The Ice-cold Case (8 page)

“Rizzo didn't know about any of this, I'll bet,” Joe said.

“That's right. He barely knows which shack is his,” Hank said with a chuckle. “He's a nice guy, but he isn't much of a fisherman.”

“Does he have any family who might use the shack?” Frank asked.

“I think he's got two daughters who live in Florida. His brother still runs the diner. I tell you, Rizzo isn't the type to be mixed up in anything,” Hank said.

“But everyone knows he's on the lake only on weekends?” Joe asked.

Frank knew what Joe was thinking. “So, anyone who's out there with any regularity would know the shanty is empty most of the time?”

“Yup,” Hank said as he poured them more steaming cider.

“And unless I miss my guess, they've been keeping a pretty close watch on us every time we're out there,” Frank said.

“Hank, did you see anybody hitchhiking around here last night?” Joe asked.

“In this weather? It's way too cold,” Hank said.

“It does sound crazy,” Frank said.

“Sure does. Red would have barked his fool head off if someone had walked by, and he didn't,” Hank said. “So, who do you think it is?”

“Well, we don't want to jump to any conclusions, but I'm beginning to think we should be spending more time around Tuttle's Bait Shop,” Frank said.

“Ernie?” Hank said. “That's ridiculous.”

“It's got to be someone who can watch the lake pretty much all the time,” Frank said.

“Do you know much about Ernie's grandsons?” Joe asked.

Hank sat back in his chair. “No, I don't know them very well,” he admitted. “They stay pretty much to themselves.”

“It's only a theory,” Frank said.

“I'll keep my mouth shut,” Hank said. “You can count on me.”

“Thanks a lot, Hank. And don't take any chances. Whoever's out there hurt Lang pretty bad,” Frank said as he stood up.

“Don't you worry, Red and I will be safe,” Hank said as he held the door for them.

“I'm so hungry, I could eat a . . . burger,” Joe said as they went back to the van.

“Burger World it is, then,” Frank said.

When Frank pulled the van out onto the main road, he noticed headlights in the rearview mirror.

“Joe, keep an eye on those lights behind us,” Frank said.

Joe leaned over so he could see out the passenger-side mirror. “How long have they been back there?”

“I first noticed them when we pulled out of Hank's. I think they were waiting for us.”

“Who do you suppose it is?” Joe asked.

“Well, Lang's in the hospital, and Vinnie and John are supposed to be at work. Unless I miss my guess, there's only one other choice.”

“Stu and Neil Tuttle?” Joe asked.

“Bingo,” Frank said.

When Frank pulled into the Burger World parking lot, the lights behind them disappeared. They
waited in the van to see if anyone drove by, but no one did.

“The driver must have cut the lights when he saw us pull in here,” Frank said. “Why don't you wait with the van while I go check out Vinnie and John's schedules. Honk if there's trouble.”

“While you're at it, how about a cheeseburger and some fries?” Joe said.

Frank went inside, where he saw Vinnie and John in their Burger World uniforms, flipping burgers in the back. They spotted Frank and made faces at him, still not happy about having lost the hockey game.

Frank ordered some food from the girl at the counter.

“Were Vinnie and John working last night?” Frank asked.

“Who are you? Their parole officer or something?” the girl asked.

“Just a friend,” Frank said.

Vinnie came up to the counter.

“This guy wants to know if you were here last night,” the girl said to Vinnie.

“What's it to you, Hardy?” Vinnie asked.

“It's about what's been going on at the lake,” Frank said.

“Well, you're out of luck. John and I are here every night but Tuesday and Wednesday,” Vinnie said.

“And you're
in
luck,” Frank said as he collected his food and his change. “That's pretty good proof you're not involved.”

Vinnie looked at Frank in surprise. “I thought you were trying to pin this on us.”

“No way. I'm trying to prove Ray is innocent,” Frank said. “And if you guys are found innocent in the process, then all the better.”

Before leaving the shop, Frank went to the pay phone and looked up the number for Tuttle's Bait Shop in the phone book. When he dialed the number, Ernie picked up the phone.

