Frank and I looked at each other.
“The next time I saw the manuscript, it was on display like you saw,” Hector finished. “I didn’t see anyone touch it again until you guys. A bunch of people work at the museum, though.”
“That’s great, man,” Frank said. “I think you helped a lot.”
Hector smiled. “You think so? If you find out who stole the pages, maybe I can get my job back.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said. “The other day you told me you ‘stumbled on’ your new job. How did that happen anyway?”
“Oh, yeah. That was weird,” he replied. “I came out of a store and found a flyer on my car. It said how they were hiring at the museum. When I got there, I thought I’d have to wait in line, you know? I mean if they’re putting flyers on everyone’s cars, they must be desperate. But I was the only one there. Josh just about hired me on the spot.”
“That didn’t seem strange to you?” asked Frank.
“Hey, I was just happy for the job,” Hector replied. “It was an easy one too. And fun—Josh is a great guy.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re not hiring here, unless Chet messes up and gets fired.”
“Hey, why do you like Josh so much?” I asked.
“He was super fun to talk to. He loved hearing about all our friends from school and all the pranks we’ve pulled.”
I looked at Frank. We had gotten what we needed.
“Thanks, Hector. I’m really sorry about your job. But I have a feeling those pages are going to turn up sooner rather than later.”
Frank and I said our goodbyes and practically skipped back to his car. Things were looking up.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked my brother.
Frank nodded. “I think it’s time to return the pages to the museum.”
13
CONFRONTATION
FRANK
I DROVE BACK TO OUR house to retrieve the pages. As we turned down our street, we spotted Drew and his friends pulling tricks on their homemade grind box. One of the skaters hopped up and slid his board down the corner of the long rectangular box.
“Hey, when this is over, we should give that thing a try,” Joe suggested.
I smirked. “Ah, how quickly we forget the skate park incident.”
Joe rubbed his left forearm. “It was just a hairline fracture.”
We pulled into the driveway and Joe ran inside to get the pages. Soon he was back in the car with another inconspicuous school folder. I backed out of the driveway and we headed for the museum.
We arrived just before closing, so the parking lot was mostly empty. Of course, this time we entered through the front door.
We made our way to the special exhibit hall and spotted Josh Jenkins. He was speaking with a young couple in front of the fingerprinting exhibit. We hung back until we caught his eye. Jenkins excused himself and strolled over to us.
“The Hardy brothers, right?” he asked. “Frank and Joe?”
Joe held out his hand. “That’s right. Good to see you again.”
Josh shook his hand. A friendly smile lit up his face. “Hector told me about some of the cases you’ve solved. I half expected you to show up before now and ask about the theft.”
“Well, Mr. Jenkins, we do want to ask you a few questions,” I said.
“Please, call me Josh,” he said. “But I have to warn you. I was instructed by the police to let them know if you came around.”
“Well, we do have some questions,” Joe said. “I guess it’ll be up to you if you want to call the police or not afterward.”
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” I asked.
“Sure,” Josh agreed. “In my office.”
We followed him through a door on the back wall. It led to a small hallway full of employee offices. Josh led us into his and shut the door. He took his seat behind his desk.
“Okay, shoot,” he said.
“Well, let’s start with this,” I said as I placed the folder onto his desk.
Josh opened the folder and scanned the contents. “Well, look at that. The missing pages.”
“That’s seven of them. So there are three more still missing,” Joe explained.
“And you don’t seem very surprised,” I added.
Josh closed the folder. “Why should I be? The police suspected you from the beginning. You snuck in here after hours, after all. I’m not sure why you’d return them now, though.”
“Someone has been planting those on us,” said Joe, “and then trying to get the police to catch us red-handed.”
Josh reached for his telephone. “That sounds like a story to tell the police.”
I reached out a hand. “Before you call, let me ask another question. Where were you this morning?”
Josh paused. “Why do you ask?”
“Because someone tried to plant another page in my brother’s things during the track meet,” I replied.
“And I have a question too,” Joe added. “Where were you Thursday morning, before eight a.m.?”
“I was here,” Josh replied. “I work here.”
“Are you sure you were here?” I asked. “Because someone had our friends deliver those pages to us. Someone who was young enough to convince our friends that he was our cousin, or just another friend they’ve yet to meet.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” said Josh.
“Yeah, but you look younger,” said Joe.
“Thanks for the compliment,” said Josh. He picked up the phone. “But you said I could call the cops after your questions, so I’m calling them. You can tell them your outlandish story.”
“Do you really want to do that?” I asked. “Because the guy we chased the other night hurt his right leg on a jagged piece of wood.”
Josh froze. The friendly smile had dropped from his face.
“I’m sure the police would be interested to know about any wounds on your leg,” I continued.
Josh slowly put the phone back. He stared at us for a moment before dropping his gaze with a sigh. “Okay. It . . . it was me.”
“Why?” I asked. I was stunned. Any halfway decent criminal could’ve come up with something to explain the leg. Better keep this guy talking. “What did we ever do to you?”
