Read Nightmare in Angel City Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Nightmare in Angel City
Hardy Boys Casefiles - 19
Nightmare in Angel City
By
Franklin W. Dixon
"NICE VIEW," JOE HARDY said to his older brother, Frank. "But that first step's a killer." He turned back to the airplane window. Below him, Los Angeles stretched in all directions as far ] as he could see. A soft haze hung over the city while, to the west, sailboats rolled on the calm water of the Pacific Ocean and the sun burned huge and bright above the flat horizon. Just then Joe thought it was the most striking place he had ever seen. Half an hour later Joe and Frank Hardy were traveling in a rented car bumper-to-bumper on the freeway away from Los Angeles International Airport. "So far it doesn't look like the Los Angeles you see in the movies," Joe said to Frank, who was behind the wheel. Joe peered out at the monotonous row of apartment buildings and shabby bungalows that lined the highway.
"I mean, we're talking Hollywood here," Joe went on. "Where's the glitter? That's what I want to know."
Frank didn't respond to Joe, so Joe let it drop. He knew Frank was worried. But only Joe would be able to detect the signs of strain in Frank's level gaze and see the tension in his lean body as he hunched slightly forward over the wheel.
Frank's dark brown hair had fallen onto his forehead as he concentrated on following the traffic with his eyes. His mind, though, was far away—on his girlfriend, Callie Shaw, to be specific. What trouble was she in, Frank was wondering. He and Joe had just finished a case at their home in Bayport, New York, when Callie called with an S.O.S. from California.
Tired of watching the rear of the car in front of him and disappointed by the roadside sights, Joe scrunched his stocky body up against the door on the passenger side and closed his blue eyes. Joe, seventeen and a year younger than Frank, became drowsy in the hot sun, which was burning into his blond hair.
As Joe drifted off to sleep, he thought back to that morning, when this unexpected case had begun....
Gertrude Hardy had been sitting at the kitchen table, jokingly wagging her finger at Frank. "You should go out and have some fun," she'd said, more like a command than a suggestion. Their aunt Gertrude had lived with them for years, and throughout Frank and Joe's childhood she'd been like a second mother. "How am I supposed to get any work done with you hanging around the house all the time? This is summer! You're supposed to be off enjoying yourself!"
"I had a double date planned for us with the Basson sisters," Joe said with a sly grin at his brother. "But you know Frank. He has eyes only for Callie."
Frank and Callie had gone together for as long as Joe could remember, and deep down he secretly admired their commitment to each other. But Joe saw no reason to let Frank know that. With a twang he began to sing a country-western song about long-distance love until Frank picked a pillow off the window seat and threw it at him. "Okay, I know you and Callie will never be best buddies," Frank shot back. "But because she's off on the West Coast taking a course in broadcast journalism doesn't mean I can forget about her. She'll be back in three weeks."
"Right," Aunt Gertrude said. "And I'm sure she wants you to go out and have a good time. I'm not telling you to chase girls with Joe. I just think that you need a break."
Aunt Gertrude tended to worry about her nephews, and on the advice of their father — Fenton Hardy, the famous detective — they told her only what they had to about their dangerous exploits.
Frank was relieved when the phone rang and stopped his aunt cold. "I'll get it," Joe shouted, but Frank thrust an arm in his brother's way, cutting him off.
"I'll get it," Frank told his brother. The telephone hung on the wall near the kitchen door.
Frank lifted the receiver. "Hello," he said. "Hardy residence."
"Frank?" came a distant female voice. "Boy, am I glad you're home!"
He couldn't help smiling as he recognized the voice. "Callie!" he said loudly. "I've been wanting you to call."
"I don't have time to chat, Frank," Callie said bluntly. She sounded breathless and frightened, "Listen. I'm in trouble. I've fallen into some kind of nasty business, and I really need your help." Frank's expression changed immediately — he was totally focused on the phone call now. "Okay, Callie," he said, scrambling for paper and a pencil. "Tell me exactly where you — "
Before he could finish his sentence, Frank heard Callie cry out. Then her voice was cut off with a clunk! "Callie!" Frank shouted. She must have dropped the phone, he told himself. She'd be back in a moment. "Callie!"
