Deadfall (10 page)

Joe flipped to the next page. "Rafe Collins," he read. He scanned the small type for a moment. "Robbery. Assault. Assault. This is not a nice man."

"What's his job record?" Frank asked.

Joe scanned the data. "Grocery clerk, mechanic. Nothing to do with logging."

"Then why did Johnson hire him?" Callie wondered.

"I can tell you that," Stan said. "The rumor is that Johnson hired Collins to keep the employ-

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ees in line. That's Johnson's idea of employer-employee relations."

*'I heard that rumor, too," Frank told him. ''But I don't know what it has to do with Buster Owens."

"For starters, why would Johnson hire a goon like him if he wasn't up to something shady?"

"Wait a minute." Frank's eyes lit up. "Is there anything more you can tell us about the Forest Service contract? If Johnson gets that contract all of Buster's employees would go to work for Johnson—or at least that's what Johnson said."

Stan flinched. Joe watched curiously as the older man cleared his throat, then spoke slowly, in a low voice. "The Forest Service contracts are extremely valuable to mills because without them, loggers are forced to cut private lands only. Private landowners are usually only interested in a quick profit, so they don't replant their forests properly, and mill owners don't get as good a harvest. You know about the contract Buster and Johnson were competing for."

"Yes, but I guess we didn't realize just how important a contract could be," Frank answered.

Joe sat and slowly shook his head. Could Bo Johnson have wanted the Forest Service contract badly enough to kill for it?

"Vance Galen did see Collins's car near Horizon just before the explosion," Callie reminded them softly.

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Frank nodded. ''But we don't have proof. If only we could look through Johnson's office."

"How can you do that?" Stan asked.

Joe knew what Frank was thinking. And he could see by Callie's expression that she knew, too.

"No," she said in a low voice. "You're not thinking of breaking into Bo Johnson's office—"

"You'd better not," Stan Shaw spoke up. "If Johnson caught you he'd—"

"It's okay, Stan," Frank said. "We don't have to decide right now." But Joe knew that, dangerous or not, Johnson's office was next on the agenda.

"Anyway, it's too late to do anything now," Joe said, stretching his arms and yawning. The reporters' voices had faded away outside. Joe guessed they'd given up and gone home.

"Let's get some sleep," Frank agreed, grinning innocently at a suspicious Stan Shaw. "We'll talk about it again tomorrow."

"About time you got up," Callie remarked the next morning as Joe stumbled into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and began ladling bacon and eggs onto his plate. "Stan's already checked in with the sheriff and had a talk with the home office, and Frank and I are ready to start the day. What's your contribution?"

"I'll be the driver," Joe suggested, pouring himself a large glass of juice. "And give those reporters out there the slip."

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"Well, hurry up," Frank said, glancing at Stan. "It's nine-thirty, and we need to get to the general store in time to interview some of Ow-ens's crew."

Joe nodded. He knew Frank's remark had been meant to put Stan's mind at ease. Frank and Joe intended to search Johnson's mill that day, but Callie had insisted they not tell her uncle.

Frank had agreed that Stan would worry too much, and besides, the environmentalist's reluctance to confide in them completely about his relationship with Buddy Owens had made Frank wonder what Stan was hiding.

The day's plan, Joe had learned the night before, was simple. They were to arrive at Bo Johnson's lumbermill just as the trucks arrived with the first deliveries of the day. They would park the jeep outside the mill's fence. While Frank talked to the guard about applying for a job, Joe and Callie would search any logging trucks parked outside for hard hats and safety goggles. The Hardys and Callie would borrow enough lumberjack equipment to look like real loggers. Then they'd drive to the back of the mill property and cHmb over the fence, and they'd be in.

That morning, Joe observed, the three of them seemed to be operating under a lucky star. They evaded all the reporters and before noon found themselves in the woods bordering the back of Bo Johnson's mill.

