Typhoon Island (4 page)

“Sounds like a plan,” Frank replied.

The Hardys put their bags in one cabin, and the girls took the other. Despite their rustic appearance, the bungalows had modern conveniences inside. Because no power lines ran up the cliff, each cabin sported a set of solar panels on the south roofline and, in the back, a wooden box—about the size of a sideways refrigerator—filled with storage batteries.

“Not too bad,” Frank said as they stowed their towels and other gear in the Jeep for the trip downhill.

“After the hustle and bustle of Bayport, I think this is just what the doctor ordered,” Joe agreed.

They all climbed into the Jeep, and twenty minutes later they were lounging in the late-afternoon sunshine on the beach in front of the Casa Bonita.

“Now, this is more like it,” Callie said, sighing. She stretched, closed her eyes, and lay back on her beach towel. Adjusting her sunglasses, Iola did the same on the towel next to her friend.

“Want to toss the Frisbee around, Joe?” Frank asked. He’d picked up a flying disk from the hotel’s recreational equipment shack before hitting the beach.

“Maybe later,” Joe replied. “I want to take a dip first.”

“Sounds good,” Frank said. The Hardys hiked down the beach toward the surf.

As they did a shriek cut through the afternoon air. “Help! Help!” It was a woman’s voice.

A short distance up the beach a sleek powerboat lay anchored by the breakwater. Inside the boat the Hardys spotted a woman in a one-piece bathing suit struggling with two black-masked men. Before the Hardys could do anything, the masked men dumped the woman overboard.

The woman fell hard, but she quickly bobbed to the surface, sputtering and coughing. The Hardys and their girlfriends sprinted up the beach toward her. The beach wasn’t very crowded, and most of the vacationers were concentrated to the south, closer to the big hotel. The Bayport teens were the only ones in a position to help.

The two attackers sat down and fired up the powerboat’s engine while their victim struggled in the water. Black nylon masks obscured the men’s features, making them impossible to recognize.

“Help the woman!” Frank shouted to Callie and Iola as they ran.

“We’ll go after the attackers,” Joe concluded.

“Check!” Iola called. She and Callie splashed into
the surf and swam toward the floundering victim.

The brothers kept running up the beach. As they neared the scene the boat turned in a circle and headed out to sea.

“We’ll never catch them!” Joe said, frustration burning in his voice.

“We’re not licked yet,” Frank said. “They have to pass the breakwater to get out of the bay.”

Joe nodded, and the two of them rocketed off the beach and down the breakwater. Concrete, large rocks, and small boulders formed the base of the causeway, which had a concrete walkway for fishing along the top. The breakwater stretched out into the bay like a stony finger, protecting the hotel beaches from the ravages of the open ocean.

The cement walkway was rough and weathered. Its hot surface stung the Hardys’ bare feet as they ran down it, trying to head off the stolen boat. The attackers hadn’t noticed them yet, which gave the brothers an advantage.

The Hardys reached the end of the breakwater at the same time as the stolen boat. Frank and Joe sprang off the causeway with all their might and angled out over the rocks. They landed hard in the middle of the speedboat between the two bandits.

The two men spun to meet their followers. The man in the rear of the boat grabbed an oar and swung it at Frank’s head. Frank ducked out of the way and aimed a low kick at the man’s knee, but the
boat lurched over a wave and Frank missed.

Joe moved forward to grapple with the driver of the boat. The man spun the wheel hard, and Joe toppled against the ship’s fiberglass hull. Joe staggered to his feet and lunged again. The driver was ready, though, and kicked Joe in the jaw. The younger Hardy fell hard to the deck, spots dancing before his eyes.

The man in the back of the boat steadied himself for another swing at Frank. The older Hardy sprang up and grabbed the oar with both hands. He forced the culprit back against the stern rail, near the outboard motor. The two wrestled, each trying to twist the oar from the others hands. Frank brought his knee up into the man’s thigh. The man gasped and Frank pushed hard, clouting the bandit on the chin with the oar. Stunned, the bandit lost his grip on the paddle and slumped to the deck.

At the front of the craft Joe quickly got to his feet for another go at the driver. The pirate at the controls gave three quick twists of the wheel. Still slightly dazed, the younger Hardy swayed on his feet. The boat’s final turn sent him tumbling toward the sea.

