Terror at High Tide (3 page)

The next thing Joe knew, a huge black object was falling down on him!

Frank tackled Joe and pushed him forward. The huge black object landed behind them with a thud. It was the octopus, they realized.

“Ugh,” Joe said, looking as though he wanted to gag, “this thing stinks. And it's got its arms all over me.” He removed two tentacles, which had fallen over his legs. “I guess taxidermy doesn't make it a cuddly kid's toy.”

“Come on,” Frank said, jumping to his feet. “Whoever's in here threw that on you. We've got to find out who it is.” Frank's sneakers scudded on the floor as he took off up the stairs.

“Callie, Alicia!” Joe called as softly as he could. “We're going to look around. Can you turn on some lights?” Alicia flicked on the light switch
by the main entrance as Joe dashed up the stairs behind Frank.

“I can't believe it!” Frank exclaimed when he reached the top. Before him lay the ruins of the shipwreck exhibit. Display cabinets had been smashed, and shards of glass were everywhere. Ship models had been knocked off their display tables and lay in broken pieces among the glass.

“I wonder if anything's been stolen,” Frank said. “Alicia might know—”

A crash interrupted him. It came from Mr. Geovanis's office, and it sounded to Frank like glass breaking.

Frank and Joe took off down the mezzanine toward the closed office door. Joe was about to fling the door open when Frank grabbed his arm. “Whoever's inside might have a weapon,” he cautioned.

Positioning themselves on either side of the door, the Hardys listened for a moment. Everything was silent. Frank pushed the door open a crack and peered inside. He could see that the computer monitor was on, giving off an eerie glow in the darkness.

Frank opened the door farther, while Joe switched on the overhead light. The room looked empty.

“What happened here?” Joe said with a low whistle. The office was a wreck. Manuscripts and books were scattered everywhere. File drawers
had been opened, and papers were strewn on the floor. Glass from a broken picture frame lay in tiny pieces on the desk.

“Make sure no one's hiding behind the desk,” Frank said as he and Joe strode into the room.

“No sign of anyone,” Joe said, leaning over the desk.

A breeze wafted through the room. “Joe, look,” Frank said, pointing to the far corner.

A window, partially hidden by a bookshelf, was wide open. “He must have escaped that way.” Frank moved over to the window and leaned out. A fire escape led down the side of the old brick building to a deserted alley.

“Not a soul in sight,” he said. “The guy must be long gone.” Frank brought his head back inside.

“Take a look at this,” Joe said as he stood in front of the computer.

“It looks like the main menu of files,” Frank said, coming up next to Joe. The cursor highlighted a file labeled Fundra.97. Frank clicked the mouse, and a list of fund-raising events for the current year flashed onto the screen. “Can you make anything of this, Joe?”

Joe's blue eyes looked puzzled. “Nope,” he said. “At least, not yet. Give me a few more minutes.”

“You stay here, then,” Frank said. “I'm going to tell Callie and Alicia it's okay to come up.”

Joe gave Frank the thumbs-up sign, his eyes on the computer screen.

Two minutes later Frank, Callie, and Alicia came in. Alicia's face was sheet white, and her green eyes flashed with anger. “Can you tell whether anything's missing?” Frank asked her.

Alicia shook her head. “I can't tell anything right now. I hate to think how Dad's going to take this.” She sat down in her father's desk chair.

“I can't make sense of these files to see if the intruder was looking for a specific thing,” Joe said. “And I haven't noticed anything that might clue us in to his or her identity.”

“Identity!” Alicia scoffed. “Isn't it clear that the culprit is Roberto Scarlatti?”

“No,” Frank said firmly. “We have no hard evidence pointing to Scarlatti. We don't even have evidence that the person took anything.”

“Hang on a second,” Joe said. He ducked into the hallway and walked down the corridor to the next office. “Bingo,” he breathed as he read the placard next to the door: Roberto Scarlatti, Assistant Curator.

Joe opened the door and flicked on the light switch, then stepped inside. “Wow,” he said to himself. “This guy makes the army look disorganized.”

