Boardwalk Bust

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Then he grabbed me by the shoulder. “Back off!” he ordered. “I’ll take care of this.”

  I’m not a hothead by any stretch of the imagination, but nobody—nobody—manhandles me and gets away with it. Especially not a lifeguard this dumb. If that girl hadn’t still been lying there, needing help, I would have laid into that guy right then and there.

  Or maybe not. This guy was a specimen, even for a Jersey Shore lifeguard. From the looks of him, he might well have been a contestant in bodybuilding contests.

  He was wearing a thick gold chain around his neck and another around his left wrist—but you could tell that with one flex of his muscles he could have snapped those chains easily.

  “Leave my brother alone,” Joe said. Next thing I knew, he had pulled the guy away from me and spun him around.

  “Hey!” the lifeguard said. “Get your hands off me, punk!” He reared back and let go a left hook that caught Joe smack in the eye—the one that wasn’t already blackened.

  Now, Joe is a black belt in aikido, and a pretty fair hand at tae kwon do, too—but I know he wasn’t thinking straight right then. See, the whole point of the martial arts is to fight with your mind. Not your emotions.

  And Joe gets really emotional sometimes. Especially when he’s been sucker-punched in the eye. He can get really angry.

  And who could blame him for being caught off guard? I mean, here we’d just saved this little girl’s life. We thought high fives and pats on the back were in order—not the hard time this rockhead lifeguard was giving us.

  I could see that Joe was furious. He shook off the pain and squared his body toward his attacker. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s see you try that again, now that I’m ready for you.”

  The lifeguard was happy to oblige.

  But this time Joe was too quick for him. He ducked out of the way, and at the same time grabbed the guy’s arm and helped it along in the direction it was already going.

  Then Joe gave a slight yank. The poor slob flipped in midair and came down hard on the sand. The fallen lifeguard muttered something filthy and cracked his knuckles, getting ready for another attack.

  “Leave him alone!” one of our blond friends yelled. She stepped right between them. “Those two guys are heroes, you jerk. You should be thanking them!”

  “Yeah!” our other friend said. Several others in the tight circle surrounding us agreed.

  “Lay off!”

  “Put a sock in it!”

  “Hey!” the lifeguard yelled, brushing the sand off himself. “Everybody back off! I’m in charge here, and what I say goes!”

  “Actually, what I say goes.”

  Everyone turned to see where the booming voice had come from. There stood Bump Rankowski—Mayor Bump Rankowski.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Mayor,” the lifeguard said, suddenly looking a whole lot smaller and weaker.

  “What’s going on here?” Bump demanded.

  “Um, these two guys disobeyed my orders to clear the water.”

  “And why’d you order the water cleared?”

  “Shark spotting, sir,” the lifeguard explained.

  “There was no shark, Bump,” Joe interrupted. “It was just this surfboard’s fin, sticking out of the water. And this little girl was drowning.”

  The little girl was sitting up by now, with her head tucked between her knees. She coughed every few seconds, but it was easy to see she was going to be all right.

  Her mother had found us all by then and was kneeling down, brushing the damp hair out of her daughter’s face.

  “My baby,” she kept saying. “My baby … I just went back to our room for a minute. But I could have lost you!”

  Well, yeah. Who leaves their little girl on the beach alone for as long as she did?

  “What’s your name, son?” Bump asked the lifeguard.

  “Um, Chuck. Chuck Fatone, sir.”

  “Chuck Fatone, hmm? I’m gonna remember your name, son,” Bump said, shaking a finger at him. “I’d better not hear it again, unless it’s to say you saved somebody’s life. Understand?”

  Fatone gave Joe and me a murderous look before turning back to the mayor. “Yessir,” he said, his mouth twisted into a bitter sneer.

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Charles “Chuck” Fatone, aka “Chuckie”

  Hometown: Trenton, New Jersey

  Physical description: Age 22, 6′3″, 220 lbs. of solid muscle, movie-star suntan, blond, buzz-cut hair, perpetual angry expression on his face.

