Warehouse Rumble

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I know,” Willingham replied, “and that’s a great story. It’ll make an interesting side story for the show. You’ve been great contestants—really great. But the show is about winning the competitions, and this time you lost. I can’t keep rerunning games on your behalf. I’ve done that a couple of times already.”

  “We understand,” Frank said, though Joe didn’t look as willing to accept defeat. “Come on, Joe. Let’s get something to drink.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Willingham said. “Watch the rest of the competitions, if you like. Your friends, Morton and Soesbee, are still in the running.” He shook hands with both brothers. “Thanks, guys. You can check with Ms. Kendall about your consolation prizes.”

  “Sure,” Joe said glumly.

  He and Frank adjourned to the break area and got themselves sodas. The number of people getting refreshments had thinned considerably, since the competition was entering its final stages. They saw Lily and Bo briefly. Lily waved and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” Bo grinned like the cat who had eaten the canary.

  “Let’s go find Chet and Daphne,” Joe said, “before I take my anger out on those two.”

  From the staff the teens discovered that Chet and Daphne’s event was being held on the infamous toxic-pool set. They headed in that direction, but ran into Ms. Kendall on the way.

  “Sorry to hear you’re not advancing,” she said sympathetically. “You really livened up the show.”

  “The show livened up our lives a bit too,” Frank replied.

  Ms. Kendall gave them their consolation packages: clothing and accessories with the show’s logo, discount coupons from local merchants and attractions, and a one-thousand-dollar scholarship bond. She thanked them again, then ran off to her next assignment.

  “Pretty good for a couple of days’ work,” Frank said.

  “Nothing to put us on Lifestyles of the Rich and Spoiled, though,” Joe said.

  Loot in hand, they found a convenient spot from which to watch Chet and Daphne compete. By the time the brothers arrived, the game was nearly over. Chet and Daphne had built a bridge over the pool from scrap metal and other debris that had been strewn around the set. Missy and Jay began putting the final pieces on their own bridge as Chet and Daphne stepped onto their construction.

  The Hardys’ friends tottered across the rickety apparatus toward the far side of the pool. As they neared the end, Chet lurched and almost lost his footing. For a moment it looked as though he would topple into the bubbling green water.

  Missy and Jay stepped onto their makeshift bridge.

  As Chet teetered on the brink, Daphne reached out and grabbed his hand. She gave a hard yank and pulled him across the bridge—and over the finish line. A golden band rested on a rusty pedestal nearby.

  Chet grabbed it and shouted, “Yes!”

  Ward Willingham appeared and congratulated them, then offered his condolences to the losers. Missy and Jay stuck their tongues out and skulked away.

  “Class, all the way,” Joe said, rolling his eyes.

  Since setting up for the finals would take some time, Chet and Daphne had the rest of the afternoon off. The four friends stopped at the Town Spa restaurant to celebrate Chet and Daphne’s success. They used one of the Hardys’ consolation coupons to pick up some pizzas for cheap, then headed back to the Hardys’ home for an early dinner.

  “You know,” Chet said as they ate around the kitchen table, “I think this is the first time I’ve finished a contest ahead of you guys.”

  Frank and Joe laughed. “This time, the better team won,” Frank said.

  “Yeah,” Joe agreed. “I hope that turns out to be true in the finals, too. But someone is definitely messing with Warehouse Rumble. And the big question is: Why?”

  “Have the problems on the sets been accidents, or are they sabotage?” Frank asked. “Who was lurking around the warehouse with a flashlight the other night? Who was the masked mutant that jumped Chet?”

  “How did the dead guy—Joss Orlando—get in the chimney?” Chet added.

  “And what, if anything, does his skeleton have to do with the rest of the trouble?” Daphne asked.

  “Clark Hessmann and Ms. Allen would both profit if Warehouse Rumble goes under,” Frank said. “Willingham’s publicity-hungry, so the news reports—even when they’re bad—might benefit him too. Bo Reid, Jay Stone, and Missy Gates were all helped by the accidents—even though Missy got hurt.”