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''Now we put on the goggles and hats," Calhe announced, pulling her hair up into a pony tail and covering it with the yellow hard hat. ''Remember—don't talk to anyone. All we want to do is search the office, have a look around the mill grounds, and get out fast."

"Okay," Joe said skeptically, slipping his goggles on and adjusting the hard hat to fit his head. "I just hope we make it through this. I'm not eager to get on familiar terms with Rafe Collins's fists."

"Neither are we," Frank assured him, fitting his hat to his head and peering through the chain-link fence at a small shack set far back from the other buildings.

"That must be where they keep the dynamite they use for blasting snags and stumps," Joe guessed, pointing at the shed. "They'd keep it out here in case of an accidental explosion."

"Right," said Frank. "Maybe I should borrow a stick while we're here. It might match what was in Stan's truck."

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" Joe asked. But one look at Frank's face told him where his brother was headed.

"Okay," he said. "Gallic and I can look for the office."

Frank gave Callie a boost over the seven-foot fence, then climbed over himself. Joe followed quickly.

"We'll meet back here in half an hour," Frank

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said to his brother, ''whether or not we find anything. Agreed?"

Joe gave Frank the thumbs-up sign before he and Cailie hurried off.

It took almost fifteen minutes for Joe and Cailie to discover that Bo Johnson's office was inside the main building of the mill. As they moved among the giant pieces of equipment inside, no one seemed to notice them.

Joe had never been in a working lumbermill before and was fascinated by the enormous wood chipper. As big as a small house, the chipper had an enormous mouth that was fed by a long conveyer belt on which workers tossed wood scrap and bark.

The roar the chipper made as it ground the scrap to bits was so loud that it drove all rational thoughts out of Joe's head. He was glad Cailie had spotted the office and was already moving toward it.

As Joe moved along beside the conveyer belt, one of the goggled workers called out to him, ''Hey, kid!"

Joe froze in his tracks and turned to face the man with heavy cotton gloves who was ripping branches from a pine trunk.

"You new here?" the man shouted over the noise.

Joe nodded. "I just started today," he yelled back.

"That so?" The worker turned to a man work-

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ing beside him. 'The lay-offs must be over if Johnson's hiring again.''

Joe thought fast. "I'm just here for inventory," he shouted. *'It's only temporary."

Just then someone farther down the line bellowed out something. Joe and the other workers spun around to see what was wrong.

''Punch the button! Punch the button!" a man was shouting, waving his arms at the others and pointing toward the gaping entrance of the chipper.

Joe swiveled around, then gasped. A body, lying half on and half off the conveyer belt, was partially hidden by the piles of debris. Joe peered through the dusty air at the unmoving figure.

"Frank!" he shouted, and raced for the mouth of the horrible machine.

The chipper could suck in massive pieces of wood and reduce them to splinters in mere seconds. Frank would be next, Joe realized as he raced the length of the conveyer belt. A large red emergency-stop button was placed prominently at the end of the belt, but Joe knew that he'd never get there in time. I have to! he told himself. Or Frank will be killed!

Chapter

12

' 'Frank !" Joe screamed.

Frank's eyes fluttered open, and the entire room burst into motion. The mill workers who had been frozen, staring in shock, suddenly scrambled for the emergency button. The cavernous building was filled with screams and shouts.

The man closest to the button slammed his fist against it. The chipper ceased to grind, and the mill became silent. Slowly Frank moved and sat up.

"Frank!" Joe shouted, racing to his brother's side.

"What happened?" Joe gingerly touched a nasty cut on Frank's jaw. "Somebody got you good."

"Search me," said Frank, still dazed. "1 was just about to climb into that shed when some-

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body spun me around and a fist was rammed into my face. It happened so fast 1 didn't even see who did it/'

Frank was interrupted by a loud voice nearby. ''Who are these people?" the voice demanded.

Frank looked up to see Bo Johnson, his features drawn into an angry grimace as he surveyed the scene.

