The Ice-cold Case (4 page)

Mr. Nelson got up and slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the plaster. “That good-for-nothing lowlife,” he shouted. “Isn't it enough he ripped me off and wrecked my life? I'll show him,” he said, going for his gun.

Frank stepped in front of him to keep the gun out
of reach. “I'm sure the police are questioning everybody,” he said.

“What's it got to do with you, anyway?” Mr. Nelson snarled at Frank.

“Dad, they're trying to help me,” Ray said.

“We don't think Ray was involved in the robberies and we want to help him prove it,” Joe added.

“This is between me and Tuttle,” Mr. Nelson said.

Frank didn't budge, keeping Mr. Nelson from his gun. “Mr. Nelson, the police will pin this on Ray unless we find the real robbers.”

“Dad, it's not like we can afford to hire anybody,” Ray reminded him.

“Well, all right,” Mr. Nelson said. “But if Tuttle does anything else to my son, I swear I'll blow his head off.”

“We'll keep that in mind,” Joe said.

As they walked back to the van, Ray came out. “Thanks for your help in there. By the way,” he said as Frank started the motor, “you should really fix that window.”

“So we've heard,” Frank said.

Frank backed the van out of the driveway. “Was it just me or was that a weird scene?” he said to Joe.

“No joke. I'll take a cold van and icy roads any day,” Joe said, “over the inside of that house another minute.”

“Any ideas?” Frank asked Joe as he steered the van back to town.

“I guess we should get Phil to fix the heat,” Joe said.

“I mean about the robberies,” Frank said.

“What do you think of Mr. Nelson's theory?” Joe asked.

“That Ernie's behind the robberies?” Frank asked. “Not much. Doesn't make any sense.”

“I agree. Ernie doesn't seem to need the money, and there's nothing to be gained by scaring people away from the lake,” Joe said as they drove through the deserted downtown.

“But what's with Ernie's attitude? It was bad enough when he was being mean to customers on his own. Now he's got his grandsons to back him up,” Frank said.

“The short one, Neil, didn't seem so bad,” Joe said.

“His brother, Stu, just reeks of loser,” Frank said as they pulled into their driveway.

It was quite late, and the house was quiet. Frank and Joe tiptoed upstairs to check the messages on their answering machine. Joe flipped the play button and immediately recognized Officer Riley's voice: “Just thought you should know there was a suspicious fire at Tuttle's. Come by in the morning and I'll walk you through it.”

•   •   •

Frank and Joe drove to Tuttle's early Sunday morning to inspect the fire damage. When they arrived, Officer Riley was at the scene, along with Ernie's grandsons, Stu and Neil.

The fire had destroyed a storage shed a dozen yards from the main building, which housed the bait shop and Ernie's home. All that remained of the shed were charred embers. The snow all
around had melted from the heat of the fire. Now the mud was turning to solid, frozen ground.

As Frank walked over from the van, he caught the acrid scent of burned plastic.

“Frank and Joe Hardy, I think you've met Stu and Neil Tuttle,” Officer Riley said.

“Yesterday,” Frank said. They shook hands all around. Frank noticed that Stu wasn't as cold to them as he'd been the day before.

“So, what have you got?” Joe asked.

“Arson,” Stu Tuttle said before Riley could respond.

“Well, it doesn't look like an accident,” Riley said. “See over there?” He pointed to the charred remains of a gasoline can. “Someone doused the place and lit it up.”

“We don't sell cans like that,” Stu said.

“Anybody see anything?” Joe asked.

“We were in back with our grandfather when we saw the flames,” Stu said.

“We tried to put it out, but the hose was frozen and the shed went up so fast,” Neil added.

Stu shot Neil an angry look.

“What was in the shed?” Frank asked.

“Mostly summer stuff—rafts, buckets, inner tubes, that kind of thing,” Stu said.

Just then a few fishermen walked into the shop.

“Excuse us,” Stu said as he and Neil went to help their customers. Joe noticed that Neil, the shorter of the two, seemed to be scared of his brother, Stu.

“What do you know about those two?” Frank asked Riley when Stu and Neil were in the shop.

