High-Speed Showdown (12 page)

Maybe the spell worked. On the last lap, the two lead boats still held the same positions, roaring down the return leg at what looked like easily 120 miles per hour. Frank didn't see the other two Open Class competitors at all.

“Do you want to stay and watch the consolation
heat?” Joe asked. “Or should we get back to work?”

Frank grinned at him. “This
was
work,” he retorted. “Even if it was fun at the same time. But I guess we'd better go in.”

The return to Bayport was slow, because there were so many boats out on the water. The harbor itself, and the marina, were practically deserted. Finally, Frank nosed
Sleuth
into their slip. Joe took the bowline and stepped up onto the dock. He was slipping the loop over a bollard when Frank saw a hulking figure jump up from behind a storage shed and run at him. He was wearing a mask and held a baseball bat up over his shoulder.

Frank opened his mouth to shout a warning. At that instant, he felt
Sleuth
rock under a sudden weight. He spun around. A second man, in camouflage overalls and a ski mask, was crouched in the stern of the boat. He raised his baseball bat in his right hand and took a menacing step toward Frank.

14 Newcastle Checkmate

Joe sensed a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and heard the sound of rushing steps. He turned just in time to see a bat hurtling toward his head. He threw himself forward and to the right. The bat hit his shoulder a glancing blow. His left arm went numb and hung useless at his side. He walled off the glaring pain in a far corner of his mind and concentrated on his first priority, fighting and defeating his attacker.

Dropping into a half crouch, Joe charged forward, head down, and butted the other guy in the stomach. The guy let out a
whoosh!
and bent double. Instantly, Joe used his powerful thigh muscles to propel himself upward, slamming the top of his head into his opponent's chin. The
masked man reeled back, but recovered. He grabbed Joe's shirtfront and tried to knee him in the face.

Joe dodged to the left and took the force of the guy's knee on his good shoulder. Then he aimed a punch at the side of his opponent's throat. The guy managed to block the attack with his forearm, but to do so, he had to let go of the bat. Joe grabbed it in midair.

“Okay, turkey,” Joe growled.
“My
inning!” One-handed, he made a backhand swing in the direction of his attacker's knees. With a yelp of fear, the guy stumbled backward a few steps. Then he turned and ran.

Joe turned, too, but in the other direction, back toward
Sleuth.
Frank was crouched near the stern, grappling with the other masked man. The boat rocked wildly from side to side.

Just as Joe ran down the dock to join the battle, Frank's attacker managed to work his right arm free. He raised his baseball bat, preparing to club Frank across the back of the head. Without thinking, Joe lifted the bat he had wrested from the other thug and threw it, spear fashion. As it left his hand, he had a sudden fear that he would hit Frank. But the bat flew true, hitting Frank's opponent in the ribs, just under his upraised arm. He staggered back.
Sleuth
rocked so far to port that water sloshed in. Off balance, the thug tumbled
backward into the water. He kept his hold on Frank's arm, though, dragging him in, too.

Pausing just long enough to slip out of his shoes, Joe made a racing dive into the harbor. When he surfaced and looked around, Frank was treading water a few feet away. His attacker was climbing up onto the dock on the far side of the next slip. The moment he got to his feet, he broke into a run. The battle was obviously over.

“We should take the boat back out,” Frank said. “Those goons might be going for reinforcements.”

They climbed in and motored out into the bay. “Let's tie up at one of the temporary berths on the other side of the marina,” Frank suggested. “No one will expect us there.”

Joe scanned the docks as they passed. Then he happened to glance down at the deck. His eyes widened. He bent down and fished something from under the seat.

“Frank! Look at this!” he exclaimed.

Joe was holding a brown leather wallet. He opened it and whistled. “A bunch of brand-new fifty-dollar bills,” he reported. “Eight . . . nine . . . ten of them. And a Newcastle Trucking ID card in the name of Ralph Waldvogel, who looks an awful lot like our pal, Skip. Frank, this is the proof we needed against Newcastle! We'd better find Magnusson, fast, and tell him what we know!”