"Is something wrong?" Joe asked.
"Quiet," said Frank, cupping a hand over his ear to blot out his brother's voice. Just then a male voice came on the line.
"Who's this?" said the voice.
"Who's this?" Frank demanded back. There was a pause, then a click. Frank was listening to a dial tone.
Furious, Frank slammed down the handset. He turned to face Joe and Aunt Gertrude, who both looked startled by his behavior. After he described the phone call, their expressions changed from surprise to worry. "Callie needs us," Frank finished simply.
Joe raised his eyebrows as Aunt Gertrude vanished down the hall. "She's asking us for help? The Callie Shaw I know can take care of herself."
Frank shot an angry glance at him, and the grin fell from Joe's face. "Sorry. But what could have happened to her?"
"That's what I'm going to find out," Frank said, moving toward the door. "You want to come, fine. If not, I'm going anyway."
Joe put a hand on his brother's arm, stopping him. "Hold on, Frank," he said, trying to calm him down. "If you want to fly to Los Angeles, I'm all for it. My only question is, what do we tell Mom and Dad?"
"I'll take care of that," Aunt Gertrude said, reappearing with an overnight bag in each hand. She gave one to each of the boys. "If I know Callie, she wouldn't call for help without a good reason. Go pack, you two. Now."
***
"Joe," Frank said, nudging his brother with an elbow. "Wake up."
Reluctantly, Joe uncoiled himself and wondered where he was. He looked out the window and remembered they were in California. The road they were on was in shadow as it led up toward the top of a narrow, snaking canyon. "Where are we?" he asked with a yawn.
With one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road, Frank picked up a map of Los Angeles and glanced at it. "Beverly Canyon, in the Santa Monica Mountains," he replied. "Callie's aunt is an actress. She has a house up here, and this is where Callie's staying. I tried to call from Bayport and from the airport, but the phone was always busy." He handed Joe the map. "I wrote the address in the margin. Tell me what it is, okay?"
Joe took the map and found the four numbers. "Yeah, it's 1439." He gazed at the homes they passed. There were no numbers on the doors. Then he realized they were painted on the curb-side. "Fourteen twenty-three — thirty-one — there it is."
They pulled into the steep, curved, gravel driveway of a sprawling split-level house, set below the level of the street and nestled back among well-tended bushes and small trees. Joe nodded approvingly. The large redwood-and-brick house was exactly what he had expected to see in California.
After he had parked the car, Frank got out and rang the doorbell.
There was a small click inside, and Frank realized he was being scrutinized through a peephole in the front door. "Who is it?" came a woman's voice.
"Ms. Beaudry? It's Frank Hardy. I'm a friend of Callie's. Maybe she's mentioned me?"
The door swung open. In the doorway stood a beautiful woman with bleached-blond hair. She wore tight blue jeans and a black satin shirt. She looked about thirty years old, but Frank knew she was older. She smiled brightly at Frank.
"She certainly has," Ms. Beaudry said with a grin. She noticed Joe, still sitting in the car. "And that must be Joe!" she added dramatically, bending down to peer into the car.
"That's right," Joe managed to stammer as he got out. He'd expected to meet an aunt, not a California girl.
"Won't you come in?" she asked.
"Thanks, ma'am," Frank said. The boys followed her inside.
As she shut the door, Ms. Beaudry said, "Oh, - for pete's sake, call me Emma!"
Emma's house was even more pleasant inside than out. Light and airy, it was decorated in1 pastel pinks and greens, with sliding glass doors offering a beautiful view of the light-filled canyon. Soft rock was playing on a radio somewhere in the house. What trouble could Callie have gotten into here, Frank wondered.
