Joe changed directions immediately and angled off in pursuit. He ran the man down half a block away. With one giant dive, he hurled himself at the running figure, bringing the person down with a crunching thud.
“Aaaahhhh,” the man yelled as Joe decked him. It was a strange, low, throaty rumble.
“You must be Mike Brando,” Joe said, pinning the man’s arms behind him. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you the last couple of days. You seem to be living up to your reputation.”
With his free hand, Joe patted Brando down. “Well, look at this,” Joe said, pulling a small revolver out of Brando’s boot. “Another parole violation. Okay, come on.” He pulled Brando up.
“Let go of me,” Brando growled. “You don’t have the right to hold me.” He seemed to want to struggle, but Joe’s slamming blow had apparently knocked the wind out of him.
“Well, let’s just go back to the house and check that out with Sergeant Chang, shall we?” Joe said. Still holding Brando’s wrists behind him, Joe pushed the man across the lawn and in the back door of Sergeant Chang’s house.
“You asked us if we wanted you to bring us anything,” Frank said with a surprised smile when Joe shoved Brando into the kitchen. “We didn’t think to ask for Mike Brando.” He went to the phone and called nine-one-one while Joe tied Brando to a chair with a rope he found in the cleaning closet.
“Brando!” Cody said, joining Frank in the kitchen. “Finally, we’ll put an end to your sabotage and dirty tricks.”
“You think this is the end of it?” Brando snarled. “It’s just the beginning. Putting me away isn’t going to stop me,” he continued.
“Because you have help on the outside?” Frank suggested. “Was someone working with you while you were in prison?”
“And was it the same person attacking Deb and Joe in Golden Gate Park while you were stalking us on the cable car?” Cody added. “And what about stabbing Dave Cloud just a few hours ago? How long did it take you to plan all this, Mike?”
“What are you talking about?” Brando grumbled. “I don’t know anything about anything in Golden Gate Park.”
“That’s okay,” Joe said. “You don’t have to tell us, but the police will have to hear about it.”
Brando’s chin jutted out as he glared at Cody.
“And how about the little present in the van,” Joe said. “Don’t tell us you don’t know anything about that.”
Brando’s face broke out in a nasty grin. “The snake I’ll admit to,” he said.
“Snake!” Cody said. Joe told Frank and Cody about his encounter in the van.
“Sounds like a rubber boa,” Cody said. “They’re called the two-headed snake because both ends look alike. A rubber boa likes to stay hidden, but when it feels threatened, it winds up into a tight ball. Then it raises its tail up and waves it as if it’s about to strike with it. They’re pretty common around here because they like to hang out in forests.”
“Just a little tidbit for your collection, Chang,” Brando said. “Not quite dead yet, of course, but all things in time. Those crazy bugs of yours will make short work of it.”
“My beetles,” Cody said, heading for Brando, his fists clenched. “You ruined my colonies.”
“Easy, Cody,” Frank said. “We’ve got him now. He’ll be going back to prison for sure.”
“Yeah?” Brando barked. “Well, they can’t keep me in there forever. I’ll get out again. And when I do, you’d better be ready.”
“You might be in a little longer this time,” Joe pointed out. “Attacking me with a snake and pushing my brother off a moving cable car could be interpreted as attempted murder.”
“The cable car wasn’t moving,” Brando said, raising his voice. “And I wasn’t after your brother, anyway,” he added. “Somebody bumped me. I meant to push you—it should have been you!” He tried to jump at Cody, but the rope Joe had tied held him fast to the chair.
“So you did do it,” Joe said, smiling at Cody. “You did push Frank.”
Brando flashed a mean look at Joe, then sank into surly silence.
“Dad!” Cody called, looking gratefully toward the door as his father walked in with two uniformed officers.
“I picked up on the nine-one-one call,” Sergeant Chang said. “Everybody okay?” He looked from Cody to Frank to Joe. They all nodded back to him.
“There’s a rubber boa in the van,” Cody said.