  “She seemed okay today, though,” Daphne said.

  “Right. So we can’t rule any of them out as suspects,” Frank said.

  “If Missy and Jay were the masterminds, it didn’t stop them from being eliminated,” Chet noted.

  “How does it all tie together?” Joe asked, clearly frustrated.

  “How did Ms. Forbeck’s ring get in the warehouse?” Daphne asked. “Could someone have planted it there for publicity?”

  “The chance of you stumbling on it seems pretty slim, given where it was,” Chet said.

  “We don’t even know how long that ring had been there,” Frank said. Then his brown eyes lit up. “Wait a minute! That’s something we haven’t looked into.”

  “How long the warehouse has been abandoned?” Joe said, picking up his brother’s thought.

  “I bet we can find out on the Internet,” Daphne suggested. “The Bayport Journal-Times has its archives online.”

  All four of them pushed aside their food and headed for the Hardys’ computers. A few moments later both brothers were surfing the Net as their friends looked on and offered advice.

  “You were right, Frank,” Joe said. “Those warehouses have been closed for more than twenty years. That ring couldn’t have gotten dropped by someone who worked there—it wouldn’t have just been sitting in a puddle.”

  “That suggests it was dropped by the thief—and the thief must have been in the building sometime after the robbery,” Frank said.

  “There’re fifteen years between the robbery and now, though,” Chet said.

  “Yes,” Joe replied, “but none of the other jewels have been recovered. The police or insurance company would have spotted them if they’d turned up on the market. If the thief didn’t dispose of the jewels, the question is: Why not?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to sell them,” Chet suggested.

  “Why steal them if not to sell them?” Joe asked.

  “And if the thief stole them for himself, why lose one in an old warehouse?” Daphne added. “You’d think he’d put them someplace safe.”

  “You’d think,” Frank said. “So either he didn’t sell them because he was lying low for fifteen years . . .”

  “ . . . or he didn’t sell them because he couldn’t,” Joe said. “Either because he lost them, or . . .”

  “. . . because he died shortly after stealing them.” Chet blurted. “The skeleton in the chimney!”

  “You think Joss Orlando stole the jewels?” Daphne asked.

  Both brothers nodded.

  “Get a load of this,” Frank said, reading from his computer screen. “It’s from fifteen years ago: ‘Bayport resident Joss Orlando has been missing for over two weeks now. Police are baffled as to his disappearance. His wife and small children haven’t seen Mr. Orlando since the night of April sixteenth, when he went out to get some groceries—’”

  “April sixteenth!” Chet put in. “That’s the night of the Forbeck robbery!”

  “Exactly,” Frank said. “But there’s more.” He and the others continued to read silently as Frank scrolled through the rest of the article.

  “So,” Joe said after they finished reading, “the trouble on the set of Warehouse Rumble isn’t about the game—it’s about the missing jewels.”

  “Aside from Chet’s accident, the real trouble only started after the news broadcast about the skeleton in the chimney,” Frank said.

  “So the thief was never caught because he was dead in that chimney the whole time,” Chet said.

  “And the
jewels weren’t found because he still had them—either in the chimney, or somewhere nearby,” Daphne concluded. “Maybe near where I found the ring.”

  “That seems likely,” Frank said, “even though the police searched that tunnel. I’m betting that the lights the exterminator saw in the warehouse came from people who were looking for the jewels.”

  “But who would even know where to look?” Chet asked.

  “They don’t know where to look,” Frank said. “Which is why they’re trying to clear everyone out of the warehouse.”

  “That explains the accidents,” Daphne said.

  “Here’s something else,” Joe said, pulling up another article onscreen. “‘Demolition of the warehouse is scheduled to begin next week,’” he read aloud, “‘after shooting ends on the show.’”

  “So if the jewels are in the warehouse, the thief doesn’t have much time to retrieve them,” Daphne noted.

  “I bet they’ll try again tonight,” Frank said. “Let’s check Orlando’s background a bit more, then head down to the warehouse and see what’s up.”

