The Mark of the Blue Tattoo (2 page)

“We won't know until we find him,” Joe pointed out. “And I'm sure we can find him. A Freddy Frost truck is pretty conspicuous.”

“So are a couple of guys in ski masks,” Frank pointed out.

Joe nodded. “Right. So whatever those guys were after, whether it was ice cream or money or some weird fun, my hunch is that they didn't go far. I say we start searching the neighborhood right around here.”

As he said this, Joe glanced in his rearview mirror. The red car with the crumpled fender was parked at the curb about fifty feet back. Joe could see the silhouette of a driver at the wheel.

“Frank,” Joe said. “I think we've grown a tail. Red, three cars back. Let's get a look at him.”

“Right,” Frank replied, reaching for his door handle. “Ready?”

Joe and Frank opened their doors at the same moment and stepped out of the van. Joe walked along the street side of the parked cars, while Frank took the sidewalk.

They hadn't taken more than a dozen steps before Joe heard an engine roar into life. The red car shot out of its space, made a quick U-turn, and sped away.

Joe ran to join Frank on the sidewalk. “Did you get a look at him?” he asked.

“I got a good look at his sunglasses,” Frank said with a rueful expression. “Very large. Very dark. How about you?”

“The rear license plate was pretty muddy, but I made out P-something-something, then three-seven-two,” Joe replied. “When we get home, we can use Dad's password to access the Motor Vehicles database. With luck, we'll be able to narrow it down to a few possibilities.”

The brothers turned to walk back to the van. “When did you first notice that guy?” Frank asked.

“When we drove away from Jefferson Park,” Joe told him. “Interesting . . . he must have followed us there from school. Why, I wonder.”

“There's something else, too,” Frank said. “If he was busy following us, he couldn't have been wearing a ski mask and abducting Chet at the same time. So that means—”

“He could be in cahoots with the ski masks,” Joe finished for his brother. “What that means is the whole thing was planned ahead of time
and
by someone who knows we're friends of Chet's. They even guessed we might decide to meet him somewhere along the route.”

“What was
that
all about?” Callie asked as Frank and Joe climbed back into the van.

Frank recapped the conversation he and Joe had just had.

“I just know that Chet is in some awful danger,” Iola said. “Can't we do anything?”

As Joe started the engine, he said, “Sure. We can look for him. You watch the left side, and Frank and Callie will watch the right side. Call out if you see anything even a little bit suspicious.”

Joe turned onto the first street leading away from the playground, then drove slowly for five blocks until he reached the next major cross street. There he turned right, then right again at the next corner, and he followed that street back to the playground. As he drove, Frank, Iola, and Callie scanned the driveways and what they could see of the backyards. They saw cars, vans, and campers—but nothing that looked even remotely like a Freddy Frost truck.

After half an hour of slow cruising, Iola let out
an exasperated sigh. “This isn't going to work,” she declared. “And while we're wasting our time like this, my brother's in danger.”

Joe stopped at the curb and turned to look at Iola. Her face was pale, and her lips were red where she'd been biting them. He reached back and patted her hand. “Don't worry,” he said. “We're on the case. We'll do everything we can to find him.”

“What if that's not enough?” Iola cried. “I think we should call the police.”

Frank shook his head. “And tell them what? That the ice-cream truck didn't show up at Jefferson Park this afternoon?” he asked. “They'd laugh at us. For all we know, Chet simply decided to change his route. He may even be back at the Freddy Frost plant by now.”

“What about the two guys in ski masks?” Iola replied angrily. “Did those kids imagine them?”

Frank nodded. “It's possible. And it's possible that they were taking part in a practical joke. I'll bet that's what the cops would think. It's a matter of odds. A lot more people have pranks played on them than get kidnapped.”

“Look,” Joe said. “We've done practically every street in a five-block radius around the playground. I say we finish the search of this area before we decide to try some other method. How does that sound, Iola?”

Iola looked torn, but finally she nodded.

