The Chase for the Mystery Twister

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Insurance doesn’t work that way,” Phil pointed out. “Gill is just a salesman working for a big insurance company. The customers’ fees are paid to the parent company, and then when the customers have claims, the parent company pays them off, not Gill.”

  Joe frowned. Phil’s information put a damper on his theory.

  Frank recalled the story he had heard in the diner. “Diana Lucas’s family lost their farm because they had bought phony flood insurance from a swindler. What if Gill was doing the same thing—selling false tornado insurance policies and somehow pocketing the money?”

  “It would explain why he would disappear the moment the first tornado hit town,” Joe said.

  “But San Dimas ran a check on Gill,” Phil reminded them. “He’s been an honest salesman for twenty years. Why would he suddenly turn criminal?”

  Frank paused for a moment. “I admit I’m stumped. We need to find out more about Gill and his insurance business.”

  “The whole community of Lone Wolf is supposed to show up for the barn raising at the Parlette farm tomorrow morning,” Joe said. “While you’re talking to Bixby, Phil can warn the man at the bank, and I can go fishing for information.”

  Having agreed on a plan, the Hardys said good night to Phil and retired to their sleeping bags. Though the floor was hard and the equipment storage room was crowded and dusty, they slept as well as if they were sleeping in feather beds in a royal palace.

  • • •

  By the time Joe arrived at the Parlette farm at seven in the morning, thirty people were already hard at work.

  “We assemble the new walls on the ground,” Snowdon said as he walked over. He handed Joe a hammer. “Then we raise up the walls and secure them in place.”

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather being arrested,” Joe said.

  Snowdon nodded as he cast his eyes toward the ground. “And I’m sorry if I wasn’t completely truthful with you. I was trying to protect my grandfather. He thinks he’s been set up.” Snowdon shook his head and looked at Joe. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “We’re going to do everything we can to find out the truth,” Joe assured him. “You can help by telling me everything you know about Toby Gill.”

  “He seemed like a nice guy to me the few times I met him,” Snowdon replied. “Jed McPlat might know more.” Snowdon pointed to a young man with red hair and freckles. “He’s one of Greg Glover’s people. Gill settled a claim for Jed when he totaled his minivan while chasing an F three tornado through a mall parking lot last summer.”

  Joe walked over and kneeled down to work beside Jed McPlat.

  “Joe Hardy’s the name,” Joe said.

  “Howdy,” McPlat replied, preparing to secure a slat of wood to the frame.

  Joe held the slat steady while McPlat drove in a nail. “Did you hear about Toby Gill disappearing?” Joe asked.

  McPlat’s next swing of the hammer missed the mark. “No.”

  “Sheriff San Dimas is concerned,” Joe continued. “A lot of people bought tornado insurance from him.”

  “That’s too bad,” McPlat said. “Toby’s a solid man. I got some good, cheap auto insurance through him.”

  “And it was legitimate?” Joe asked.

  McPlat closed his left eye and peered at Joe with his right. “Yeah, it was legitimate. I wrecked my minivan, and a week later, he gave me the money to fix it.”

  “Do you remember what insurance company your check was from?” Joe asked.

  “There was no check,” McPlat said. “I told you, Toby gave me the money to fix it. It was cash.”

  “Cash?” Joe repeated. No one pays out insurance claims in cash, he thought. Unless they have something to hide, he concluded.

  • • •

  “That is shocking information,” Bixby said. He leaned back in his leather chair and shook his head. Frank was seated on the other side of his desk.

  “Sheriff San Dimas is probably out at the farm right now, looking for proof in the remains,” Frank said. “Even if our hunch about Kanner is wrong, it’s not going to hurt anything to delay paying him for a week.”

  “No, you’re right,” Bixby agreed. “When you’re dealing with such large sums of money, it pays to be prudent. United Insurers has a special team that investigates suspicious claims. I’ll have them get right on it.”

  Bixby shook Frank’s hand and walked him to the door.