''You don't work here," Johnson said. "You're trespassing!"

"You're right, Mr. Johnson," Frank agreed, hoping for inspiration. "We sneaked in on a dare. We always wanted to see what a real lum-bermill looked Hke."

"Well, you certainly have," Johnson snapped, obviously still furious. "You kids can't wander onto private property with dangerous machinery and then expect to be protected by the law. I want you off my property at once!"

Johnson glanced around, then snapped his long fingers at a pair of beefy workers. "Get them out of here," he ordered. "But confiscate those hard hats and goggles first. And, boys, if 1 ever see you on my property again, I'll call the sheriff before I come out to hear your lame excuses!"

As Frank and Joe were marched out of the sawmill, they looked everywhere for Gallic. She was nowhere in sight. Frank hoped she had escaped while the crew had been distracted.

As they walked, Frank recognized several faces from the Sportsman's Pool Hall and the

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crowd at the Horizon fire. Then he noticed someone more surprising. "Look over there," he said to Joe.

"Freddy Zackarias," Joe said, following Frank's gaze. "I thought he was just fired from Horizon."

"Well, he got a job here pretty quick," Frank said. "Maybe too quick."

"Shut up, you two," their guard growled, giving Frank a shake. "You can talk all you want when you get out of here."

When they reached the front gate, the guards demanded the borrowed equipment back. Frank and Joe handed over the hard hats and goggles happily.

"And stay out!" the first guard added as the boys walked through the gate. Frank turned and gave the guard a thumbs-up sign.

"All right," he said to his brother as they walked down the road to their jeep. "Now we figure out how to rescue Callie."

"No need," a voice called out.

Frank peered past a lumber truck to their jeep. Callie was sitting in the backseat, smiling out at him.

"Callie! How'd you get here?" Frank asked.

"You guys provided the perfect distraction," she said. "As soon as I saw you were okay, I slipped inside the office when no one was looking. I had a couple of minutes all to myself."

"Did you find anything?" Joe asked as the boys climbed into the jeep.

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''Yeah/' she said. '4 did. In fact, 1 think it tells us what Uncle Stan wouldn't tell about Buster."

''Oh, yeah?" Frank backed the jeep out. "Don't keep us in suspense."

As Frank steered the jeep down the mountain road, out of sight of Johnson Lumber, Callie passed a sheaf of papers up to Frank and Joe.

"What's this?" Joe asked, examining the top page.

"A plan," said Callie, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "to completely reorganize a logging operation, including new equipment designed to cut new-growth timber—"

"New-growth timber?" Frank asked.

"Most mills are designed to cut tall, old trees, like Douglas firs," Callie explained briefly. "But they're the ones that the Greens want to save most. The loggers say it costs too much to have their equipment redesigned to cut up smaller trunks—or new growth—from replanted land," she went on. "But this plan describes a way to work it so everyone's happy—especially the Forest Service."

"The Forest Service?" Frank perked up, meeting Callie's gaze in the rearview mirror. "You mean this is a plan to win the Forest Service contract."

"Exactly," Callie said excitedly. "It has specifications on the new equipment and how long it would take to pay for itself—assuming that the company wins the contract. And it describes

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how to leave pockets of undisturbed forest with no added cost. And it tells how the mill can replace the trees it cuts down by getting the federal government to provide seedlings and planting expertise for free. And if the mill is willing to replant, the Forest Service guys are super-happy. So happy, in fact, they would probably agree to award an exclusive contract to all their forest land to the company that can offer these guarantees."

*'Buster's and your uncle's plan," Joe said.

''Exactly," agreed Callie. ''And it has my uncle's mark all over it. A perfect compromise that makes everyone happy."

"Everyone except Bo Johnson," Frank pointed out.

"Right." Callie leaned forward between the two front seats. "Johnson obviously got hold of a copy of the plan somehow—"

"Freddy Zackarias," Joe said quickly. "He was fired for going through Owens's office, and today we saw him hanging around Johnson's mill."

