The Prime-Time Crime

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I love Hemingway!” Debbie cried, pushing down on her buzzer. “I’ve read all his stories. The young man was named, uh, he was named—I know the answer, honest.”

  “I’m sorry, but your five seconds are up,” Freeman announced. “Would anyone else like to try?”

  “It was Nick Adams,” Frank offered.

  “You’re absolutely right, Frank,” Freeman said. “Another ten points for the Bayport team.”

  The Bayport half of the audience clapped and cheered loudly.

  “Wow,” Chet said, turning to Joe. “I didn’t know Frank knew all this stuff.”

  “My own brother,” Joe said, joking. “Hard to believe.”

  “Frank really is very smart,” Callie said proudly. “He’s got brains and he’s a great athlete.”

  “True,” said Joe with a sly grin. “Actually, he’s not that great at baseball.”

  Iola rolled her eyes. “Right, Joe,” she said with a chuckle. “We all know that you’re the baseball king.”

  “Sssh,” Callie whispered. “Freeman’s going to ask the next question.”

  “Every Memorial Day, millions of automobile racing fans stay home, glued to their television screens for the running of the classic Indianapolis Five Hundred race,” the emcee continued. “In what year was the first Indy Five Hundred held?”

  This time it was Frank who rang his buzzer first. Steve and Debbie turned to him with slightly annoyed looks on their faces.

  “In 1911?” Frank asked.

  “That’s right,” Freeman announced. “The Bay-port team does it again, and it looks like Frank Hardy is leading the way.”

  “Way to go, Frank!” Joe shouted at the top of his lungs.

  “Yay, Bayport!” came the cheers from the others in the Bayport half of the bleachers. “Yay, Frank!”

  “This is so exciting,” Callie said. “I knew Frank could do it.”

  “Hey, look,” Iola said, pointing at a studio monitor. “We’re on TV.”

  Joe turned and looked at the screen. Sure enough, the camera was aimed directly at them, and their beaming faces were filling the screen.

  “Hi, Mom,” Joe said, waving at the camera. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Send money,” Chet added. “And food.”

  “And now for the next question,” Matt Freeman said. He rattled off several questions, many of which Frank was able to answer. The Littonville High team also managed a few answers, but Steve and Debbie sat glumly, rarely ringing their buzzers.

  During the first commercial, Frank leaned back in his seat. His heart was racing. He was exhilarated over how well he had done in the first round, though he was also aware that Steve and Debbie were glaring at him from the other two seats.

  Frank looked up to see Marcy Simons dart out onto the set. She ran around nervously, congratulating Matt Freeman on his performance, praising the two teams for their fast thinking, and handing Freeman the new set of questions for the second round.

  When the commercial was over, Freeman fired off another series of questions. Although Steve and Debbie managed to score a few points, Frank still found himself giving most of the correct answers. By the end of the game, the Littonville team was hopelessly behind, and Frank’s team scored an easy victory.

  “Let’s hear it for the Bayport team!” shouted Matt Freeman, but the Bayport half of the audience didn’t need his encouragement. They were already on their feet, clapping, whistling, and shouting Frank’s name. Joe and Chet were the loudest.

  “And I want to remind all of you,” Freeman said when the cheering had died down, “that our championship tournament will begin this Tuesday on a special edition of ‘The Four O’Clock Scholar.’ The Bayport High team will be back to square off against our current reigning champion, Newcastle High School. We’ll all be looking forward to seeing Frank, Debbie, and Steve again on Tuesday night.”

  Freeman waved at the camera, and the credits began to roll. As soon as the show was over, Frank joined his brother and his friends.

  “Hey, Frank,” Chet said, slapping him on the back. “Good work. I didn’t know you were that smart.”

  “I did,” Joe said proudly.

  “Me, too,” Callie said with a broad smile. Iola nodded and grinned.

  Steve Burke walked up to Frank and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Hardy,” he said glumly. “You had a run of luck back there.”

