Terror at High Tide

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank glanced at Joe. “Let’s check out the view upstairs,” he suggested, glancing at a flight of stairs winding around the shaft. “You never know what we’ll find.”

  Bob began pouring corn into a chute that funneled it onto the bottom stone. Using a lever, he lowered the top stone until it ground against the bottom stone. The corn made a crunching sound as the stones ground it.

  While Callie listened to Bob, Frank led Joe up the steep, rickety stairway. As they approached the second floor, there was a sudden crack. The step was breaking.

  “Joe!” Frank shouted as he fell. He grabbed desperately for something to hold. Fifteen feet below him, the heavy machinery was working away, ready to crush whatever—or whoever—came between the heavy grindstones.

  8 Riptide

  * * *

  Frank grabbed the broken stair with his left hand. “Joe, help me,” he called. “I’m going to fall.”

  As Frank dangled over the grindstones below, Joe grabbed Frank’s left forearm, using all his strength to keep his brother from falling.

  “I need help,” Joe grunted, his face red. His muscular arms shook with the weight of Frank’s body, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Joe shouted for Bob, but the loud noise of the grindstones drowned out his voice.

  With Joe holding his left arm, Frank was able to swing his right hand up through the opening and reach for the side of the stair. “I think I can make it,” he gasped. “Pull as hard as you can.”

  Joe managed to haul Frank up another two inches. “I’ve got it,” Frank said as he clutched Joe’s arm with his right hand. With Joe’s support, Frank was finally able to scramble up through the broken stair.

  “That was close,” Joe said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Too close,” Frank said. “I thought I was going to become a corn muffin.”

  “I’m surprised Bob didn’t notice. I guess the machinery’s too loud. Come on,” Joe said. “Let’s check out the stair. Something tells me this isn’t a case of dry rot.”

  The Hardys inspected the stair, running their fingers over the old wood. “Look at this, Frank,” Joe said, examining the righthand side.

  “Wow,” Frank said as Joe pointed out rough jagged marks in the stair close to the wall. Tiny specks of sawdust lay close to the cracks in the wood. “It looks like someone took a saw to this stair but didn’t want to be obvious about it.”

  “Yeah, someone like the dune buggy driver,” Joe said. “He must have come in here.”

  Skipping the broken stair, Joe climbed to the second floor of the mill and looked out the window. “The buggy’s gone. And Alicia’s not in the Jeep,” he called. “I hope nothing’s happened to her.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Joe rushed down to the first floor. Frank, still feeling wobbly, followed at a slower pace, his eyes glancing over each nook and shadow of the mill interior. Nothing he saw seemed the least bit suspicious.

  Downstairs, the Hardys found both Callie and Alicia listening to Bob.

  “Whew,” Joe said, as his eyes met Alicia’s. “You’re here. I didn’t see you in your Jeep, and the dune buggy’s gone. Frank and I got worried.”

  “I didn’t like being out there alone, with that weird buggy parked in front of me,” Alicia said. “So I decided to join Callie.”

  “Good move,” Joe said. “And now that we know where you are, I’d like to know where that dune buggy is. Did you hear it drive away?”

  “No,” Alicia said, looking puzzled. “We didn’t hear or see anything. I didn’t even know it was gone until you told us.”

  Joe filled everyone in on what had happened to Frank upstairs. Callie and Alicia looked shocked, but Joe thought he detected a hint of guilt flicker through Bob’s eyes. Looking straight at him, Joe asked, “Are you sure no one came in here during the ten minutes before we arrived?”

  Bob’s expression clouded over with worry. “Well,” he mumbled, “to tell you the truth, I can’t be absolutely sure. Right before you got here, I left for a couple of minutes to give directions to a cyclist on the main road. I suppose someone could have sneaked in then. No one was in here, and there’s no rule that says I have to be at my post every second.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Frank told him. “You were just trying to help. But there must have been some visitors to the mill earlier today. I can’t believe we’re the first ones.”

  Bob looked thoughtful. “As I said, it’s been quiet for a Saturday. I guess everyone’s at the beach. But there was a group of women about an hour ago.”

