The Battle of Bayport (11 page)

So would Amir, Mikey's buddy from their time together in detention. When Aunt Trudy moved the camera away from Amir and Mikey goofing around, you could still see Mikey in the background, but Amir had stepped out of frame. When he reappeared, he was carrying Mikey's musket along with his own.

I liked Amir. We used to study together before Don
Sterling shut down the factory. After his parents lost their jobs, everything changed, though, and he stopped caring about class. You knew things must have gotten pretty bad at home, because he'd gone from one of Bayport High's brightest students to one of its biggest troublemakers in no time flat. It was like he was a different guy. But murder? I didn't like the idea of an old friend turning into a devious killer.

Not that I liked the next possible Second Man suspect any better. Joe fast-forwarded to Mikey having his musket inspected in the drill line. By Mr. Lakin. The angle was on Mr. Lakin's back, so we couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but he held the gun long enough to leave the possibility open. Thinking about our history teacher using a student to pull the trigger for him was even more disturbing than suspecting him of pulling the trigger himself.

I took some comfort in the fact that Joe's Second Man theory was still purely hypothetical. The second person could have been someone we suspected or someone we hadn't thought of yet, or the killer could have acted alone and there might not be any “Second Man” at all. We didn't have any proof, and for all we knew it was just another wild-goose chase.

Even so, just the idea of it was enough to turn my stomach. And until we had some proof one way or another, we couldn't eliminate the possibility that it was a valid hypothesis.

“There could be a lot more to this case than we figured,” Joe said.

“You mean one mystery shooter using a fake Revolutionary War battle as cover to secretly load a 250-year-old firearm with real ammunition and publicly assassinate Bayport's most notorious businessman with the whole town watching isn't enough?” I shot back. I should have known better than to even ask. There's always more.

But for now, we'd reached another standstill. We now had two theories to explore—my Gold theory and Joe's Second Man theory. We just didn't have any way to explore them, not from our den. Our forty-eight-hour clock was ticking, and the trails on Mr. Lakin and Dirk Bishop were growing colder by the second. By tomorrow afternoon it would be two full days since the Don's murder, and the statistical chances of ever catching his killer would plummet. We had an even shorter window to find Bishop. By tomorrow morning he'd be sitting pretty somewhere over the Atlantic, and whatever role he'd played in this mystery would probably stay a mystery.

I was contemplating hitting the streets of Bayport and wandering until we stumbled onto a new lead when my phone buzzed. I looked down, saw Bay Breeze Inn pop up on the caller ID, and hit speaker. “Frank Hardy.”

“Hey, Frank, it's Sophie over at Bay Breeze. Just wanted to let you know that Mr. Bishop just got back and went to his room,” Sophie's bubbly voice chirped into the room over the speaker.

I looked up at Joe, who was already pulling his jacket on, ready to roll for the Bay Breeze.

“That's great, Sophie, thanks!”

“Sure thing,” she said. “Mr. Bishop sure is a popular guy for such a sourpuss. Someone else came by from the museum looking for him too.”

My antennae shot up.

“Was it Mr. Lakin? You know, the history teacher from Bayport High?” I blurted. If it was our fugitive teacher, Sophie could have just broken the whole case open for us.

“You mean the old guy with tacky thrift-store suits?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah, him!” I almost shouted in anticipation.

“Nah,” she said, popping her gum and bursting our balloon.

“It was some other guy. Real big guy too. He had some kind of military tattoo on his arm.”

R
EAL BIG GUY WITH A
military tattoo on his arm?
Ding.
The phone call from the Bay Breeze just got a lot more interesting—the guy Sophie had described sounded like somebody else we knew.

“Was his name Bernie, Bernie Blank?” Frank asked Sophie.

“He didn't say, just said he was from the museum and told me to tell Mr. Bishop he'd be waiting at Barnacle Bill's. Said Mr. Bishop'd know what it was about,” she replied. Barnacle Bill's was the local dive on the pier across from the arcade.

“You want me to ring up Mr. Bishop's room for you?” Sophie asked.

