Crime in the Cards (11 page)

A police cruiser, its engine still running, stood
parked outside the front entrance. Tim came bounding down the steps past the cruiser.

“You guys should see it!” he said. “Mr. McCool's really lighting into the cops!”

“What for?” Joe asked.

“I don't know,” Tim said. “They're arguing by my locker. Check it out.”

The Hardys and their friends picked their way through the students crowding the foyer and went to Tim's locker near the industrial arts room. Mr. McCool was standing outside the door to the classroom, holding a fist-size black box in his hand. Con Riley was talking with him. Another officer stood near the two, quietly staying out of the conversation.

“I can't believe all this lunacy!” McCool said, holding out the box. “This lens wasn't stolen. It's right here. I put it away for the weekend. There's no crime here, no mystery.”

“According to the student who reported the incident, the lens wasn't where it was supposed to be,” Con said calmly.

McCool blew out a long huff of air. “I'm sorry I didn't put it in the usual place,” McCool said. “But here it is. You can see it with your own eyes. If anyone had called me, I could have told you where to find it.”

“We tried to get in touch with you, Mr. McCool,” Con said. “But we couldn't reach you all weekend.”

“Is that my fault?” McCool asked. “I have to get ready for class. Is there anything else you need from me?”

Con tipped his hat back on his head. “No, sir. I think that'll do.”

“Good,” McCool said, stalking back into his classroom.

“What a hoot!” Tim said quietly. “Good thing the cops didn't find my cards. I've been worried about them all weekend.” He took off his coat and opened his locker door.

A Creature Card fluttered out of Tim's locker and fell faceup on the floor.

Chet's eyes went wide and he gasped, “My Bargeist!”

“You're sure this is your card, Chet?” Joe asked.

Chet picked up the Bargeist and examined it.

“Well, it's not
mine!”
Tim put in defensively.

“I can't be sure,” Chet said, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “But there aren't a lot of Bargesits in circulation. It's a very rare card. This
could
be the one from my missing deck.”

At that moment Con Riley and the other officer walked by on their way to the front door. “What's that?” Con said. “You found one of your stolen cards?”

“The Bargeist,” Iola interjected. “It's rare and very valuable.”

“Where did it turn up?” Con asked.

“It fell out of my locker when I opened it,” Tim said. “But I don't know how it got there.”

“Really . . .” Con said, rubbing the slight stubble on his chin. The officer with Con glanced suspiciously at Tim. “What's your name, son?” Con asked.

“Tim Lester,” Tim said, his voice shaking nervously. “But I really don't know anything about this. Honest, Officer Riley!”

“I think you and I should have a talk,” Con said. He turned to his partner. “Officer Chisholm, please secure that locker until we can investigate further.”

“Right,” Officer Chisholm said. She closed Tim's locker and took up a position in front of the door. “The rest of you, move along,” she said to the Hardys and their friends.

“But it's
my
cards that were stolen,” Chet said.

“I know, that Chet,” Con said. “For now, though, I'll have to ask you for that card. We may need it as evidence.”

Reluctantly, Chet handed over the Bargeist. “Will I get it back in time for tomorrow's tournament?” Chet asked.

“We'll do our best,” Con said. “I can't make any promises, though.” He looked at the rest of the group. “You should get to class. I may need to talk to the rest of you, though. We'll be in touch. Keep an eye on that locker, Marge.”

Officer Chisholm nodded. “Check. Tell Crime Scene to hurry back.”

“Don't worry, I will,” Con said. “Come on, Mr. Lester. We need to talk to the principal. After that, we'll go to the station and take your statement.” Con headed for the principal's office with Tim meekly tagging along.

Other students had begun to gather around the locker, trying to find out the cause of the commotion. Officer Chisholm stared them down. “Move along,” she said. “Nothing to see here.” She spared a parting glance at Chet, the Hardys, and the girls. “You, too.”

The brothers and their friends moved down the hall. “Why didn't you say anything?” Callie asked Frank and Joe.

“There wasn't much to say,” Frank said. “We couldn't stop Con from doing his job.”

“And we didn't want to say anything that might put Tim in more trouble than he already was in,” Joe added.

“Do you think he could have done it?” Iola asked.

“He knew Chet's cards were in that desk,” Frank said. “And he had both motive and opportunity to take them.”

“A lot of other people knew that as well,” Iola said. “Gerry told us all the gamers knew the cards were confiscated. Tim seems too nice to do something that rotten to Chet.”

“I agree,” Callie said. “And, if he did take that card, why put it in his locker, and why open the locker in front of us?”

“Criminals
do
make mistakes,” Joe said. “That's usually why they're caught. I'll admit, though, it doesn't make much sense.”

“I don't think either of us is ready to condemn Tim,” Frank added. “But he
could
have done it.”

“Then the only logical choice is that someone framed him for it,” Callie said. “Someone like Pete or Daphne.”

“Or someone we haven't even considered yet,” Iola put in. “You're awfully quiet, Chet. What do you think?”

Chet sighed. “I'm almost wishing that I hadn't reported the theft to the cops. If I hadn't, maybe Frank and Joe could have handled this more quietly.”

“It's a bad break,” Frank said, “but reporting the theft was the right thing to do.”

“I wonder if Daphne ever reported her loss,” Joe mused. “If she didn't, that might indicate that she didn't want the police looking into the theft.”

“Are you saying she might have faked the theft of her own cards?” Iola asked.

Joe shrugged. “It wouldn't be the first time a criminal has played the victim,” he said.

