Farming Fear (3 page)

“Iola, are you all right?” Joe called, knocking on the door. Grandma and Grandpa Morton, both in nightshirts, quickly appeared beside Joe.

Iola’s door swung open and she appeared in the doorway, clutching a robe around herself. She looked frightened.

“What’s the matter?” Frank asked.

“I . . . I saw someone lurking outside,” Iola
blurted. She pointed toward a window overlooking the backyard and barn.

Joe immediately crossed to the window and gazed out. Grandma Morton had come with a flashlight, and she promptly handed it to Joe. They turned off the lights so they could see outside. “I don’t see anyone,” he said, pointing the flashlight beam on the snow. Peering at the ground outside, he added, “No sign of any footprints, either.” He turned the lights in the room on again.

“He wasn’t right outside my window,” Iola said. “He was sneaking around between the house and the barn.”

“Bill Backstrom, maybe?” Frank suggested.

“Bill should be home and in bed by now,” Grandma replied.

“Well, if it was anybody else, Bernie would be barking his head off,” Grandpa Morton said. “He’s a good watchdog.”

“Maybe you imagined it?” Chet said. “With the snow blowing around, and the shadows from the nearby trees . . .”

“Chet Morton,” Iola shot back angrily, “I am
not
imagining things! I definitely saw someone skulking around the backyard.”

“Well, there’s no one there now, sweetheart,” Grandma Morton said sympathetically.

“Let’s check it out,” Joe suggested to Frank. Both Hardys headed for the back door. They swiftly
donned their boots and coats in the mudroom, took the flashlight, and hurried outside.

Blowing snowflakes danced on the night wind, though no new snow was actually falling at the moment. Frank and Joe took a bearing from Iola’s window, and then traced her line of sight across the driveway and over toward the barn.

“This is no good,” Joe said, frustrated. “With all the traffic on the driveway today, there’s no way we’ll find any decent prints here.”

“Not in this light, anyway,” Frank agreed. “This flashlight is pretty weak. Maybe tomorrow morning we can turn something up.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Joe replied, but he sounded doubtful.

The four Mortons, all with coats bundled over their nightclothes, met the brothers outside as the Hardys returned to the house.

“Find anything?” Iola asked hopefully.

“It’s too dark,” Frank replied.

“And too cold to be prowling around even if there were anything to see,” Grandma Morton cautioned.

“We’ll check tomorrow, when the light’s better,” Joe said. He put a sturdy arm around Iola’s shoulder.

“What about you, you old dust mop!” Grandpa Morton bellowed irritably to the nearby doghouse. He bent down and peered into the front opening, looking for Bernie.

Inside, the old sheepdog slept soundly.

“Well, I’ll be . . . ,” Grandpa said. “Imagine this bag of fur sleeping through all this commotion!” He reached down and pulled on Bernie’s collar.

Bernie lazily opened his eyes and peered out from beneath his gray and white bangs.

“Some watchdog!” Grandpa scolded. “Come on! Get up and earn your keep.”

Reluctantly, the dog stood and shook himself. He blinked sleepily and gazed around the group.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Grandpa,” Iola said. “He looks tired.”

“Well, now
all
of us are tired, ‘cause ‘man’s best friend’ here’s been sleeping on the job,” Grandpa replied.

Grandma tried not to snicker. “I’ll get him some fresh water,” she said. “His bowl is frozen over.”

“Maybe you better make it coffee,” Chet quipped.

They all laughed. Grandma freshened Bernie’s water, then all the Mortons went back inside and returned to bed. Joe and Frank sat up awhile and kept watch outside the kitchen window.

Spotting nothing unusual, they finally gave up and returned to bed as well. The last thing they saw before creeping back upstairs was Bernie, sitting in the snow outside his doghouse, gazing patiently into the night.

•  •  •

Dawn came early on the Morton farm. Winter was a slow season for them, but there were still plenty of chores to be done.

The family ate a hearty breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. No one mentioned the incident from last night, but Joe and Frank could tell that the intruder wasn’t far from anyone’s mind.

After breakfast the Hardys and their friends set to their chores. The brothers volunteered to help Chet and Iola take care of the animals. On their way to the barn, the four teens passed Bernie, who seemed too tired to play.