  “Oh, by the way,” Frank said, “we don’t think Hal Kanner was even at his farm when the storm passed through. He said he called you right after the tornado went through, but I noticed his phone lines were down.”

  “True,” Bixby said, “but he has a cellular phone.”

  “How do you know?” Joe said quickly.

  “I . . . because he used it once when he was in my office,” Bixby replied. He opened the door to his waiting room, which Joe noticed was packed.

  “Where can I find you if I need to talk to you?” Bixby asked.

  “We’ll be at the Parlette farm, helping with the barn raising,” Frank replied.

  Outside Bixby’s office building, Frank found Phil waiting to pick him up. “The president of the bank wasn’t too keen on delaying the purchase of Kanner’s farm,” Phil said. “Kanner’s selling it dirt cheap, and he’s afraid Kanner will just find another buyer.”

  “I had better luck with Mr. Bixby,” Frank told his friend. “He’s sending a team of insurance investigators to the Kanner farm. And as long as he withholds that insurance check, Kanner’s going to have to stick around.”

  • • •

  When Frank and Phil arrived at the Parlette farm, they found Joe red-faced and dripping with sweat, helping to hoist up the first wall of the new barn. “Next time,” Joe said, grunting, “I’ll go to the air-conditioned office, and you can do the barn raising.”

  When the wall was in place, Joe took a break, and the two brothers filled each other in on what they had discovered.

  “Why would Gill pay Jed with cash?” Phil wondered.

  “Maybe he didn’t want any record of it,” Frank said.

  “Or he didn’t want Jed to know where the payment came from,” Joe added. “I think we need to take a closer look at Gill’s insurance office and see how he was running his business.”

  “And maybe Phil and I can try to track down Hal Kanner,” Frank said.

  “I don’t think we’ll have to,” Phil said. “He’s coming this way, and he looks like he’s on the warpath.”

  Joe and Frank turned to see Hal Kanner moving toward them. “You have a lot of nerve bad-mouthing me all over town!” he yelled.

  People began to move in around them to see what the row was about.

  “What’s the problem here, Mr. Kanner?” Snowdon asked.

  “These kids have been telling the bank not to buy my property,” Kanner said.

  “Why are you in such a hurry to sell it?” Joe countered. “So that you can leave town before anyone finds you out?”

  “Well, boy, maybe if a tornado had destroyed your home and everything you treasured, you’d understand why I want to leave!” Kanner shot back.

  “Everything you treasured?” Joe said angrily. “You mean your phony Ming vase and forged paintings?”

  “I have papers proving they’re all authentic,” Kanner insisted.

  “I’m sure that’s all part of your scam,” Joe went on. “You’ve probably been planning it for months.”

  Frank put a hand on his brother’s arm. “Cool it, Joe.”

  “Joe, think about what you’re saying,” Snowdon warned. “How could Mr. Kanner know in advance that a twister was going to destroy his house? It’s impossible.”

  The crowd murmured. “Snowdon’s right,” one man said.

  “Who are these kids? Does anyone know them?” another asked.

  Frank could see that they were losing credibility. “We were only trying to clear up a few questions.”

  “Like how I could call my insurance company if my line
s had been torn down?” Kanner asked. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. “Ever hear of a cellular phone?”

  “I guess we were wrong, Mr. Kanner,” Frank said. “I’m sorry if we’ve upset you.”

  Joe turned to his brother, unable to believe his ears. “He could have bought that phone five minutes ago!”

  “Chill out, Joe,” Frank said sharply, then turned to Kanner. “Please accept our apology, Mr. Kanner. If you’ve come to help rebuild the Parlettes’ barn, you’re obviously not in a hurry to leave Lone Wolf.”

  “I—I—” Kanner stammered. “I am here to help, that’s right.”

  “Well, then, let’s get back to it,” Snowdon said. The crowd broke up and returned to work.

  Joe was still fuming when Frank pulled him aside. “I think Kanner is guilty, Joe. But we’ve got some holes in the mystery we have to fill before we go after him.”

  “So your polite apology was just an act?” Joe asked.