  “Hey,” Joe said. “That wasn’t luck, it was brilliance. My brother’s a genius. It runs in the family.”

  Frank gave Joe a funny look. “You’ve never called me that before.”

  “Shut up, stupid,” Joe said, grinning. “I can call you a genius if I want to.”

  Marcy Simons, who had been in a conversation with Matt Freeman, turned to the remaining members of the audience.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now,” she told them. “The show’s over, and we need the studio for another program.”

  “What happened to Clarence?” Chet asked. “Did you ever find him?”

  “Not yet,” Marcy said. “But we’re looking, believe me.” She started to turn away, then did a double take at the sight of Joe and Frank. “Hey, haven’t I seen you two before?”

  “We’re Joe and Frank Hardy,” Joe said. “We’ve lived in Bayport all our lives.”

  “I know,” Marcy said, snapping her fingers. “You’re the detectives who helped catch the Masked Marauder a while back, the guy who was threatening to blow up the station.”

  “Right,” Frank said. “In fact, he almost did blow up the studio, while we were appearing on the show ‘Faces and Places.’ ”

  Marcy looked at the Hardys thoughtfully. “That was an impressive piece of detective work,” she said. “I’d like to talk with you two—alone.”

  “Well, we can take a hint,” Callie said. “Come on, Iola. Let’s meet the rest of the gang over at Mr. Pizza.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Chet said, a big grin spreading across his face. “I haven’t had a square meal in, oh, three or four hours.”

  “What about the sandwich and those chips you ate before the show?” Joe asked.

  “That was just a snack,” Chet answered.

  “Do you two want to come along?” Iola asked Steve and Debbie.

  “Not right now,” Debbie said. She was still a little upset over her poor performance on the show. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Likewise,” Steve said.

  When everyone had left the studio, Joe turned to Marcy Simons. “So what was it you wanted to talk to us about? Does it have something to do with Clarence?”

  “Yes,” Marcy said. “I’d like you two to do a little detective work for us.”

  “Sure,” Frank said. “We’re always happy to help out.”

  “Do you really think that something has happened to Clarence?” Joe asked. “Maybe he just had a flat tire.”

  “I’m afraid there’s a little more to it than that,” Marcy said, pulling a sheet of paper from the clipboard under her arm. “This was delivered by a messenger, just after the show started.”

  Joe took the paper from Marcy. It was a sheet of white paper with a typewritten message on it. The paper was folded in two. Joe read it out loud.

  “ ‘Marcy— Going away for a two-week vacation. Sorry I couldn’t tell you in advance. Hope you can find somebody to fill in for me.’ ” Looking up at his brother, Joe said, “It’s signed by Clarence Kellerman.”

  “Is that Clarence’s signature?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, it is,” Marcy replied.

  “Then what’s the problem?” Joe asked. “It looks like Clarence just skipped town for a few days.”

  “Open it up and look inside,” Marcy said.

  Joe opened the folded sheet of paper. Inside, handwritten in large, jagged letters, was a single word: HELP.

  3 Too Many Detectives

  * * *

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed, staring at the note. “This definitely changes things.”

  �
�Did you talk to the messenger?” Frank asked. “Did he say where he got this?”

  Marcy nodded. “The messenger service received a call telling them to pick up the message at a convenience store in the middle of town that recently went out of business. When the messenger got there, he found the message taped to the door, with the money for the delivery attached to it with a paper clip. He has no idea who put it there.”

  “It looks like somebody typed the message, then forced Clarence to sign it,” Joe said. “The typist didn’t notice that Clarence had written a message of his own on it.”

  “Have you called the police?” Frank asked Marcy. “If this is a kidnapping, they should be involved.”

  “The police are already investigating,” Marcy said. “I called them during the show, and I’ve got to go talk with them now. But I was impressed by the detective work you two did during the last case, and I’d like to buy a little insurance by having you two around.”

  “We’d be glad to help,” Frank said.

