Scene of the Crime (2 page)

"Great driving, Harris," he said. "I'm Gil Driscoll, top stunt man on this, or any, movie.

Stick close to me, and I'll teach you boys a thing or two. You are brothers, right?"

Joe nodded and noticed someone standing behind Gil Driscoll. Someone Frank and Joe had seen many times before.

Ed Kemble, though he was getting on in years, was still a big star. Frank and Joe had seen most of his adventure films at the Bayport six-plex. Joe, in particular, was a big fan. And here was Joe's hero right in front of him.

Ed Kemble's thick mustache that covered his upper lip was his trademark. His brown hair was close-cropped, as always, and his brown eyes twinkled as he grinned at the boys.

"Wonderful driving, Mr. Harris," Ed said, shaking Frank's hand. "I'm Ed Kemble." He clasped Joe's hand as well and repeated the introduction, as if Joe had never heard of him.

"It's really a pleasure to meet you," Joe said.

"Pleasure's all mine," Ed replied.

He moved off to the side of the smashed porch, and motioned for Frank and Joe to follow.

"I probably wouldn't have thought to shoot for the pillar," he said. "Car stunts are tricky. And I ought to know—I started out in this business as a stunter. Even as a leading man—before I took on this supporting role to help out Sy, here—I did all my own stunts."

"Hey, everyone," the captain shouted. "Take a look at this." He held up one end of the safety cable. Frank and Joe joined the rush over to take a look.

"Well, it wasn't cut straight through," Frank determined, examining the tightly wrapped metal strands. "But it does look frayed."

"Maybe the cable gave out after too many takes," Joe said. "It caught the first two times."

"Too many takes?" Sy Osserman slapped his forehead with his palm. He looked at Joe as if to say, "Hey, aren't you working for me?"

"That cable should have caught every time," the captain insisted indignantly. "What are the odds of both the cable and the brakes failing? Especially after I checked out the car."

"When did you check out the car?" Kemble asked.

"A couple of hours ago."

Ed Kemble scratched his mustache in thought. "You know, I could have sworn I saw Sy's new star," — he snapped his fingers — "what's his name?"

Gil Driscoll laughed at the idea of Ed forgetting who the film's star was. Frank and Joe exchanged glances. Obviously, Ed wasn't very happy about not being the star on the set. Sy Osserman merely heaved a sigh.

"Burke Quinn," the director reminded Ed. "What about him?"

"That's right," Ed said as if he'd just remembered. "Burke Quinn. Why, I saw him just before the shot scooting around the set with his lady friend, in that very car."

"Sure," Gil Driscoll added. "I spotted them, too."

Sy Osserman's jaw hung down. "How did he get permission to take this car?"

A little mousy man in charge of all the vehicles said, "Quinn just took it. Said he didn't need no permission."

"That Quinn's a real funny guy," the captain hissed between his teeth.

Frank pulled Joe a few steps away from the others as the talk turned to Burke Quinn's many antics. The young star had a reputation as a notorious practical joker.

"Let's go have a talk with Mr. Burke Quinn," Frank whispered.

Frank and Joe slowly slipped away from the others. As they departed, a crew of carpenters was arriving to begin repairs on the mansion.

Heading toward the trailers, the Hardys jogged along the cliff top and watched as the cold Atlantic waves broke punishingly over the coastline's huge boulders.

Frank's shoulder throbbed, and each step jarred his body. "Hey, Joe. Slow down," he called out as his brother rushed on ahead.

"Sorry." Joe waited for Frank to catch up.

"What do you think?" Joe asked as Frank joined him. "Was someone out to get you, or was that crash merely an accident?"

Frank gave the question some thought. "I doubt Sy Osserman told anyone who we are, or why we're here. So whoever is behind these 'accidents' shouldn't have a reason to harm us."

"But the whole setup worries me," Joe said. "Dad was right. This could turn very deadly."

"Maybe Burke Quinn can give us some answers," Frank said. "But remember, we can't come on like detectives. Let's not raise his suspicions."

"If he fooled with that car, he'll have more to worry about than suspicions," Joe added, his hand balling up into a fist.

Frank shook his head. "Cool it, Joe," he instructed. Too often he'd seen Joe's anger get the better of him.

The actors' trailers were on a small grassy hill away from all the noise. Burke Quinn's was easy to identify. It was a white thirty-footer, with a life-size poster of Quinn plastered to the side. A huge silver star hung on the door. Joe aimed for it as he knocked loudly.

