Crime in the Cards (8 page)

Frank kept skidding toward the ATV. Desperate, he leaned over the handlebars and spun his bike on the front wheel. The rear of the bike whipped around and hit the four-wheeler. The collision threw Frank over his handlebars.

The elder Hardy tucked into a forward roll, hoping to blunt the impact as he crashed. He landed hard on Joe and the ATV rider, cracking his elbow on the rider's helmet. The three of them tumbled down the side of the pond, stopping two feet before the water's edge. Riderless, the ATV rolled down into the pond and sputtered to a stop.

Joe and Frank lay stunned for a moment. The ATV rider groaned.

“Are you okay?” Joe finally asked.

“Yeah,” Frank replied. He felt woozy, but the spots had begun to clear from his eyes. “How about you?”

“I've been better,” Joe said. “At least we caught the guy we were after.”

Frank and Joe disentangled themselves from the rider and rolled slowly to either side. “Do you think he's all right?” Frank asked.

Joe dragged himself into a sitting position. At the same time, the rider groaned again. “He's alive, at least,” Joe said.

Despite the pain in his elbow, Frank sat up. The rider sat up as well.

“Are you guys crazy?” asked a muffled voice from inside the helmet. “Man, does my head hurt!” He pulled the helmet off and set it on the grass beside him. The face under the helmet belonged to Gerry Wise.

Frank's and Joe's hearts sank. They'd caught the wrong man.

As the bad news sank in, lights from a police cruiser appeared on the far side of the pond. A voice coming over a loudspeaker said:

“All of you, stay right where you are!”

Joe and Frank knew the Bayport Police Headquarters well. They'd been there many times while working on cases. Usually, though, they came as visitors, not suspects.

The brothers sat in a holding area while the police worked out the details of what had happened. Finally, their friend Officer Con Riley came over to see them.

“Well,” he said, “this is a bigger mess than you're usually in.” Con often lent them a sympathetic ear when they were working on a case.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Frank said, rubbing his sore elbow.

Con shook his head disapprovingly. “Right now I think the best idea would be for you boys to go home and get some rest.”

“We're not being charged with anything?” Joe asked, a trace of surprise in his voice.

“Luckily for you, no,” Con said. “Gerry Wise lives in the Magus Hills subdivision. His father built that entire tract of houses. Gerry has a right to use the recreational space as he sees fit. That use may
not
include racing around on a four-wheeler in the pitch-dark with his friends—but that's a matter for the neighborhood association. Probably, they'll fine him and make him clean up the damage. I've a feeling that you boys might like to help out on that front.”

Frank nodded, but Joe blurted out, “He was running a shady card game in the old Benson Mini-Mall.”

Con folded his arms across his chest and nodded in return. “Yup. I know all about that. Your friend's father owns that building. Gerry had permission to run games there—though I gather that tonight's affair got a little out of hand.”

“You might say that,” Joe said, rubbing his ribs where the demon-masked man had hit him.

“As to the game itself . . .” Con shrugged. “I don't pretend to understand this collector card stuff. What they were doing sounds like it
might
be gambling, but we don't have anything solid to hang a charge on— despite what you saw. I'm not sure you'd want us to do that anyway. Probably some of those players are friends of yours.” Con shot the brothers a look that said he knew they'd followed someone there, though both Hardys had kept Chet's name out of their statements.

“You might be right,” Frank said.

“It was hard to tell with everyone wearing masks,” Joe added.

“So, go on, get out of here,” Con said, waving his hand toward the door.

“Thanks, Con,” Frank said.

“Don't thank me,” the officer said. “Just thank your lucky stars that Chief Collig isn't on duty tonight. You know how much he ‘likes' both of you.” Con grinned.

The Hardys smiled back and headed out of the holding room. In the foyer, they met their father, Fenton Hardy, as well as Chet, Iola, and Callie.

“Sorry we got you out of bed for nothing, Dad,” Joe said.

“I'm glad they're not charging you,” Mr. Hardy said, “and I'm glad that you're both safe. On the whole, though, I would have preferred a good night's sleep.”

“I couldn't have slept anyway, until I heard from
Joe,” Iola said. Joe gave her a quick, reassuring hug. Frank did the same for Callie.

“Did you recover all the cards you brought to the game, Chet?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. Some of them got a bit stomped, but they're all there and usable,” Chet replied.

“I don't know about the rest of you,” Callie said, “but I'm beat. And I'm
very
glad tomorrow is Saturday and we don't have school.”

