Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Dead Season (9 page)
The music stopped, and the crowd ran toward the hotel.
"Come on, Joe!" shouted Frank. "Let's go!"
The Hardys ran in the direction of the fire, and most people followed them.
Bright orange waves of flame billowed out from a second-story window.
Frank saw Gary standing by the building, staring anxiously at the blaze. Gary said, "I called the fire department. They should be here in a few minutes,"
"Good," said Frank. "If we can just contain it, we should be okay. Is anyone inside?"
"No. I checked."
Frank turned to the people who had gathered nearby. They all stood still, watching Runner's Harbor burn.
"We need your help till the fire department gets here," Frank told them. "Divide yourselves into smaller groups and find buckets and hoses. Let's try to contain this fire if we can't put it out."
The people in the crowd began to mumble to one another. In a few moments they began to take action, and Frank said, "Joe, Gary, show them where to find things and what to do."
"Right," said Gary, and he motioned to a group of six men to follow him to get tools to fight the fire.
Joe said, "Come with me," to another group of men. He led them around the side of the hotel to a garden hose, and they started spraying the fire with water.
In just a few minutes the dance crowd had been organized into a fairly efficient fire-fighting team, and Frank, who was working next to Gary, felt more hopeful that they would save most of the hotel.
"Any idea how it started?" asked Frank.
"No," said Gary. "I was in the kitchen getting more food when I smelled gasoline."
"Gasoline?" said Frank.
Gary nodded. "Then I heard a sort of whooshing sound. I called the fire department, then I started upstairs. I got to the landing, saw flames, and came back down."
"Is there any chance it could have started by accident?" asked Frank.
"A chance, I suppose, but somehow I doubt it. Somebody just doesn't want us here," said Gary. "And it looks like they're going to get their way."
Joe appeared from the darkness. His face was bright red from working so close to the flames. His red cheeks were smudged with soot and dripping with sweat. "I think we're winning," he said.
Before Frank and Gary could respond, there was a noise in the shadows.
At that moment the Ghost Gunman dashed from the hotel, waving a pistol. He paused in the doorway, his black figure a silhouette against the flames.
He fired a single shot in the air and then raced into the darkness in the direction of the beach.
Earl Logan shouted, "It's Wiley! Stop him!" and he ran off after the mysterious figure.
Without saying a word, Joe gave chase.
"No, Joe!" cried Frank. "Stay and help with the fire."
It was too late. If Joe heard his brother, he gave no sign of it, and soon all three of the running figures were gone.
"What should we do?" asked Gary.
"We have to contain this fire," said Frank. "It's not over yet."
"But what about Joe?"
"He can take care of himself."
***
Joe took off through the darkness behind a ghost runner.
The light from the blazing fire behind him cast long flickering shadows on the ground that stretched across the sand and disappeared into the churning black surf, which was an aftermath of the storm the day before.
Logan was just a dim shape in the distance, and he had a big lead on Joe despite the fact that he was much older.
Joe told himself he had to catch Logan because, somehow, Logan was a key to the Ghost Gunman.
For several seconds he lost sight of the older man, but he knew Logan had been heading for the boathouse.
Joe stumbled over a huge piece of driftwood as he heard a voice in the darkness that reassured him and made him feel uneasy at the same time.
"I'll find you, Wiley!" Logan screamed into the night. "You can't escape again!"
Logan was near the boathouse.
Joe ran on toward the sound.
He found Logan on the long wooden dock that jutted out from the boathouse into the water.
Although he was alone, the older man was still shouting at the top of his lungs. 'Not fair! Not fair! Not fair!"
Joe approached him cautiously.
"What's not fair?" Joe asked quietly.
Logan did not hear him at first and continued to rail in the night.
"Not fair! Not fair! All those years, it isn't fair!"
Joe spoke louder this time. "What isn't fair?"
Logan stopped and stared at Joe as if he'd never seen him before. "Wiley, of course."