"Who is it?" the Hardys heard the actor call from inside.

"Joe and Frank Harris," Joe shouted through the door.

"Never heard of you," Quinn shouted back. "Go away."

"We're the new stunt apprentices," Frank called out. "We're fans and wondered if we could meet you."

"Not now, I'm relaxing," Quinn said, a hint of laughter in his voice. "A fine actor like me needs his beauty sleep."

An idea came to Joe. "Couldn't you at least give us an autograph, Mr. Quinn?" he asked innocently. "My sister is really hoping for an autographed picture. She has a big crush on you."

The Hardys heard some movement from inside the trailer.

"Door's unlocked, guys," Quinn shouted after a moment. "Come right in."

Joe grinned triumphantly, opened the door— and stepped into a flash of blinding light.

Instinctively, both Hardys dodged back and raised their arms to protect their eyes. But Frank and Joe were still sent reeling by the force of a deafening blast.

"You SHOULD HAVE SEEN the look on your faces!" Burke Quinn stood in the scorched doorway of his trailer, looking down at the boys on the grass. He roared with laughter, slapping his leg.

Frank and Joe staggered to their feet, stunned, wiping dirt from their clothes. Frank's tuxedo was splattered with mud.

"We nearly get blown to bits, and you think it's funny?" Joe looked ready to kill the actor.

"Relax, man," Quinn said nervously. "No harm done. It was all in good fun."

"I ought to knock you silly," Joe said.

"Cool down, Joe." Frank placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and forced his face into a smile. "After all, it was pretty funny."

Joe glared at him. "Are you out of — "

"Hey, Joe," Frank cut him off. "Have a sense of humor." He turned to Quinn. "Mind if we come in and clean up a bit?"

Quinn shrugged. "Sure thing. I promise, no more jokes. You guys have already made my day. That was one of my all-time best."

Frank and Joe went back up the steps. Frank grinned at his host, but Joe couldn't. He could see what Frank was up to, but still couldn't smile.

Inside, the trailer looked more like a penthouse than a camper. Plush beige reclining chairs and a circular couch rested on thick white carpeting. A television, a stereo console, and two large speakers covered one wall. In the back was an antique walnut desk with an executive chair, and beyond that a bedroom.

Frank and Joe walked carefully to the bathroom, making sure not to leave mud on any of the expensive furnishings.

"What was that explosion, anyhow?" Frank asked after he and Joe had cleaned up.

"A flash pot," Quinn explained. "A pal in special effects rigged it up for me. They make great fake explosions."

"If it was so fake, how come the trailer's been scorched?" Joe asked, pointing to the door.

"Hey, I can live with that." Burke Quinn waved away the damage. "Seeing you guys jump out of your boots was worth it." Then he jumped off his chair and went to the desk. "I nearly forgot. You wanted autographs, and you've definitely earned them."

Joe leaned close to Frank, whispering, "I'd like to tell him what to do with his autograph."

Smiling, Frank shushed his brother. "We can't thank you enough," he told the actor.

"What did you say your sister's name was?" Burke Quinn had a pen over one of his pictures.

"Sister?" Joe repeated. "Right. Her name is, urn — "

"Gertrude," Frank finished the sentence for Joe, grinning as Quinn signed the photograph.

"Thanks," Frank said enthusiastically. "Say, did you hear about my accident? I was driving the red Porsche."

"The red Porsche, you say?" Quinn's eyes revealed he knew which car Frank meant. "Smashed up pretty bad?"

"Totaled it," Joe said. "The stop cable didn't hold, and the brakes went out."

Quinn leaned closer to the Hardys, dropping his voice. "You guys are new here. Well, you didn't hear it from me, but I'll pass on this warning. Be careful. I've got bad vibes about this picture. The stunt team just isn't cutting it. There are constant accidents on this set." "Any caused by practical jokes?" Joe asked. Quinn gave Joe a cold stare. "I can see you and I aren't going to be best friends."

"Hey, Joe just heard a rumor, that's all." Frank smiled to ease the tension. "There's some talk that you were driving the Porsche after it had been checked out."

"So what if I was?" Quinn's jaw jutted out. "I took a little spin. I'm the star. I can drive any car I want. And the brakes worked just fine for me. Who told you, anyhow? Kitt Macklin?"

