The Great Pumpkin Smash

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The brothers walked through the festivities to the Boo-seum. The tent flap was open, so they went inside. But as they looked at the pumpkins, they couldn’t believe their eyes. . . .

  “Holy cannoli!” Joe cried. “Those painted pumpkins are squashed!”

  SMASH-O’-LANTERNS

  Frank and Joe stared at all the smashed pumpkins, their shells scattered across the ground. Kids stood over their broken pumpkins, sadly shaking their heads.

  “Who would do such a horrible thing?” one girl asked.

  “My painted pumpkin!” a boy exclaimed. “It’s pulverized!”

  Then Director Doug burst into the tent. “I left the Scaryoke contest as soon as I heard what happened!” he told Ms. Mitchell. When he saw the smashed pumpkins, he cried, “What happened?”

  “I arrived back at the tent a little before noon,” Ms. Mitchell explained. “The flap I tied shut had been opened. Someone got in!”

  “You mean someone broke in!” Director Doug groaned.

  “I can’t believe it,” Ms. Mitchell said, shaking her head. “Something like this has never happened at a Boo at the Zoo!”

  “And it never will again!” Doug declared. “I know I’m dressed like a goofy penguin, but I’m dead serious. If the pumpkin-smashing vandals don’t come forward by the end of the day, there will be no more Boo at the Zoo—ever!”

  Gasps filled the tent.

  “No more Boo at the Zoo?” Joe whispered to Frank. “Halloween without the Boo would be like hot cocoa without the marshmallows—right, Frank? . . Frank?”

  Frank was too busy staring at Oliver’s grasshopper sculpture to answer. “Check it out, Joe,” he said. “The only pumpkins not smashed were the ones on Oliver’s sculpture. They haven’t been touched.”

  “Not only that,” Joe pointed out. “The tool bag Oliver left behind isn’t here anymore.”

  Before Frank and Joe could get a better look, Ms. Mitchell announced, “Everyone clear the Boo-seum, please, so Mr. Navarro and I can discuss the next steps.”

  “I know our next step,” Frank said as he and Joe left the tent with the others. “To find the pumpkin smasher and save the Boo at the Zoo!”

  “In that case,” Joe said with a smile, “it’s a good thing I brought this!”

  Joe pulled out their clue book and pencil, and turned to a fresh page. “Okay. Where do we start?”

  “Where detectives like us usually start,” said Frank. “With the five Ws: who, what, where, when, and why.”

  “How come the five Ws start with who?” Joe asked. “If we knew who smashed the pumpkins, we wouldn’t have a case!”

  Joe decided to start with what and where. Those were the easiest Ws so far. . . .

  “What happened was that the painted pumpkins were pulverized,” he said as he wrote. “The where was inside the Boo-seum.”

  “When did it happen?” Frank wondered out loud.

  “That’s the tricky part,” Joe admitted.

  “When Ms. Mitchell closed the tent, it was a little before eleven o’clock,” Frank remembered. “She told Director Doug she opened it a few minutes before noon.”

  “So the pumpkin smasher snuck into the tent sometime between eleven and noon,” Joe said, writing the timeline in his clue book.

  “Now we have to figure out who,” Frank said with a frown. “What creep would want to ruin a painted-pumpkin contest?”

  Creep? The word made Joe’s eyes light up. “Creep is Adam Ackerman’s middle name!” he said.

  “I thought it was Bradley,” said Frank.

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though.” he said. “I saw the zombies carrying long thingamajigs while they were running somewhere. They were heading in the direction of the Boo-seum, too!”

  “Adam said they had ‘that thing’ to do,” Frank said. “Maybe that thing was to smash pumpkins.”

  Joe wrote the word Suspects. Underneath he wrote: Adam, Seth, and Tony.

  “Who else would smash the pumpkins,” Frank asked, “and why?”

  “Maybe someone didn’t want the contest to happen,” said Joe. “So he or she ended the whole thing with a splat!”

  “Splat—as in Oliver Splathall!” Frank exclaimed.

  “Oliver was mad that he couldn’t enter his sculpture in the contest. His sculpture was the only one not smashed, too.”

  “Oliver must have come back for his tool bag,” Joe pointed out. “He could have smashed the pumpkins while he was in the tent.”

