“Frank,” Terry called out when he saw Frank. “Great to see you. Join me for something.”
Terry was sitting in a booth along the back of the restaurant. He was dressed in a red nylon windsuit with a silver streak down the arms and legs.
“I thought you’d been banished from the kingdom,” Frank said, taking a seat at Terry’s table. He told Terry about the security guard’s warning.
“Hey, they can ban me from the set,” Terry said, “but they can’t keep me out of Tennessee! I have a nice suite at the inn across the street. I’m not leaving town until I find out who sabotaged my stunt. I’ve checked my stunt rigging, and it was definitely tampered with.”
The waitress brought Terry a burger, fries, and soda. Frank looked over the menu and ordered the same.
“So what’s happening with Cleo?” Terry asked, dousing his fries with ketchup. “Is she back on the set? I miss working with her. I haven’t seen her since the hospital. She’s got a lot of courage—she’d make a great stuntwoman.”
Frank told Terry about the script being rewritten to account for the young star’s sprained ankle. But he stopped short before telling the stunt master about the ghost illusion he’d seen in Cleo’s RV that morning. He was quiet for a minute, thinking of the rigging he’d taken from Cleo’s ceiling that was locked in his truck.
Finally he turned to Terry. “Do you ever set up any of your stunts for a prank?” he asked. “Or to pull a practical joke on someone?”
“Sure,” Terry admitted with a grin. “What’s the fun of knowing how to do all this stuff if you can’t fool your friends once in a while?”
Frank took a bite of his hamburger. He was surprised to realize how hungry he was. He hadn’t had anything to eat since his light breakfast—and that seemed like a long time ago. He thought about the ghost illusion in Cleo’s RV. Terry definitely could have pulled that off, he told himself. But why?
“Have you seen a motorcycle around town this morning?” Frank asked. “With a tall man toting a blue backpack?”
“No,” Terry answered. “Why all the questions? How come I feel like I’m getting the third degree?”
Frank told him about the man he had tackled.
“Well, I don’t know who it was,” Terry said, piling more mustard on his hamburger. “Have you and Joe figured out who’s been targeting the production?” he asked. “You’ve got to tell me everything you find out.”
Terry took a big juicy bite of his sandwich. He stared off into space as he chewed. Then he looked back at Frank with an intense stare. “I need all the evidence I can get,” he said. “I’m thinking about suing the studio.”
Frank heard the door open behind him. “And speaking of suing the studio,” Terry said, with a sweeping arm gesture. “Look who just walked in. Ernesto, join us. I thought I saw you coming into the inn last night.”
Frank turned to see a tall man enter the room. He was dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. The man smiled and waved at Terry, but his expression turned cold when he saw Frank.
“It’s motorcycle man,” Frank muttered to Terry.
“I’ll join you only if you can confirm that your friend here isn’t going to wrestle me to the ground,” the stranger said.
“Hands off, I promise,” Frank said. “Actually, I’d like to hear your story.” The man seated himself across the table from Frank.
“Frank Hardy, Ernesto Roland,” Terry said. “Ernesto wrote Parachute to Peril, the book about Jumper and his exploits.”
“I’ve heard of the book,” Frank said. “It got a lot of attention when it came out.”
“Yeah,” Ernesto said, waving the waitress over. “It got a lot of attention from this studio, too. So much that they lifted whole sections of it for the Dropped into Danger script.” He ordered a bowl of soup and a ham sandwich.
“So Ernesto sued the studio,” Terry explained. “He accused them of stealing from his book. He said they’d used his book for the script without paying him.”
“I lost the first round,” Ernesto said. “But the appeal is filed. I’m not going to let them get away with it.”
“The security guard said you were sneaking around the editing trailer this morning,” Frank said. “That was you taking off on the motorcycle after you broke my hold, wasn’t it?”
“No comment,” Ernesto replied, glaring. His mustache twitched as he spoke. “Of course the studio doesn’t want me hanging around. They don’t want me to see how much of my book they’re using in the script. But they’re not going to keep me away. I need evidence and I’m staying until I get it.”