“Nah, I think we'd rather surprise him. Thanks, Sophie, we owe you one.” Frank clicked off.

We might have just gotten a huge break in the case, but Frank looked apprehensive. Our last attempt to talk to Bernie hadn't exactly gone smoothly.

“Sophie was right about Bishop being a popular guy,” I said. “It seems like everybody on the museum side of this case wanted to meet him.”

Frank frowned. “Yeah, and it hasn't turned out too well for them either. One's dead and another's missing. I wonder what's in store for Bernie.”

“Well, at least we know he can defend himself,” I joked, but Frank didn't seem to appreciate my attempt at humor.

“If it is Bernie, what do you think he wants with Bishop?” I asked, trying to piece together how the intimidating ex-soldier fit into our puzzle.

“Whatever it is, I don't think it's a coincidence,” Frank replied.

“Well, we've got two hot leads at two different locations. Only way to follow them both is to split up. I'll take Bernie, you go after Bishop,” I offered. I knew my brother wasn't excited about the possibility of accidentally surprising Bernie after what happened the last time one of us snuck up on him.

“I don't like it, Joe,” Frank said. “I think we should stick together.”

“I don't like it either, but we're running out of time, and this is the only chance we have to stay on top of both leads,” I reminded him.

Frank thought about it for a second before conceding.

“Fine, but don't get too close and don't stick your neck out with Bernie or anyone else. Just keep an eye on him and see what he does,” he cautioned. I didn't like seeing him stressing over me, but it's good knowing your brother is looking out for you.

“That's the plan, bro. I like my neck even more than I like yours,” I joked, hoping to lighten the mood. “Besides, if he's at Barnacle Bill's, the arcade is the perfect place to pull surveillance. There will be plenty of other people around, and even if he spots me, there's nothing suspicious about me wasting quarters in the arcade.”

“Stay safe,” he said, nodding reluctantly. “The Bay Breeze is just a few blocks from the pier. Any sign of trouble, holler and I'm there.”

“You too and likewise,” I told him.

Frank fixed me with a serious stare. “Now let's crack this thing wide open.”

I smiled. That's what I wanted to hear. “Let's do it.”

Frank headed left toward the Bay Breeze, and I headed right toward the pier where Barnacle Bill's was. Unfortunately, Bernie wasn't there. I posted myself by the pinball machines and wasted a few quarters like I'd told Frank I would, but there was no sign of Bernie. We were running out of time and I was running out of patience, so I ducked my head inside the Barnacle for a closer look and then went right ahead and asked a couple of the locals
when it was clear Bernie wasn't there. They said Bernie had gotten a call and taken off before I got there. I sure would have liked to know who was on the other end of the line and what it was they said. Out of ideas, I headed for the Bay Breeze to meet up with Frank and see if he'd had better luck finding Bishop.

I could see the
Resolve
from the pier as I walked back. Frank was right, it was a pretty amazing sight. I stopped for a second to admire it, when something unusual caught my eye. It was hard to tell what they were doing from that distance, but it looked like there was someone on deck. That was strange. It was after hours, and with the museum shut down by Chief Olaf until the murder investigation was over, there shouldn't have been anyone onboard. I gave it some thought and kept walking, assuming it was probably just one of the officers. I didn't get far though before curiosity got the better of me. I figured it couldn't hurt to stay in the shadows and sneak a closer look before meeting up with Frank.

By the time I got close enough to make out what was happening on deck, whoever had been there was gone. I was about to write it off and head back when a creaking noise stopped me. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when one of the
Resolve
's wooden dinghies started inching its way up the side of the ship. The notion of ghosts popped its way back into my mind, and I popped it out just as fast. I couldn't see anyone from my vantage point, but someone must have been using a winch to haul the dinghy
back up to the deck. Now that really was strange. No police officer would be on the
Resolve
alone at night, loading and unloading dinghies.