  As Joe added Oliver’s name to their suspect list, Frank heard a low, rumbling growl.

  “What was that?” Frank asked. “Some bear or lion?”

  “My stomach,” Joe said, closing the book, “saying it’s time for lunch!”

  The boys headed to the zoo food court, also decorated for Halloween. There were rubber bats dangling from trees and skeleton arms reaching around the booths.

  The pizza booth belonged to the Zamora family, who also owned the Pizza Palace, the coolest pizza place in Bayport. Frank and Joe went to school with Daisy Zamora and her six-year-old twin brothers, Matty and Scotty.

  “Look!” Joe said. “Mr. and Mrs. Zamora are dressed up as vampires.”

  “They’re selling pizzas named after animals, too,” Frank said, reading the sign over their booth. “There’s Panda Pepperoni, Marmoset Mushroom, and Cheetah Cheese!”

  The first in line at the pizza booth was Aunt Trudy. Frank and Joe could hear her arguing with Mr. Zamora.

  “You have no pizzas here for animals to enjoy!” Aunt Trudy said. “How about a pie with a nice lizard topping for the eagles or weasels?”

  “Lizards on my pizzas?” Mr. Zamora exclaimed through plastic fangs. “No can do, lady. Next!”

  Aunt Trudy frowned as she stepped out of line.

  “Seriously, Aunt Trudy?” Joe asked. “Lizards on pizza sounds worse than anchovies.”

  “Oh, what difference does it make, Joe?” Aunt Trudy sighed. “So far I haven’t had any luck finding fun things for animals to do today.”

  She pumped a fist in the air and said, “But I refuse to give up. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to the Ape Habitat!”

  “Why the Ape Habitat?” Frank asked.

  “Gorillas have such nice long fingers,” Aunt Trudy said excitedly. “Perfect for Halloween crafts!”

  She walked away. Joe turned to Frank and said, “Should we get pizza slices?”

  “Let’s eat tacos instead,” said Frank. “The thought of lizard pizza grossed me out.”

  On their way to the taco stand, the brothers spotted three guys sitting around a table eating pizza. All three were dressed as zombies.

  “Joe,” Frank whispered. “It’s Adam, Seth, and Tony!”

  “That’s not all I see,” Joe whispered back. “Look under the table.”

  Frank did look and his eyes widened. Underneath the table were—

  “Mallets!” he hissed. “Three big mallets!”

  Joe nodded. Mallets were like big hammers. And the ones under the table were crazy big!

  “We may not have crushed the Scaryoke contest, Frank,” Joe said, glaring at the bullies, “but I think I know what crushed those pumpkins!”

  MUSH RUSH

  Adam, Seth, and Tony were so busy eating that they didn’t notice Frank and Joe a few feet away.

  “That’s what you saw them lugging on their shoulders,” Frank told Joe. “I wonder if those mallets have pumpkin mush on them.”

  “You mean the gooey, seedy stuff inside the pumpkin?” Joe asked. “Why would that matter?”

  “If the bullies used those to smash the pumpkins,” Frank explained, “the mallets would be covered with mush!”

  He nodded in the direction of the table. “That’s why we have to get a closer look at those mallets, Joe.”

  “Are you crackers?” Joe squeaked. “How do we do that with the bullies sitting over them?”

  “Someone has to get their attention while we check out the mallets,” said Frank slowly, �
�But who?”

  “Say ‘cheese’!” a high-pitched voice shouted.

  “Extra cheese with pepperoni!” another voice exclaimed.

  Frank and Joe whirled around. Standing behind them were the six-year-old Zamora twins, Matty and Scotty. They both wore vampire capes and had their hair slicked back.

  “What are you doing here?” Joe asked.

  Scotty lifted a phone and said, “What does it look like we’re doing? We’re taking pictures with our mom’s phone.”

  “We’re taking pictures of neat Halloween costumes like yours,” Matty went on. “As long as we stay near the pizza stand and out of trouble.”

  “Good luck,” Joe muttered.

  But Frank was smiling with an idea. . . .

  “Pictures, huh?” he said, pointing to Adam and his friends. “Why don’t you take pictures of those zombies over there?”

  Joe smiled as he realized Frank’s plan. “Yeah!” he agreed. “They’ve got to be the best costumes at the Boo!”