They found Bill Backstrom inside, still working on the malfunctioning tractor.

“Hey, Bill,” Chet said as they headed toward the back of the barn, “were you working here late last night?”

“How late?” Backstrom asked.

“Around midnight,” Frank replied.

“Nope,” Backstrom said. “I headed home around nine. That was plenty late enough for me. Say, which wires did you mess with when you stopped the tractor yesterday?”

“Just the distributor wires,” Joe said.

Backstrom shook his head. “Well, somehow the starter got crosswired. Maybe that’s why ol’ Bess went haywire yesterday.”

“Could a small animal have stripped the starter wires, causing the short circuit?” Frank asked.

“Not likely,” Bill replied. “’Course, sometimes animals do crawl into the machinery—especially when it’s cold and the engine is warm. But I’ve yet to meet a varmint who could hotwire a tractor.” He sighed and rubbed his balding head. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Good luck,” Joe said as he and the others headed toward the pens in the barn’s addition.

As they walked, Chet whispered, “Iola and I can handle these chores, if you guys want to do some investigating.”

Frank shook his head. “It’s still not light enough to get a good look around.”

“Besides,” Joe added, “what would your grandparents say if we left you to do the chores alone? They’d probably put us in the doghouse with Bernie.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Iola replied. “They knew this would be vacation time for you. They wouldn’t compare you to that lazy old dog.”

“Bernie isn’t really that old,” Chet said. “He’s only six. I’m surprised he fell asleep like that.”

“Maybe he wore himself out chasing the tractor,” Joe suggested.

“I guess,” Chet replied. “But Grandpa was right when he said Bernie’s usually a good watchdog.”

“Even if he is,” Frank said, “we’d better keep our own eyes peeled—just in case.”

The brothers and their friends milked the cows, groomed the horses, and then cleaned the stalls.
By the time they’d finished, the morning sun was creeping toward high noon. The air had grown warmer, too, melting off some of the snowfall.

“If we’re going to look for tracks,” Joe said, “we better do it before they all melt away.”

All four of them circled around the barn, checking for anything out of the ordinary. Their own footprints and those of Bill, the Morton grandparents, and Bernie made quite a confusing mess. Finally they discovered two sets of tracks leading away from the back of the barn toward the woods on the north side of the property.

“It looks like that’s the way the intruder came,” Frank said.

“And left,” Joe added. “One set of prints in each direction. I don’t think these were here when you gave us the tour yesterday.”

Iola nodded. “So either someone dropped by while we were working . . .”

“Or, I’d say we’ve found your phantom, Iola,” Frank said, finishing her thought.

Frank stooped down and picked something out of one of the impressions in the snow. It was a small metal circlet about an inch wide.

“What’s that?” Joe asked.

“It looks like it might be part of a horse’s tack,” Iola said.

Chet shook his head. “It’s not big enough, or stout enough.”

Frank thought for a moment, turning the ring over in his hand. “I think it’s a grommet from a chin strap.”

“Like a from a motorcycle helmet,” Joe said.

“Or motorcycle boot strap,” Frank agreed. “Whoever made these tracks must have lost it.” He tucked the ring into one of his jacket pockets.

“Let’s see where the tracks lead,” Joe suggested.

“Can we grab some lunch first?” Chet asked. “After this morning’s chores, I’m starving.”

“Chet’s right,” Frank said. “And tracking through the snow and rough terrain will be tough. We’ll need all the energy we can get. Since whoever made those footprints is long gone, we might as well stoke up first.”

The others agreed, and they all returned to the house. Frank made toasted bologna and cheese sandwiches for everyone, while Chet made hot cocoa. Joe and Iola set the table and called the Morton grandparents to eat, then ferried food out to Bill Backstrom. The teens brought Bernie inside and fed him, as well.

Just as they were all finishing lunch, someone knocked on the back door. Bernie immediately began barking loudly.

“Hello!” called a friendly voice. “Anyone at home?”

“Come on in,” Grandpa said, taking hold of the dog’s collar. In swept a woman dressed in a maroon business dress and fashionable coat. With her came
two gray-suited men carrying briefcases.

“Hello,” the woman said, “I’m Patsy Stein. I talked to you on the phone a couple of days ago.”

Grandma and Grandpa Morton nodded. “We remember,” Grandpa said.