Josh shook his head. “You didn’t do anything to me.” He stood and put his hands in his front pockets. “I don’t know why he targeted you.”
“He?” asked Joe. “So you’re not the Moriarty here?”
“Moriarty?” asked Josh. Then a wave of recognition washed over his face. “Oh, I can see why you’d think that.” He plopped back into his chair. “No, I’m not behind this. Awhile back, I received a call. It was a man’s voice. He knew everything about me. Things I have tried very hard to keep secret. I made some mistakes when I was a kid—I hung out with the wrong crowd and was involved in some thefts. Art thefts. When we were caught, I was able to make a deal with the police and keep it all off my record. I turned things around and got this job. My dream job. But if my employers knew about my past, they wouldn’t allow me to stay. An art thief managing a museum? Not likely. The man threatened to expose me. He knew all about you, too, about your old cases. He orchestrated this entire thing. I had no choice. I’m sorry.”
“He set up everything?” I asked.
“Everything,” replied Josh. “He had me order the manuscript, hire Hector, befriend him and learn about you and your other friends, plant the seed in him about inviting you to the museum.” He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, I had to cut the pages from the manuscript. I was as careful as possible. I wasn’t lying before. I’m a huge fan. It killed me to fold the pages, to put a crease in them.”
“Okay. Now you can call the police,” Joe suggested.
Josh’s eyes widened. “Now that you know about him, we can’t. He forbade it. Whoever this is, he’s not done until you two get locked up.”
14
THE IRREGULARS DELIVER
JOE
I CAN�
�T BELIEVE WE’RE GOING to let him get away with it,” I said as Frank drove us home. “That guy made our lives miserable the past few days.”
“It’s not his fault,” Frank said. “You heard him. The guy’s just trying to protect the life he created. Now we have to find the real crook for all three of us.”
I had really thought he would be it. All the evidence pointed to Jenkins. If we hadn’t been so worried about the lieutenant’s warning, we would’ve figured it out sooner. Now we were back where we started. We thought we had uncovered our own personal Moriarty, but Jenkins had just been another pawn. We should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Frank gave Jenkins our phone numbers. If the guy heard from the mastermind of our misery, he was supposed to let us know. But could we trust him? And would he trust us to discover the man’s identity so the police could finally get involved? There were too many ifs in the plan for me to feel comfortable.
We turned onto our dark street and didn’t see any sign of the skaters. I suppose even Bayport Irregulars had to eat dinner sometime. We pulled into the driveway and climbed out of the car. As soon as the car doors shut behind us, Frank’s phone chimed with a text alert.
“It’s Drew,” Frank told me. “He wants us to meet him at the side of the house.”
“That’s strange—why wouldn’t he just come in?”
Frank just shrugged in reply, and without another word, we slipped around the corner.
“Sup?” said Drew from the shadows. “I didn’t know if that guy would cruise down the street again.”
“What guy?” I asked.
Drew held out a folded sheet of paper. “The guy who gave me this.”
Frank took the paper and opened it. I had an idea what it was before I saw the writing on the page.
“It’s another page,” said Frank. “What did he want you to do with it?”
“He wanted me to put it into your car when you got back. He even told me your back door was broken and would be unlocked,” Drew replied.
Frank just shook his head.
“What did he look like?” I asked.
Drew shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark and he never got out of his car.”
“You know, you probably shouldn’t be taking things from strangers in cars,” Frank said.
“I wouldn’t normally,” said Drew. “But the rest of my crew was there, and you told us to keep an eye out for anything strange.”
“He’s got a point,” I told my brother.
“Besides, he gave us fifty bucks,” Drew added.
“Fifty bucks?” I asked. “For planting the page in my car?”
“No,” Drew replied. “For busting out one of your taillights.”
“Whoa,” I said.
“Did you get a license plate number?” Frank asked.
“No, his plates were removed,” Drew replied. “But a couple of the guys followed his SUV. We know where he went.”
“Got an address?” I asked.
Drew shook his head. “Be better to show you. It’s a weird garage downtown. I can get the crew back here in a couple of hours and take you there.”
“That’s great,” said Frank. “Meet us in the alley behind our house.”
“What about the fifty bucks?” asked Drew. “Can we keep it?”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Pretty sure you’re going to earn it.”
Drew narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I think you’re going to bust out one of my taillights like you promised,” replied Frank.
“Really?” I asked my brother.
“Josh said that this guy wouldn’t stop until we were locked up, right?” Frank had that gleam in his eye I didn’t like. “I have a plan. Actually, I have two plans.” He turned back to Drew. “Wait until I text you and be sure to get the left one. It’s cracked already because somebody borrowed my car and backed into a signpost.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was supposed to fix that, too.”
Frank smiled. “Well, now you’ll really have to.”