  Frank nodded. “Now we’ve got Kanner stuck here building a barn. The longer we can stall him, the better.”

  “Don’t worry, Joe,” Phil said. “Mr. Bixby is sending a team of insurance investigators to Kanner’s farm. We’ll nail him sooner or later.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on Bixby sending anyone,” Frank remarked.

  “What do you mean?” Phil asked.

  “How did Kanner know we had accused him of lying about phoning Bixby from his farm after the twister hit?” Frank asked. “The only person I’ve mentioned it to is Bixby, and thirty minutes later Kanner shows up here brandishing a cellular phone.”

  “So Bixby and Kanner are in this together,” Joe said.

  “It’s possible,” Frank replied.

  Frank noticed a man with curly black hair and a black mustache who had been edging closer and closer to them while measuring a support beam. He kept turning his ear toward them, as if trying to catch the conversation.

  Frank lowered his voice, “But Snowdon had a good point. Even if Bixby and Kanner are working together, how could they predict a tornado?”

  Frank thought hard, recalling everything he had seen at the site of the Kanner place—the strange markings on the toppled trees and telephone poles, and the debris patterns that even an expert like Lemar Jansen couldn’t explain. “What if there never was a twister?” he said slowly.

  “What?” Phil asked.

  “What if Kanner was somehow able to recreate tornado damage by some other means?” Frank said.

  “It would take the mystery out of the mystery twister,” Joe pointed out.

  “And give us a motive for why someone jammed radar transmissions,” Phil added. “No one would be able to verify that the tornado ever existed.”

  “Joe, could you and Phil give me a hand moving this support beam?” Snowdon called. Phil and Joe moved to help, and Frank turned to see if the black-haired man was still trying to listen in. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  Joe heard a loud creaking noise. From his viewpoint, he could see the ropes that were holding up one of the new walls begin to give way. He realized his brother was right beneath the wall.

  “Frank, get out of the way! The ropes are breaking!” he screamed.

  Frank looked up just as one of the ropes snapped. The two-story barn wall was about to fall down on top of him!

  9 The Black-Haired Man

  * * *

  Frank knew he couldn’t run beyond the height or width of the great wall before it crashed to the ground. Thinking fast, he took one long stride left and tried to time his leap so that his body would end up in the space left open for the loft’s door frame.

  “Frank!” Joe screamed again as the wall crashed to the ground with a thundering boom, sending a cloud of dust shooting in every direction.

  Joe ran through the cloud, desperate to free his brother from the heavy wooden structure. Joe lifted with all his might, but it wouldn’t budge. “Help me get my brother out from under here!” he shouted to the onlookers.

  “Forget it,” a voice from the midst of the dust cloud said. “I’m over here.” Standing in the open door frame, unhurt, was Frank Hardy. Coughing up some dust, he said casually, “Don’t try this trick at home, folks.”

  The Hardys found Phil examining the ropes that had broken. “See how this part is frayed and the other half is smooth?” he said, pointing to the end of the rope. “Someone cut it halfway through.”

  All the workers had rushed over to help. Joe noticed one person was missing, though. “Where’s Hal Kanner?” he said.

  “Someone else is gone, too,” Frank told Joe. “I saw a man with black hair and a mustache listening to our conversation. He disappeared right before the wall fell.”

  “There’s thirty of us, and we ought to be able to find them,” Snowdon said, urging the group in every direction.

  Instead of rushing off with the others, Joe paused and scanned the area. He noticed a place in the cornfield where stalks had been trampled down. “Frank, over this way!” Joe called after his brother, then set off at a dead run into the field.

  Joe looked both ways down each row as he crossed them. He was crossing his ninth row of corn when someone leaped out from behind and tackled him to the ground. Joe got a glimpse of his assailant out of the corner of his eye before the man ground Joe’s face into the red dirt of the cornfield, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. Joe wriggled and bucked and tried every move he knew, but he could not shake off his opponent. He reached back and got a hold on the man’s hair.