  Occupation: Lifeguard

  Background: Grew up tough, got tougher. Likes bodybuilding, being a lifeguard, impressing girls in bikinis. Doesn’t like anybody getting in his way. Never married. Never will be. Children? No way.

  Suspicious behavior: Not acting faster to save drowning child. Picking a fight with Joe. Just being a generally nasty guy.

  Suspected of: Jewel theft, maybe? Bad things (like burglaries) are generally done by bad guys (like Chuckie).

  Possible motives: Greed. Rats love cheese, and there’s no cheese like expensive bling-bling if you’re a rat like Chuckie.

  * * *

  “I hope so,” Bump said. Then he turned to the assembled crowd. “All right, everybody. Excitement’s over. There was no shark attack. You can rest assured, everything’s under control.”

  Bump’s cheerful tone seemed to calm the crowd, and they started to disperse. I could see why he was a successful politician. Everyone just naturally seemed to follow his orders.

  “All is well, everyone. Continue having fun on our beautiful beaches. Don’t go home without visiting our many fine shops—and make sure you spend lots and lots of money!” At this, he laughed with the crowd. “Oh, and don’t forget to use sunscreen!”

  With these words the tension was broken. Calm was restored. It was just another wonderful, sunny, hot day at the beach.

  “Come on with me, you two,” Bump said, throwing an arm around each of our shoulders. “I’ve got something I want to tell you.”

  He guided us to a shady spot underneath the boardwalk. Then I felt his grip on my shoulder tighten.

  “Listen here,” he said. His voice suddenly had a steely note in it. “Trouble seems to follow you boys—first the airplane thing, now this.”

  “But—”

  “Trouble is not good for business,” he continued. “Not good at all. People don’t vacation in places if they’re scared a shark will bite them. Got that?”

  “But we weren’t the ones who—,” Joe tried to tell him.

  Bump wasn’t listening, though. “When the tourists don’t come, business gets bad. Really bad.”

  “But we didn’t—”

  “And when business gets bad, mayors don’t get reelected. Comprende?”

  What could we say?

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, Bump,” he reminded us, his best politician’s smile flashing back to life. “Call me Bump.”

  He took out a handkerchief, mopped his brow, and turned back to join the crowd on the beach, waving and smiling at everyone.

  “Enjoy, everyone! Enjoy Ocean Point—Pearl of the Jersey Shore!”

  8. Scene of the Crime

  Well, that was interesting. It was a whole other side of Mayor Bump that we hadn’t seen before. There was something else to the guy, underneath his salesman personality. Something gritty and distrusting. It made me wonder what else he knew about the robberies going on in his town—and what he might have reason to hide.

  I remembered his words: “When business gets bad, mayors don’t get reelected.”

  “Hey, Frank, “I said, “I’ll bet if we tell Bump we’re here investigating the robberies, he’d have a lot more information to give us.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not going to do that, Joe,” he said. “If ATAC wanted him to know, they would have told him we were coming.”

  Frank was right. We were here undercover, and we’d have to stay that way as long as
possible—even if it meant we didn’t get access to key information.

  And, as our dad says, “There’s always another way to get the dirt.”

  We walked over to a big map bolted to the railing of the boardwalk. Frank fished in his bag and pulled out his PDA. “Let’s see,” he said, scrolling down with his pointer. “Okay, here are the stores that were robbed. Let’s see which is the nearest.”

  The Shore Thing was the obvious choice—it was just a block off the boardwalk, a little ways south. The other two places were farther down, so we’d be going the right way.

  “How’s your eye?” Frank asked me.

  “Which one?”

  There was no way around it—I was now going to have two black eyes.

  “Guess I should call you raccoon-man,” Frank said, snickering.

