A Killing in the Market

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Aunt Gertrude went straight to the cage and opened it.

  "Dinnertime! Birdseed! No sweat!"

  "I don't believe this," Joe muttered to Frank. "She wants to feed the bird."

  "Atta boy, No Sweat," Aunt Gertrude said calmly. The parrot fluttered its wings as Aunt Gertrude examined the bottom of the cage. Then, carefully, she lifted a piece of loose cardboard, and the whole floor of the cage came up.

  Underneath it, in flat bundles, were five groups of ten crisp thousand-dollar bills.

  "Invest with confidence! Braawwwk!"

  "Thank you, No Sweat!" Aunt Gertrude said with a smile. "This time I will take that advice."

  Frank's and Joe's faces were covered with astounded grins. "All riiiiiight, Aunt Gertrude!" Joe said.

  "Not bad for someone who hates detective work!" Frank added.

  Aunt Gertrude shrugged as she put the money into her pocketbook. "I only said I hate for you boys to do it." She held herself tall as she walked out past the front desk to the front door, a sly smile creeping across her face. "I don't mind when it's done right!"

  "Oooh, that hurts," Joe said as Aunt Gertrude stepped outside.

  Frank hesitated before going outside. "I don't know, Joe," he said. "Does this mean we have to send her out on cases from now on?"

  Joe winced. Then he thought about it for a second and laughed. "Well, why not? Then you and I can stay home and cook for her."

  From outside came the honking of the van's horn. "Hurry up, boys! My lasagna is going to get overdone!"

  Frank turned to Joe. "Uh, on second thought," Frank said, "let's keep things just the way they are!"

  "Coming, Aunt Gertrude!" Joe called out. And with a couple of wild whoops, the Hardy brothers raced each other to the van.

  The End.