  “Do you know when Clarence was last seen?” Joe asked.

  “The receptionist at the front desk saw him arrive just before nine o’clock this morning, but nobody’s seen him since,” Marcy said.

  “Then he could still be in the building,” Frank said.

  “That’s possible,” Marcy said. “Believe me, I’ve got people looking for him. And I’ve arranged for guards to be placed at all of the doors twenty-four hours a day, in case he tries to leave.”

  “Voluntarily or involuntarily,” Joe added.

  “Right,” Marcy said. “I’m asking the two of you to help because I think this is a very serious situation. If Clarence has been kidnapped, he could be in a lot of danger.”

  “Did I hear you say that Clarence has been kidnapped?” asked Steve Burke, who had just stepped into the studio. He stopped and looked at the Hardys and Marcy with interest.

  “It’s nothing, Steve,” Joe said casually. “I thought you were heading over to Mr. Pizza.”

  “I’ll be going over there in a few minutes,” Steve said. “Hey, what’s that?” Steve looked at the paper in Joe’s hand. “A ransom note?”

  Before Joe could stop him, Steve grabbed the note out of his hand. “Hey! A note from Clarence,” Steve said. “And it’s got the word help in big letters inside. It looks like our old buddy Clarence really has been kidnapped!”

  “Give me that note, young man,” Marcy said, holding out her hand. Sheepishly, Steve handed the paper back to her. “This information is not to leave this building,” she warned. “Do you understand? Clarence Kellerman is apparently in a great deal of trouble, and it won’t help him or the station to announce the fact all over Bayport.”

  “Sorry,” Steve said. “But won’t this be in the newspapers tomorrow?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Marcy said. “With any luck, Clarence will be back safe and sound by tomorrow, perhaps with the help of your friends here.”

  “These guys?” Steve said with a laugh. “Ha! They couldn’t find a wrench at a plumber’s convention. I bet I could find Clarence faster than they could.”

  “What do you mean by—” Joe began.

  Suddenly Debbie Hertzberg appeared from the hallway outside the studio. “Have you found Clarence yet?” she asked Marcy. “I figured he just got held up on the way to the station.”

  “Wrong,” Steve said. “He’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Debbie said with a gasp. “That’s incredible!”

  “Look, do you think maybe we could keep this a secret?” Joe suggested. “Just between the five of us—and anyone else within hearing range?” he added sarcastically.

  Marcy flashed the four teenagers an exasperated look. “I’ll be down the hall in my office, talking to the police, if you need more details,” she told them. Clutching her clipboard tightly under her arm, she left the studio.

  “Marcy doesn’t look too happy,” Joe said. “She only asked us to take the case a few minutes ago. I hope she doesn’t change her mind.”

  “No loss,” Steve said with a shrug. “I can take on the case.”

  “Oh yeah?” Joe said, raising his eyebrows. “I suppose you could do better?”

  “Absolutely,” Steve said. “In fact, I bet I solve this Clarence Kellerman case before you guys do.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. What do you know about detective work?”

  “I plan to be a scientist one day,” Steve said. “All scientists are detectives. We sift through clues to get answers. I’ll find the identity of Clarence Keller-man’s kidnapper just like Einstein found that energy equals matter times the speed of light squared.”

  “That’s mass times the speed of light squared,” Frank reminded him.

  “Whatever,” Steve said. “This case sounds like it ought to be a piece of cake for me.”

  “Okay, Einstein,” Joe said. “You’re on. We’ll see if you can solve this case faster than we can.”

  “Well,” Frank said, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. And if it means Clarence is found even sooner, all the better.”

  “What about me?” Debbie asked. “I’ve read hundreds of mystery novels. I think I know a thing or two about being a detective.”

  “Hang it up, Debbie,” Steve said. “Leave the detective work to the real brains, like me.”

  “You mean the pea brains like you, don’t you?” Debbie replied hotly.

  “Let’s keep this civilized,” Frank said. “If you two want to prove that you’re great detectives, that’s okay, but you don’t have to fight over it.”