“Well, Mike, here we are again,” Sergeant Chang said, shaking his head. “I thought you were headed for a quieter life up north.”
“No lectures, Chang,” Brando said. “Just get me out of here so I can talk to my attorney in private.”
“You take him to the station and the snake to Animal Control,” Sergeant Chang told the officers. “I’ll get the statements here and meet you there shortly.”
Sergeant Chang took out his pen and notebook. “Now, what happened here?” he asked his son as Brando was led away.
“Joe can tell you,” Cody said. “He’s the one who got him. Frank and I haven’t even heard what happened yet.”
Joe filled them in on his encounter in the backyard. Then Cody told him about the disaster at Bug Central.
Breathing a long “Wheeeeeew,” Sergeant Chang leaned back in his chair. “You boys have been pretty busy, haven’t you?” he said with a big grin.
Then he leaned forward again, and his manner and voice were serious. “Okay, guys, now it’s time to turn the case over to the police. We’ll put Brando back where he belongs and track down his accomplices, if any. You have done a great job, but there have been too many close calls.”
Sergeant Chang stood up and put his notebook back in his pocket. “Joe, you might need to come to the station and go over your complaint again. Until then, I know it’ll be hard, but you and Frank try to remember you’re on vacation—not on assignment. If anything happened to you here in my city, your father would never forgive me. Cody, you leave Mike Brando to me. I’m going to see how the questioning is going. I’ll keep you all posted.”
Sergeant Chang left and Frank, Joe, and Cody sank into comfortable chairs with fresh cans of soda.
“Okay, so we still go to Muir Woods tomorrow, right?” Cody asked.
“Absolutely,” Joe said. “It’s not possible for Brando to have done everything that’s happened since we’ve been here—let alone all the things that have happened to you, Cody.”
“Right,” Frank said. “Either he has someone working with him, or we’ve got more than one culprit. The field trip tomorrow is still on.”
“And don’t forget,” Joe reminded them. “We have to be back by late afternoon to help Jennifer Payton set up the haunted house for the dress rehearsal.”
“Yikes!” Cody said. “I forgot about that.”
“No problem,” Frank said. “We’ll get an early start. My tour book says Muir Woods opens at eight in the morning.”
“Too early,” Cody said, shaking his head. “We don’t need to go that early.”
A ringing phone interrupted him. Cody answered it, spoke for a few minutes, and then hung up.
“That was Dad,” he said, walking back into the kitchen. He carried a small pile of mail. “Brando’s in major trouble. Attacking you two plus breaking so many parole violations—he’s not going to be out for quite a while.”
“Did he give them any clues about accomplices?” Joe asked.
“He still says he didn’t do any of the other stuff and doesn’t know who did,” Cody answered, “but they’re going to keep questioning him. He’ll break down eventually. They ran a check on the green car rental, but the name and the prints on the keys didn’t bring anything up. Dad thinks the guy used a phony name and fake ID.”
The Hardys and Cody agreed they deserved some serious sack time, so after going over the next day’s plans one more time, they headed for their beds.
• • •
Thursday morning started with the usual fog, but the radio weather station predicted a sunni
er afternoon.
Cody made a quick run over to Skin & Bones to make sure everything was okay after the fumigator’s visit. Frank and Joe had breakfast and dressed in jeans, sweaters, and boots.
Cody arrived back in less than an hour. “Look who I found,” he said. “She was at Skin and Bones picking up the mail. Since we can’t work today anyway, I asked her if she wanted to go with us to the woods.”
Deb walked in. She was carrying her briefcase, but was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a tan jacket. Her thick blond hair was caught up under a baseball cap.
“First you have to see the letter we got today,” Deb said. She dug down into her briefcase. “You know, it’s getting close to your anniversary date.” She pulled out a long envelope. “Almost time to renew your lease for this building.”
“So, what’s the deal?” Cody asked. “They’ve raised the rent so much I can’t afford to stay here any longer?”
“Actually, I don’t know yet. We didn’t receive the lease—just this letter.”