“I’m with you, man,” Terry chimed in, taking a big slug of soda.
“They’re stealing my work, and I’m going to prove it,” Ernesto said, grabbing his water glass. “No matter what it takes.”
Anger flooded Ernesto’s expression, and for a moment Frank thought he was going to throw the glass. Then his mood seemed to pass, and he took a deep breath.
Ernesto’s outburst made Frank realize that the author had a real grudge against the production. Could he be responsible for the rest of the incidents? Frank wondered.
“Hey, maybe Frank and his brother can help you,” Terry said. “They’re detectives. I took them up to Jumper’s old shack last night to snoop around a little.”
“I’ve already been on the receiving end of Frank’s work,” the author said. “But I don’t need any help, thanks. I prefer to work alone.”
“You must have spent a lot of time up on the mountain while you were researching your book,” Frank said. “You must have found some things while you were here.”
“You collected a lot of stuff, didn’t you?” Terry said to Ernesto. “I figure that you found lots of items that were probably Jumper’s around the old shack. At least you hinted at that in your book.”
“Could be,” Ernesto said. “I have a few items. I wouldn’t say I found them exactly. Let’s just say they were given to me—a letter to Jumper from his daughter, a photo, even some things that might have been part of the loot he stole.”
Frank thought Ernesto might be hedging the truth a little. He knew the author didn’t dare admit that he had actually found evidence of Jumper’s crime. If he did, he would have to turn it over to the police in charge of the investigation.
Frank could also tell that Ernesto was flattered by the attention he was getting and happy to brag a little about his collection.
“Do you have any of it with you?” Frank asked, hoping to draw the man out. “I’d love to see an actual Jumper Herman artifact.”
“Sure, I always bring a few things when I travel,” Ernesto said. “I never know when I might run into a buyer, someone who’d like to own a little Jumper history. It pays to be prepared—to have a few samples on hand.” He took a sip of soda. “We could go over to the inn when we’re finished eating.”
“It’ll have to be some other time for me,” Terry said. “I’ve got some business to take care of. Frank, maybe we can meet this evening. I want to talk about my stunt sabotage.” Terry left so quickly that Frank didn’t have a chance to answer.
“I heard about the trouble with Cleo Alexander’s stunt,” Ernesto said. “Terry thinks it was sabotage? That means someone was targeting Cleo. Or Terry, since it was his design. Who would do that?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Frank said.
Frank and Ernesto finished their lunches and paid their bills. Then they walked across the street to the inn, which looked as if it had once been a large beautiful home. Ernesto led Frank up two flights to his room at the end of the hall.
“Wait,” Frank said as they approached the door. The skinniest possible sliver of light was showing between the door and the jamb, and Frank knew it meant that the door wasn’t closed. For a moment Ernesto held back while Frank walked cautiously toward the door.
Frank’s ears strained to hear the slightest rustle, the tiniest scrape from the other side of the door. But he heard nothing.
/> ’“This is ridiculous,” Ernesto roared from behind him. “If anyone’s in my room, I’ll kill him!” He pushed past Frank and shoved the door open.
11
Who Growls There?
Ernesto pushed the door so hard that it slammed back against the wall. The sound echoed down the hall.
The sight of the chaos in the room took all the bluster out of Ernesto. He seemed to become paralyzed, leaning against the doorjamb, unable to take the step across the threshold.
The bathroom door at the far end of the room was open, but there was no sign of anyone, so Frank cautiously stepped inside.
The rooms had been totally ransacked by someone apparently in a big hurry. No effort was made to conceal the fact that someone had been there. Drawers were left in a jumbled pile. The mattress was still half on the boxspring, half on the floor. Suitcases lay open, clothes and hangers were heaped on the floor.
One of the windows was open. When Frank peered out, he saw a roof five feet below the window sloping down to an alley. A perfect escape route, he thought.