  Matty and Scotty looked at Adam, Seth, and Tony, then shook their heads.

  “Nah,” said Matty.

  “Too scary,” Scotty said.

  “Exactly!” Joe said quickly. “You can use the picture to scare your sister Daisy!”

  Frank shot Joe a look. Nothing scared nine-year-old Daisy Zamora. But the twins were already high-fiving.

  “Let’s take the zombies’ picture and scare Daisy!” Scotty snickered.

  “Wait,” Frank told the twins. “Be sure you take lots of pictures without stopping in between.”

  “The more the better—I mean scarier!” said Joe. “And make sure they stand away from the table and face the other way.”

  “Why?” Scotty asked.

  “Um . . the light is better?” Joe guessed.

  Matty and Scotty made their way to the bullies’ table. Frank and Joe hid behind a tall trash can, peeking out to watch.

  “While Matty and Scotty take pictures,” Frank said, “we check out those mallets for pumpkin mush.”

  The brothers could hear Matty ask, “Can we take pictures of your zombie costumes?”

  “How do you know they’re costumes?” Seth guffawed.

  But Adam pointed to the twins and said, “Wait a minute. Don’t your mom and dad run the pizza stand where we just bought slices?”

  “Yeah, so?” Matty and Scotty said in unison.

  “So,” Adam said slowly, “we’ll let you take our picture in exchange for a jumbo pie with meatballs.”

  “We thought zombies ate brains!” Matty snapped.

  But Scotty folded his arms across his chest. “We’ll trade you six garlic knots instead,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

  After mumbling to his friends, Adam nodded and said, “Deal.”

  “Yes!” Joe cheered under his breath.

  It was all systems go as the Zamora twins directed the zombies to stand with their backs to the table. When they were busy posing and growling for the camera, Frank and Joe rushed toward the mallets.

  The brothers were inches away from the table when they heard Matty say, “This came out awesome! Want to see it?”

  Frank and Joe froze in their tracks as the bullies checked out the shot. Would they see the Hardys in the picture sneaking over to the table? Their answer came as Adam shouted, “Hey! Two jerks just photobombed us!”

  The brothers gulped as Adam spun around.

  “And I know who they are!” he said angrily. “Hardys!”

  ZOOMING ZOMBIE

  “Did you photobomb us,” Adam demanded, “or were you sneaking up on us?”

  “Um . . neither!” Joe blurted. “A meatball from my hero sandwich rolled under your table. Anyone see it?”

  Adam picked up one of the mallets and said, “All I see is this!”

  Seth and Tony sat down to finish their pizza. But Adam chased Frank and Joe as they began to run.

  “Hey!” Matty called after him. “Don’t you want your garlic knots?”

  The brothers ran like the wind through the food court. Joe looked over his shoulder and called, “What’s worse than being chased by a zombie, Frank?”

  “What?” Frank called back.

  “Being chased by a zombie swinging a mallet!” Joe shouted. “Run for it!”

  Picking up speed, the brothers raced past one of the trick-or-treat stations. Joe bumped into a boy carrying gumballs. The gumballs spilled out of his hands and rolled in Adam’s direction!

  “Ahh!” Adam shouted as he tripped and stumbled over the rolling candies.

  The gumballs slowed Adam down, but the brothers kept on running. Frank pointed to a fake cemetery in the near distance. “In there!” he called to Joe.

  The brothers glanced back to see Adam charging toward the cemetery too. To escape him, they leaped over foam-rubber tombstones. A zookeeper wearing a black cape and a real raven on his shoulder shouted, “Hey! No jumping over the tombstones. Snake around them instead!”

  “Snake around, snake around!” the raven squawked. “Kraa!”

  Snake? Joe’s eyes lit up. That’s it!

  He turned to the zookeeper and asked, “Where’s the Reptile House, please?”

  The zookeeper pointed to a small house behind the fake cemetery. “Right over there,” he said.

  “Walk, don’t run, walk, don’t run,” the raven screeched. “Kraa!”

  “Why the Reptile House?” asked Frank.

  “You’ll see,” Joe said.

  Adam was about ten feet behind them as the brothers dashed into the Reptile House. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the snake tanks, eerily lit.