Cody scanned the letter quickly. Frank watched as Cody’s mouth dropped open. “What!” Cody said. “I don’t believe it.” He turned to Frank and Joe. “My building’s been sold,” he said. “And guess who the new owner is.”
His dark eyes flashed from Joe to Frank. “It’s Jennifer Payton.”
12 The Skull in the Forest
* * *
“Jennifer Payton has bought my building,” Cody said.
“And you didn’t know anything about it?” Frank asked.
“This is a complete surprise,” Cody answered. “She never said a word to me.”
“She told me she’s planning to expand her club,” Frank said.
“Yeah, like maybe expand right into my building,” Cody said. He slumped into his chair. “I’m just getting the business to a point where people know where I am, and then she buys the building and kicks me out.”
“You don’t suppose . . .” Deb started to say.
“Well, it is odd that she hasn’t said anything to Cody about it,” Joe said. “And she’s got some pretty big plans for that area.”
“She told me that she’s hoping to help convert this neighborhood from retail stores to an entertainment hub,” Frank told Deb. “Clubs, restaurants, places like that.”
“And she thinks Skin and Bones doesn’t exactly fit that image, I suppose,” Deb concluded.
“Could be,” Frank said.
“What if maybe she thinks she can drive me out by messing with my business,” Cody said. His words sounded clipped through his clenched jaw. “Maybe it’s time to tell her just how wrong she is.”
“Cool it,” Frank said. “We’re going to be there this afternoon. We can snoop around then—and in disguise.”
“All right!” Cody said. “To the woods.” He threw a couple of sweatshirts at the Hardys. “Here, take these,” he said. “It can be really cool up there.”
“Get your backpacks,” Frank said to Joe and Cody. “We need to be prepared to bring back anything and keep our fingerprints off it. So we need flashlights, a couple of clean towels or rags, gloves, camera, army knife.”
“How about tools,” Joe added. “Cody, can we borrow one of your dad’s screwdrivers and a small pair of pliers? You never know . . .”
“Do you have any brushes with you?” Deb asked Cody. “An archaeologist’s brush—one of the ones you use to clean your specimens. You never know what you might find on the forest floor, and we may need to brush it off.”
“Great idea, Deb,” Frank said with a smile.
“No problem,” Cody said. “I’ve plenty of them in my car. Deb, here’s an extra backpack for you.”
“Can we stop at a dry cleaner’s?” Joe asked as they climbed into Cody’s SUV. “This thing’s a mess.” He held up the sweatshirt he had been wearing when Dave fell against him. It was smeared with blood.
At the cleaner’s he handed the stained sweatshirt to the clerk. The woman gave Joe an odd look when she saw it and acted as if she didn’t even want to touch it. She carefully swept it into a bag, marked it for special treatment, and gave Joe a claim check.
Cody drove to the north end of the city and on to San Francisco’s famous Golden Gate Bridge. They were headed north across the bay. Frank looked out the window. The dusky Pacific Ocean stretched out to the left. The sun topped off the waves with dazzling yellow light.
To the right, the water curved into San Francisco Bay. Alcatraz Island sat in the middle, and from that distance, it almost looked like an oversize houseboat.
They reached the other side of the bridge and drove under the rainbow painted above the arch of the Marin Tunnel. Along the way Frank, Joe, and Cody told Deb about Dave’s confrontation with Mike Brando, Frank’s discovery in the mailing locker, and the boa that led to Joe’s capture of Brando.
After a few miles Cody pulled off the main highway and on to the road leading to Muir Woods.
“Parts of the woods are really dense,” Cody reminded them. “These are coastal redwoods, so they’re huge. Some are two hundred fifty feet tall, and the trunks can be fourteen feet across.”
“And they’re old,” Deb added. “The oldest tree in Muir Woods is one thousand years old. Most of the mature trees are between five hundred and eight hundred years old.”
“Where will we be parking?” Frank asked.
“There’s a parking area outside the entrance for visitors’ cars and tour buses,” Deb said.