Joe walked slowly along the rickety dock toward Logan, who was leaning on the railing on the ocean side of the old wooden structure. Joe said, "What about Wiley isn't fair? Wiley's dead."
"No!" screamed Logan. "He's alive. Didn't you see him?"
"I saw someone, but how do you know it was Wiley?"
"It had to be him!"
"But why?"
Before Logan could answer, the turbulent water made the dock tremble violently beneath them so that both men were knocked off their feet.
Struggling to stand up, Joe said, "Let's go someplace and talk about this."
"No. He'll get away. He always gets away!"
The storm the day before had apparently severely damaged the old dock, and Joe was afraid it wasn't going to hold up much longer. He knew Logan was in no condition to be reasoned with. He said, "What brought you to Runner's Harbor?"
"The jewels," said Logan.
The dock shook again, and both men grabbed hold of the railing to steady themselves. This time the simple act of holding the rail seemed to calm Logan. He collected his thoughts and said, "You spend twenty years in prison, you hear all kinds of stories, but this one - "
"Why were you in prison?"
"Does it matter?"
"Does it?" asked Joe.
"Do you mean, was I guilty?"
Joe nodded.
Logan said, "I did twenty years in Joliet for robbing a bank, and yes, I was guilty." He seemed proud, not that he had robbed a bank but that he had the honesty to admit it. "And I don't think a day went by in those twenty years that I didn't hear about the great Wiley Reed."
"From whom?" asked Joe.
"My cellmate," said Logan.
"Who was that?"
But Logan seemed not to have heard the question. He was lost in his memories.
Whoever Logan's cellmate had been, he had filled Logan with stories about the great Wiley Reed. In particular, about the cache of jewels that Wiley supposedly had with him the night of his last run. The night he vanished.
"It's all over for me now," said Logan.
"What do you mean, 'It's over'?" asked Joe.
Logan stared at him as if Joe were the one who was crazy.
"It's over. I'm tapped out. Broke. Busted. I haven't got a cent to my name. Tonight was it. I was gonna find that treasure and be on easy street, but instead, he got away again, and I'll never find the treasure. They said he always got away, and he's done it again. You saw him. What could I do?"
"Nothing," said Joe, trying to make sense of everything he was hearing.
"Nothing is right."
"Tonight," said Joe.
"Uh - huh."
"You played the piano tonight."
"Learned in the pen. Practiced that song for twenty years."
"And you played it in the middle of the night when we first got here," said Joe.
"I played it a lot," said Logan. "I had to try everything to lure Wiley out of hiding." Why give up now?"
"Told you. Got no money. The treasure was my only hope."
"There's always hope. You can find work."
"Who's going to hire a fifty-year-old ex-con?'
"A lot of people," said Joe, noticing that the dock was beginning to sway beneath them.
"You could play the piano sometime. Here at the hotel, maybe."
"Maybe," said Logan, considering the idea. He didn't look too convinced, though.
The tide was rolling in now with full force, and the combination of the damage done by the storm and the weight of the two men was taking its toll on the old dock. It began to lurch violently. Joe struggled to hang on.
Without warning the part of the dock that Logan was standing on collapsed, and with a muffled cry Logan was washed away by the fierce current of the tide.
"Reach for my hand!" cried Joe, lying down flat and desperately reaching out with his hand toward where Logan had just been. It was too late. Logan was gone.
The dock began to crumble under Joe's feet, and he was certain that he, too, would be sucked out to sea. He grabbed for something to hold on to, found a short section of railing, and held on as tightly as he could.
At that moment the small section of dock that he was on broke loose, and he dropped into the water and would have been lost if it hadn't been for the grip he had on that railing.
It wasn't the railing that gave way. It was still securely anchored, and it wasn't a railing.
It was a lever.
Joe's weight was forcing it into a position it hadn't been in for sixty years.
Joe looked up and watched as the rear wall of the boathouse was swung to one side and the entrance to a secret cove opened up in the hill behind it.