As Ernesto walked around the room, he was unexpectedly calm. “Can you tell if anything is missing?” Frank asked.
Ernesto turned slowly to Frank. He seemed lost in his thoughts. It was almost as if he’d forgotten Frank was there. Finally he spoke. “I told you I prefer to work alone,” he said. “Leave now, and don’t tell anyone what’s happened here. I’ll report it in my own time.”
“But—”
“You heard me,” Ernesto said. “Get out.”
Frank backed out of the room, stepping over the litter on the floor. As he was leaving, Ernesto began to pick up drawers and insert them into the dresser.
Frank walked down the stairs to the lobby of the inn. His mind felt almost as jumbled as Ernesto’s room as he thought over all the strange occurrences since he had left the compound that morning. “I’ve got to find Joe,” he muttered. “He’ll never believe what’s been happening.”
“Well, look who’s here,” Sassy Leigh called out as Frank walked across the small lobby. “Have you been visiting one of the guests at the inn? I understand Terry Lavring is still in town. Cleo said she had a midnight snack with him last night after she was discharged from the hospital.”
“Hello, Sassy,” Frank said. “I could ask you the same question.”
“Actually, I heard that Ernesto Roland is also lurking around town.” She reached into a large black tote bag and took out her purple clipboard. “He’s always been one of my heroes. I was hoping to get his autograph.” She leaned in as if to tell Frank a secret. “Frankly, I agree with him. The film’s scriptwriters borrowed more than a little from his book. If I were Ernesto, I’d be angry, too.”
“So far the courts don’t agree with you,” Frank pointed out.
“Yes, but the latest appeal may bring a different verdict,” she answered. “How’s your brother doing? That was quite a scare!”
Frank’s attention focused quickly, every sense alert. “What are you talking about?”
“Why, the mountain lion attack, of course,” Sassy answered. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about it.”
“Omar attacked Joe?” Frank asked.
“Omar is the trained puma’s name, right?” Sassy said. “Well, apparently it wasn’t Omar. It was a wild animal that just wandered onto the set.”
“Was Joe hurt?” Frank asked.
“No, he’s fine,” she assured him, and told him what happened. “But apparently, your actor lion was taken, so the wranglers are pretty upset.”
“Sassy, you’ll have to excuse me,” Frank said. “I’ve got to get back to the compound right away.”
Frank sprinted out of the inn and back across the street to the truck. In minutes he was headed to the studio compound at the edge of town. He skidded to a stop in front of the wranglers’ house and ran inside.
“Frank!” Joe said, clasping his brother’s shoulder. “I looked for you in town and saw your truck. But everywhere I went, like the diner, they said you’d just left. I decided to come back here to wait. I knew we’d have to hook up sooner or later.”
“I’ll tell you all about everything later. I want to hear about your run-in with a wild puma. How are you?”
“Still here,” Joe said with a lopsided smile. “Thanks to good training and Lloyd’s tranquilizer dart.”
“We’ve been out looking for Omar,” Gene said as he and Lloyd came in. “He was taken from the trailer, but no luck finding him. We came back, hoping he’d wander back here, too.”
“I talked to security,” Joe reported. “They saw nothing strange. Trucks and equipment go up and down the mountain all day. If someone can flash an ID, that’s all they need,” Joe said. “I also talked to the Crosscook sheriff. He’s going to get some of the locals together to launch a search. He promised to let us know if anyone spots Omar.”
“Yeah, but I want to find him before they do,” Lloyd said. “I’m sure the sheriff means well, but they will still be treating Omar like a wild animal. We’ve got to get to him first.”
“Do you have any kind of a plan?” Frank asked. “Any ideas about where to look?”
“We’ve already spent time searching the edge of the town and all through the woods behind the compound,” Gene reported.
“Now we want to go up the mountain to about halfway between the location site and here,” Lloyd added. “Park the trucks and head out on foot. If Omar was released anywhere in that area, he should be following the scent back here. Maybe we can pick him up along that trail.”