Joe pulled the van away from the curb and started down the street again. Toward the end of the block he noticed a house on the left. The paint was peeling, and weeds grew high in the yard. Near the sidewalk, a faded For Sale sign drooped backward. The house was obviously empty.

Joe slowed the van down to a crawl. “Look!” he exclaimed, hitting the brakes. “There's a fresh tire track in the dirt next to the driveway, and the weeds have been crushed down. That's got to mean something!”

He jumped out of the van and dashed across the street with Frank, Callie, and Iola close behind. Behind the house was a garage. One of the doors sagged partly open. Joe ran over and peered through the opening. “Over here!” he called. “Hurry!”

Inside the garage Joe saw the familiar shape of a Freddy Frost truck. Joe grabbed the edge of the door and tugged it open. Frank pulled at the other door.

Iola rushed in. A moment later, she called, “Chet's over here! He's tied up!”

Joe and the others hurried over. Chet was sitting on the garage floor. His wrists and ankles were fastened with heavy gray tape. Another strip of tape covered his mouth.

“Mmm-m-m,” Chet said, giving them a pleading look.

Frank held one side of the tape across Chet's mouth. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. He peeled off the tape with a snap of his wrist.

“Ouch!” Chet exclaimed, rubbing his cheek. “You weren't kidding!”

Meanwhile, Joe was using the scissors blade on his pocketknife to cut through the tape on Chet's wrists and ankles. When he finished, he and Iola helped Chet to his feet.

“Thanks, guys. I thought I might have to spend the rest of my life in here,” Chet said, wobbling a little.

“What happened?” Iola asked.

“I was parked at a playground, selling a little girl a Freddy Fudgie, when I heard the door of the truck slide open,” Chet told them. “I turned around and saw these two guys wearing ski masks. They told me to get moving or else.”

“Were they armed?” Frank asked.

Chet shrugged. “I don't know for sure. They said they were, and they kept putting their hands in their pockets. I didn't feel like finding out. Anyway, they told me to drive here. One of them opened the garage. Once we were inside, they tied me up and left.”

“Just like that?” Joe asked. “What about your money?”

“It's still in my belt pouch,” Chet replied. “They weren't interested in the money. They didn't even help themselves to a free ice cream. It's weird, I know. But that's what happened. Maybe they just don't like me.”

“I wonder if any of the other Freddy Frost drivers have had this kind of harassment,” Frank said.

“I can ask around,” Chet said. “Not that I really know anybody yet. Why? What do you think it means?”

“This could be part of a plot to extort money from the company,” Frank said. “You know—'Pay us off, or we'll ruin your business.' ”

“That would mean that they weren't after Chet personally,” Iola pointed out. “I'd like that a lot better.”

Chet broke into a grin. “Believe me, so would I. But listen, guys, I'd better get back to selling some ice cream. I don't get paid for lying around in a garage with tape on my face.”

“Just one thing,” Joe said. “You said you heard the truck door slide open. Wouldn't the truck door have been locked?”

A look of surprise crossed Chet's face. “Yeah . . . I mean I thought it was. Company rules—keep the truck locked at all times. I guess I must have messed up.”

“Maybe,” Joe said. “Or maybe the guys who got in had a key.”

“An inside job, you mean?” Callie asked.

“It makes sense in a way,” Joe told her. “The crooks knew where to find Chet. And they'd obviously decided to use this garage in advance.”

“There's one thing I should tell you,” Chet said reluctantly, staring at the floor. “Both of those guys were wearing gloves. But when they were taping me up, I got a glimpse of one guy's wrist. He had a tattoo there. A little blue star.”

Joe frowned, as he tried to figure out what this implied. “The Starz?” he finally said. “Do they have tattoos? Do you think—”

“I don't know,” Chet replied. He sounded tired all of a sudden. “Lots of people have tattoos. Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all.”

“It's quite a coincidence, though,” Frank said. “We just had problems with the Starz at lunch-time. Mr. Vincenza asks us to look into a problem that sounds gang-related. And a few hours later, you get harassed. I'd say we need to take a very close look at Marlon and his buddies.”