“Let’s not park in the lot,” Frank suggested. “It might be better if Cody’s car wasn’t sitting empty in the parking area—just in case.”
The two-lane road curled around deep canyons and up through Mount Tamalpais State Park. At times Frank felt as if they were riding along the edge of the world.
Then they seemed to plunge into darkness as the road wound through a dark wilderness of trees and brush.
Finally Cody pulled off the road into a secluded grove of eucalyptus trees and parked the car. “We’re a couple of miles from the Muir Woods entrance,” he said. “I park here when I come up to mountain bike.”
They all strapped on their backpacks. Cody and Frank pulled on sweatshirts. Joe and Deb tied theirs around their waists. Then they started up the road to Muir Woods.
It took them about half an hour to reach the park entrance. As they approached the visitor center, Frank felt a chill. Cody was right, he told himself. It is cooler in the redwoods.
They bought tickets and headed into the forest. “Take a look at this,” Joe called to Frank. “It’s amazing.”
He stood next to an exhibit that was a slice of a tree trunk standing on its side like a wheel. The wood was divided into hundreds of rings. A chart showed how the rings helped define the age of the tree.
Frank was impatient to get moving, so he hustled the others on to the dirt path into the woods. The trees seemed to reach beyond their sight. When Frank looked up, all he could see were hundreds of huge red-brown trunks. The branches with their green needles didn’t start until way above them, and they seemed to form a far-off roof. He could just barely make out small patches of blue-white sky.
There was a group of young schoolchildren ahead on the main path. Otherwise, there were just a few visitors, scattered in twos and threes.
Occasionally they came across an enormous trunk that had fallen across the path. A small sign told them when the tree had fallen, how old it was, and that it would be left alone, as part of the natural evolution of the forest.
“This place is kind of spooky,” Joe whispered. “I feel like I’ve gone back in time. Like I’m going to suddenly see a T. rex. Or a pterodactyl’s going to make a surprise landing.”
It was very quiet. The forest was so ancient, so mysterious, that everyone spoke in low voices.
Frank checked the map the courier had drawn for him. “It’s up that way,” he said, pointing. “That’s where the delivery guy picked up the package with the anteater claw.”
Frank led Joe, Deb, and Cody on to th
e upper path for a couple hundred yards. An older woman passed them going in the opposite direction. No one else was on their path.
Finally Frank stopped. “Okay, we have to leave the path here. Let’s do it so no one sees us.”
They glanced around. There was no one in sight. Quickly they stepped off the path through a dense carpet of ferns and into a very dark, secluded area of the forest.
At last they came to the tree that the courier had drawn on the map. “This has to be it,” Frank whispered. “This is where the courier picked up the package.”
Using their flashlights and sticks to brush away the undergrowth, they scanned the area for clues—anything that might lead them to the person who had sent the anteater claw.
But they found nothing. Joe looked up. The forest was so dense in this area that he could see only one tiny patch of sky. A gray-blue veil of fog twisted down through the opening. He could hear occasional crackling noises and faint swishes and scurries. A chill across his shoulders sent his body into a shudder. He untied the sweatshirt and pulled it over his head.
As he looked around, the huge tree trunks made him feel as if he were gazing into a funhouse mirror that had reduced his size.
Joe concentrated his gaze on the ground off to the right. It was different from the forest floor where they stood.
He took a few steps in that direction. The ferns were bent and lying flat on the ground. Fallen tree bark was splintered and smashed. Occasional spots of dirt were stomped. It looked almost as if someone had forged a crude path.
Joe hurried along, following the trail of trampled plants and redwood chips. His breath caught in his throat when he saw blurry impressions in the dirt that might have been footprints.
He moved faster, casting his flashlight beam ahead. Behind him, he heard the others begin to follow.
There was no sound in front of him. Not even the scampering and slithering noises he had heard before. Just the stillness of the forest.
His eyes fixed intently on the flashlight beam, which bounced ahead of him with every footfall. Then something jarred the continuous dark picture of dirt and ferns and chips of redwood bark.
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