Trick-or-Trouble

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Missy glanced around at the rubble before settling down on one of the logs at the clearing’s edge. “Call the cops if you don’t believe me,” she said with a sly grin.

  Stone stood beside her. “Don’t mind us,” he said. “We’ll just watch while you swim in pumpkin slime.”

  Frank shook the pumpkin guts off his hands. “No sense doing that, if the prize has already been taken,” he said.

  “My guess,” Missy said, “is that whoever knocked down the pyramid took the prize.”

  “That’s possible,” Joe said, wiping his hands on his coat.

  “Well, I don’t buy it,” Jackson said. “I think one of you guys took my prize.”

  “Grow up, Jackson,” Missy said. She stood up and shoved an old log with the heel of her boot. The log rolled a half turn and bumped into the cornstalks. “C’mon, Jay,” she said. “Let’s leave these losers before losing rubs off on us.” She turned and walked into the corn rows. Stone followed her.

  “Nice that Missy’s got a new dog,” Joe said.

  “Very funny, Hardy,” Jackson said. “This isn’t over, you know!” He gathered up the broken pieces of the ceramic pumpkin and stalked off into the corn.

  “Now what do you suppose he wants with those pieces?” Callie asked.

  “Maybe he’s starting a collection,” Joe suggested. “It’s not like he’s going to win anything.”

  Frank chuckled. “Missy Gates is clever,” Frank said.

  “What do you mean?” Joe and Callie asked simultaneously.

  “She was trying to get everyone riled up, so we’d stop looking for clues,” Frank replied. “But, if you remember, last time we solved a two-riddle puzzle it led to both a prize—which we didn’t get—and a clue.”

  “On the roof of the antique store!” Callie said. “So there must be another clue around here somewhere.”

  Joe nodded. “And I think I know where.” He walked to the log where Missy had been sitting and pulled it out of the cornstalks into its original position. The log made a vague clanking sound as he yanked on it. “This log is chained to some stakes,” he said, “so no one can take it from the field. And check out the top.”

  Frank and Callie walked over and saw a message carved into the surface of the old wood: To burn the runes he ran off track, but demon had him for a snack.

  “Clever girl,” Callie said. “She thought by pushing the log over she’d hide the clue from anyone else who came to look.”

  “She didn’t count on the Hardy brothers’ keen powers of observation,” Joe said, chuckling.

  “Jackson was so riled up he missed it completely,” Frank said.

  “There was something about runes in a movie I saw once,” Callie said. “I can’t remember it right now, though.”

  “We’re all tired,” Frank said, “and it’s after midnight anyway. We should go home and get some sleep. We’ll think better in the morning.”

  They wrote the new clue below the two that had led them to Farmer West’s pumpkin patch, and then went back to the van and headed home.

  “Boy,” Joe said after they dropped Callie off, “this case is something. We’ve got the mystery of the devil-masked man to deal with, the break-in at the vault, and the puzzles in the contest as well.”

  “It’s hard to see how it might all fit together,” Frank said. “Is there some conspiracy here, or just cutthroat competition?”

  “We’ll get a fresh start tomorrow,” Joe said, yawning. “After school.”

  “I can’t wait for Saturday,” Frank said. “At least then we’ll be able to sleep in before the contest starts up.”

  The high school buzzed with contest gossip the following morning. The Bayport Chronicle even ran a small story about the clues leading to the winning of the VW beetle; Allison proudly showed off the classic car before class.

  “No doubt who’s ahead in this competition,” Joe said to Frank and Callie.

  “Slow and steady wins the race,” Frank reminded them.

  “Then why do I feel like I’ve been run over?” Callie quipped.

  Missy Gates took great delight in telling the tale of the pumpkin patch avalanche to anyone who would listen during the school day. At lunch people kept offering the Hardys and Brent Jackson pieces of pumpkin pie.

  Callie put her lunch tray down on a table next to the Hardys. “I remembered the movie where I’d heard about runes,” she said. “It was The Rocky Horror Picture Show. One of the songs says, ‘Dana Andrews said prunes, gave him the runes.’”