"What can I do for you?" Emma asked. "Would you like a soda? Seltzer? It might be a while before Callie — "
"That's what we came for," Frank interrupted eagerly. "I was hoping we could see Callie."
Emma laughed. "I sure didn't think you came for the seltzer," she said. "Unfortunately, I don't know where Callie is. She hasn't been around in a couple of days." She smiled at Frank's reaction. "Don't look so upset. She's spending a lot of time on a special project for her class, and she said she'd probably stay overnight with a girl friend sometimes. But I thought she'd call to let me know. When you find her, though, ask her to call me next time. Her mother's my older sister, and she'll kill me if she thinks I'm not being a good chaperon."
"You don't understand," Frank said. "Callie called me and said she was in trouble. She asked us to help. Don't you have any idea where she might be?"
Emma Beaudry's smile faded. "You're kidding," she said worriedly. Without her smile she looked older. "No. She hasn't called or anything. I thought it was strange. She's usually so responsible. Oh, dear, what should I do?"
"There might be something in her room — something to tell us where she's gone." Frank tried to fight a feeling of panic. Now was not the time to get emotional, he told himself sternly. He had one job to do: find Callie, and fast. He noticed Joe giving him a sharp look and quickly rearranged his expression so he looked calm.
"I don't know what could be in there," Emma was saying as she fingered her wooden necklace like a set of worry beads. "But you're welcome to look."
She led them down a hallway to a closed door and swung it open. Inside were two chests of drawers painted hot pink, a brass daybed piled high with pillows, a closet, and a small, white desk. Emma switched on the ceiling light.
"Thanks," Joe said. He eyed the furniture, looking for something out of place, but the room was perfectly neat. "Where do we start?"
"Pick a place," Frank said. As he and Joe stepped across the threshold, the room seemed to explode in a blinding flash of hot white light.
Bits of broken glass from the window danced in the air before they clattered to the floor, and the room filled with heavy, oily smoke. Gasoline! A firebomb!
Joe and Frank stared, caught flat-footed.
Emma Beaudry stood, round-eyed, gazing fixedly into space. "What's happening?" she asked, slowly turning to Joe. Her expression came alive just then, and her mouth fell open. She pointed at Joe.
Frank pivoted and saw flames starting to lick at his brother's shirtsleeve.
"Joe, you're on fire!" he shouted.
JOE FELL TO the floor and began to roll back and forth on his arm. Still, the flames continued to grow and his skin was being singed.
"Here!" Frank grabbed a blanket from the bed and wound it around Joe's arm.
The blanket did its job — within seconds the fire was out. "You okay?" Frank asked, inspecting Joe's arm.
"Yeah," Joe said stoically. "But we've got other problems. Look around."
Tiny fires had started everywhere around the room—on the drapes, the bed, the area rug — wherever bits of the flaming liquid had landed. Emma scampered from blaze to blaze, trying to smother them with a pillow. But just then the area rug really caught on fire, and flames were rushing up toward the ceiling. "Help me! Please!" Emma yelled.
The brothers sprang into action. "The mattress," shouted Frank. He and Joe grabbed the mattress, their fingers inches from the tongues of fire fanning across it. "Help me flip it," Frank ordered. "If we can bring it down hard over there — "
' Joe was already ahead of him. Deftly, he tossed the mattress over, burning side down, on top of the flaming rug. The curtains at the window flared up behind them. Emma tore them down in a heap on the floor. She stamped them out with her sneakers.
Now new fires were springing up, and the walls were starting to burn. Emma ran from the room as the Hardys battled each new blaze.
"No good," Joe called to Frank. "The fire's spreading faster than we can put it out. We'll have to make a ran for it."
"Here!" cried Emma from the bedroom door. In her hands was a red metal canister — a fire extinguisher.
"I can't get past the flames," Frank told her, coughing. "You'll have to throw it to me."
Just then the mattress, which had continued smoldering, burst into flame again. This new fire cut Frank off from both Joe and the door. "Throw the canister!" Frank yelled at Emma. "We're going to roast in here!"
