Darkness Falls (7 page)

“Thank you,” the frightened reporter said, getting up to go. “I can't thank you guys enough.”

“You're right about that,” Frank said grimly. “You can't.”

The next morning before breakfast Frank and Joe tapped on Everett MacLaughlin's door. But the assistant wasn't there.

“He's probably at the observatory already, going over the data we got during the eclipse,” Frank said.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “I don't think Mac-Laughlin would let a little thing like a murder stop him from the pursuit of science.”

The brothers had fresh papaya and watermelon salad with macadamia nut muffins for breakfast. Then they went back to their room to call home. Their father had been called
away on a case unexpectedly, but Laura Hardy was waiting for their call.

“I was worried when I heard about what happened to Dr. Ebersol,” Laura Hardy said. “But I understand they caught the killer—some love-crazed reporter.”

“Mom, have you been reading the papers?” Joe asked, surprised.

“No, it was on TV, Joe,” she replied.

“Well, don't believe everything you see on TV,” Joe told her.

“You know I don't,” she replied, sounding a little embarrassed. “Listen, I want you boys to take care of yourselves, okay? Just because there's trouble doesn't mean you have to get involved.”

“We'll be careful, Mom,” Joe said in a friendly, teasing tone. “Promise.”

“Oh, there's no sense talking to you or your father about things like that,” she admitted. “Just come home in one piece. Okay?”

Their next stop was the police station, where they filed a formal complaint about the stolen film.

“I hated to let Wheeler go free,” Captain Kanekahana complained.

“‘Innocent until proven guilty,' right, Captain?” Frank reminded him gently.

The captain nodded reluctantly and turned
his attention back to the form they'd filed. The brothers had decided earlier not to mention the roll of film they'd salvaged from the camera, which was now safe in the refrigerator of their room. They didn't tell him about their meeting with Wheeler, either. If Kanekahana knew about either of those things, he'd probably confiscate their film, order them off the case, and put a police surveillance team on them. That would be the end of their own investigation.

“It's kind of hard to estimate the value of the film,” Joe told the captain, “so we left that blank.”

“No problem,” Kanekahana told them. “That question is more for the insurance people than for the police. But remember, I warned you. The film theft is low priority around here. I can't really get to it until the murder is wrapped up.”

“That's okay, Captain,” Joe said politely. “We appreciate whatever help you can give us.”

“Okay,” the captain said, rising and walking them to the door. “I want you guys to stay out of trouble now.”

“We want to stay out of trouble,” Frank replied, grinning. “Have a good day, Captain.”

The moment they left the building, however,
they went searching for the very kind of trouble they'd been warned against.

“Okay, Michele, we're on our way,” Joe joked as their red convertible sped along the sparkling, sunlit coast toward the Ebersols' rented beach house.

The house was set back from the road and down a steep hill fringed by tropical vegetation—mostly palms and cactus here on the dry side of Big Island. “Wow, this place is something else,” Frank said, letting out a low whistle as he parked along the road.

“It doesn't get better than this,” Joe agreed, taking in the long, low white stucco structure set on a lonely stretch of perfect white sand.

“This sure beats our budget hotel,” Joe commented. He couldn't help comparing their accommodations and these. Had Ebersol made arrangements or had Michele? Joe wondered, thinking of what Wheeler had told them.

They rang the bell, but there was no answer. “That's funny,” Frank said. He and Joe had seen the Ebersols' luxury convertible with rental plates parked in the driveway.

“Maybe she's out on the beach in back,” Joe suggested. The brothers went around the side of the house. As they passed the pool, Joe noticed a large towel draped over a chair. But no Michele. “Maybe she went for a walk,” Joe added.

“I guess we'll have to come back later,” Frank said, scanning the empty beach.

They were just leaving when Joe spotted something out in the ocean—about a hundred yards out, by his best guess.

“I see a surfboard,” he said to Frank, who was also focusing on it now. “Someone's lying on it.” Joe had his hand at his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. The figure on the surfboard was motionless, in a facedown position. Joe turned to his brother, his eyes widening. “That's got to be Michele,” he said.

Frank nodded grimly. “And the tide is taking her right out to sea!”

“M
RS.
E
BERSOL!
” Frank called out, cupping his hands to his mouth. Joe joined him. The two of them called her name several times as loudly as they could. The figure on the surfboard didn't move. She was drifting farther out to sea with every passing moment.

“Let's go after her,” Joe said, starting to strip down to his shorts. Frank ran to the pool-house and came out with a surfboard under each arm. Soon the boys were wading into the ocean and paddling seaward.

After a few minutes they were close enough to see Michele's red hair and the fact that she was unconscious. She seemed to be floating in a faster current than they were in, because the
Hardys had to paddle as hard as they could to continue to gain ground.

After what seemed an hour, they caught up to Michele Ebersol. “I thought we were going to lose her,” Frank confessed, as Joe felt for a pulse.

“She's alive,” he told Frank. Each brother grabbed her surfboard with one hand and, paddling with the other, headed back toward shore. It was even harder to make progress since the current was against them.

“Let's head to that beach over there,” Joe called out, indicating a strip of sand to their right, more or less in the direction they were being pulled. As they paddled along, using the current to their advantage, Michele Ebersol began to stir.

“Ohhh …” she moaned groggily. “Ohhh …”

“She sounds like she's been drugged,” Frank observed. “I'll bet somebody gave her something to knock her out, just long enough for the tide to take her out to sea. If we hadn't come along when we did …” Frank swallowed hard, thinking about the terrible possibility of two deaths in two days.