  “Joe!” he heard his brother shouting from a distance.

  At the sound of Frank’s voice, Joe’s assailant bolted. But his hair did not go with him. Joe rolled over and found he was clutching a curly black wig. He could hear his attacker brushing past stalks of corn and jumped to his feet to pursue the man.

  This time he was on his guard when he broke through each new row, but he did not catch sight of the mystery man. He stopped to listen again and heard the sound of machinery being started up. He ran toward the sound and was just able to see the top of a farm machine over the cornstalks. As he drew near, a row of corn in front of him was flattened and cut to shreds by the rotating blade of a giant thresher.

  Joe stopped short and began to backpedal, barely able to avoid the churning blades as they grazed his clothing. He stumbled, fell to the ground, and rolled away through to the next row of corn. He made it to his feet just as that row was obliterated by the thresher.

  Joe knew he could outrun the machine if he could stay on his feet, but as he crashed through the next row of corn, his path was blocked by a tractor parked there. Joe was trapped with no time to think.

  At the last second, he dove beneath the tractor. The blades of the thresher struck the heavy metal frame of the tractor, shooting sparks against Joe’s back. His brain was filled with the earsplitting sound of metal on metal. The rotating blades stuck fast, unable to move, and the thresher’s engine stalled out.

  Joe breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “Joe?” he heard Frank calling again, much closer now.

  “Over here!” Joe called back.

  Frank and Phil quickly found Joe and helped him to his feet.

  “Are you all right?” Phil asked.

  “Better than I might have been,” Joe joked, pointing to the mangled blades of the thresher.

  “What’s in your hand?” Frank asked.

  Joe looked down and was surprised to see that through that whole ordeal he had not let go of the black wig. “It belongs to the guy who nearly made a pancake out of you and a sausage out of me.”

  “Did he look familiar?” Phil asked.

  Joe searched his memory. “Yes! The morning we got here. It was the man who was driving that unmarked white truck really fast!”

  “He would have had to make a quick change somewhere near the barn,” Frank said, “but it’s possible it was Hal Kanner in disguise.”

  Snowdon and the other barn raisers helped the Hardys scou
r the fields for nearly an hour, but there was no sign of either the mystery man or Hal Kanner.

  When they returned from the cornfield, Lemar Jansen was waiting. “Phil,” Jansen said, “we have to get down to Channel Nine.”

  “What’s up?” Phil asked.

  “All morning, Terry Clark has been hyping an interview with Greg Glover that Channel Nine is broadcasting live in thirty-five minutes,” Jansen explained.

  Just then Sheriff San Dimas pulled up in his squad car. Hal Kanner emerged from the backseat.

  “Congratulations, Sheriff!” Joe called as San Dimas got out of the driver’s seat. “You found the culprit.”

  “On the contrary, Joe. Mr. Kanner found me,” San Dimas said in a serious tone. “He’s lodged a complaint against you and your brother for slander and for threatening him in public.”

  “If you’ll come with us to the Kanner farm, we think we can prove that Mr. Kanner did not lose the priceless artwork he’s claiming,” Frank said, “and that he faked this mystery twister altogether.”

  “Frank, listen,” Jansen said. “The mystery twister does exist. That’s what the hubbub at Channel Nine is about.

  “Greg Glover has videotaped footage of the mystery twister destroying Mr. Kanner’s home!”

  10 Caught on Tape

  * * *

  The TV studio was crowded and buzzing with people when Frank and Joe made their way in with Lemar Jansen and the rest of his Windstormer team. Terry Clark was seated on a small platform in front of the cameras. Seated across from her was Greg Glover.

  “I’m extremely doubtful about Greg Glover’s presentation since you boys told me about all the things you discovered at the Kanner farm,” Jansen said.

  A technician signaled for Jansen to be quiet. The broadcast was about to start.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Terry Clark with a Channel Nine News extra,” the newscaster began. “Today science is one step closer to understanding a rare phenomenon, which meteorologist Greg Glover has dubbed the mystery twister.”