“Hi, Ernie, it's Frank Hardy. I was wondering if I could talk to Stu or Neil,” Frank said. He wasn't at all surprised when Ernie told him they weren't home.

When Frank got back to the van, Joe was ready to eat. “I guess that game really got my appetite going,” he said as he devoured his cheeseburger.

“Vinnie and John were working,” Frank said between bites. “And for what it's worth, I called Tuttle's, and Stu and Neil weren't there.”

“You think they're following us?” Joe asked.

“I was thinking we should maybe check around the hangouts in town and see if anyone has seen them,” Frank said.

Frank pulled out of the lot and drove toward downtown Bayport. They weren't a dozen yards from Burger World when he saw the headlights in his mirror again.

“Joe, we've still got company,” Frank said.

Joe looked at the passenger-side mirror. “Looks like the same lights to me.”

As they drove through town, they saw a police cruiser parked near the Dew Drop Inn. Frank
pulled next to the cruiser and saw that Con Riley was behind the wheel.

“Hey, Con, how's it going?” Frank called out.

“Tired. I'm working a double shift, Frank. How's your investigation going?” Con replied.

“Good. Listen, I have a question for you. Have you ever seen Ernie's grandsons hitchhiking into town at night or hanging out in any of the local joints?” Frank asked.

Riley thought for a moment. “No, can't say I have. And you know I stop in pretty much everywhere during my shift. Do you think they're in on something?”

“It would be nice to have some proof before we say anything,” Frank said. “And, Con, do me a favor. I think someone's been following us. As we pull away, see if you notice anyone behind me.”

Frank backed the van onto the road. There was no sign of a vehicle behind him.

“Do you think they took off when they saw Con's car?” Joe asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Frank said.

A half mile farther up the road, they came to an intersection where the road they were on came to an end. They would have to turn right or left.

“I can't see a thing,” Frank said. With the trees and mounds of plowed snow, it was difficult to see much in either direction.

“No headlights, either,” Joe said. He peered into the darkness but saw nothing coming. “I guess the coast is clear.”

Preparing to turn right, Frank slowly pulled into the intersection, when suddenly they heard the distinct whir of tires on the snow. “Frank!” Joe screamed as a pickup truck came racing straight at them with its lights off.

Frank slammed on the gas, and the van shot across the road as the truck roared by just behind them. The van bounced over the curb and into a ditch on the far side of the road, coming to a stop at a steep angle. The front bumper pressed into the ditch, and the back wheels were spinning a foot in the air. Frank and Joe lurched forward but were held back by their seat belts.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked as he tried to sit up.

“I'm okay,” Joe responded. “Did you get a look at it?”

“A pickup, dark blue, maybe green. I'm not sure,” Frank said.

It took some effort to get out of the van because when they released their seat belts, they fell forward onto the dashboard.

“Sorry about driving into a ditch,” Frank said as they climbed out of the van.

“Better than getting broadsided,” Joe said.

Frank inspected the front of the van, which was pressed into the snow. “It doesn't look too bad,” he said.

“We're not getting it back on the road without help,” Joe said.

“I'll go call Hank,” Frank said.

Joe looked down the dark streets. There were no cars to be seen.

“They're not following us now,” Joe said.

“I'm pretty sure they were the ones who just ran us off the road,” Frank said.

Frank walked back toward town and went to the pay phone by the all-night deli to call Hank. Then he went inside and bought two cups of hot chocolate so he and Joe could warm up.

When Hank arrived, he walked around the van and whistled loudly. “You guys sure are magnets for trouble,” he said as he attached a cable to the rear of the van.

“Thanks for getting here so fast,” Joe said.

“You've got to catch these guys before anyone else gets hurt,” Hank said. He walked back to his truck to start hauling the van up. It didn't take him long to get the van back on the road. Frank and Joe were relieved to see there was no serious damage, just some scratches to the paint.