 • • •

Gerald Magnusson was at the inn, attending a reception for the racers. When Joe and Frank walked in, both dripping wet, he spotted them at once and hurried over.

“We need to talk, right away,” Frank told him.

“All right, let's go to my office,” Magnusson replied.

Once in the office, Magnusson listened gravely as the Hardys explained why they thought that Carl Newcastle was behind the sabotage campaign. Then Joe showed him the wallet and told him where he had found it.

“It's hard to believe,” Magnusson said, slowly shaking his head. “Oh, you've convinced me. But if someone had told me a week ago that one of our competitors would do such a cowardly thing . . . ”

Magnusson picked up the phone and asked the inn desk to page Newcastle. After a short pause, he said, “Carl, may I see you, right away? It's important. Of course I'm sure.” He replaced the receiver and sat back with his shoulders squared, looking like someone facing a task he disliked.

“You need to see me?” Newcastle said from the doorway. “What's the problem?”

“Come in and close the door, Carl,” Magnusson said. “I've just heard some very disturbing allegations about you.”

Newcastle narrowed his eyes and aimed them at Joe and Frank. “What have these kids been saying about me?” he demanded.

Joe stepped forward. “We found out that your mechanic, Skip Waldvogel, and another one of your employees have been pulling dirty tricks on your rivals,” he said.

Frank then listed what he believed Newcastle's goons had messed with: the fuel line on the
Adelita
, the throttle cable on the
Sleuth
, the firecracker in the van, the missing buoy. “And we were just attacked by two of your men with baseball bats,” Frank continued. “We have proof,” he added.

Newcastle didn't ask what proof. After a short silence, he said, “If one of my employees went a little too far in trying to help me win, I'm sorry. But it's got nothing to do with me.”

“I'm sorry, Carl. That's not good enough,” Magnusson said. “It would be wise for you to withdraw from tomorrow's race . . . a mechanical problem with your boat, perhaps.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Newcastle said, raising his voice.

Magnusson held up his hand. “The alternative is to bring this whole business before the race committee,” he said. “I'd prefer to avoid that kind of publicity, wouldn't you? And there's an excellent chance that you'd be barred from offshore racing for good. Do you want to take that risk?”

In the tense silence, Joe saw the muscle in
Newcastle's jaw start to twitch. Then the trucking executive slammed his hand down on Magnusson's desk. “Okay, I withdraw,” he said. “But you and your boy detectives better listen to this. Anybody who says publicly that I did anything crooked had better know a good lawyer . . . and a good doctor!”

He stared at Joe and Frank, as if memorizing their faces. Then he stormed out of the room.

Magnusson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well,” he said. “That's that. Frank, Joe—you've earned my congratulations and thanks.”

“Actually, the case isn't tied up just yet,” Frank said. “We still don't know for certain who sent you the fax of the leaflet. The same goes for the leaflet with the threatening message that we found in Dennis's file. I can't come up with any motive for Newcastle to threaten you or Dennis with the leaflet. Connie could be responsible for that, of course, but we don't know for sure. Plus, we don't know who poisoned Chuck, or if it was intentional at all.”

“Don't forget Barry's medallion is still missing,” Joe added.

“Right,” Frank said. “And there's nothing to tie Newcastle to the theft.”

“Ah, yes, the medallion,” Magnusson said. “Well, after seeing the splendid detective work you did today, I wouldn't be surprised if you
manage to turn up the medallion as well. I'd better get back to the reception. You'll join me, won't you?”

 • • •

It was dinnertime when Joe and Frank finally left the inn and drove home. Their mother was in the front hallway, on the phone. Joe heard her say, “Oh, they just walked in. Do you want to say hello? Hold on.”

She passed the phone to Joe, who was closer. He said hello and heard his father's voice say, “How are you getting along with that boating case?”

“Pretty well, Dad,” Joe replied. “I think we've got it close to wrapped up.”

“Great,” Fenton said. “I'll want to hear all about it when I get home. Oh, give Magnusson a big hello from Steve Griffin.”

“Your client?” Joe asked. “They know each other?”