Frank realized his brother’s predicament and thrust one end of the oar toward Joe. Joe grabbed it just as the boat driver executed a high-speed turn.

Joe and Frank held tight to either end of the oar, but both lost their footing on the boat. The brothers tumbled into the surf. They popped
quickly to the surface as the craft zipped away into the open ocean.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked, spitting out sea-water.

Joe nodded. “I’ve been better.” he said. “Man! We came so close to catching those guys!”

Currents near the breakwater made returning to the causeway dangerous, so the brothers swam all the way back to the beach. When they got there, they found a crowd of people gathered around their girlfriends and the rescued woman.

The local sheriff was taking notes while talking to the victim: a middle-aged blond woman named Beth Becker. Renee Aranya stood nearby, arguing with a distinguished-looking man. Lucas McGill, dressed like a beachcomber, lurked at the edges of the crowd. He gave the Hardys a thumbs-up sign and a wink as they staggered out of the water.

Callie and Iola helped the brothers to some nearby beach chairs. “Are you okay?” Callie asked.

“Just peachy,” Joe said, still angry that the pirates had gotten away.

“It’s not quite the swim I planned for this afternoon . . . ,” Frank admitted.

The girls gave the brothers a quick hug. “Heroic, but foolish,” Iola said. Callie nodded and frowned.

A dune buggy screeched out of the Casa Bonita parking lot and moved quickly down the beach. It stopped right next to the crowd. Pablo Ruiz hopped
out and ran over to Beth Becker. He looked very worried.

“Ms. Becker,” he said, “are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?” Ms. Becker snapped. “I was hijacked and dumped overboard!”

“But you are not injured?” Pablo asked.

Beth Becker rubbed her neck. “They were pretty rough,” she said. “I doubt I’ll recover before flying home. Some vacation this is!”

Pablo gave Ms. Becker a sympathetic look. “And . . . my boat?”

“Stolen,” Frank interjected. “They headed north, out to sea.”

“Frank and I tried to stop them,” Joe continued, “but they threw us overboard too.”

“Lucky for you,” the sheriff said. He was a stocky, powerful-looking man wearing a khaki uniform and dark glasses. “The local pirates are ruthless. You could have been killed.”

Pablo rubbed his head. “First the airplane trouble, now this!” he said, moaning.

“Honestly,” Ms. Becker said, raising her voice once more, “this is inexcusable! People told me there’d been problems locally. Someone should be held accountable. I’m thinking of filing a lawsuit.”

At the word
lawsuit,
Renee Aranya and the man she was arguing with suddenly stopped talking.

“This is your fault,” the man hissed to Aranya. “Your sloppy management is hurting my business.
Now this woman talks of suing someone. Well, it won’t be me!”

“Your hotel manages this beach too, Rodrigo,” Aranya said angrily. “Those aren’t
my
bungalows south of Casa Bonita. Whether you like it or not, Señor Lopez, Casa Bonita and the Hotel San Esteban are in this together.”

“Everyone, please, calm down,” the sheriff said. “There is no need for lawsuits, nor any reason to cast blame on one another. Clearly neither Ms. Aranya nor Mr. Lopez is responsible for these pirates.”

“Well,
someone’s
got to take charge,” Beth Becker complained.

“The sheriff looks in charge to me,” Frank said.

“We should let him do his job,” Joe added.

Ms. Becker seemed to notice the Bayport teens for the first time. She smiled weakly. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I’m just upset. I haven’t even thanked you four for saving me.”

“No trouble,” Iola said.

“You’d have done the same for us,” Callie added.

Ms. Becker nodded. The look on her face, however, told the teens that she wouldn’t have been so brave.

“Remaining calm will make the investigation much easier,” the sheriff said. “Now, I will require a statement from each of you. . . .”

It was almost sunset by the time the Hardys,
their girlfriends, and the other people had finished talking to the police. Deputies spoke to everyone who might have witnessed the incident, including the hotels’ guests and other beachgoers. The questioning left the four Bayport teens exhausted.

“I’ll call Angela and tell her we’re too tired to party tonight,” Iola said, heading for the hotel lobby to make the call.

“Good idea,” Callie agreed. She and the Hardys gathered their towels and other beach gear. As they did Lucas McGill, who had been hanging around the fringes of the crowd, sauntered up.