  • • •

  By the time the Hardys and their friends drove up the dirt road toward the old warehouse, stars were peeking out of the cloudy sky overhead. The Warehouse Rumble crew had already departed for the night, and the warehouse complex stood dark and still.

  “Look—a light!” Chet said, pointing. “Out on the old docks.”

  “Joe,” Frank said, “turn off the headlights so they don’t spot us.”

  “Check,” Joe replied. He switched off the headlights and pulled over as close to the docks as he could without being seen. “Chet, you and Daphne go get the cops while Frank and I check this out.”

  “I wish we had your cell phone,” Daphne said.

  “Those are the breaks,” Frank replied, shrugging. He and Joe got out of the van. “Come back as quickly as you can. We’ll make sure the thief doesn’t escape.”

  “Right,” Chet said. “See you in a couple of minutes.” He slid behind the wheel and drove back they way they’d come. The Hardys sneaked down toward the old docks.

  Knee-high weeds and tangled bracken made traversing the hillside between the road and the docks tricky, but the Hardys’ Scout training enabled them to move quickly and almost noiselessly through the brush.

  As they drew closer they saw figures moving on the third wharf over.

  “I only see one guy,” Joe whispered.

  “That’s surprising,” Frank whispered back. “I was expecting two.”

  The man prowling the docks wore black clothing and a ski mask. He was careful about using his flashlight—but not careful enough. The brothers easily kept track of him as they crept closer. He seemed to be tying a rowboat to one of the pylons.

  As the Hardys crept up behind him, someone yelled, “Look out!”

  The masked man turned, a big oar in his hand, and rushed toward the brothers.

  The oar caught both Hardys in the chest as the thief pushed them toward the edge of the dock. Within seconds the rotten boards gave way beneath their feet, and the Hardys sank to the dark waters below.

  15 Dock and Tackle

  * * *

  Frank and Joe both managed to grab the edge of the dock as they went down. Splinters of wood stabbed their hands, but they held on tight. The thief continued swinging his oar at their heads, showing no mercy.

  The Hardys ducked, and the burglar missed. His effort nearly sent him over the brink with them. With a snarl, he threw the oar at the brothers, then turned and ran toward the warehouse. The oar missed Frank, but it smashed Joe across the fingers.

  Joe yelped and lost his grip on the dock. Frank reached his hand out just in time, and grabbed the back of Joe’s shirt. The younger Hardy’s feet splashed in the chilly water for a moment before he grabbed on to a nearby pylon.

  Just when Joe was in the clear, Frank’s remaining fingers slipped off the decaying wood. He thrust his other hand up just in time to prevent himself from falling. With a mighty effort he heaved himself onto the rotten planking once more. Then he stuck his hand down and helped Joe up.

  “Thanks,” Joe said. “Did you see which way he went?”

  Frank edged across the dock and glanced at the boat. “No loot here,” he said, “and he wouldn’t have had time to collect it before running. I’m betting they’re still searching the warehouse for more buried treasure.”

  “We’d better go after them,” Joe said. “They won’t try to escape this way now. And you know, they probably stole the rowboat to begin with.”

  The brothers left the decaying docks and raced toward the warehouse. The heavy chain that locked the back door had been cut. The dilapidated property had no electronic security system, despite the fact that TV sets and expensive equipment were stored inside.

  “Lucky for the thieves—and us,” Joe noted.

  While escaping the wharf, they’d lost sight of the burglar. Fortunately the noise of his movements echoed through the eerie silence of the warehouse. It didn’t take the brothers long to home in on the sounds.

  They climbed through a bulkhead door and carefully descended a rickety stairway into the basement. Frank’s penlight gave them just enough light to see by.

  “Weren’t the furnace rooms this way?” Joe whispered.

  “That would make sense,” Frank whispered back. “A furnace below that broken chimney.”

  Joe nodded.

  “Keep moving!” said a voice echoing through the darkness. “Those guys know we’re here! They can’t be far behind. They might have even called the cops!”