Logan really had found it, but he would never know.
As suddenly as the old machinery had been brought back to life after so many years, it collapsed into a dusty heap of wood.
Behind it was a cavern large enough to hide a boat from the curious eyes of U.S. inspectors on the lookout for shipments of rum.
Joe pulled on the lever and raised himself out of the water and onto the remaining section of solid dock. He crawled off the dock into the boathouse and walked cautiously into a place that no one had entered for sixty years.
It took the fire department well into the night to finally bring the blaze under control.
All during the effort, Frank worried about Joe. Where could he be? Was he back in the tunnels underground? Was he in pursuit of the Ghost Gunman? Was the Ghost Gunman after him? What, if anything, did Earl Logan have to do with all of this?
Frank had also given a lot of thought to who could have set Runner's Harbor ablaze. The fire had convinced him more than ever that he knew who was behind all of this.
But it was only a hunch.
He knew he would need solid evidence to take to Sergeant Wrenn. He had to be able to prove his case to force them to let Gary and Janet keep Runner's Harbor open.
He had to prove it soon, because it was well past midnight and time was running out.
Finally the last embers of the fire were sizzling and dying as a final spray of water washed over them.
Only a handful of people remained. Once the fire department had arrived, almost everyone had left.
Now the diehards were finally saying good night to Gary and Janet, thanking them for everything.
When everyone had left, Janet gave Gary a big hug, but they said nothing.
Frank could guess what they were thinking. There weren't going to be any other dances. Gary and Janet were about to lose Runner's Harbor. Once more Frank vowed not to let that happen.
Callie walked up to him and gave him a hug. She looked exhausted after helping to put out the fire.
"How're you doing?" asked Frank.
"Tired," said Callie. "How about you?"
"I'll be okay."
"You two amaze me," said Frank to Gary and Janet, who were standing arm in arm, smiling.
"Why?" asked Janet.
"Well, you've just spent the night trying to save the hotel you may not own by the end of the day tomorrow, and you're smiling."
"What else can we do?" asked Gary.
"Gary's right," said Janet. "We met a lot of nice people tonight. We did save the hotel. And tomorrow's another day."
"Right," said Gary.
"I'm beat," said Callie.
Janet said, "I think we could all use a good night's sleep."
Frank said, "I'm not sure I can sleep until I know where Joe is."
The four of them walked back into the hotel.
As they walked, Frank said, "You know, I was thinking. If the fire had been set in one of the sections that was already renovated, which has sprinklers, this fire would have been a lot easier to fight."
"You're right," said Gary with a yawn.
"Is that important?" asked Callie. "I mean, as far as solving this case goes?"
"It could be," said Frank. "It may mean that whoever set the fire knew a lot about the hotel. Of course, if Tyler hadn't dragged his feet on the construction, the whole place would have had a sprinkler system by now."
"Well, it wasn't so much Tyler's fault as it was Brady Jamison's," said Janet.
"What are you saying?" asked Frank.
"Just that," answered Janet.
Gary said, "Janet's right. Tyler didn't seem to care one way or another, but Brady seemed to make it a special mission to check and recheck every detail."
"Yes," said Janet as the four of them paused at the bottom of the lobby stairs. "Brady said he wanted everything to be perfect, but it sure seemed to me that he was stalling."
Callie yawned and stretched, then said, "You people can all talk the night away, but I'm going to bed."
She kissed Frank good night on the cheek.
Gary and Janet said good night and headed for their room.
Frank stayed where he was. He seemed very distracted.
"Aren't you going to bed, Frank?" asked Callie.
"No. I couldn't sleep with Joe out there. He may be in trouble. I'm going out to look for him."
***
Joe Hardy entered the hidden cavern and told himself that no one had probably entered it in more than sixty years.
Or left it, he thought.
He carefully stepped over large sections of the wall of the boathouse that had hidden this secret place for so long.