  “Smile a little more when you say that,” I said, and headed for a gift shop I’d spotted up ahead. “I’m gonna buy me some shades. Pronto.”

  I already had a pair for flying, but I’d wanted a pair to just kick around with on the beach, and now seemed the perfect time to go shopping. Within minutes I found a cool pair. Metal. Shiny. Plastic.

  “How do I look?” I asked Frank.

  In response, he turned and walked away. Who can blame him for being jealous of my looks?

  The Shore Thing was not what I’d expected in a jewelry store by the boardwalk. From the fancy awning to the insanely expensive stuff in the display windows, this place reeked of class.

  I should have known. Only a place like this could afford to pay for that advertisement engraved in the sand.

  “Hey, Frank,” I said, catching up to him before he went inside, “how are we gonna handle this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What are we gonna say?”

  He smiled. “Leave it to me. Just follow my lead, and let me do the talking.”

  Okay. Why not? I followed him inside and waited to see Frank’s latest game begin.

  A bell tinkled somewhere, and this woman came out from the back of the store. Her heels were high, her dress looked like a million bucks—and so did she.

  “Can I help you boys?” she asked, giving us the once-over. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn’t hold out high hopes for us as customers.

  “I was looking for a ring for my girlfriend,” Frank said.

  One of her eyebrows arched. “Aren’t you a little young to be thinking about marriage?”

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Frank said quickly. “Just a ring—with her birthstone.”

  “Okay,” the woman said, going over to the display cases and opening one up. “What’s her birthday?”

  “April 1,” Frank blurted.

  April Fool’s Day! Man, he is a smooth liar! He should have been an actor.

  What am I saying? He was acting in that store!

  “Ah,” the woman said with a smile. “She’s going to cost you. Diamonds are the birthstone for April.”

  “D-diamonds?” Frank repeated, sounding like our parrot, Playback. I knew what he was thinking: “Why didn’t I pick a different month?”

  Guys know nothing about birthstones.

  “How about a nice cubic zirconium?” the lady in the dress suggested.

  “You mean a fake?” Frank said.

  “Well, yes, but a very good one. She’ll never know.” She gave Frank a wink.

  And stupid Frank, instead of saying “Okay,” said: “I wouldn’t lie to my girlfriend.”

  The woman laughed, and I could see that Frank had won her over. “Nice boy,” she said, patting him on the cheek. “She’s a lucky girl.”

  Frank went beet red. “So, could we see the diamonds?”

  She laughed again and went to get a tray of diamond rings to show Frank. “Your friend’s a big spender,” she told me.

  “My brother,” I said.

  “Don’t you ever take those sunglasses off?” she asked me.

  “Never,” I said.

  Okay, it was lame, but what else could I say? I wasn’t going to take off my shades and show her my raccoon eyes!

  “Ma’am,” Frank said, “I heard this store got broken into pretty recently. Is that true?”

  She froze. She turned. She gave Frank a long, hard look, decided he wasn’t a criminal about to rob her, then brought the tray of diamonds over to him. “True,” she said.

  I could see that she was still shaken up by what had happened—or by the fact that Frank was asking about it.

  “Were you here when the store was broken into?” Frank asked.

  “No, it was overnight.”

  “Huh,” Frank said. “Did the police catch the guys?”

  “Are you kidding?” she said. “Do they ever catch anybody? They’re way too busy giving parking tickets to my customers.”

  “So was there a big mess?” Frank asked. “Did they break all the windows and stuff?”

  “No, not at all,” she answered, pushing the tray of diamond rings toward Frank. “Funny, huh? Now, this one’s not too expensive….”

  Frank examined the ring she was holding up. From where I was standing, about ten feet away, I couldn’t even see the stone. It had to be tiny.

  “How much is it?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen dollars? I’ll take it!”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” the woman corrected him.

  “Oh,” Frank said. “Never mind.”

  She smiled out of one side of her mouth as she put the ring back. “Maybe something … smaller.”

