
They'd found some evidence linking Andrew to the crimes. He would be in custody before the night was over.

If I could put up with him for that long. I tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Andrew describe the haircut he was going to get for the party tomorrow, which was like his haircut now, but shorter. But not too much shorter. Just a little bit shorter.

I leaned across the table to Bess.

“I think Frank, Joe, and George might be dropping by for dessert,” I whispered.

Bess smiled. She knew what that meant. “Awesome!”

Ten minutes later, the door to the Joint swung open, and in they walked. Andrew shut up immediately.

“What are you doing here?” he said, standing up from the table.

“Andrew Richelieu? We have reason to believe that you've been involved with the robbery and arson of thirteen different properties in the city. We've notified the police, and they will be at your house with a search warrant by the time you get home,” said Joe, with obvious relish.

“What? This is ridiculous. I'm calling my lawyer.”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” said Frank. “If you cooperate, and give us the names of the other people involved, we are willing to offer you a deal.”

“Aaron, help me out here,” said Andrew, looking desperate. “This is preposterous.”

They must have found proof! This was great. We'd have this case wrapped up by tomorrow.

“Aaron,” said Bess. “Talk to him. Tell him to come clean. Frank and Joe are friends of ours—they'll help him.”

Aaron stood up. His wolf-yellow eyes turned cold.

“Andrew, they've got you. You should do the right thing. Turn yourself in. You need help. Trust me.”

Andrew flushed with rage. “What? How dare you!”

With no warning, he flung himself across the table at Aaron. The two of them went down in a heap. The table was smashed. The dishes went flying. A waiter came running out of the kitchen, took one look at the scene, and ran back inside.

Andrew had his hands around Aaron's throat. Bess and I rushed over to pull Andrew off him, but before we could, Aaron rolled over and slammed Andrew to the ground.

By the time we separated them, Andrew was unconscious.

I checked his pulse. It was weak. I slapped his cheek, but he didn't respond.

“Get an ambulance!” I yelled. “He's unconscious.”

Dark black and blue marks were already rising on Aaron's neck, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. They both needed medical attention, now.

It took long minutes before the ambulance finally arrived. Aaron waved them away, saying he was fine, and insisted that they take Andrew to the hospital first.

Frank and Joe tried to get into the ambulance with Andrew, but the emergency medical technicians forbade it.

“Police and family only, I'm afraid,” said one. The Hardys' ATAC badges might get them a lot of places, but it wasn't going to work here.

“Take my car,” said Aaron, holding up the keys.

“I'll get a cab. Go!”

“Thank you,” said Frank.

“I'll make sure he gets home safely,” said Bess. “Nancy, you go with them.”

I was torn. I didn't want Bess to be alone. But I wanted to hear more about what had happened. And if Andrew woke up, I wanted to be there for it.

“I'll go with them, Nance,” added George. “You go with Frank and Joe.”

That decided it. We hopped in the car and raced to the hospital.

The emergency room was filled with party-related injuries. Bloodstained costumes and broken masks were everywhere. It looked like a massacre at a circus. If I hadn't been so focused on Andrew, I would have been terrified.

“We're here to see Andrew Richelieu,” Joe said at the desk.

“Hold on a moment,” said the woman behind the desk. She picked up the phone. “Yes, sir,” she said. “The kids you said would be coming are here.”

On the other side of the room, a man in a three-piece gray pinstripe suit snapped a cell phone shut and strode over. He looked like he was wearing the costume of a businessman from the 1940s. But it didn't look like a costume on him!

“Nancy Drew, Frank Hardy, and Joe Hardy, I presume?” he said.

We nodded.

“I am Lawrence Worthington III, the Richelieu family lawyer. Aaron Pexa phoned me and told me what happened. My client, Andrew Richelieu, is in a coma, no thanks to any of you.”

“Wait a second,” said Frank. “That wasn't our fault.”

“Fault is an issue for a judge to decide,” said the lawyer. “But as of right now, I have a temporary restraining order on the three of you. None of you is to be within two hundred feet of Andrew or his property.”

Joe and Frank looked ready to argue with the lawyer, but there really wasn't anything they could do.

“And I've already spoken with the police—the chief is an old friend—and there will be no search. Pleasure
doing business with you boys. I assume we're done now. Good evening.”

Lawrence Worthington III tipped his hat at us and walked out.

Our criminal was in a coma. Our chance of getting evidence was gone. And now we couldn't go near him again!

This case was back at the beginning again.

CHAPTER
14

FRANK
MURDERED? OR MURDERER?

This was probably the hardest Joe and I had ever worked on a case to get exactly nowhere. We knew Andrew was involved—but we couldn't touch him. And since he was in a coma, we couldn't even work out a deal. We contacted ATAC and had them speak to Andrew's parents, but they wouldn't budge on the restraining order.

And to top it all off, Mom was about to kill us. We'd bumped into her and Dad by accident on the street outside the hotel. Until then, we'd managed to see them only on purpose, when Joe and I had time to carefully hide our hair under wigs and hats. But today we'd run straight into them on our way to Nancy's place.

“I know it's all fun and games, and you got caught
up in the Mardi Gras spirit, but look at yourselves!” she said, pointing at our hair. The many Mardi Gras beads around her neck rustled when she moved. “How are you going to go back to school looking like that?”