“I've still got a lot of work to do,” Chet said, “to get ready for the tournament on Tuesday.”

“And I'm betting our bikes need some work as well,” Joe said, sighing.

“I think you can sort all that out in the morning,” Mr. Hardy said. “That is, if any of you are up before noon.”

The whole group chuckled and headed for the door. They ran into Gerry Wise and his father, who were leaving at the same time. Mr. Wise scowled at the Hardys.

Gerry grinned sheepishly at the brothers. “Sorry about this, guys,” he said. “It was all just a big misunderstanding. I'm glad nobody really got hurt.”

“Us, too,” Frank said. “We'll lend you a hand repairing any damage.”

“I'll say you will,” Mr. Wise said angrily. “You're lucky we don't have you boys up for assault!”

“Hey, cool it, Dad,” Gerry said.

“I think the kids can settle this on their own,” Mr. Hardy said calmly. “There's nothing that a few apologies and some elbow grease can't fix.”

Mr. Wise frowned but didn't say anything more.

As they all walked down the front steps, Gerry hung back with the others and whispered, “Chet, I hope you'll play next month. This kind of stuff doesn't usually happen.”

“I can't believe that you'd—” Joe began.

Frank cut him off. “Gerry, did you know all the players at the game?”

“Most of them, yeah,” Gerry said.

“And you supplied the masks?” Frank asked.

“Most of them,” Gerry repeated.

“So, who was the demon-masked guy who started all the trouble?” Joe asked.

Gerry shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “Some of the players wear their own masks when they show up. They don't want
anyone
guessing who they are. That way, their card strategies remain a complete secret.”

“Too bad,” Joe muttered.

Gerry waved goodbye and got into his father's limo. The teens piled into the Hardys' van, and Fenton Hardy went to his own car.

“Come straight home as soon as you've dropped everyone off,” Fenton said to his sons.

Joe and Frank nodded. “Don't worry, Dad,” Joe said. “The only place we're going tonight is to bed.”

Frank and Joe did get up before noon, but not
much
before noon. They spent the remainder of Saturday morning working on their bikes, which their father had reclaimed from the police. The bicycles were pretty badly beaten up.

Chet Morton showed up around one with Iola and Callie.

“Hey, guys,” Chet said. “How's it going?”

“We've had better mornings,” Joe said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a grease-stained towel. He cleaned his hands on the towel and said, “Hi, Callie. Hi, Iola.”

“Chet's been pacing around like a caged lion all morning,” Iola said.

Chet sighed with frustration. “I'm out forty-five bucks,” he said, “and I'm not much closer to having my deck rebuilt.”

“What about that Internet site Daphne mentioned?” Frank asked.

“I used most of the search engines available, but I couldn't find it,” Chet said forlornly. “Every time I typed in ‘Black Knight,' I kept coming up with role-playing game sites.”

Frank wiped the bicycle grease from his hands. “Maybe we should ask Daphne to show us the site personally.”

“Good idea,” Joe said.

“Iola and I did some checking this morning,” Callie said. “It turns out that Gerry, Daphne, and Pete all live in that same subdivision.”

Frank gave his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Not only beautiful, but smart, too.”

“So either Pete or Daphne could have been the cyclist we chased into Magus Hills,” Joe said. “I've seen them both riding motorcycles, too.”

“I don't think Daphne could have been the demon-masked guy, though—not unless she's an Oscar-winning makeup artist,” Chet said.

“Pete looks like our best bet,” Frank said, “but there may be other suspects we haven't considered.”

“Well,” Joe said, “until we get more evidence, I think we should take Frank's suggestion and talk to Daphne.”

All of them agreed, and after the Hardys showered, they all hopped into the van and headed for Daphne's house—a new, two-story colonial on Hebert Avenue. Daphne answered the door when they rang the bell.

“Hey, guys,” she said pleasantly, “this must be my day for friends dropping in unexpectedly.”

“Who else has dropped by?” Frank asked.

“Tim showed up earlier,” she said. “We were going to have a tune-up game, but the big dummy left his cards in his school locker. He was going to try and get them.”

“Getting his deck from school on a Saturday?” Chet said skeptically.

“There's a volleyball game in the gym today,” Callie said. “He
might
be able to get in.”

Daphne shrugged. “I haven't seen him since, so who knows? What can I do for you guys? Did you come to get humiliated in a tune-up game, Chet?”

Chet shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “My deck's still pretty sparse.”

“Still?” Daphne said, raising her eyebrows. “Get it together, Morton. You'll never make it past the first round of the tourney this way.”