  “So, about the break-in,” Frank said—but he was pushing too hard now.

  The woman looked right at him, then at me, and then back at Frank. “You didn’t come in here to buy diamonds,” she said, her voice suddenly low and hoarse.

  “Uh, no, ma’am,” Frank said.

  “What do you want from me?” She grabbed the tray of diamonds and started backing away toward the display cases. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “We’re trying to track down the jewel thieves,” Frank blurted out. “We’re detectives, ma’am.”

  I couldn’t believe it! We were supposed to be undercover here, and he was blabbing about it to a total stranger!

  “Private detectives?” the woman asked.

  Wisely, Frank let her believe it. She knew too much about us already, if you asked me.

  “Yes. We look young for our age. Believe me, we’re on your side,” Frank told the lady.

  She seemed willing to listen—maybe because Frank had made such a nice first impression on her.

  “I’ve already told the police everything,” she said. “Why can’t you ask them?”

  “Ma’am,” Frank said, “whatever you told them, it obviously wasn’t enough for them to catch the crooks. There’ve been two more robberies since, and still no arrests.”

  “If you know all that, what do you want from me?”

  “Why don’t you just tell us what happened—from scratch. There might be a little detail in there that the police missed. It could be the key piece of the puzzle—you never know.”

  She curled over the counter and put her head in her hands. “It had to be an inside job,” she said in a low voice. “The security alarm never went off. There were no signs of break-in.”

  “Who do you think could have done it?” I asked her. “You must have some ideas.”

  She sighed. “I’ve thought about it ever since that night. I thought it might be this guy who owns Long John’s Silver over on Atlantic Avenue, but then I found out he’d been robbed too—the day before I was.”

  “Is there anybody else who might know how to beat your security system?” I asked.

  “Not that I can think of …” Her eyes suddenly clouded over. “Wait a minute.” She paused. “No, that’s a terrible thought….”

  “What?” Frank prodded her.

  “I did fire one of my younger employees a few weeks ago, a man in charge of maintenance and cleaning … because he k
ept coming in late. But—”

  “It’s something,” Frank said. “Maybe he was angry and decided to get back at you by robbing the place.”

  “But why would he rob the other two stores, then?” she asked.

  “She’s got you there, Frank,” I said.

  “Well, what’s his name, anyway?” Frank said. “We can at least go talk to him.”

  “I’ll give it to you,” she said, “but please—don’t harass him in any way. He’s probably innocent, and I wouldn’t want him to be angry at me….”

  Something about the way she said this made me think the woman was deathly afraid of her former employee.

  “His name is Ricardo Myers.”

  “Where can we find him?” I asked.

  “Well, somebody told me he got a job tattooing up the beach … on the pier, I think. You could ask around there.”

  “Thanks,” said Frank, getting up. “We will.” He shook her hand. “You’ve been very helpful …”

  “Mary,” the woman told him. “Mary Fleming. Here’s my card. Please call me if you find anything out.”

  “You got it,” Frank said, and then we were out of there, the little bell tinkling behind us.

  I could feel Mary’s eyes following us as we headed back toward the boardwalk and the pier.

  “What do you think?” I asked Frank.

  “About what?”

  “About her. Mary Fleming.”

  “Smart lady.”

  “Good-looking, too.”

  “Huh? What’s with you today, Joe?”

  “Nothing. I just wonder if you let her good looks blind you, that’s all.”

  “Blind me to what?”

  “Maybe she gave us a good lead,” I said. “And maybe this guy Ricardo is our man. But it’s also possible she’s sending us on a wild goose chase. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Joe, she got robbed,” Frank said. “She’s a victim, not a suspect.”

  “She knows we’re here investigating,” I reminded him.

  “So?”

  “So, she’s now officially dangerous.”

  “You are so weird,” Frank said, laughing and shaking his head.

  “Hey, Frank. You know what? It’s even possible she robbed her own jewelry store.”