“We know it’s a long shot,” Gene said. “He could be clear out of Tennessee by now … or worse. But we have to try. He’ll respond to our voices, so we’ve got to give it a shot.”
“I think we ought to take both trucks,” Lloyd said. “Then if we need to split up, we can. You two follow us.”
“Let’s go,” Frank said. The trucks were always packed with rescue, survival, and capture equipment, so they just jumped in and headed out.
While Joe drove the second truck, Frank told him about his day. He described the ghost sighting in Cleo’s RV, reaching back to show him the harness and rigging that had been used for the illusion.
“You know,” Joe said, “that’s something Terry could have cooked up if he hadn’t been sent away.”
“But he didn’t go,” Frank said, and told Joe about finding the stunt master in town. “Sassy said something weird, too,” Frank remembered. “She said Cleo told her she’d had a late snack with Terry last night.”
“So, they’re pretty good friends,” Joe pointed out.
“But Terry said he hadn’t seen her since last evening in the hospital,” Frank said. Then he told Joe about the special effects makeup and the costumes—especially Bigfoot’s.
“What are you saying?” Joe asked. “How does that figure into all this?”
“I’m not convinced that I was shoved by a bear yesterday,” Frank answered.
“You think it might have been somebody wearing the Bigfoot costume?”
“Possibly. Several people have mentioned seeing him … it.”
“Whatever,” Joe said with a chuckle.
“It could be part of a plan to terrify everyone— or someone—involved with this movie,” Frank concluded.
“But who?” Joe wondered. “And why?”
“I met a prime candidate today,” Frank said. He told Joe about tackling Ernesto and then eating lunch with him, and the mess they found later in his room.
“You’re right,” Joe said. “He definitely moves to the top three or four.”
“Who else are you thinking?”
“I hate to say it, but I keep coming back to Terry,” Joe said. “I know the wranglers think he’s clean, but there’s something that keeps pointing to him.”
“But why would he do it—what’s his motive?” Frank wondered. “Well, I’m glad he stayed around. We definitely need to talk to him some more. He wants to talk to us about the failed stunt. We can
get more information then. He’s got a reputation for being a little hotheaded. Maybe there’s been bad blood between Dustin and him.”
“Right,” Joe agreed. “So that’s four suspects—Terry and Ernesto Roland …”
“And?”
“Bigfoot and the ghost of Jumper, of course!” Joe said, giving his brother a mock surprised look.
“Sassy is definitely hoping it’s one of them,” Frank said. “We need to talk to her more, too. She’s the best source for what’s going on behind the scenes. She’s the one who told me about you and the wild puma. She’s like a pipeline up and down the mountain.”
“Looks like we’re stopping here,” Joe said, following Gene’s lead and slowing the truck. It was three-twenty.
The four decided to stay together, at least for the first part of the search. They armed themselves with packs full of flashlights, ropes, animal collars and harnesses, scraps of meat, water bottles, and knives and other forest survival items. Gene and Lloyd carried tranquilizer guns.
They were determined, but it seemed like an impossible quest. The area was wild and unspoiled. If Omar were out there somewhere, he was certainly not alone. Many creatures could be watching them, stalking them, or slithering around them.
It was so dark deep in the woods that the searchers lost their sense of time and place. “What was that?” Joe whispered. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadowy form moving from tree to tree or ducking behind a boulder. “Must have been a tree limb,” he answered himself as they moved on.
They had walked about fifty yards when a familiar smell wafted past Frank’s nose. He followed the acrid odor to the left through some tangled undergrowth. Then he lost the scent. “Did you smell that?” he asked the others in a low voice. There was no response. He looked around but saw no one. In an instant, he realized he had wandered off the trail they’d been carving through the forest.
Carefully, Frank retraced his steps through the undergrowth. A strange sound behind him made him pause for a moment to listen. It was a low throaty warbling sound. It was like a warning, a nervous noise broadcasting imminent danger. White-hot waves rippled up Frank’s back and seemed to explode in his temples.
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