  Joe made a face. “What does that mean?”

  “The music is very satirical,” Callie said. “Maybe it’s a reference to another film. Rocky Horror has lots of jibes at other movies.”

  “We can check it on the Internet,” Frank said. “I’m sure there’s a site or two devoted to Rocky Horror lyrics.”

  A web search during study hall turned up some information, but none of the three were feeling much further ahead at the end of the school day.

  As darkness approached, the brothers picked up Callie and headed downtown for their first stop. As they neared the Book Bank, Callie spotted Missy Gates ahead of them. She was on a small motorcycle.

  “Let’s follow her,” Callie suggested, “and see what she’s up to.”

  “Okay,” Frank said, checking his watch. “We’ve got a little time before the contest starts.”

  They followed Missy out to Magnum American Motors. She pulled into the small parking lot on the side of the building and walked toward the front door. The Hardys parked their van across the street, a short distance from the entrance. The corner of the building shielded them from Missy’s view.

  Missy stopped outside the door. They heard Howard “Harley” Bettis’s voice.

  “You can’t come in,” Bettis said. “The boss is out. He doesn’t want my friends hanging around when he’s out.”

  “When did you become such a stickler for rules?” Missy asked.

  Harley grumbled. Missy laughed and walked through the door into the shop.

  “Well, we already knew those two were in cahoots,” Joe said.

  Callie sighed. “We might as well get to the Book Bank and kick off tonight’s treasure hunting.” Frank turned the van around, and they drove to their usual parking spot by the river before hiking back to the Soesbees’ bookstore.

  They lined up with the other customers and picked up their three clues just after sunset. They chose Romero Remodeling as their second stop, and opened the clues as they walked there.

  “Boy, I’m getting tired of duplicates,” Joe said after examining the first one.

  Frank shrugged. “There’s a limited number of prizes, so there can only be a limited number of clues. I got us a free cup of coffee at Java John’s, though.” He held up the instant winner.

  “Here’s a new one,” Callie said. “Sails may fray but these decay, where rigging webs the rafters.”

  “That sounds like boats,” Joe said. “Didn’t we have another clue about boats?”

  “Yes!” Callie said, her eyes lighting up. “The one about Vanderdecken—he was the Flying Dutchman, a doomed mariner cursed to wander the seas.” She fished into her purse and pulled out the old clue. “Vanderdecken wouldn’t be caught undead tying one on here.”

  Frank gave her a quick hug. “You’ve been doing some research,” he said. “Good work.”

  “‘Tying one on’ might not be a reference to beer,” Joe said. “It could be about mooring boats.”

  “And where would rigging web the rafters and tied boats decay?” Frank said.

  “At the old nautical warehouse!” they all said simultaneously.

  “We were working on the floats near a clue and never even guessed!” Callie said.

  “We can walk there from here,” Frank said. “It’s only a little farther than going back to the van.”

  “Let’s hustle,” Joe said, breaking into a jog.

  They reached the old dock warehouse in under fifteen minutes. Sweating and o
ut of breath, they opened one of the big, barnlike doors partway and slipped into the huge garage area where the floats were stored.

  “The clue must be in one of the back rooms, or we’d have seen it while we were working on the floats,” Callie said.

  “Lead on,” Frank replied.

  Callie skirted around the Werewolf’s Wagon and the other floats, and took them toward an unused storage area. They dodged around some big pieces of tackle and some other old fishing equipment, and they came to a worn door.

  Frank pulled the door open, and they all walked into the large, junk-filled room beyond. A message had been hastily spray painted on one wall in large, red block letters: GRANTED DIRECTIONS, WITH ONE HITCH, TO ABANDON YOUR TRAILING.

  Joe scratched his head. “Another mystery,” he said.

  “The prize!” Callie exclaimed, picking up a ceramic pumpkin. “This time, we’re first, and no one can claim otherwise.” She opened the pumpkin, took out the prize envelope, and smiled proudly.

  Something rattled in the back of the room. Frank shone his flashlight in that direction.