  “Hardys!” Adam bellowed as he burst through the door. Stopping suddenly to look around, he began to shriek, “Snakes!”

  A snake handler, a cobra wrapped around his neck, stepped out of the shadows. “Did someone say ‘snakes’?” he chuckled. “Hope you’re not . . too rattled!”

  The handler yanked a rope against the wall and POOF! Colorful rattlesnakes dropped from the ceiling, bouncing up and down over the brothers’ heads!

  “Cool!” Joe exclaimed.

  Other kids in the Reptile House laughed and shouted happily. Everyone knew the snakes were fake. Everyone except Adam. Dropping his mallet, he charged out the same door he’d come in, screaming all the way!

  “Adam really is scared of snakes!” Joe laughed. “My plan worked. Right, Frank? . . Frank?”

  He turned to see Frank watching the mallet that Adam had dropped. The big, heavy mallet was bouncing across the floor!

  Frank picked up the mallet, which wasn’t heavy at all. It was as light as a feather. Soft and squishy, too!

  “This mallet is made out of sponge!” said Frank, giving it a squeeze. “It wouldn’t smash a snowball!”

  “Guess they didn’t smash the pumpkins, then. Hey, I wonder where Adam got it,” Joe said. “The bullies didn’t have mallets when we first saw them in the zoo.”

  After a quick look at some real snakes, the brothers left the Reptile House. The exit door led outside to a row of carnival games.

  The game with the longest line of kids was the Whack-a-Monster game. Kids seemed to have a blast whacking costumed zookeepers with the squishy mallets!

  Frank and Joe walked over to the teenage girl working at the game. When they showed her Adam’s mallet, she recognized it right away.

  “That’s our mallet,” she said. “Three of them went missing after some creepy zombie kids played the game.”

  “Here’s one,” said Frank. “The others are with two zombies at the pizza stand.”

  “Thanks!” she said, taking the mallet.

  The brothers played a quick game of Whack-a-Monster. Joe won a stuffed iguana but gave it to the kid whose gumballs he’d knocked down.

  As the brothers walked through the zoo, Frank said, “So that’s what Adam told Seth and Tony they had to do. Steal mallets from the Whack-a-Monster game.”

  Joe was about to cross Adam’s name off the suspect list wh
en he had second thoughts.

  “Adam, Seth, and Tony are multitasking bullies,” Joe said. “Maybe they took the mallets and smashed the pumpkins some other way—like picking them up and dropping them!”

  Frank shook his head. “No. I was thinking about it, and I realized that smashing pumpkins is messy work,” he said. “Their costumes would have been covered with pumpkin mush.”

  Joe’s eyes widened as he said, “You mean . . like that?”

  Frank looked to see where Joe was pointing. Signing pictures of himself was Victor the Constrictor. But the strongman looked different from before. His bulging muscular arms and chest were dripping with orange ooze!

  “Wow, Joe,” Frank whispered. “Maybe Victor can smash pumpkins after all.”

  “Yeah,” Joe whispered back. “The painted pumpkins in the Boo-seum tent!”

  DUPER-HERO

  Frank could see that Victor was covered with orange mush, but was it pumpkin mush?

  “Why would Victor want to ruin a pumpkin-painting contest?” asked Frank. “He’s such a cool dude.”

  “Victor couldn’t smash the pumpkin in his show,” Joe said. “Maybe smashing a bunch of pumpkins would prove he was still strong.”

  Frank remembered something else. “Some kids yelled out stuff that wasn’t cool,” he said. “Victor said he’d show them who was the champ.”

  “Smashing painted pumpkins wouldn’t make Victor a champ,” Joe said angrily. “It would make him guilty as charged!”

  “Not so fast, Joe,” Frank said. “Dad always says, never accuse a suspect until you have solid proof.”

  “Right,” Joe sighed.

  Their dad, Fenton Hardy, was a private investigator in Bayport. When it came to mysteries, he knew the drill. Their mom, Laura, was a real-estate agent—so she knew the neighborhood!

  “But should we still write Victor’s name in the clue book?” asked Joe.

  “Sure,” said Frank. “Put him on our suspect list. Oh, and while you’re at it, cross off Adam and his friends.”

  “What do we do next?” asked Joe. “Ask Victor some questions?”