“You didn’t follow my advice,” The Gringo said.

“Which advice was that?” Joe asked, a bit peeved.

“About staying out of the way of the locals,” McGill replied. “You haven’t even been here one day, and already you’ve tangled with a mad bull, a young tough guy, and some pirates. Your vacation could be cut short if you don’t wise up.”

Frank ignored the implied warning. “That man arguing with Ms. Aranya,” he said. “Is he the owner of the Hotel San Esteban?”

“Yes,” The Gringo replied. “Rodrigo Lopez is one of the most powerful men on the island. You should
especially
stay out of his way.” McGill cracked a half smile. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get back to your cabins.” He turned and walked down the beach toward the larger hotel. “Remember what I’ve said,” he called back. “Keep your noses clean.”

Joe scratched his head. “What do you make of that guy?” he asked Frank and Callie.

Both of them shrugged. “He’s not just a friendly beachcomber,” Frank said. “But I have no idea what his game might be.”

“Please
don’t turn this vacation into a detective case,” Callie pleaded. “Can’t some people just be eccentric?”

Frank rubbed his chin and nodded.

Iola returned a few minutes later looking a bit forlorn.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked.

“The weather forecast,” she said, sighing. “Callie’s mom may have been right about that storm. It’s a hurricane now, and it’s heading this way.”

“Well, we can’t control the storm,” Frank said. “We may as well enjoy ourselves and see what happens.”

“Hear, hear,” said Callie.

The sun set while they finished packing their gear into the Jeep. They grabbed some sandwiches from the hotel’s tiny beachside café for dinner. They ate in the car, and by the time they got back to their cabins, they all felt exhausted.

“I hope you don’t mind calling it a day this early,” Callie said, giving Frank a peck on the cheek.

“Nah,” the elder Hardy said. “I’m beat.”

“Me too,” agreed Joe.

“We’ll see you in the morning, then,” Iola said, giving Joe a quick hug. “Bright and early.”

“Not
too
early,” the younger Hardy said.

Iola and Callie went into their cabin, and the brothers headed for theirs. At the door Frank paused and frowned.

“Didn’t we latch this screen before we left?” he asked.

“I
thought
we did,” Joe replied. “But we were rushing to hit the beach.” He shrugged. “So, who knows?”

They entered the bungalow cautiously, listening for a moment before turning on the lights. Nothing seemed amiss, so they flicked on the light switch. They’d unpacked their swimsuits, but nothing else seemed to be missing from their bags.

“No missing credit cards or traveler’s checks,” Frank said.

“Our watches are here too,” Joe said. “We must have forgotten to latch the screen. I’m gonna take a shower and then turn in.”

Frank nodded. “I’ll unpack and then shower when you’re done.”

“Fair enough,” Joe said. Fifteen minutes later he and Frank had switched places. The elder Hardy washed while Joe unpacked the last of his clothes into the cabin’s rustic chest of drawers.

The younger Hardy took a long, deep breath before flouncing back onto his twin bed. The bed was made of bamboo, and it had a single warm blanket on top with a sheet underneath. “Now the
vacation
really
begins,” he muttered to himself.

Joe crawled under the covers, lay on his back, and closed his eyes. He could hear Frank finishing his shower. Outside the ocean breeze whispered gently, and the surf hissed against the rocks.

Joe sighed and began to drift gently into sleep.

For a moment the younger Hardy thought he was just imagining something moving under the covers.

Then it moved again.

Joe opened his eyes and looked cautiously around the room. Frank had come out of the bathroom and was standing near the dresser, buttoning the top of his pajama pants.

“Frank?” Joe said.

“Yeah?” Frank replied without looking. He fished his toothbrush out of his shaving kit.

“I think there’s something else under these sheets.” Joe flipped the sheet off the bed, and his blood ran cold with the sight he took in.

Crawling up his right calf was a giant spider.

The tarantula was more than six inches in diameter and reddish brown in color. The fur on its body shivered and its sharp mandibles gnashed as it methodically crept up Joe’s leg.

“Frank!” Joe hissed.

“I see it,” Frank replied. “Don’t move.” He pulled a T-shirt out of his dresser drawer and walked cautiously over to Joe’s bed.

The arachnid reached Joe’s knee and paused. Joe tried to keep from shaking. “Frank!” he hissed again.