“Just what I told you yesterday. Their story checks out with Ernie.”

“Where is Ernie?” Frank asked.

“Fishing,” Riley said.

“Really?” Frank said. “With all this going on?”

Joe walked into the pile of rubble and began slowly picking over the charred remains. “Did anyone else poke through this stuff?”

“Our forensic people and the fire department,” Riley said.

“What about Ernie and his grandsons?” Frank asked.

“They looked to see if they could salvage anything,” Riley said. “We've already looked for shoe prints, but we haven't found anything.”

“Thanks, Officer Riley. We really appreciate your calling us about this,” Frank said.

“You should be careful. It was bad enough when we just had the robberies. Now we've got your broken window and arson, too,” Riley said. He scanned the frozen lake. “Things are a lot less peaceful out here than they look.”

“So, what now?” Joe asked Frank.

“I think we need to talk to Ernie,” Frank said as he led the way down the steep embankment to the lake. The ice was nearly a foot thick at that end of the lake, which made it safe for the ice fishermen.

Joe marveled at the elaborate shanties, some with television antennas on top.

“Who's cooking?” Frank asked as he smelled the faint brown-sugary aroma of baked beans.

“Bacon and coffee,” Joe said as he inhaled. “This is my kind of sport.”

“You're not kidding. Frying bacon and television? I had no idea ice fishing was so strenuous,” Frank said with a chuckle.

“Look at this,” Joe said as he pointed to names and local addresses painted on the doors of each cabin.

“I guess that's in case your shanty walks off, it can find its way home,” Frank said, and laughed.

Ernie's shanty was smaller than most of the others and showed definite signs of age. The plywood walls were peeling apart, and the tar paper stapled onto the roof was fading from exposure to the sun.

Frank knocked on the flimsy door. “Ernie, it's Frank and Joe Hardy.”

“Get in here and stop scaring the fish,” Ernie replied gruffly.

Joe opened the door. The shanty was packed with equipment, buckets, rags, reels, nylon fishing line, and lots of used coffee cups. Joe noticed what looked like a large motorized drill with a corkscrew blade nearly a foot across.

Ernie was bundled up, sitting on an old chair that had stuffing coming out of the arms. He was holding a short fishing pole over a small trapdoor in the floor. The fishing line disappeared down into a hole in the ice.

“Close the door,” Ernie snapped, his eyes fixed on the little red-and-white float bobbing in the icy water.

Frank and Joe squeezed in.

“We wanted to ask you about the fire,” Frank said.

“Ray Nelson did it. He was paying me back for accusing him of being a thief,” Ernie said.

“We were with Ray last night. He couldn't have done it,” Joe said.

“So you're on his side now?” Ernie asked.

“We're not on anybody's side,” Joe said. “We're trying to find out who broke our van window. It might be the same person who burned your shed.”

“When did you notice the fire?” Frank asked.

“Around ten-thirty. We were playing cards, me and Stu and Neil.”

“Did you see anybody? Any cars or anything?” Joe asked.

Ernie looked up for a moment. “Don't you think that if I saw someone burning my place down I would have stopped them?”

Then Ernie gave a little cry as the float on his fishing line bobbed under the surface.

“Got something?” Joe asked.

“Shh,” Ernie hissed.

Frank and Joe watched as Ernie let out more line. Then he gave the line a quick jerk.

“Aw, shoot,” Ernie mumbled. “Lost him, thanks to you.”

“Ernie, do you have any idea who else might have set the fire?” Frank asked.

“I already told you. It was just lucky there wasn't anything expensive in there,” he said as he reeled in his line.

“Nothing valuable was lost?” Frank asked.

“No. Stu found a leak in the shed roof yesterday, so we moved all the good stuff into the shop.”

“Was the shed insured?” Joe asked.

“Nope.”

“Ernie, what's this thing?” Joe asked as he pointed to the big drill-like object.

“It's a power auger. Drills holes through ice two feet thick,” Ernie said.

“Why does everyone paint their names on the shanties?” Frank asked.

“It's the law, that's why,” Ernie said. “If anything happens, they know who to call,” Ernie said. “Now, you leaving or fishing?”

