The Deadliest Dare (3 page)

Joe trailed just behind him.

They went up the stairs single file, Frank first. He pointed up at the cut wires above the i doorway. "That's where they took care of the alarm."

Frank stepped across the threshold, then stopped dead.

Lightning flashed, and for a few seconds he could see a length of carpeted corridor in the crackling light. The hallway was empty, but there were two sets of muddy footprints on the faded carpeting and running through the doorway at the far end.

Clicking on his flash, Frank said, "Come on, they must be somewhere up at the front of the house."

On both sides of the hallway stood a row of shoulder-high pedestals. Each of them held a marble bust of one of the Hickerson clan.

Making his way along the shadowy corridor in the wake of his brother, Joe chanced to bump against one of the wooden pedestals. The heavy bust of a gentleman with substantial whiskers began to teeter.

"Oops," said Joe quietly, making a grab for the swaying pedestal.

He caught it, but the marble bust went sliding off the top. It did a wobbly somersault, then fell to the floor to crash into three pieces.

Frank swung his flashlight back at Joe. "Want to bet they heard that?" he whispered, but his tone of voice showed that he didn't think there was any need for secrecy—now.

"Sorry. I didn't see him."

From the front of the mansion came the sounds of feet running and then of a door slamming.

"They're taking off." Frank charged for the doorway that led to the front.

"Catch you later, sir," Joe told the fallen bust and took off after Frank.

Frank reached the heavy oak sliding doors, slid them open, and dived into the next room.

Joe followed him but stopped short just inside the room, next to his brother.

The room they'd burst into was on fire.

The crackling flames were a glaring orange, They were climbing up the brittle old curtains that were hanging at the windows across the front of the parlor.

Paintings had been removed from walls and dumped on top of the sofa. Then the whole pile had been doused with gasoline — the dirt-smeared red can still lay on the floor — and set on fire. Over near the small fireplace, three cane-bottomed chairs had been smashed up and were blazing away, too.

Joe spotted a fire extinguisher, sprinted across the room and grabbed it off its peg. He turned the thing upside-down and started spraying chemicals on the blazing curtains. "If these walls catch fire, the whole place will go Up.

"I saw another extinguisher back in the hall." Frank went running back for it.

The flames leapt from the burning sofa and started eating at the dry, dusty drapes. Smoke spiraled up until the air of the room was visible as black soot.

Frank put the second fire extinguisher to work on the pile of smashed chairs.

In the distance outside, they could hear sirens steadily growing louder.

Joe had succeeded in pulling the curtains down and dousing them. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he started on the burning sofa. The only sound in the room was the rasp of harsh breathing, cut by hacking coughs as the smoke did its best to choke the two brothers.

"How're you doing?" Frank called hoarsely after a moment. He had the pile of broken furniture under control, and the last of the flames had just been smothered.

"I got this mess put out. You?"

"This one's out, too."

"Good thing we got here in time," said Joe, setting the extinguisher on the floor.

Frank picked up the flashlight he'd put aside. He surveyed the room. The walls around the windows were black, and much of the paint and wallpaper had burned away. There were black gouges in the hardwood floors, a large charred hole in the rug, and splotches of soot everywhere. A bitter, acrid smell hung over all the room.

The shrieking of the sirens flared up once right outside the house, then died.

"If we hadn't gotten that phone call, this whole place would've been just so much charcoal," said Joe, still wiping his face.

"Let's take a look around," suggested Frank, "and see if our phantom arsonists left any other clues besides that gas can."

"If I were you, boys," said a deep, unfriendly voice from the dark doorway, "I wouldn't move so much as an inch."

They turned to see the gleam of a pistol barrel pointed at them.

"Nope," the voice went on. "What I'd do is just raise my hands, real slow and easy."

Joe raised his hands, but he laughed while he did it. "You've got the wrong firebugs, Officer Riley."

"Joe Hardy?" A large flashlight clicked on.

"And me, Con," said Frank.

The heavyset policeman entered the room, putting away his gun. "Okay, you don't have to keep your hands up, boys," Officer Con Riley said. "But I would like to know what you're doing here."