Scarlatti's office was a model of order. The only items on his desk were a blotter, an inkstand, and a conch shell serving as a paperweight for a pile
of neatly stacked notepaper. Not even a spot of ink on the blotter, Joe thought as he shook his head in disbelief.

When he stepped back into the corridor, Joe saw Frank, Callie, and Alicia looking at the broken display cases in the exhibit area.

“Scarlatti wins the neatness award of the year,” Joe said as he joined them. “And his office hasn't been touched.”

“That's even more proof that Scarlatti's behind all this,” Alicia said hotly. “He wouldn't have wrecked his own stuff.”

“But why would Scarlatti trash the museum?” Frank asked. “He may be angry at your father and want his job, but how would this get Scarlatti what he wants?”

Alicia shrugged, peering into one of the display cases. “Roberto really went off the deep end yesterday—it would figure that he'd go to more extremes today.” She paused, then went on. “I'm almost positive that some cutlery and plates are missing from the
Titanic
exhibit. They're not in here, and I haven't noticed them anywhere on the floor.” She moved off in the direction of her father's office.

“Hmm,” Callie said. “Then it looks like the person's motive may have been theft. Maybe he or she was on the way to Scarlatti's office but heard us coming.”

“Or it could have been Scarlatti on some crazy mission of revenge, trying to cover his tracks by making it seem like a robbery,” Joe suggested.

“I want to look around some more for clues before we call the police,” Frank said.

“Then you're going to have to hurry,” Alicia said, sticking her head out of her father's office. “I just called the police and they're coming immediately. I also put in a call to Jonah Ferrier's house. He's the editor-in-chief of the
Island News,
and he's hosting the dinner that Dad went to tonight. I left a message for Dad to come to the museum pronto.”

“Then let's get going, guys,” Frank urged. Leaning over the balcony by the stairs, Frank saw that the stuffed octopus had been attached to the ceiling by a chain with a hook on the end. The hook, now empty, dangled over the cavernous museum space at about the level of Frank's waist. All the intruder had to do was reach over the balcony and unhook the thing, Frank figured.

“Nantucket police!” announced a voice from downstairs. Two police officers—a thin middle-aged man and a chubby younger one—entered the museum lobby and began to climb the stairs toward Frank. “I'm Detective Crespi,” the older man said, “and this is my partner, Officer Brunswick. I understand you've had a bit of trouble here.”

After introducing himself, Frank told the police what had happened. Then he introduced them to Joe, Callie, and Alicia.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Alicia told the officers as she led the way to her father's office.

“Just doing our job,” Detective Crespi said brusquely. “Now, while Officer Brunswick takes a look around, let me ask you all a few questions. First, were there any signs of forced entry?”

Alicia told them that the door was locked when they arrived but the alarm had been off.

“So it was probably someone who's familiar with the alarm code,” Crespi guessed. “Do all the employees know it?”

“The higher-level ones do—like my dad and Mr. Scarlatti, the assistant curator,” Alicia answered. “I do part-time work here, so I have a key and know the code.”

When Detective Crespi asked Alicia if she knew whether anything had been stolen, she mentioned the cutlery and china from the
Titanic.
“But I can't tell whether anything's missing from Dad's office,” she added.

Holding a pad of yellow paper with notes scrawled on it, Officer Brunswick joined the group. “There's nothing more we can do until we talk to your father,” he said, looking at Alicia. “Please have him contact us as soon as possible.
He'll be the one to know for sure if anything's been stolen.”

“How about dusting for fingerprints?” Joe suggested. “The broken window frame might be a good place because none of us touched it.”

“Good idea,” Crespi said. “I'll do that now—and then I think we can call it a night. Of course, we'll have to close the museum until it's cleaned up and an inventory is taken.”

After the police had finished their work, Alicia locked up the museum. Then she hopped on her bicycle and headed toward home, while Frank and Joe walked Callie to her apartment door.

The Hardys strolled back to the Great White Whale, their bed-and-breakfast, carrying their skateboards and thinking about the case so far. When they reached the inn, they nearly fell into their beds, exhausted from the events of their day on the usually calm island of Nantucket.