"Johnson must have realized that if Owens won that contract, he would be forced out of business," Frank interjected. "He couldn't let that happen and he killed Owens."

"It's more likely that he paid Collins to do the actual dirty work for him, though. Where to now?" Joe asked.

"The Crosscut Guardian's offices," Frank said. "We need proof. I'd like to make prints

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from the photos I took near the bulldozer yesterday and compare them with the prints from around Buster's truck."

"Step on it, Frank," CaUie said. "I smell a solution coming."

Frank glanced, amused, at his passenger. **Yes, boss," he said, and pressed down on the accelerator. "After the detective work you did, your wish is our command."

"There you are!" Ronnie Croft said when the Hardys and Callie trooped into her office through the back door fifteen minutes later. "1 was wondering what happened to you. The town's loaded with reporters, all demanding that I produce Stan Shaw for nonstop interviews."

"We saw a couple outside here," CalHe said. "That's why we came in the back way. Last night they were all outside Uncle Stan's house. Fortunately, we were able to give them the slip when we left his house this morning."

"Now—don't tell me—you want to use my darkroom," Ronnie said.

"Actually, yes," Frank replied. "We need to make some more prints in a hurry. We think we might be near a solution to the case."

"In that case, help yourselves," Ronnie said eagerly. "But on one condition."

Frank hesitated on his way to the darkroom. "What's that?"

"If you do solve this case, and Stan Shaw's no longer a suspect, and every reporter in this

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town wants to interview you and Callie and

Joe—''

''Yes?" Callie asked, grinning.

"You have to give me an exclusive interview."

"It's a deal," Frank said with a laugh.

In the dim amber light Joe and Callie peered at the row of photographs Frank had just printed. "Do you see anything yet?" Callie asked Frank.

"I'm not sure." Frank finished focusing the negative, turned the enlarger off, and slipped an eight-by-ten sheet of photographic paper over the enlarger's base. Then he turned on the en-larger light for a number of seconds, switched it off, and transferred the paper to the first vat of chemicals.

"This one seems promising," he said as he moved the photograph into the tray of fixer. "As soon as you hang it up we'll turn on the lights and take a closer look."

Five minutes later, Frank was standing on a stool in the now brightly lit room, peering at the photographs through a magnifying glass. Ronnie, Callie, and Joe were flanking him, trying to make out details in the prints.

"I still don't get it," Ronnie said impatiently. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"Something unusual in one of the bootprints," Joe explained. "If he finds a unique pattern in a print from near the bulldozer and can match it with a print from beside Owens's car, then that

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means the same person was in both places. And that means—"

''Once you match the bootprint to someone's boot, you have a good chance of being able to name the murderer." Ronnie tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

"I hope you find something," Callie said anxiously. 'There's only one more day till that arson report comes back. And since it seems pretty certain that that dynamite is from the same batch that was planted on Uncle Stan, he'll probably be arrested immediately."

"Joe, look at this," Frank said suddenly, pulling back from one of the photographs and hurriedly unclipping it. He handed the magnifying glass to Joe, then climbed down from the stool and strode over to the filing cabinet in the corner, where he'd left extra prints from the earlier printing session.

Frank grabbed one of the earlier photographs and brought it over beside the new one. "Compare them," he said to his brother, barely able to control the excitement in his voice.

Slowly and deliberately, Joe peered through the glass at first one photograph, then the other. He turned to his brother and said with a gleam in his eyes, "I think you did it, Frank.

"See," Joe explained to Callie and Ronnie, "there are three hobnails missing in a little triangle down on this side." He pointed to the boot-print in the newer photo. Then he moved the magnifying glass over to the older print. "And

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here it is again. Three missing nails in exactly the same place."

''Frank!" Callie looked up from the magnifying glass, her face alight with excitement. "You really did it! Now if we can find the boot to match these prints. Uncle Stan's practically free!"