  A helmeted figure moved quickly through the shadows.

  “Too late, pal,” Joe said. “We got here first. You’ll have to settle for the big clue.”

  As he said it, though, the figure pushed some fishing tackle at them and dashed out the door. The brothers had to dodge the debris and Callie tripped and fell back against the spray-painted wall.

  Frank helped her up. “Are you okay?” he said. She nodded.

  “I think we might have found our troublemaker,” Joe said, running out after the helmeted man. Frank and Callie soon followed.

  “You think there’s a devil mask under that helmet?” Frank asked, following him.

  “Let’s catch him and find out,” Joe replied.

  The two of them burst into the float warehouse, with Callie close behind.

  Suddenly, though, blinding headlights shone in their eyes, and a mighty engine roared.

  The brothers spun around to see Dracula’s Dragster bearing down on them full throttle.

  10 Werewolf’s Wagon vs. Dracula’s Dragster

  The big black float roared like a dragon as it sped across the concrete floor of the old dock warehouse. It was heading straight for Frank and Joe.

  “Jump!” Frank said.

  The brothers dove to either side as the float zoomed between them. Callie stepped out of the way to avoid being bowled over by Frank.

  The dragster crashed through the half-open doors of the warehouse, flinging them wide as it skidded out onto the street.

  Callie gave Frank a high five. “Thanks,” he said. “Do you have the keys to that float you’ve been working on with Iola?”

  Callie nodded and dug into her purse.

  “C’mon, Joe,” Frank called as Callie handed him the keys. “We’re going after him.”

  The brothers sprinted to the girls’ furry float and hopped in. Frank started the engine, and Joe moved a fake wolf’s tail off of the windshield of the stripped-down pickup.

  “Bring it back in one piece!” Callie shouted. Frank slipped the truck into gear and roared out of the warehouse.

  “Call the cops!” Joe shouted back to her as they sped away.

  The dragster didn’t have a big head start, and both cars were old and hadn’t been built for speed.

  “Step on it, Frank!” Joe said.

  “Pedal’s already to the metal,” Frank replied. “Let’s just hope that dragster doesn’t have any more horses than we do.”

  “Man,” Joe said with a smile, “you think they’d put some more power in these floats!”

  Both brothers laughed.

  Dracula’s Dragster wove through the streets. It was heading north from downtown. Werewolf’s Wagon was close behind. Costumed prize-hunters pointed and stared as the floats zipped by.

  The black car veered left on Howard, then right onto Phillips, passing the Dungeon Guild—the outermost shop participating in the Spooktacular.

  They took a sharp right onto Ashton, heading east toward the river’s bank. The rear end of the Werewolf’s Wagon skidded as Frank wheeled it around the corner. The tires howled and the back fender nearly smashed into a pile of trash cans stacked at the edge of the curb.

  Frank fought for control, and soon brought the float back on course.

  “He’s headed for the park by the waterfront,” Joe said, peering into the darkness after their enemy.

  “Bad move,” Frank replied. “There aren’t a lot of roads down there, and they’re all relatively straight. No way he can lose us in that park.”

  As they crossed Burlington Avenue, the black car suddenly veered off the road and cut diagonally through a small green, weaving around the benches and deserted playground equipment.

  Frank took the long way around.

  “Why didn’t you follow?” Joe asked.

  “This thing steers like a cow,” the elder Hardy replied. “If I tried to take it through that park, we’d hit something for sure.” He smiled grimly. “Besides, I’d rather not rip up public property if we don’t have to. Don’t worry, he won’t gain much time with this trick.”

  By the time the Hardys rounded the park, Dracula’s Dragster had opened up its lead by another half block—but they still had it well in sight.

  “Now he’s going for the beach area,” Joe said as the black car veered right again.

  “I see it,” Frank said, cranking the wheel over. The wagon squealed and shimmied as he guided it onto the curving road leading to Bayshore Drive.

  The beach area officially closed at dusk, and the Spooktacular had drawn away the teenagers who usually hung out at the waterfront. The two cars tore down empty Bayshore Drive.