•   •   •

“Now, this is what I call a breakfast,” Joe said as he attacked a pile of pancakes the next morning. He and Frank were sitting at a table in the breakfast room of the Great White Whale.

“You'd better not go swimming today, Joe,” Frank said slyly, “or you'll sink like—”

Frank stopped in midsentence as the front door to the inn crashed open and Alicia appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room.

“Alicia!” Joe said. “What's up?”

Alicia's face looked frozen with fear. She rushed into the room. “Frank, Joe,” she said in a shaky voice. “I need your help. Dad's disappeared. He never came home from last night's dinner!”

“What?” Joe exclaimed. He stood up and put an arm around Alicia, then settled her into a chair next to him and Frank. Alicia took several deep breaths, then buried her face in her hands.

“Alicia,” Frank said gravely, “tell us what happened after we all left the museum last night.”

Lifting her head, Alicia stared into space for a few moments. Frank could tell she was struggling to stay calm. “Let's see,” she began in a shaky voice. “As you know, Dad never showed up at the museum, so I decided to wait for him at home. Well”—she paused, her lip trembling—“he never came home.”

“Did you check in again with the people who gave the dinner party?” Joe asked.

“Yes,” Alicia said. “I called the Ferriers right away when I got home, and this time Mr. Ferrier told me that he hadn't seen Dad since dinner. When I had called earlier from the museum, some guest who didn't know anything took my message. She hadn't realized that Dad had already left.”

“Have you told the police?” Frank asked her.

“Yes,” Alicia said. “I called them right away, after I spoke to Mr. Ferrier. Dad could have still been out somewhere, but I was worried. I know it was way too early to file a missing-persons report or anything, but I thought the police would do something because of the museum break-in.”

“It's true,” Joe observed. “Your dad's disappearance and the wrecked museum seem as though they've got to be linked. Anyway, let's just say the two events happening on the same night make for a weird coincidence.”

Alicia nodded in agreement. “That's what I thought, too. When I called the police, they said I could file a missing-persons report, but I'd have to wait twenty-four hours for him to be officially considered missing.”

“Did you talk to Detective Crespi?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” Alicia said. “He was sympathetic and everything, but he said that my dad might have
just been out with friends and that I shouldn't worry. He told me to make sure that my dad called him the minute he got home. He seemed more concerned that Dad wasn't around to answer questions about the museum vandalism.”

“And Crespi didn't speculate that the two events might be linked?” Frank pressed.

Alicia shook her head. “No. The vandalism was on his mind, not my dad.”

“Well, his tune might change in another twenty-four hours,” Joe said grimly. “Though I hope Crespi is right—that your dad was just out with friends.”

Alicia drew a deep breath, then let it out in a slow sigh. “That's not Dad's style—to party all night,” she said. “And even if he had been with friends, he'd call me to let me know he'd be home late.”

Frank knew Alicia was right. He could understand Geovanis staying out late with friends, but it was odd that he hadn't called by now. Something may have happened to him—either an accident, or a crime.

“Anyway,” Alicia went on, “I barely slept all night, and by nine this morning when Dad still wasn't home, I knew something was really wrong. I'm convinced he's been kidnapped—and that Roberto Scarlatti's the culprit!”

“Alicia,” Frank said, “you can't jump to conclusions like that. I agree your dad could be in
some sort of trouble. But he may have been in a car accident or something. Have you checked the hospital?”

“Of course,” Alicia replied, looking exasperated. “And he's not there. Besides, the police would have told me that. Also, Jonah Ferrier told me that my red Jeep, which Dad had borrowed last night because his car was being fixed, is still sitting outside the Ferrier house.”

Frank and Joe were silent for a moment while they thought about Alicia's story. Finally Joe said, “Let's say your dad was kidnapped. Maybe the guy kidnapped him first, then went into the museum to trash it. But why?”

“
If
it was the same person,” Frank pointed out. “We're just guessing here—we have no evidence yet—”