"Doesn't matter." Joe shook his head in disgust at Quinn's attitude. "But we heard another rumor—that maybe someone who's into jokes would think it's fun to fool with the brakes before a stunt."

"I don't need to take this from a pair of apprentices." Quinn threw the door wide open. "There's a difference between jokes and killing people. Besides, if I had fooled with the brakes, how would that explain the cable not holding?"

Frank and Joe looked at each other. Quinn was right — the Hardys had no explanation for that. Quickly, they got up to leave.

"Maybe I should have a talk with Osserman about who works on this set," Quinn said. "And you can forget about any more autographs for your friends," he shouted at their backs.

"Sorry I blew it," Joe said as they walked away from the trailer.

"Don't worry," Frank told him. "We found out some interesting stuff. Burke Quinn is up for any kind of practical joke, even a dangerous one. And he has the run of the set — "

"And we know that he and Kitt are having some kind of lovers' spat," Joe added.

"Good deduction." Frank looked down. "Now let me change out of this muddy penguin suit." Joe laughed. "Wardrobe will love you." "What can I say? It's been a rough morning." Frank gave Joe a friendly shove. "I'll get back in my own clothes, and then we'll get back where we belong."

"Right. The stuntmen's area," Joe said. "Before we're missed."

The stuntmen had a large makeshift aluminum-sided shed tucked among the rows of equipment trailers in the center of the lot. They entered the building into a lounge area and grabbed a sandwich each from a platter. To the side of the lounge was a gym, complete with free weights and a Nautilus machine. Behind the lounge was an equipment room and a garage, where cars and motorcycles were fine-tuned, ready for upcoming stunts.

Frank and Joe were surprised to see Ed Kemble hanging out in the stunters' lounge. He was busy swapping stories with Gil Driscoll and two other men. The actor waved Frank and Joe over. "Meet Wesley and Ty."

Wesley was about six foot two, and as broad and tough as a middle linebacker. His head was completely shaved. When he smiled, Frank and Joe saw that all but two of his teeth were missing. Ty was about an inch taller and slim. The muscles of his forearms bulged even when relaxed. He had blond hair, a light complexion — and a sling on his right arm. Frank guessed that he'd also been the victim of a stunt gone sour.

"We've been talking about all the gadgets used in the profession today." Ed picked up a bottle from a table and smashed it over Wesley's head. The glass shattered in a million pieces, and Wesley's eyes glazed over as he hit the floor.

Horrified, Frank and Joe went to help him. But when they grabbed his arms, Wesley grinned and somersaulted to his feet. The others laughed heartily. Even Frank and Joe had to smile.

"Welcome to the trade, guys," Ed said. "It's breakaway glass, as you must know, one of the old-time inventions that are still with us. But nowadays they've added custom-made rubber suits and flame-retardant materials, exploding bullets, and roll bars on all the cars."

Ed shook his head in wonder. "Watch what these little darlings do."

From his pocket, Ed took out what appeared to be a small cherry tomato. He brought it to his mouth, then suddenly dropped the tomato to the ground.

Poof! A flash of light was immediately followed by a haze of thick purple smoke. In a moment, the smoke had cleared and Ed was gone!

"Over here, boys," he called out from behind the sofa. "Nice little flash-bang, huh?"

"Knock it off, Ed." Everyone turned as the captain leaned into the room from the side door.

"I'm trying to prepare Janet for the next stunt.

"So stop playing with the equipment."

The captain spotted Frank and Joe, and his gruff manner disappeared. "So there you two are. Follow me, I want you to see this setup."

Joe smiled and waved at Ed Kemble as they followed the captain into the garage. A half-dozen men and women were working on two sports cars, a pickup truck, and two motorcycles.

Frank and Joe overheard one mechanic say, "It's those actors," as they passed. "They don't care about anything. They're totally unprofessional." The man was working on the engine of a truck. "Burke, Kitt — even Ed Kemble," he went on. "They're all making us look bad."

"Yeah," the other agreed, "the set's just a playground for them. And if the stunts go wrong, it's an excuse for them if this movie bombs."

"Sy doesn't know what he's doing. He's not in control," said a woman who was tuning up a motorcycle.

Frank and Joe nodded thoughtfully. The accidents were the talk of the crew, and clearly, everyone was under suspicion.

"Cut the chatter," the captain shouted. "Let's keep our minds on our work."