15
HARDYS’ GREATEST HITS
FRANK
AFTER DINNER WITH AUNT TRUDY, Joe and I went upstairs and dug out our old skateboards, grabbed a couple of knit hats and flashlights, and snuck out back. The hats weren’t us trying to dress the part. We certainly didn’t want to look like two lame older kids trying to imitate the young skaters. But we did want to somewhat hide our identities from the odd glance in our direction.
Involving the police was inevitable. I had explained my plan to Joe and how the police played a big part. If we found the bad guy in his hideout, we would call them immediately. If not, it was on to plan B and the police would be involved anyway. Maybe we’d solve the case. Maybe we’d get locked up ourselves like the lieutenant promised. One way or another, this was going to end tonight.
Drew and his friends were waiting for us in the alley. Joe and I put our boards down and joined the skaters as we rolled into the night.
As far as disguises go, this was pretty good. No one would be able to tell the Hardys were part of the pack of skaters zipping through town. Of course, we were the only two skaters who didn’t ollie onto every sidewalk and pull grinds on passing curbs.
We rode the sidewalk down Oak and turned right onto Daley. I almost wiped out on the quick turn. It had been way too long since I had skated.
As our group rolled down Daley, a police cruiser coasted toward us. Joe and I both turned away as we passed the patrol car. I watched its reflection in the shop windows. The car slowed and put on its turn signal. It was going to turn around and investigate the group of skaters rolling through the night.
Drew must’ve sensed the same thing. “Hardys, follow me!” he shouted. “Everyone else, go straight and let the cops catch up to you.”
“Hassled by the man again,” mocked one of the other skaters. The rest laughed.
Drew zipped down a side street to the right. Joe and I followed as best we could. Luckily, we were around the corner before the squad car’s headlights swung around and lit the sidewalk.
Hopefully the patrolling officers hadn’t gotten an accurate head count as they passed us the first time and wouldn’t notice that three skaters were missing when they caught up with the group. I glanced back and saw the police car roll past, following the others. We were good.
Joe and I followed Drew down a few more side streets and back alleys. He kept us off the main roads, probably to avoid any more near misses with the police.
We turned down Washington and headed into the older, industrial part of Bayport. The traffic thinned to nothing as we passed closed warehouses and old factories.
Drew rolled to a stop and pointed. “Up there. The one with the blue door, next to that streetlight. We used to raid their Dumpster for building supplies.”
“We’ll take it from here,” I said. “Thanks.”
Drew spun his board around and prepared to kick off. “I’ll wait for your text?”
I nodded. “Thanks, Drew.”
After Drew skated away, Joe and I picked up our boards and walked down the sidewalk.
“You recognize this place, right?” Joe asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” I replied.
This was yet another location from one of our past cases. A couple of years ago, our friend’s new car was stolen. We eventually uncovered a ring of car thieves who used this very garage to repaint the cars in order to smuggle them out of town. My brother and I were trapped in a painting tent and were nearly overcome by the fumes.
“Do you think one of those guys is behind all this?” Joe asked as we stepped closer.
“Did they seem like the type to create such a complicated plan to frame us?” I asked back.
“Not really,” Joe admitted.
“Whoever it is, hopefully we can catch him here and call the police,” I whispered.
We moved in and crept up to the small window b
eside the closed bay door and peeked inside. The nearby streetlight shone in through the window. We couldn’t make out everything inside, but we could see that the place was empty. Whoever the skaters followed here was long gone.
Joe moved to the oversize garage door and knelt. “Think the lock is still busted on this thing?”
I joined him. “Only one way to find out.”
We both grabbed the bottom of the door and lifted. The door moved but very slowly and only with all the power we could muster. After it was a couple of feet off the ground, we stopped. The door remained in place. Joe and I crawled under, pulling our skateboards in after us.
We both switched on our flashlights and examined the inside. It was just as I remembered it, except without all the paint equipment. The area was mostly open, with a small office alcove beside the only window.
I shined my flashlight beam up at the ceiling. “That’s why the door was so hard to open.” A garage door opener had been installed since the last time we had been there. I followed a connecting conduit to a switch on the wall. I hit the switch and the door rolled shut.
“Check it out,” Joe said, examining the floor. His flashlight lit on two fresh-looking gouges on the cement floor. They were about four feet apart, and each was shaped like a small right angle. “What were they doing here?”
I was more interested in the tire tracks leading into the garage. Two parallel red tracks started at the door and crossed the bay.
Sherlock Holmes collected soil samples from all over London. He could compare mud from someone’s shoe to one of his specimens and deduce where in London that person had been. This was all well and good for Victorian England, where the closest thing to pavement was a cobblestone street. No use collecting soil from all over Bayport, since most of our streets were paved. But there was only one place nearby with a red clay road.
Finally. A real clue.
“What does that remind you of ?” I asked Joe.
Joe leaned in for a closer look. “The road leading to the city dam.” He looked at me in disbelief. “Is this guy playing tracks from our greatest hits album, or what?”
Stolen Identity Page 6