“I'm glad you're okay,” Iola said, taking her brother's arm. “What would have happened if we hadn't come looking for you? Would those guys have left you here to starve?”

Chet turned pale at the thought. He was
opening his mouth to reply, when one of the garage doors was flung back with a crash.

“Freeze!” a voice shouted. A powerful flashlight beam flooded the inside of the garage. Narrowing his eyes against the glare, Joe saw the outlines of two people crouched in the opening. Both of them were holding guns.

“Freeze!” the voice yelled again. “Police!”

Frank stood still, his hands held carefully away from his sides. He knew that the two police officers had no way of knowing what they would face inside the gloomy garage, and he didn't want to do anything that might make them nervous. Moments later he and his friends were braced against the wall of the garage with their hands over their heads and their feet spread wide.

“Hey, wait a minute, Anderson,” one of the officers said, as his partner, a woman, started to frisk Callie. “Those two over there are Fenton Hardy's kids. You know, the private eye. They're okay.”

Frank recognized the voice of Officer Con Riley. Frank and Joe had helped Riley on several of his cases. As a result, he was one of the few members of the Bayport Police Force who treated the Hardy brothers as useful resources instead of nuisances.

After telling Frank and his friends to straighten up, Riley asked, “And what might you be doing on private property with an ice-cream truck?”

Chet quickly explained.

“Two guys in ski masks?” Officer Anderson repeated skeptically. “That sounds like something you got out of a movie.”

“Yeah, a horror movie,” Chet replied. “But no, this was real.”

As Frank had predicted to his friends earlier, Riley said, “But they didn't take anything—money, merchandise, right? Sounds like a practical joke that went too far. Do you know anybody who has a grudge against you, son?” he asked Chet.

Chet shook his head, then glanced at Frank, as if to ask if he should mention the Starz. Frank in turn gave a tiny shake of his head. One briefly glimpsed tattoo wasn't enough evidence to accuse Marlon's gang of being criminals, he thought.

Before the police officers could pose any more questions, Frank asked, “What brought you here?”

“We got a phone call,” Riley said. “Suspicious activity. Prowler.”

“Was it an anonymous call?” Joe asked eagerly.

“That's right,” Riley said.

“Did the caller mention us?” Callie asked. “I mean, did he say a bunch of people? Or just a prowler?”

Riley hesitated, then said, “I'd have to check the taped record of the call. But to the best of my recollection, he said ‘a prowler breaking into the garage.' ”

“I'll bet it was the kidnappers!” Iola exclaimed. “They wanted to make sure that Chet was found. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Not me,” Chet retorted, rubbing the red marks left on his wrists by the tape. “Iola, thinking that the kidnappers were concerned for my welfare sounds like wishful thinking to me. Personally, I'd like to string them up by their thumbs.”

He glanced at his watch and added, “If I don't put in some more time on my route, this is going to be my first and last day on the job. Is that okay, officers?”

Anderson closed her notebook and said, “Fine. We've got your phone numbers, in case we have any more questions.” Reaching for her coin purse, she added, “By the way, do you guys still carry Freddy Fudgies? That used to be a favorite of mine. I haven't had one in years.”

Chet climbed into the truck and found a Freddy Fudgie for Officer Anderson. Then the officers left. While Frank and Joe held the sagging garage doors open, Callie and Iola guided Chet as he drove backward down the driveway and onto the street. Moments later the melody of “Freddy Frost is such a treat” tinkled through the neighborhood again.

As she got into the van, Iola said, “Do you think we could follow him? It'll make him feel better, and I'd like to be sure nothing else happens to him today.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Frank said. He glanced at his wristwatch. “It's already after six. He'll have to take the truck back pretty soon.”

Joe started the van and began to creep down the street in the wake of the Freddy Frost truck. At his second stop, Chet leaned out the window and waved to them. Then he gestured for them to go ahead. Apparently he had regained his confidence.

“What now? Call it a day?” Joe asked.

Frank glanced back at Callie and Iola. As he did, he noticed a familiar red compact car halfway down the block. It was double-parked in front of a convenience store.