“Maybe you guys ought to take the rest of the night off,” Hank said. “I'd say you deserve it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Frank agreed.

•   •   •

When they got home, their father, Fenton Hardy, was in his study. Frank and Joe filled him in on their investigation.

“So you suspect Tuttle and his grandsons?” Fenton asked.

“Yeah, but we can't figure out a motive for Ernie,” Joe said.

“He may need the money,” Fenton said.

“Why? He has all that land,” Frank said.

“And he owes a lot of money on it,” Fenton said. “He hasn't paid his real estate taxes for the last few years. He refuses to sell even an acre or two, which would be plenty to pay off what he owes.”

“So maybe it is the three of them working together,” Joe suggested.

“I think it's time we stop by his shop and pick up some bait,” Frank said. “What're you doing after school tomorrow, Joe?”

“I was thinking of doing a little fishing,” Joe replied.

“Excellent!” Frank cheered.

•   •   •

Frank and Joe drove out to Tuttle's the next day after school. As they pulled into the large dirt lot in front of the shop, Joe saw Ernie's truck—a dark blue pickup with rust patches around the wheels—parked by the door.

“Frank, do you think that was the truck that was following us last night?” Joe asked.

“I'd bet money on it,” Frank said.

“Let's see if we can get everyone outside and then one of us can go in and search the place,” Joe said.

“I'll tell them we want to take up ice fishing,” Frank said.

Inside they found Ernie behind the counter, fussing with a display of floats.

“So, it's the Hardy boys,” Ernie said.

“Hey, Ernie—how're you doing?” Joe asked.

“I was doing better before you got here,” Ernie said.

“Are you mad at us for something?” Frank asked, not sure if Ernie was joking.

“I saw you playing hockey with those punks yesterday,” Ernie snarled.

“Someone had to teach them a lesson,” Joe said proudly. “We whipped them.”

“I'd whip them good if I could,” Ernie mumbled.

“It sure is packed in here,” Frank said. He looked around the crowded shop. There were racks on the walls with everything one could need for fishing: rods, reels, tackle boxes, fishing line, floats, weights, pliers, and hooks. There were nets with long handles, carrying cans, and even a wooden sled box.

“Do you sell a lot of this gear?” Joe asked as he walked down an aisle lined with the latest high-tech fishing equipment, small outboard motors, and electronic fish finders with little computer screens that displayed the terrain at the bottom of the lake. There were handheld global positioning satellite systems that could give a location down to a few feet by figuring the distance from satellites.

“All that electronic junk is for amateurs,” Ernie grumbled.

“Really?” Frank said. “I'd think only the pros would invest in this kind of equipment.”

“Are you kidding?” Ernie scoffed. “A real fisherman doesn't need a satellite to tell him where the fish are.”

“Why do you keep it in stock if you feel that way?” Frank asked.

“I didn't say I wouldn't take money from amateurs; I just said they were the only ones dumb enough to buy this junk.” Ernie laughed.

Joe examined the sled box that was for sale. Though he didn't have a measuring tape, he was nearly certain it fit the marks they had seen at the Dixon place.

“What's this for?” Joe asked.

“You boys don't know anything, do you?” Ernie said.

“We're trying to learn,” Frank said, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“It's a sled box, boys. You use it to put your gear in. Saves you from straining your back. You just slide it across the ice,” Ernie explained. “You can also sit on it while you're fishing.”

“Where'd you get it?” Frank asked.

“I make 'em myself,” Ernie said. “I've sold eight of them this year already.”

“Are they all the same?” Joe asked.

“I don't paint 'em designer colors, if that's what you're asking. They work, don't they?” Ernie said with a touch of pride.

“Ernie, did I see your truck in town last night?” Joe asked.

“Could be,” Ernie said. “Stu and Neil had some errands.”

“Are Stu and Neil around?” Frank asked.

“They're out fishing,” Ernie said.

“They must know the good spots,” Joe said.

“They're learning,” Ernie said.

“Maybe you could show us some of those spots, Ernie?” Frank asked.