I hid behind one of the dock's giant decorative anchors in case anyone was watching. I couldn't see what was going on, but I could hear someone securing the dinghy to its place on the deck. I crept along the dock to get a closer look at the waterline where the dinghy had come from. There was another small boat tied to the dock, hidden in the shadow of the ship, and this one wasn't two centuries old. It was a modern motorboat, loaded with what looked like duffel bags, and it was parked out of view in a place where it definitely shouldn't have been. It was positioned perfectly so it couldn't be seen from the public dock and wouldn't be spotted from a passing boat without a spotlight. Whoever had parked it there hadn't wanted it to be found. The boat appeared to be empty besides the bags. I gave a look around and then glanced back up toward the deck of the ship where the dinghy was. There was no one in sight, so I decided to do a little bit of quick reconnaissance.

I double-checked just to be sure no one could see me, then hopped aboard the motorboat. It bobbed up and down in the current, and I carefully made my way across the bow to get a closer look at its cargo: a neatly stacked pile of large black duffel bags. I gave one a tug by the handles, and it barely budged. The bags were heavy enough to be filled to the gills with muskets or maybe even one of the
Resolve'
s
smaller cannons. Was somebody really gutsy enough to try to rob the museum right under the cops' noses during a full-blown criminal investigation? I wasn't about to let them get away with it if they were.

I leaned down, grabbed the zipper, and started to pull. The zipper barely made it an inch before something heavy slammed into me from behind, knocking the wind clean out of me. Stars exploded in my head, and I gasped for breath. It felt like an anchor had dropped on me. An anchor would have been preferable. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the Marine Corps tattoo on the huge forearm crushing my windpipe.

I
HAD JUST MADE IT
to the Bay Breeze Inn when Dirk Bishop stepped out of his hotel room, carrying a large leather briefcase. I ducked behind the corner so he wouldn't see me and let him get a good head start before tailing him from a safe distance as he hurried down the street in the direction of the harbor. He paused to look at his gold watch and continued on his way with a satisfied smirk, looking like he was up to no good.

It was getting late, and with the town on edge over the Don's murder, there weren't many people out at night. It's easier to tail someone without getting made if there are a lot of other people around to distract your mark, so I had to be extra careful that Bishop didn't catch on. I followed him from far enough back that I could still see him, yet if
he turned around and caught a glimpse of someone on the path behind him, he wouldn't recognize me or be suspicious. That was the idea, at least.

Bishop continued toward the harbor, and soon I could see the
Resolve
's masts looming over the other vessels. When the grand old warship came into view, Bishop gave a furtive look around as if to make sure he wasn't being followed and then picked up his pace. Luckily, I had slipped off the path just in time so he didn't see me.

Yup, there was no doubt about it, Bishop was headed straight for the
Resolve
. Now that I knew the where and when of Bishop's little stroll, I was even more curious to learn the who, what, and why.

A more pressing question surfaced as soon as I got closer to the ship. Bishop had stopped at one of the benches farther down the dock, where he checked his watch and started looking around like he was waiting for someone. But at that moment I was less concerned about Bishop than what I saw on the deck of the
Resolve
. Bishop hadn't seen what I had. It was too dark to make out clearly, but the silhouettes of the big guy with the little guy slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes looked a whole lot like Bernie and my brother.

I forgot all about Bishop and sprinted for the ship. Bishop was busy looking in the other direction so he didn't see me, not that I really cared if he did. Getting to Joe, if that really was Joe I'd just seen slumped over the big man's shoulder, was a lot more important.

The gate from the dock to the gangplank was unlocked, which it shouldn't have been, and I slipped inside and up the plank onto the
Resolve
. When I got there, whoever had been on the deck was gone. All that was left were the eerie sounds of windblown chains and rope slapping against wood and the ominous shadows cast by cannons and masts.

The
Resolve
was huge, and I didn't know where to begin searching. Joe had gone looking for Bernie, and the big silhouette I saw carrying the body across the deck certainly could have belonged to the hulking weapons specialist. If it had been Bernie, then the only logical destination I could think of was the armory. I shuddered. I'd already had one unpleasant run-in with Bernie Blank in that room, and I wasn't thrilled about the prospect of another. Thinking about Joe in peril was enough to get me to swallow my fear and push on.