  “Did they go all the way upstairs?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. They wandered around for a while, listened to my talk, and then went upstairs. But there were no accidents,” Bob said.

  Frank and Joe thanked Bob for his help. “You’d better get that stair fixed before anyone else goes up there,” Frank added as he and the others headed for the door.

  Back at the Jeep Alicia said, “You’re right, Frank, to wonder about Jonah Ferrier. He was the only person who knew we were coming to the Corn Mill.”

  Frank nodded, but Callie shook her head. “I just don’t buy it,” she said. “Mr. Ferrier’s a totally harmless guy. I know that from working with him.” She stared at the others. “Am I the only one around here who’s sticking up for him?”

  “At this stage of the investigation,” Joe said, “we each have to keep an open mind. And you’ve got to admit, Callie, that a lot of factors point to Ferrier as the culprit.”

  “One thing we can all agree on,” Frank said. “Someone wants us off the case.” He climbed into the backseat of the Jeep and sat next to Callie. “Why don’t we find out where Ferrier went for lunch?” he suggested. “If he has an alibi, then we could rule him out.”

  “I want to get back home,” Alicia said as she strapped herself into the driver’s seat. “If either Dad or the kidnapper calls, I want to be there. If there’s still no news, I’m notifying the police.” She thought for a moment. “Let’s stop at the inn and I’ll pick up my moped. Then you guys can borrow my Jeep to check out Jonah and join me at home later.”

  “Good thinking,” Joe said. “Let’s get moving.”

  • • •

  Back at the Island News Callie introduced Frank and Joe to Jonah Ferrier’s secretary, a gray-haired woman with a loud, confident manner. “I’m absolutely certain Jonah had lunch at the Jared Coffin House this afternoon,” she told them. “It’s the hotel a few blocks away. Jonah eats in the taproom there every Saturday with Katie Hall, the publisher of the Island News. You can always call the maître d’ if you don’t believe me.”

  “Why would he have driven there if it’s only a few blocks from here?” Frank asked her.

  The secretary frowned. “He sometimes delivers copy to Katie, who doesn’t always come in on Saturday. And he gives her stacks of books and magazines to read for the weekend.”

  “Do you know where Mr. Ferrier bought his dune buggy?” Joe asked. “It’s got an unusual design on the hood.”

  “Yes, it certainly does,” she agreed. “I’ve seen one or two others on the island, but not many. There’s a dealer named Freddie Applegate who lives near the airport. He paints Nantucket themes, like whales and lobsters, on motorcycles and dune buggies. That’s where Jonah bought his.”

  Callie and the Hardys thanked her, then headed downstairs to use Callie’s phone. Once he got there, Frank punched in the number of the Jared Coffin House. After a few questions to the maître d’, Frank hung up. “Ferrier’s there, all right,” he told them with a shrug. “He’s been chowing down for the past two hours.”

  “See?” Callie said triumphantly. “There’s no way Mr. Ferrier could have sabotaged the stair. I knew he was in the clear.”

  “Unless he had an accomplice who borrowed the buggy for a few minutes just to lure us to the mill,” Frank pointed out.

  Callie rolled her eyes. “Frank Hardy, will you never give up?”

  “Nope,” Frank said, grinnin
g. “Not until we know for sure what’s going on. Come on, let’s head over to Alicia’s.”

  “I’d also like to track down Harrison Cartwright,” Joe said. “We should find out what he and Mr. Geovanis were arguing about last night.”

  “You guys go on,” Callie said. “I’ve got to stay here and finish my work for the afternoon.”

  After Frank and Joe said goodbye to Callie, they hopped into Alicia’s Jeep and headed off toward her house.

  On the way through town, Joe took a quick detour and steered the Jeep by the Jared Coffin House. Ferrier’s dune buggy was parked outside, with a stack of magazines in the backseat.

  “Hmm,” Joe said. “Ferrier’s off the hook for the moment, I guess.”

  “Unless you go for my accomplice idea,” Frank reminded him.

  As Frank and Joe talked, Frank realized that their list of clues and suspects was growing shorter. Roberto Scarlatti was still the most likely suspect, but why would he wreck his own museum? This case needs a break bad, Frank thought.