“On the other hand,” Frank said, “Pete's competition for tomorrow's tournament is looking pretty thin right now. Chet and Daphne had cards stolen, and now Tim is being investigated by the police. Even if all three of them make the tournament, their concentration might be thrown by all this—no offense, Chet.”

“None taken,” Chet said. “But Pete'll have plenty of
competition from out-of-towners anyway. Remember the guy at the ‘keeper' game who didn't wear a mask?”

“Yeah . . .” Joe said.

“That was Steve Vedder, a player from Jewel Ridge. He's won a lot of tournaments,” Chet said. “There'll be good players from all over at this thing.”

“If we don't hear anything more, we'll call Con after school,” Frank said, “and see what he found out.”

“I'd still like to talk to Gerry again if we can corner him,” Joe said. “That guy seems as slippery as an eel.”

“He wriggled out of that fix at the mini-mall easily enough,” Iola added.

“If we can track him down,” Chet said, “I might even buy some cards from him.”

“Chet!” Callie and Iola said simultaneously, disapproval in their voices.

Chet shrugged. “Hey, I've got a tournament to win, remember?”

After dinner the five of them regrouped at the Hardys' house. No one had seen Gerry during the day, and Chet told the others that he'd heard Gerry had called in sick.

“It's a bad time for him to be sick, considering how high the demand for cards is likely to be today and tomorrow,” he said.

“Maybe he knew the police were going to be poking around and he didn't want to be any part of it,” Iola said.

Frank shrugged. “There's no use speculating,” he
said. “We'll just have to catch up with Gerry when we can.”

“Did you find anything out from the police?” Callie asked.

“Con said they'd released Tim,” Joe said. “They didn't find any other stolen cards in his locker. Good thing he had a receipt for that Coyote in his deck.”

“What about my card, though?” Chet asked.

“Con said you could pick it up anytime,” Frank replied.

“Well, what are we sitting around here for then?” Chet asked. “Let's go get it!”

The weather changed before Tuesday morning. Cold winds blew down from the northeast. Light coats and motorcycles disappeared in favor of winter jackets and cars.

Tension ran high during the school day. Tim returned to class, but didn't talk to anyone. Daphne orbited a sulky world of her own. Pete regarded everyone suspiciously. Even Chet seemed on edge.

The gamers talked in hushed whispers about that night's tournament. Gerry did a brisk business buying and selling cards before and after school, setting up in a park a block from the building. He wouldn't make time to talk with the Hardys, but Chet managed to buy a card or two from him.

“Boy,” Joe said to Frank at the end of the day, “this game sure is making people paranoid.”

* * *

The brothers hooked up with Chet and their girlfriends an hour before the start of the tournament; they all went down to the Sullivan Hotel ballroom together.

The venue was large, with more than thirty big tables arranged around the room. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, suffusing the room with warm light. Gamers jammed the ballroom. Most of the players were nervously fingering through their decks one final time.

A podium stood on top of a low platform at one end of the hall. A group of older people chatted quietly near the stage. The Hardys recognized Dungeon Guild owner, Ron Felix, among the crowd.

“Wow!” Chet said, pointing at the platform. “See that guy? He's Troy King—the game's inventor.” He indicated a skinny, bearded fellow with wire-rim glasses and frizzy reddish hair. “He'll be handing out the top prizes.”

The tournament organizers gathered all the gamers into one corner of the room and began to group them for play. Joe, Frank, Callie, and Iola waited until Chet had been seated, and then found a good spot from which to watch him.

At seven o'clock, the tournament moderator—a slim woman with short black hair—called the hall to silence. “Noble Lords and Ladies,” she said, “ welcome to the Bayport Creature Cards tournament!” The audience exploded with applause.

The woman raised a hand for silence and continued,
“Tonight we find out who is the supreme Creature Commander in Bayport and environs. The winner of this tournament will receive a crown trophy, and be declared Creature Commander King for this area!” Again, thunderous applause.

“In addition,” she said, “our sponsors—including the Dungeon Guild, Sullivan Hotel, and the Kiff and Kendall restaurant chain—have provided generous prize packages for all the finalists. Now I'd like to introduce the Ultimate Creature Commander himself, Troy King!” She stepped back from the podium as Troy bounced up, all smiles.

Troy waited for the applause to die down, then he pulled out a small, Lucite container from behind his back. “You see before you,” he said gravely, “the ultimate goal of every Creature Commander here—a Bone Leviathan card. It has an attack of ten, a defense of eight, and is immune to most magic.”

The crowd let out an appreciative, “Ooh!”

“This card is being given out only to tournament winners,” Troy continued. “And only this year. If you have what it takes, this Bone Leviathan could be yours. Now let the battles begin!”

With that, the game referees started the card playing at each table. Chet, Tim, Pete, Daphne, and Steve Vedder all made it through the first round, easily surviving the large battles set up at each table.

The groups got smaller in the second round. Tim got knocked out there, but the rest of them advanced.

At a break between rounds, Chet confessed that he
was hanging on by the skin of his teeth. “If only I had my old deck back,” he moaned. The Hardys, Iola, and Callie urged Chet on. “We know you can do it,” Iola said.

The third round featured three-person match-ups. Chet found himself competing against Daphne and Pete. The game was tense, with each of them jockeying for position—alternately attacking and supporting each other. As the game drew on, Chet began to lose ground. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he frequently glanced at the gallery where his friends were sitting, looking for encouragement.