“Oh, sure. They go way back,” Fenton replied. “Steve was surprised that Magnusson had tried to get me to take this case you're on. Apparently Steve mentioned to Magnusson just a couple of weeks ago that I was coming out to the West Coast to give him a hand. I guess my name stuck in Magnusson's mind and the facts that went with it didn't. Oops—there's Steve at the door now. Talk to you later.”

 • • •

The next morning Frank was heating the waffle iron and Joe was stirring batter when the phone rang. Frank grabbed it and said hello.

A gruff voice said, “You want to break this case wide open? Keep a close watch on the Fernandez girl.”

“Who is this?” Frank demanded. There was silence, then a dial tone.

Frank repeated the message to Joe.

“I think we already saw this show,” Joe said. “What now? We rush out to the van, drive off, and find out that somebody cut the brake line?”

Frank grinned. “Nope. We have a nice, hot breakfast. We give the van a nice, thorough check. Then we go park down the street from Connie's house for a nice, peaceful stakeout.”

“There goes our morning,” Joe grumbled.

Half an hour later, as they circled Connie's block looking for a parking space, Joe was still grumbling. “I'll bet we sit here for an hour or two and nothing happens,” he said.

“You lose,” Frank replied, sliding down in his seat. “There's Connie backing out now. Don't get close enough for her to spot us.”

“Are you trying to teach me how to do my job?” Joe groused. He let Connie get all the way to the corner before he put the van in motion again.

Connie didn't seem to be in a hurry. The slow-motion pursuit led across town to a seedy strip
shopping center. Joe parked at the far end of the lot, then he and Frank followed Connie at a distance. She approached a row of shabby offices, most of them vacant. After opening a glass door, Connie walked down a hall, checking the signs on the doors, then stopped and tried the knob of one. The door swung open, and she went inside.

“Come on,” Frank said urgently. He broke into a run. Joe was right behind him. They burst through the open doorway and stopped short.

The only furniture in the room was a big, battered cardboard carton. Connie was standing next to it, looking over at the Hardys in alarm. On top of the carton were a few scattered Earthquest leaflets.

Frank was beginning to think that Joe was right, and that their morning stakeout had been a bust. But then he saw something that made him inhale sharply and grab Joe's sleeve—an intricately carved ivory medallion on a gold chain.

15 And They're Off!

“Congratulations,” Connie said bitterly. “You caught me red-handed.”

“It sure looks that way,” Frank said.

Connie tossed her head and said, “Of course it does. You guys are really something, aren't you? You must feel proud of yourselves.”

Joe took a step forward. “Now hold on,” he said. “Are you trying to say that
we—”

She raised her voice. “Come off it, Joe Hardy! Of course you set me up. Are you going to try to tell me you just happened to be driving by at the exact same time I came here? Give me a break! By the way, which of you made that phone call? You're good at disguising your voice. I never would have thought it was one of you guys.”

“We followed you here,” Frank said. “We were watching your house because
we
got a phone call this morning telling us to.”

“Are you for real?” Connie demanded. “You're asking me to believe that whoever set me up set you up, too?”

“Believe it or not,” Joe said. “We got a call this morning. And we
did
find you here with Barry's lucky charm, didn't we?”

A shudder went through Connie. “Will you please get that horrible thing out of my sight?” she pleaded. “It makes me sick just to look at it. If I had to touch it, I think I'd keel over.”

Frank wondered if Connie wasn't protesting too much. Did she really have such a strong emotional reaction to a piece of whale ivory that was over a hundred years old? Or was she trying to convince them that she wasn't physically capable of stealing it?

“This
does
smell like a frame,” Frank said. “But you've still got a lot of explaining to do. What were you and Angelo doing to that buoy the other day?”

When Connie started to protest, Joe said, “We saw the marks on the cable. And we spotted the bolt cutter in your locker at the marina.”

Connie stared down at her hands. In a voice so low that Frank had to lean forward to hear, she said, “We didn't do anything. Angelo was kidding around about how easy it would be to, like, totally mess up the races. But when he actually started to
cut that cable, I made him stop. I don't think he really meant to, anyway—just to show me he could. And then you guys nearly ran us down.”