  As they passed the beach, Dracula’s Dragster took a sudden right turn into the beach parking lot.

  “Now what’s he up to?” Joe asked.

  Frank swerved the Werewolf’s Wagon into the lot as the dragster careened over the curb and onto the beach. The sedan’s oversize tires kicked up huge clouds of dust as it skidded across the sand.

  “Go for it, Frank!” Joe said.

  Frank gunned the wagon’s engine and zoomed onto the beach. He spun the wheel hard and angled after the stolen float. The wagon’s motor whined as it worked hard to gain traction on the sand.

  “We’re losing him!” Joe said. “Keep up the speed!”

  “I’m trying,” Frank replied.

  A small dune launched their front end into the air. The Werewolf’s Wagon hit the sand hard. Its tires spun, digging into the powdery grit. With a sudden lurch, the car stopped, the tires still wailing, trying to gain traction in the sand.

  Dracula’s Dragster skidded off the beach and up the boat launch. Moments later, it zoomed back onto Bayshore Drive.

  Frank shifted from forward to reverse and back again, hoping to extricate their vehicle from the sand. It was no use. He hit his palm on the steering wheel in frustration. “Those big tires really helped him out on the sand.”

  “We did what we could,” Joe said. “He was lucky, that’s all. I’ll call the cops and tell them which way he’s headed.”

  “Call Callie, too,” Frank said. “Tell her to bring the van. We’re going to need a tow off this beach.”

  An hour and a half later they’d towed the wagon back to the warehouse and cleaned it up. Officer Sullivan took their statements and informed them that Dracula’s Dragster had been found a few blocks away from the beach.

  “Near Magnum Motors,” Joe whispered to Frank and Callie.

  “Looks like it had been hot-wired,” Sullivan said. “No sign of the culprit, though. You kids try and keep your noses clean from now on. I don’t want to be seein’ you again during this contest.”

  The Hardys and Callie got into the van and drove back to their parking spot by the river.

  “We came so close!” Callie said, clearly frustrated. “We almost had him!”

  “At least the bad guy didn’t get the prize this time,
” Joe said. “By the way, what did we win?”

  Callie slapped her forehead. “You know, I got so wrapped up in this, I forgot to open the envelope! I’m surprised I remembered to write down the clue from the warehouse wall.”

  “Well?” Joe said. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

  They all gathered around while she fished the envelope out of her purse and tore it open.

  “We’ve won two pairs of Walkabout walkie-talkies from Corman and Cross Electronics,” Callie said with a smile.

  “Cool,” said Joe.

  “Not a bad prize,” Frank said. “They might even help with this investigation.”

  “Oh, so this is an ‘investigation’ now, not a contest?” said Callie.

  “Well…it’s both,” Frank replied.

  “We can swing up toward Corman and Cross and collect our prize as we gather more clues,” Joe said.

  “Who’ll we give the fourth walkie-talkie to?” Callie asked.

  “How about Iola,” Joe suggested. “After the contest is over, of course. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking she’d helped us win the prize.”

  Callie nodded. “Good deal. C’mon, let’s get going. Thanks to that car chase, we’re way behind on our clue collecting.”

  They walked down the park path toward Corman and Cross. Several costumed prize-hunters passed them, going the other way, heading over the footbridge into the heart of downtown.

  “The guy that took Dracula’s Dragster hot-wired it pretty quickly,” Frank said.

  “I noticed that, too,” Joe replied. “Makes you think it might have been someone who works with cars.”

  “Or motorcycles,” Frank said, nodding.

  “Are you thinking Harley Bettis—or one of the other Kings?” Callie asked.

  “Harley, mostly,” Frank said. “As Joe noted, the stolen dragster ended up just a couple of blocks from Magnum American Motors.”

  “We could go ask Magnum where Harley’s been tonight,” Joe suggested. “Find out if he took a break around then.”

  “If you think he’d tell us,” Callie said. “First things first, though. Let’s pick up these walkie-talkies and grab some more clues. Otherwise, we’ll be out of the hunt for good.”