Chapter

13

Frank and Joe gathered up the photographs and stacked them into piles.

"I have a feehng we'll find those boots on Rafe Collins's feet." Joe handed his stack to Frank.

''You might have some trouble persuading him to take them off/' Callie pointed out.

"Collins did the dirty work for Johnson, and Johnson may not have been fooled by our act at the mill," Joe pointed out. "He might have sent Collins after us already."

"We need to get Uncle Stan's advice. He knows these people best," Callie said. "Besides, I want to ask him why he kept his plan with Owens a secret."

Joe turned to Ronnie, who was standing, silently taking everything in. "You really think Bo

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Johnson's responsible for Owens's death?" she demanded excitedly.

Frank held up a hand to stop her. *'Remember that interview. Well, if you're quiet, you get it. If you tell, you don't."

She held the back door open for them, and they sneaked back out into the cool afternoon air.

Stan Shaw gave a low whistle as he looked over Frank's stack of photos in his kitchen less than half an hour later. "These are great pictures, Frank," Stan said. ''And it's a good thing. They might save me."

"The trouble is, we still have to find this boot to prove who committed both crimes," Frank said excitedly.

"Rafe Collins isn't the type who'll let us examine his footwear," Joe pointed out wryly. "And we're practically positive that Collins is our

guy."

"My suggestion, then, is to give these photographs to the sheriff," Stan said. "He could have Collins brought in for questioning and impound his logging boots as evidence."

"We will," Callie assured him. "But first we need to do a few things to make our case as foolproof as possible."

"Like what?" Stan asked, accepting a tuna sandwich that Joe had made.

"Like ask you why you refused to tell us about the Forest Service plan you had worked

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out with Buster Owens," Frank said, taking a sandwich and joining Stan and Callie at the table.

Stan's gaze switched to Callie.

"We found a copy of the plan," she explained nervously. "In Bo Johnson's office."

Stan slammed down his sandwich. "You were in Johnson's office? You could have been killed!"

"We had to go. Uncle Stan!" Callie protested. "You wouldn't tell us what you and Owens were meeting about. And it did turn out to be important!"

Stan stared at his niece for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the table. "I should have told you. The only reason Buster was willing to change over to conservation-friendly equipment was to put Johnson out of business. Actually that was all right with us because all along, Johnson has violated just about every environmentally supportive law on the books. He really would shave these mountains clean and leave nothing but stumps. Buster wasn't much better at first, but at least he was willing to try—especially if it hurt Johnson. His only requirement for taking the risk was that I not say a word until it went through. He was afraid that his loggers would quit and join Johnson if they knew."

"But after he died, why couldn't you tell us then?"

Stan shook his head. "I wanted to. But I didn't want to squeal. 1 was hoping Millie would

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come around to her father's way of thinking, and I didn't want her to lose her crews. Please believe me—I never imagined that the plan could have anything to do with Buster's death. Is there any other evidence that Collins might have committed the murder?"

"Yeah," replied Joe. "Your assistant, Vance Galen, spotted CoUins's car, that old red Caddie, near Buster's truck just minutes before the explosion took place."

Stan's eyes widened. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"He's afraid of Johnson and Collins," Callie said. "And he thinks the sheriff won't believe him."

"I need to speak with him," Stan said, reaching for the phone. "He's in grave danger if Collins or Johnson is guilty and they even suspect that Galen knows. I'm afraid they're not the only ones around here who would be relieved to see him go."

Stan dialed Galen's number, but no one answered. Finally Stan replaced the receiver in its cradle.

"He might just not be answering his phone," Frank pointed out. "He was pretty spooked last time we saw him."

"I say we pay him another visit," Joe decided.

"You're right," Callie said.

"Can you distract those reporters?" Frank asked Stan. The older man nodded.