  “There’s no need to fight,” Steve said. “I’ll find Clarence first using sheer brainpower. In fact, he’s practically as good as found.”

  “If anyone finds Clarence first,” Debbie said, “it’ll be me. I’ll bet that there are clues to his disappearance all over this station. And with my refined powers of observation, I’ll find them right away.”

  “Great,” Frank said. “Now let’s get started.”

  “Right,” Steve said. “I want to get this investigation underway as soon as possible. Come on, Deb. Let’s show these two amateurs how real detectives solve a case.”

  “Sorry, Steve,” Debbie said, sauntering toward the door of the studio. “I work alone. You’re on your own.”

  As soon as Steve and Debbie were gone, Joe turned and stared at his brother. “I think we’ve created a couple of monsters,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t think they can hurt anything,” Frank replied, chuckling. “And, who knows, maybe they’ll actually find Clarence.”

  “It’s more likely they’ll get bored and quit after an hour or two,” Joe said. “It won’t take long before they learn how tough detective work really is.”

  “Speaking of detective work,” Frank said, “we’d better start doing some ourselves. Where do you want to start?”

  “I think we should talk to Marcy Simons again,” Joe said. “We need to find out what’s been going on around the station since the last time we were here.”

  “Sounds good,” Frank said. “Let’s go. I think I remember where her office is.”

  Marcy Simons’s small office was in the hallway not far from Studio A. Frank knocked on the door. The producer opened the door and nodded when she saw the Hardys.

  “You just missed the police,” she said. “I told them what happened, and they said they’d keep an eye out for Clarence, but they weren’t sure there was much they could do.”

  “We were wondering how things have been around the station since we were here last,” Frank said. He and his brother took seats as Marcy settled down behind her desk. “Is Bill Amberson still the station manager?”

  Marcy shook her head. “He decided to take an early retirement and move to Arizona. His family sold the station to the Mediagenic Corporation.”

  “So who’s the new station manager?” Joe asked.

  “Ted Whalen,” Marcy replied. Frank noticed the slightly annoyed tone in her voice as she pronounced hi
s name. “Fresh out of college and already a vice president at Mediagenic. Comes from a wealthy old New England family.”

  “Sounds like you don’t like him much,” Frank said.

  Marcy smiled. “Did I say that? I guess I just miss Bill. Once in a while he could be a little grumpy, but he had a big heart. Ted Whalen’s a little hard to warm up to.”

  “Why don’t you introduce us to him?” Joe asked. “Maybe he can give us some clue as to what happened to Clarence.”

  “Sure,” Marcy said. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  As Marcy led the Hardys into the hallway, Frank heard loud voices coming from Studio A.

  “I found a clue,” declared a female voice. “Hey, let go of that.”

  “It’s mine!” shouted a male voice. “I found it first.”

  “What in the world is going on in there?” Marcy asked.

  The Hardys looked at each other. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Frank said.

  The brothers hurried over to the studio. As they entered the room, they saw Steve and Debbie fighting over a man’s gray suit jacket. Steve had a grip on one sleeve, Debbie the other, and the fabric was on the verge of tearing down the middle.

  “You’re trying to take this away from me so I can’t solve the case,” Debbie said.

  “Oh yeah?” Steve shouted. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

  Frank stepped over to them. “There’s not going to be much evidence left if you two rip that jacket apart,” he said.

  “I found this piece of evidence first,” Steve insisted.

  “Listen, you two,” Frank began, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Suddenly Frank heard a sound from above. Startled, he looked up. Near the studio ceiling, a huge television camera, at the end of the long boom that supported it, was swaying and starting to break loose from its moorings. As Frank watched, it snapped free.

  The camera was about to fall right on top of Steve, Debbie, and Frank.

  4 Intruder in the Shadows

  * * *

  “Look out!” Frank yelled, grabbing Steve under his arms and yanking him out of the way of the falling camera.