Three uniformed firefighters came trudging into the parlor.

"We've already put the fire out," said Joe hopefully.

"Let us decide that, kid."

Con Riley gestured toward a door that led to the front porch. "We'll talk out there," he said.

There was a broad wooden roof over the wide porch, and the rain was drumming down on it relentlessly.

Riley took his cap off, running thick fingers through his hair. "This was obviously arson," he said. "So you can start off by telling me just what you know about it."

"Not as much as we'd like." Joe glanced over at the fire engines and police car.

Frank said, "We got a phone call, Con."

"Who from?"

"I'm not sure. The person didn't identify— herself."

"But it was a girl."

"I'd guess it was," said Frank. "All she said was that there was going to be trouble here at the Hickerson Mansion. She wanted Joe and me to get over here right away."

"Why did she call you?"

Joe said, "Well, people — some people anyway — think of us as being able to handle trouble of this sort."

"Yeah? Me, if I was expecting a fire—I'd phone the fire department."

"I have a theory as to why she couldn't do that," offered Frank.

"Theories I don't need just now," said Riley. "What I'd like is the names of the people who tried to burn this place down."

"I'm afraid we can't help you much," said Frank. "We don't even know who telephoned us."

Joe added, "And we didn't get a look at them after we got here."

"But somebody was in the house when you two arrived?"

"We heard noises from the front," replied Frank. "See, we'd come in the back way, where they'd disabled the alarm. You might mention to whoever takes care of this place that they'll need a much more sophisticated security system than the one they've got. Otherwise — "

"Yeah, I'll whip off a memo to them first thing in the morning," the impatient policeman cut him off. "So, you didn't see anyone. Did you hear anything?"

"Running feet," said Joe, shaking his head. "That's all."

"How many kids would you say?"

"Two," said Frank. "But we can't be sure they were kids, Con. Every case of vandalism that happens around here isn't necessarily pulled by some kid."

Riley scowled at each of them in turn. "In the past month we've had more vandalism in Bayport than we get in a whole year," he told them. "Now, maybe a little old lady sprayed that obscene graffiti on the side of the school, and it's possible a middle-aged banker dumped powder in the Cellar's air conditioners. But somehow, I'm betting it was kids. And when we finally nab them, don't be surprised if the perpetrators turn out to be some kids you know."

"Did you investigate what happened at the Cellar last night?"

"That I did, Frank."

"And?"

"We haven't tied it on anyone yet," Con said. "Do you figure this fire was set by the same bunch?"

"Seems like a good possibility," said Joe.

Frank asked, "Would you mind, Con, if we took a look around inside—after the fire department is through?"

"As a matter of fact, I would. What I want you boys to do now is go home," he said, nodding toward the street. "Have some cookies and hot cocoa and go to bed."

"But if we could — "

"Nope, I'm handling this investigation."

Frank gave a resigned shrug. "It might be better if we cooperated."

"That's just what I'm saying — so why don't you guys cooperate with me?" he said. "If you get any more loony phone calls, get in touch with me."

"But — " Joe tried again.

"Look, the chief is biting our heads off because a bunch of kids is making the force look stupid." Con Riley's face showed annoyance. "I'll try to make it really simple for you." Con jerked his thumb, pointing off the porch and into the darkness outside. "Do you understand?"

Joe said, "Sure, we get you, Con." He started down the steps.

"Listen," said the police officer, "I do appreciate the way you put out the fire. Okay?"

"Sure, okay." Frank headed off into the rain.

Hands deep in his pants pockets, shoulders hunched, Joe trudged along the rocky pathway back toward their car. "Unsung," he muttered.

"What?" asked his brother.

"I feel like an unsung hero," complained Joe. "A prophet without honor."

"Con Riley is a pal, but he's also a police officer," Frank pointed out. "He takes a very traditional approach to detective work — especially when Chief Collig is breathing down his neck. You can't let it get you down."

Joe said, "But even he suspects that all those pranks are the work of the same bunch."

"He asked what we thought, he didn't say he accepted our theory."