  “I knew they were trouble,” a second, higher voice replied. “It’s too bad our tricks didn’t put them out of commission for good.”

  Joe held up two fingers and mouthed the word two to his brother.

  Frank shot him a smile. Their original suspicions had been right.

  A light shone out of a doorway on the right side of the dark tunnel ahead. Frank motioned that they should try a flanking maneuver. Joe nodded and pressed himself against the wall opposite the door. He crept quickly to the far side of the door, staying out of the light.

  “Give me a hand, here,” said the first voice. “The bag is wedged in.”

  “Cut the bag if you have to,” said the second voice. “We only want what’s inside.”

  Joe peeked into the room and then mouthed to Frank, No way out.

  Guns? Frank mouthed back.

  Joe shook his head.

  Frank nodded and called, “We know you’re in there. The police are on the way. You might as well give up!”

  A masked figure charged out of the room toward Frank’s voice. He held a sledgehammer, and was clearly looking to pound someone. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Frank.

  Quick as a flash, Joe darted out of the shadows and grabbed the thief from behind. He slipped his hands up behind the burglar’s neck, locking him in a full-nelson wrestling hold. The sledgehammer slipped from the burglar’s grasp and clanked onto the tunnel floor. “Help!” the thief gasped.

  A smaller masked figure ran out of the furnace room, crowbar in hand, and headed toward Joe and the struggling burglar.

  Frank dropped into a spin-kick and swept the second thief’s legs out. The smaller burglar landed hard on the damp concrete floor. Frank pinned the thief to the ground.

  Within moments the Hardys had subdued both intruders and tied them with their belts. The sound of police sirens approaching the warehouse echoed through the dank passageway. Frank and Joe looked at each other and grinned.

  “Lily and Todd Sabatine, I presume,” Joe said.

  He and Frank pulled off the intruders’ black ski masks.

  Todd growled something incoherent; Lily spat at them.

  The brothers dusted themselves off and peered into the room that the Sabatines had just exited. Inside lay the rusting hulk of the old furnace at the bottom of the broken chimney. A black leather valise was caught in the iron grating that covered the furnace door.


  Rats had eaten several holes in the old case. Even in the dim light of the basement the gold and gemstones inside glittered.

  “I’m sure,” Frank said, “that Ms. Forbeck will be glad to have her jewels back.”

  • • •

  The impromptu celebration at the Hardy house lasted until well after midnight. Callie and Iola had shown up, and the Hardys’ parents joined the party too. As they discussed the Hardys’ case, Aunt Gertrude continuously replenished the supply of milk and cookies.

  “You four sure can get into a lot of trouble without Callie and me,” Iola said, smirking.

  “Trouble or no,” Fenton Hardy said, “you did well. I’m very proud of you both.”

  “So, Clark Hessmann, Stacia Allen, Bo Reid, and even Missy and Jay had nothing to do with the problems?” Callie asked.

  “Amazingly, no,” Joe replied. “They were just being opportunistic. The Sabatines were behind all the trouble.”

  “The thing that made them hard to catch,” Frank said, “was that the two of them worked together.”

  “For instance, Todd never even went to the cast party,” Joe continued, “and that’s where Willingham’s prescription sleeping pills were dumped into the punch bowl. Lily did that.”

  “And at other times, Todd would cause trouble while Lily had an alibi,” Frank said. “Occasionally they even created alibis for each other, and tried to throw suspicion on someone else.”

  “Like Bo, or Missy and Jay,” Daphne said, “who all were pretty suspicious anyway.”

  “I guess the Sabatines figured that anything that slowed down the production was helpful to them,” Chet said.

  “Right,” Joe agreed. “They needed time to find the lost jewels. Joss Orlando—the thief—was their father. As we saw in the newspaper archive, their mother remarried after he disappeared, and changed the family name to Sabatine. Todd and Lily were just little kids at the time. Because of that, no one connected them to the skeleton in the chimney. When Todd and Lily heard that their father’s body had been discovered, they knew the jewels he had stolen had to be hidden somewhere in the warehouse.”