"We'll be back in an hour or two," he told

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him. ''And if we're not, send someone, like the sheriff, to find us."

"I wonder if the bulldozer will still be there," Callie said from the backseat as the jeep powered up the road on Stoner Mountain.

Joe stared out at the road. "I doubt it. Didn't Walter Ecks say he'd return it to the equipment yard?"

''I kept an eye out for strangers," Frank remarked. 'That guy in camouflage who attacked Joe might still be— What's that?" he interrupted himself as he was staring out the window.

"What?" Callie swiveled around to look.

"There was a truck parked on a logging road leading off into the woods," Frank said, turning around as well. "Yes, there it is!" he added as a truck came into view in the distance. "I think we're being followed!"

"Don't get paranoid." Joe glanced in his rear-view mirror. "We're not the only people allowed to drive on this mountain, you know."

"Yeah, but how many local folks lie in ambush for our jeep to pass by?" Frank pointed out. "Speed up," he added. "Let's do some ambushing ourselves. If it's nobody we know, at least we'll have gotten to Galen's place a little faster."

"Whatever you say." Joe pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

The jeep bolted up the mountain. It flew over

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a bump in the road and rounded a comer practically on two wheels.

Joe glanced into his rearview mirror again. 'They're lost," he reported. ''If they were ever found, that is."

"Turn off there," Frank ordered, pointing to a barely visible logging road.

"Aye-aye, sir." Joe slammed on the brakes and made a sharp right turn onto the muddy road. The jeep swerved wildly. Joe pumped the brakes again and the jeep made a 180-degree skid to face the main road.

Moments later the truck appeared, driving very slowly up the mountain as though the driver was searching for something. "Here he comes," Frank said in a soft voice. "When I give the word, block the road."

Joe kept his eyes on the truck. When Frank said, "Now," Joe slammed the car into gear and punched the accelerator.

The jeep roared out of the woods like a wild animal, heading straight toward the slow-moving truck.

Through the truck's windshield, Joe could see Freddy Zackarias scream. Frantically, the logger spun the steering wheel. But he lost control, and the truck careened off the side of the road and onto the cliff beside it.

"Is he hurt?" Callie asked as Joe pulled up next to the truck and hopped out. Freddy, in camouflage, sat inside, rubbing his forehead.

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''Bruised a little," said Joe. ''But compared to what we've been through lately, it's nothing."

"End of the line, Freddy," Frank was saying as he leaned in the window of the truck. "Hey, what's this?"

Frank reached past Freddy to retrieve something from the seat beside him. "Look," he said, holding a walkie-talkie up for Joe and Callie to see. "It says 'Property of Johnson Lumber' right here on the back."

"What do you want?" Freddy asked. He was glaring, but Joe saw fear in his eyes.

"Answers," Joe replied. "Why were you following us?"

"I wasn't. I was just going in the same direction," Freddy said.

"Uh-uh, Freddy," Frank replied, leaning his arms on the window frame of Freddy's truck and peering inside. "Somebody's been reporting our movements to Bo Johnson, and that somebody is you."

"I don't know what you're—" Freddy began defensively.

"Save it," Joe snapped. "We know you're Johnson's spy. How long have you been on our tail today? Since we left the sawmill?"

"You can't prove anything!" Freddy shouted at them.

"If I were you, I'd be scared they'd bump me off because I knew too much," Frank added.

"And if you helped Collins kill Buster Owens, that makes you an accessory to murder," Callie

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pointed out. '*I wonder how many years you'll get?"

"Ready, gang?" Joe asked, satisfied. As soon as Frank and Callie were back in the jeep, he stepped on the gas. Freddy's truck disappeared as the jeep rounded a bend.

"He might go right back to Collins and Johnson and tell them what we said," Frank remarked as they neared the top of the mountain.

"Great," said Joe. "How will that help us?"

"It might spook Collins and Johnson into doing something careless," Frank replied. "And then maybe we can catch them in the act."