"Were you serious when you suggested this might not be the work of kids?"

"We really don't know who's doing any of it. I suppose when you look at the kinds of pranks and the places they've happened, it does look like younger people are behind it all." Frank frowned. "But I get pretty tired of hearing adults automatically assume that kids are always responsible for certain kinds of trouble."

The rain was slipping down Joe's neck in spite of his turned-up collar. "I'll tell you something that annoyed me."

"Go ahead."

"I had been thinking how good a cup of hot chocolate and some of Aunt Gertrude's cookies would be," said Joe. "But no way can I have them now—after Con told me to."

Frank laughed, then said, "We can probably take a look around the Hickerson place at some time tomorrow."

"The same way we saw the parking lot— after it had been gone over. It may be too late."

"Well, it's the best we can do."

They finally reached the scraggly woods, and the road where their van was parked.

"If I hadn't been so clumsy and knocked over that statue, we might — hey, look!" Joe reached out, snatching something off a thorny bush at the side of the road.

"It's somebody's scarf." He spread out the square of expensive-looking paisley silk. Something fluttered from the folds.

Frank caught a cream-colored envelope in midair before it touched the ground. "This stuff wasn't here when we went in."

"You sure, Frank?"

"I am, yeah. I caught my sleeve on this same bush on the way in."

Tucking the envelope inside his jacket, Frank said, "Let's get in the van and take a look at it."

"So we found a couple of clues after all," said Joe, opening the door on his side, "in spite of Con Riley."

"We found something," said Frank, getting in, "that somebody wanted us to find."

Back home, Frank leaned over his work-table, using a pair of tweezers to slip a sheet of typed paper out of the envelope they'd found. "No fingerprints," he said, checking out both the paper and envelope with a high-powered magnifying glass. "Except for mine."

Joe sat straddling a straight chair, the pale green-and-gold scarf dangling from his left hand. "Okay, that means the people who tried to torch the mansion were wearing gloves," he said. "Since it's obvious that this scarf and the envelope were tossed near our van while they were making their getaway."

Nodding, Frank perched on a stool. "I'd say it's a good chance that the girl who phoned the warning is the one who left this for us."

"She probably left it on the sly, since she didn't want whoever she was with to know about it." Joe shook his head. "What bugs me is why she's doing this — does she want to get caught?"

"She wants to put a stop to this group." Frank picked up the typed message again, "This gang of vandals who call themselves the Circle."

Joe stood up, dropping the scarf on the chair, and went around to his brother's side of the table. "This must be their insignia," he said, picking up the envelope and examining its face. "A circle with a twelve in the middle, printed in waterproof crimson marker."

"That must have something to do with these guys — the Circle of twelve, Ring of twelve, or some such nonsense." Frank read the message aloud again. " 'Team Your challenge is to enter the Hickerson Mansion unseen no later than ten tonight. You will then set a fire in the front parlor. If you fail to meet the challenge, you shall be expelled from the Circle.' "

"These people in the Circle must really want to be members," said Joe. "Even our mystery girl didn't want to go, but she went out and helped set that fire."

"Groups can be like that. People will do nasty things rather than go against the crowd."

Joe tapped the tabletop with the envelope. "Okay, we can assume the girl who phoned us is in this Circle," he said. "But she doesn't like what they've been doing lately."

"I guess she sees how the pranks are getting more and more serious. So she wants to do something."

"For some reason, though, she just can't quit."

Folding up the note, Frank set it aside. "So that's where we come in," he said. "She wants us to discover what this Circle is and where it's located. Then we bust it up and save her from harming anyone without any of her Circle members blaming her."

"I don't know," said Joe. "It seems like she's taking the long way around. She could just call the police."

"Maybe she feels she'll be arrested if she does. Right now, Joe, all we can do is speculate as to what her motives are."

"Right, what we need are facts." He tossed the envelope on the table, walked back to his chair. "This scarf has a label from a boutique over in Kirkland. It's a place called Chez Maurice — very exclusive and expensive, I hear. I'll go over tomorrow and see if I can find out who bought it."