Ms. Stein smiled curtly. “I just wanted to stop by in person and drop off some papers, so you can see that my offer is genuine.”

“What offer?” Chet asked suspiciously.

Ms. Stein smiled indulgently at him. “Well, I think that’s for Marge and Dave to announce, not me,” she replied.

“She wants to buy the farm,” Grandpa explained.

Iola and Chet both looked shocked. “Are you going to sell it?” Iola asked.

Before either of her grandparents could answer, Patsy Stein broke in. “They’re still making up their minds,” she said. “But I’m sure that after they look over the details of my plan, we’ll be able to reach some agreement.”

“She wants to put up a mall,” Grandma explained.

“Not just any mall,” Ms. Stein said, “a
premier
mall, designed with the sensibilities of the current shopper in mind.”

“But doesn’t Bayport have enough malls?” Joe asked rhetorically. “It’s not malls we’re running out of, it’s farms and open spaces.”

Ms. Stein grinned at him and asked, “Are you one of the Morton grandchildren?” Turning to the
Mortons, she added, “You must be so proud.”

“Actually, he’s a guest,” Grandpa replied, starting to look steamed. “And we already told you over the phone, we’re just not interested.”

Ms. Stein ignored his refusal. “If you’ll just look at our offer,” she said. One of the men accompanying her stepped forward and opened his briefcase. He laid some papers out on the kitchen table.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Grandma Morton said, rising from her seat, “but you’re interrupting our lunch. Leave your information if you like. We’ll get in touch with you if we have any interest.”

“Thanks. That’s all I’m asking,” Ms. Stein said. Her associate shut his briefcase, and all three of them left.

“Pushy must be the thing to be this year,” Iola commented after they’d gone.

“And why’d she bring two extra guys with her?” Chet added.

“Intimidation, maybe,” Frank suggested.

“Probably, knowing that Stein woman,” Grandpa said grumpily. “She just won’t take no for an answer.”

“She and Gail Sanchez should get together,” Joe said. “They could form a club: Stubborn Salespeople Anonymous.”

“Well, you kids needn’t worry about either of them,” Grandma said. “Go outside and have some fun. Grandpa and I will clear the dishes.”

“Are you sure?” Iola asked.

“You’ve done enough making lunch,” Grandpa said. “Enjoy yourselves awhile. We don’t want your friends’ vacation to be
all
work.”

“Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa,” Chet said. The four friends put on their coats and went back around the barn to the tracks they’d discovered earlier.

“We could ride after them,” Iola suggested. “The horses could use some exercise anyway.”

“Good idea,” Joe agreed.

They went into the stables behind the barn and saddled up all four of the Mortons’ horses. The horses seemed eager to run after being cooped up due to bad weather. They plodded happily through the snow, toward the forest on the north side of the property.

“Who did you say owns the property beyond those woods?” Joe asked.

“J. J. Zuis owns the house up on the hill,” Chet replied, “but the Costellos own the plot to the northeast.”

“Those are the unfriendly neighbors, right?” Frank asked.

“Right,” Iola replied.

“And of course the power company has right-of-way around the high-tension lines,” Chet finished. “They’ve got a service road there, too.”

“I doubt last night’s intruder was an electric company employee who’d come to read the meter,” Joe joked.

The horses knew the Morton land better than any of the teens. They crossed the snowy fields quickly, deftly avoiding the numerous ruts and half-buried farm ponds. The snow melted away at the treeline, though, and the tracks petered out a short distance into the woods. The four teens tethered their horses and walked into the forest, crouching close to the ground and looking for signs of the intruder.

“Rats!” Joe said as the ground became progressively more bare. “Looks like we should have come out earlier after all.”

“It might not have done any good anyway,” Frank said. “The pine tree canopy has kept most of the snow off the ground here. Even this morning we probably wouldn’t have found anything.”

“So what’s next?” Chet asked hopefully.

“Next, we—,” Joe began, but a sudden noise stopped him in mid-sentence.

CRACK!

“Get down!” Frank cried. “Someone’s shooting at us!”

All four teens dived to the ground, looking for cover. But the needle-covered forest floor was clear of brush, and the tree trunks weren’t big enough to hide behind.

CRACK!

Another shot, closer this time.

“Sounds like a rifle,” Frank said.