Frank and Joe left Ernie and went searching for Hank Green to see if he could help replace the broken window in their van.

Hank didn't have a fancy ice shed. He carried his gear on a sled and sat on an upturned bucket while he fished, bundled up against the cold. When Frank and Joe found him, he was looking very cold.

“How are they biting?” Joe asked.

“You'd have to find someone who's had a nibble to answer that,” Hank said. “I'm thinking I should do something smart, like go home.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Frank said. “Do you think you might have a driver's-side window for a van like ours?”

“Someone broke ours last night. Sent us a note with a rock,” Joe explained.

“Strange stuff is going on,” Hank said. “But it's a good excuse to go warm up.”

They helped Hank pack his gear and then followed his green pickup truck to the junkyard a mile from the lake. It was surrounded by a chain-link fence with slats running through it to keep the ugly disarray of old cars from view.

It didn't take Hank long to find the remains of a van similar to the Hardys'.

“Looks like we're in luck,” Hank said as he removed the inner door panel to expose the window mechanism.

While they were removing the window, the phone rang. It was hooked to a loud bell on a pole so Hank could hear it anywhere on the lot.

“I'll be back,” he said as he ran inside.

Frank and Joe were lifting the window out when Hank returned with a worried look on his face.

“What's up?” Frank asked.

“What's up is that phone call. Someone just warned me that I'd be in trouble if I helped you.”

“Did you recognize the voice?” Joe asked Hank.

“No, but I'm not worried,” Hank said. “What are they going to do? Turn my junk into junk?”

“Someone did torch Tuttle's storage shed,” Frank said.

“That's terrible,” Hank said.

“Do you have any idea who it could be?” Joe asked.

“I hope it's somebody I don't know, 'cause I just don't want to think someone I know could do this,” Hank said.

“What do we owe you for the window?” Frank asked Hank when they finished.

“It's on me,” Hank said. “Think of it as my contribution to your investigation.”

Frank and Joe thanked Hank and then plotted their next move.

“I'm still thinking about what Mr. Kwan said yesterday about not hearing any cars drive by,” Joe said.

“What about it?” Frank asked.

“Whoever is doing this doesn't need to drive by the Kwans' because they must already be in the area. How else would they know where we left the van the other day or know to call Hank's just now?” Joe said.

“You're assuming that our broken window, Hank's call, and the robberies are connected,” Frank said.

“Let's go see just how hard it is to get a car by the Kwans' house,” Joe suggested.

They drove to the lake, taking careful note of the narrow road in front of the Kwans' house. It went over a rise from which they could look into the upper windows at the side of the house.

“The headlights must shine right in the windows,” Frank said.

Frank hit the brakes as they swerved down the little hill into a sharp turn between the Kwans' property and a huge boulder. Then he hit the gas to climb the short rise on the far side of the curve.

“It would be hard to miss all this noise,” Frank said as he swung the van into the Kwans' driveway.

“Maybe snow muffles the sound,” Joe said.

Even before they stopped the van, Sarah came out to the driveway.

“I heard you come up,” she said.

“Well, that supports my theory,” Frank said.

Frank went inside while Joe drove the van back and forth in front of the house. Without even
looking out the window, Frank could hear the van every time, even when Joe tried to sneak by at about two miles an hour. They tried again, using Mrs. Kwan's quieter sedan. They could hear it almost as clearly as the van.

When Mr. Kwan got home from shopping, Frank and Joe told him about their test.

“I tried to tell the police, but they insisted that I slept through it,” Mr. Kwan said.

“Believe me,” Mrs. Kwan said, “he doesn't sleep through anything these days.”

“Thanks for your help,” Frank said as he and Joe put on their coats. “We're going to take a look around.”

They drove farther down the road and parked the van away from the houses in a small clearing by the edge of the lake. The sun was setting, and the evening chill was coming on.

“Can you believe how early it gets dark?” Joe asked.

“Why couldn't we be doing this in the summer?” Frank grumbled as he put on his heavy winter gear, including spikes for his boots so he wouldn't slip on the ice.