  Ten minutes out of town the houses thinned out and grassy dunes spilled down to the ocean. Joe pulled the Jeep into a sandy driveway at the end of a long row of bushes, then headed through a clump of woods before arriving at Geovanis’s house.

  “Where’s Alicia?” Frank asked, staring at the empty driveway. “Her moped’s not here, and we made definite plans to meet.”

  “Maybe she’s at the police station,” Joe said. “She told us she’d go there if there weren’t any messages at the house.” He frowned. “I hope everything’s okay.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Frank said, hopping out of the Jeep and striding up to the front door.

  Inside the house Frank and Joe found nothing unusual—just the slight messiness they’d noticed two days earlier. Frank glanced around for notes among the mail strewn on a side table, while Joe pressed the message button on the answering machine by the front window.

  “Weird,” Joe said, cocking his ear toward the machine. “The message tape has played all the way through, so no one can leave a message.”

  “That’s bad,” Frank said. “The kidnapper or Mr. Geovanis might have thought they’d left a message, but the machine didn’t record it.”

  Joe glanced out the window, lost in thought. A prickle of fear ran down his spine. He didn’t like it that Alicia wasn’t here to meet them. Could something have happened to her while she was alone? he wondered.

  Just then Joe caught sight of a small rowboat about a hundred feet offshore. Sitting in the middle was a man wearing a huge wide-brimmed straw hat and casting a fishing line.

  A gust of wind blew the man’s hat off, and as the man struggled to catch it, Joe saw he was Jonah Ferrier. “Frank, look,” Joe said, pointing out the window. “I wonder if Ferrier could be spying on the house. That stupid hat pulled down low on his face makes him seem pretty suspicious.”

  “How did he get here so fast from the Jared Coffin House?” Frank asked.

  “I’m going to ask Ferrier a few questions,” Joe said. “Even if I have to swim out to him. Luckily, I put on my bathing suit under my clothes this morning.” He grinned. “Just in case.”

  “Not so fast,” Frank said cautiously. “Ferrier may have a weapon or something. Maybe I’d better come, too.”

  “Don’t worry, Frank. That guy’s no match for me. Also, one of us should stay up here in case Alicia comes back.”

  Frank nodded. “Okay, but I’ll be watching you from here.”

  Joe stripped down to his bathing suit, then jogged toward the water. On the beach he noticed a sailboard—nothing more than a surfboard fitted with a sail—propped against a sand dune. Perfect, Joe thought. He hauled it to the water, then guided it beyond the breaking waves.

  Though the surf was much calmer today, Joe had to concentrate hard to keep his balance while he climbed aboard. Finally he was up. Grasping the handle on the sail, he steadied the craft against the brisk wind as he glided out to sea. Squinting against the sunlight and the saltwater spray as he zoomed along, Joe couldn’t see Ferrier’s boat anywhere.

  Suddenly Joe heard a ripping sound. Glancing up, he saw the sail hanging in shreds above his head. Before Joe could react, the sail started to swing around wildly, and he knew he was in big trouble. He clung to the handle, struggling to keep his balance.

  Joe held his breath as the sail tipped toward the ocean, smacking him into a wave. As Joe plunged into the water, the current swept the sailboard out of reach.

  Joe began to swim for shore, but the current was strong. The harder he swam, the farther away from shore he seemed to go.

  Panic welled up inside him. I’m caught in a riptide, he realized—and the fast current is sending me out to sea. I’ve got to get out of here fast—or I’ll drown!

  9 Bogged Down in Danger

  * * *

  Joe’s arms felt like jelly. Everywhere he looked, he saw swells of water that were tossing him around like a cork. He opened his mouth for air, only to gulp down a load of sea water.

  Joe tried to remember something he’d heard about riptides—swimming against the current is a losing battle, but swimming across the current might work.

  Using the sidestroke, Joe swam across the current. After a few feet the ocean suddenly felt still. The riptide’s gone, Joe thought. But I’m still not home free.

  Catching sight of the shoreline on the horizon, Joe knew he must be three-quarters of a mile from shore.