This must have been Wiley Reed's hideaway, Joe thought. He couldn't see much in the darkness but moved as best as he could by his sense of sound. He was walking on a wooden dock that seemed to circle the water.
Somewhere, not too far ahead of him, he could hear what sounded like a boat rocking in the water. The collapse of the dock outside and the entrance to the wharf had certainly stirred up the water, and as he walked, Joe heard the unmistakable sound of waves lapping against wood.
Eager to see what was there, Joe searched his pockets and found a wet pack of paper matches.
It was his only hope.
He struck one on the package. Nothing. He tried another one. It was wet, too.
The third match did catch fire, and Joe held it out in front of him to get his first glimpse of the boat.
It was resting some thirty feet away, tied to a piling and rocking gently back and forth in the water.
About five feet from him Joe saw a torch sitting in a rack mounted on the wall. He lit the torch with the last bit of flame from the match. It took a few seconds, but soon the torch was blazing brightly, and Joe could proceed.
The boat was about thirty feet long. As Joe moved closer he could see its name painted on the bow.
It was the Reed Runner.
Joe had found Wiley Reed's lost boat.
He wanted to feel good about his discovery, but the cavern was so desolate and spooky that Joe couldn't feel good about anything right then.
Still, he knew what he had to do.
He had to board the boat. This mystery had to be solved once and for all.
Joe paused at the edge of the boat to get his balance. The old motorboat was still rocking awkwardly in the rough water.
Joe had his left hand on the ship's rail while his right hand clutched the torch. His right foot was balancing on the dock as he eased his left foot over the rail and then jumped aboard.
For the first time in more than sixty years the Reed Runner had a new passenger.
Joe stood there a moment, getting his sea legs and trying to figure out what to do.
The deck seemed empty, and he decided the logical place to check first would be the wheelhouse.
Slowly he walked along the rocking deck. He had one hand on the rail and the other on his torch.
The bridge was just ahead.
The boat lurched in the water, and Joe lost his balance, waving the torch awkwardly in the direction of the wheelhouse. The flame cast an eerie light, but he had no difficulty picking out the figure at the wheel of the ship.
It was the remains of a man. Bits and pieces of rotting clothing clung here and there to the slender bones of the skeleton.
Joe stared in amazement at the sight. He tried to stay calm and regain his balance in the tiny space.
When the boat finally stopped rocking, he held the torch overhead to cast a clear light on the scene. The flame made the right hand of the skeleton burn red as it cradled a large and priceless ruby.
He recognized it immediately as the ruby pendant Millicent Reed wore in the painting that hung in the hotel lobby.
Joe was certain he had found Wiley Reed. He told himself that there was no further reason for him to hang around any longer. He would take the ruby and go for help. Joe didn't like the idea of pulling the gem from the skeleton's grasp, but it had to be done. With a quick tug he removed it.
Joe shoved the ruby into one of the pockets of his jeans and moved quickly out of the wheelhouse and toward the dock. As he raised a leg to vault across the rail onto the dock, a shot rang out. A bullet just missed Joe's ear.
He wasn't about to give a second bullet a chance, so he dived off the boat and onto the dock. He landed hard but rolled over quickly to his feet, nearly singeing himself with the torch, and began to run.
He was running away from the entrance. Where should he go? What should he do with the torch? If he kept it, he was a clear target. If he dropped it, he was lost.
The answer came just then. A set of stairs that wound off to the right loomed just ahead, and Joe memorized its location. He threw the torch far out into the water, where it died with a sharp hiss. Then there was complete darkness.
As he felt his way up the winding stone stairs, it occurred to Joe that there had been only one shot.
Was he still being followed?
Never mind, he told himself. You've got the ruby, and these stairs may lead to safety.
The staircase went on for what seemed forever, and when Joe stepped on the next-to-last step, a door at the top of the steps began to open with a whirring sound. Joe took a deep breath and stepped up through an opening in the floor.