As they neared the beach, Frank and Joe got off their boards and waded in the rest of the way. Then they started walking Michele back toward her house, leaving the boards where they'd come ashore.

“Do you think she needs a doctor?” Joe
asked. The scientist was stumbling badly, even though she had one arm on each of their shoulders.

“Let's see how she is once we get her inside,” Frank said.

Fortunately, the french doors that connected the veranda to the house were unlocked. They led Michele inside, walked her to one of the long white leather couches in the sunken living room, and helped her to lie down. Frank spotted a couple of beach towels on the dining table and wrapped them around her.

“Mrs. Ebersol? Can you hear me?” Joe asked, standing over her.

The only reply he got was a slight nod of her head. Her eyes remained shut and her limbs appeared to be as weak as a rag doll's.

“Maybe some coffee will help,” Frank suggested. He glanced at the countertop island between the dining area and kitchen. “There's some in a pot over there.”

At that, Michele raised her head and shook it slightly. “No,” she groaned, her beautiful brown eyes fluttering open slowly. “No coffee.”

Frank and Joe were encouraged. Michele was going to be okay.

“Richard …” she mumbled under her breath. “Why, Richard?”

“Who's Richard, Mrs. Ebersol?” Joe asked,
hoping for a lead while her defenses were down.

“Richard De La Rosa,” Michele said, not really noticing Joe. “He should be in jail.” She shut her eyes and lay back down, taking a deep breath.

“I've heard that name before,” Joe said. “He works for the foundation, right, Mrs. Ebersol?”

“Calls himself our manager,” she replied, struggling to sit up. “Couldn't manage a baseball team, let alone a scientific foundation,” she murmured. “Don't know why Jim didn't fire him months ago.” Now she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and gave a little shiver. “He should go to jail—”

“Why should he go to jail?” Joe asked gently.

“You ask him—just ask him. Richard De La Rosa is a thief. He's always wasting the foundation's money. Flew in from L.A. last night. That's another airfare we have to pay. He probably steals from the foundation, too. I warned Jim about it. There's been a lot of money missing—”

“Is that why he should go to jail?” Frank asked. “Because he stole the foundation's money?”

“You ask him,” she replied, staring at Frank with unfocused eyes. “He's staying at your hotel.”

“This missing money,” Joe said. “Can you tell us anything more about it?”

“That's what he and I were talking about this morning before—How did I get in the water? I didn't go for a swim.” The look on her face was one of sheer confusion. It was obvious to Joe that she hadn't a clue about what had happened to her.

“Tell us more about the money,” Frank said gently. “Maybe we can help you if we know more.”

“The money was for scientific research,” she told them. “But what's the difference? It's gone now. The money's gone—”

“All of it?” Frank asked.

“Most,” she said, appearing more alert all at once. “Well, I'll fix that. As soon as I take over officially, Richard De La Rosa will be out. Everett MacLaughlin, too—that idiot. He came by at breakfast time. All he wanted to talk about was the eclipse. As if Jim hadn't died yesterday. As if I needed the little twerp to move on with the next step—”

“What next step?” Joe wanted to know.

“The book, of course!” she replied, surprised that he had even asked. “A best-selling book on the exploded planet theory. Jim started it months ago.”

“But we don't know yet whether there was a planet or not,” Joe said. “Everett MacLaughlin is probably trying to sort that out right now.”

“I hate to give you more bad news, Mrs. Ebersol, but someone stole our infrared film,” Joe told her, searching her face to see what her response might be. To his surprise, she didn't seem upset in the least.

“It doesn't matter,” she insisted. “It'll be a best-seller anyhow. The theory's so interesting, don't you think? Besides, it's Jim's last book—it'll sell a million copies at least. And MacLaughlin's name is not going to be on it. I'm not even going to credit him. He's been such a nuisance the whole time. Jim isn't here to protect him anymore. Poor Jim …” Her eyes welled up with tears, and she shut them again.

“Mrs. Ebersol,” Joe said, “are you absolutely sure you didn't take anything today? Medication of any kind?”

“The paramedics wanted to give me something yesterday, but I refused and walked away from them,” she said, stopping for a moment. “When they found me, they gave me a bottle to take home. Last night I might have taken a sedative—frankly, I forget.” After going into the bathroom, she came back out with a bottle of pills. “They gave me twenty and there are only eighteen in here,” she said. “I guess I did take a couple, though I don't have any memory of it.”

“Did you drink anything when Mr. De La Rosa was here?” Frank asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “We had iced tea. Richard mixed it up for us.” Frank and Joe's eyes met, and each raised an eyebrow.

“It's late,” Michele announced in a tone that indicated to Frank that she was fully recovered. “I have a lot to do. Would you mind leaving now.”

“Are you sure you're all right?” Frank asked.

“Yes, I'm sure,” she said, giving him a tense smile. “Don't worry. I won't take any more pills, that's for sure.”

“Aren't you at least going to inform the police of what has happened?” Joe asked.

“And tell them what?” she asked, her brown eyes widening. “I don't know what happened.” She walked to the front door and opened it. A definite cue for them to leave. “See you up at the observatory,” she said. “Oh, and thanks for saving my life.”

Frank and Joe were driving down the road, headed for Kailua, before either of them said a word.

“Wow,” Joe finally remarked. “That was pretty strange behavior, wasn't it? Anger, grief, and greed all mixed together.”

“I'll say,” Frank agreed, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “What got me was that Michele seemed much more concerned about
who controls Dr. Ebersol's work and the foundation money than she did with the fact that he's dead.”