  A dark speck on the water was weaving toward him from shore. Joe waved wildly, hoping it was Frank. After a moment the speck grew larger, and Joe was able to make out his brother at the rudder of a small sailboat. Yes! Joe thought, letting out a whoop of delight—he’d had a feeling Frank would come to the rescue.

  Frank brought the sailboat close to Joe and helped his brother in. Then Frank let out the sail, and the brothers sped back to shore.

  “What happened?” Frank asked as he tacked the boat. “I saw you one moment, and you were gone the next.”

  Joe told Frank about the torn sailboard and the riptide. “I wonder if Ferrier could have sabotaged the sailboard, then planted himself in that boat to lure you out to sea,” Frank said.

  “I don’t remember noticing anything wrong with the sail before I started out,” Joe said. “But who knows—it may have been tampered with. Or maybe it was frayed and just tore on its own. I wonder where it went?”

  Shielding his eyes with his hand, Joe scanned the water. The ocean glistened with sunlight, and all Joe could see was an expanse of blue-green water. The sailboard was nowhere in sight.

  “I guess we’ll never know what happened to it,” Joe said. “By the way, did you see where Ferrier went?”

  “I saw him row back to the beach in front of the house next door, while you were busy getting the sailboard through the waves. I’m not sure what he did next, because at that point I was concentrating on you.”

  “Good thing,” Joe said, grinning. “Now, where did you get this boat?”

  “Luck,” Frank answered. “A couple of kids had just come ashore to swim and have a picnic lunch. Since the surf’s pretty calm today, they’d pulled their boat all the way up to shore. I told them you were in trouble and asked if I could borrow the boat for a few minutes.”

  As the Hardys approached the beach, Joe noticed a teenage boy and girl sitting on a towel. Frank waved, then carefully guided the boat into the shallow water and pulled up the keel. As the boat touched the sandy bottom, the Hardys hopped out and pulled it ashore.

  “Thanks for letting my brother use your boat,” Joe said. “I’d be halfway across the Atlantic by now without it.”

  “No problem,” the boy said. “Glad we could help.”

  “Did you notice a man coming ashore in a rowboat?” Frank asked her.

  “Yes,” the girl said. “He pulled the boat onto the beach, and then he and a blond woman carried it up to the house next door. A few minutes later we heard a car drive away from there.” She pointed to a gray shingled
cottage down the beach, about a hundred yards from the Geovanises’ house.

  “We’ll have to ask Alicia who lives there,” Frank told Joe. Turning to the teenagers, he said, “Thanks a lot for your help.” Then he and Joe walked up the path to the Geovanis house.

  Once there, Joe took a quick shower and changed into dry clothes. Since Alicia still wasn’t home, Frank and Joe decided it was time to question Harrison Cartwright. After looking up his address in the phone book, they walked out to the driveway.

  As Joe climbed into the Jeep next to Frank, he said, “If Alicia’s not here after we finish with Cartwright, let’s go to the police.”

  “Good idea,” Frank said, and turned on the motor. Suddenly he snapped to attention. “Wait, Joe. I hear something.”

  A crunching sound of wheels on gravel and sand came from around a bend in the driveway. After a moment, Alicia appeared on her moped.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Joe said as she pulled up. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

  “Did you go to the police?” Frank asked.

  “I can’t talk, guys,” Alicia said abruptly. She climbed off her moped, flicking down the kick-stand with her foot. “I’m too busy now.”

  “You’re what?” Joe said. He couldn’t believe his ears. “How can you be too busy to find your father?”

  Alicia walked over to the driver’s side of the Jeep. “You guys need to leave,” she said.

  Frank looked at Alicia, his gaze unwavering. He could see the dark circles that rimmed her eyes. “Not before we find out where you were. We were supposed to meet here after you checked the house for messages.”

  Alicia’s eyes flickered with annoyance. “It’s none of your business where I’ve been,” she snapped. “But if you must know, I went grocery shopping. Look!” Opening her backpack, she took out a box of spaghetti and held it out to Frank. “I remembered our meeting, but I had to go to the store first. I’m just too tired to talk now.” She put the spaghetti back in her pack and started to walk away.