The Prime-Time Crime (7 page)

A pair of guards had rushed down the hall in response to the fire alarm. The Hardys explained what had happened, and the guards inspected the trash can.

“Well, that's obviously where the smoke in the basement came from,” Frank said. “Now if we only knew who started it.”

Steve began to cough. “I need fresh air,” he gasped. He rushed to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door that led out to the parking
lot. Then he stepped back inside and motioned to the others.

“Come here,” he said. “Quick.”

Debbie hurried to the door and peered outside. “What is it?”

Steve pointed at a black limousine and said, “There's Ted Whalen.”

Joe joined the pair and looked out the door, craning to see over the top of Steve's red head. Ted Whalen stood next to the large car. Two heavyset men in dark suits stood beside him. One was short and muscular, the other was tall and broad-shouldered.

“I don't like the looks of those guys,” Debbie said in a low voice. “I bet they were the ones who grabbed Clarence. Let's go ask them a few questions.”

Joe grabbed Debbie's arm as she started out the door. “If Ted Whalen sees you out there, he'll call the police.”

“No way,” Steve said. “Criminals don't call the police. They're afraid of the police.”

“From the looks of those big guys he's got with him, he may not
need
to call the police,” Frank observed.

“He could have one of those gorillas sit on you until you're too old to be a problem,” Joe said to Steve.

“And I'd like to point out that being in the company of people who look like thugs isn't necessarily
evidence of a crime,” Frank said. “Maybe they're relatives or friends.”

“Want to bet?” Steve challenged, and then pointed out the door. “Look at that.”

As Ted Whalen slid into the passenger seat of the black car, the short, stocky man reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gun. He checked to see if it was loaded, then put it back in his coat pocket and slid into the rear seat next to the tall man. The chauffeur, who had been sitting in the car all along, revved the engine and began to drive away.

“A gun!” Debbie cried. “You can't say that doesn't look suspicious.”

“They're getting away!” Steve shouted. “We've got to follow them.”

“Come on,” Debbie said. “We'll use my car.”

“No,” Steve said. “We'll use my car.”

“We'll use our van,” Frank said. “I don't like the idea of you guys following Ted Whalen through the streets of Bayport on your own.”

The Hardys, Steve, and Debbie slipped into the parking lot as Ted Whalen's limousine turned onto the street. As Frank opened the door of the Hardy van and climbed into the driver's seat, the other three simultaneously went to open the passenger door.

“Hey,” Frank said, settling down behind the steering wheel. “There isn't room up front for four people.”

“I'll share the seat with Joe,” Debbie said, as she climbed into the van and perched herself on the inside edge of the seat. “There's room for both of us.”

“Look, Debbie,” Joe said with a sigh, “you can have the whole seat, okay? I'll ride in the back with Steve.”

When his three passengers were settled, Frank pulled out of the parking lot and bolted in the direction Ted Whalen's limousine had vanished. As Frank steered the van, he spotted the limo at the next traffic light. A moment later the light turned green, and Whalen's chauffeur stepped on the gas. Frank did the same.

“Maybe he'll lead us to Clarence,” Debbie said. “I'll bet that's where they're heading now.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “Clarence is probably back at the TV station. Whalen will lead us to the rest of the gang that kidnapped Clarence.”

Joe stared at Steve. “Gang? What gang?”

“You don't think Ted Whalen is in this alone, do you?” Steve asked.

“I don't know if Ted Whalen is in this at all,” Joe retorted. “So far, nothing that he's done proves he's behind Clarence's disappearance.”

“If Whalen doesn't have a gang,” Steve said, “who trapped us in the basement and tried to kill us?”

“We don't know if Whalen is behind it in the first place,” Joe reminded him.

Steve continued as if he hadn't heard Joe. “Guys like Whalen don't like to get their hands dirty. That's what he's got those thugs for. I bet they're the ones who bopped me and Debbie over the head.”

Whalen's car veered onto a side street. As the limo turned at an angle to the Hardy's van, Frank saw the tall man in the backseat roll down his window and look out at them.

“Oh, no,” Frank said, following the limousine onto the tree-lined street. “They've spotted us.”

“And they've got guns!” Debbie cried. “They'll probably start shooting at us.”

“In broad daylight, in the middle of a residential neighborhood?” Joe asked. “From a clearly marked car belonging to a prominent local businessman? Get real!”

“These are desperate characters,” Steve said seriously. “You never know what they'll do.”

“True,” Frank joked. “After that scene with Whalen this morning, he's probably given his men orders to shoot you and Debbie on sight.”

Suddenly the limousine accelerated and pulled rapidly away from the Hardy van.

“Speed up,” Steve said. “You can't let them get away.”

“Haven't you ever heard of speed limits?” Frank asked. “It's dangerous, not to mention illegal, to drive fast through a neighborhood like this. People live around here.”

“Nobody told that to Whalen's driver,” Steve pointed out. “He just floored the accelerator.”

“They're getting away!” Debbie cried.

Far ahead, the limousine turned onto a side street and vanished from sight.

“They're gone,” Steve said. “What do we do now?”

“Keep looking for them,” Frank said. “They can't be too far.”

“Turn that way,” Joe said, pointing in the direction the limousine had gone. “Maybe we can still pick up the trail.”

Frank steered around the corner, but there was no sign of Whalen's car. He made a few more turns without sighting the limousine.

“I've got an idea,” Joe said suddenly. “Marcy told us that Whalen came from an old, rich family. Ten to one he lives in Bayside Estates, where all the most expensive houses are.”

“Right,” Frank said. “And Bayside Estates is up here.” He turned the van down a street lined with trees and huge lawns.

“There sure are some awfully big houses around here,” Debbie said as they passed several mansions.

“There,” Joe said, pointing toward the driveway of a mansion on the left. “Isn't that the limo Ted Whalen was in?”

A black limousine like the one Frank had been following was parked in the driveway. The drive curved in front of a large house that had white columns in front of its redbrick facade.

“You're right, Joe,” Frank said. “Look at that mailbox. It's got the name Whalen on it.”

Frank drove past the house, parked the van about a hundred feet down the road, and turned the motor off.

“Well, what do we do now?” Joe asked. “We've found out where Ted Whalen lives, but I don't see any guys in black suits with guns hanging around the yard.”

“I think we ought to get a closer look,” Debbie said.

“That might not be such a hot idea,” Frank said.

“It's a great idea,” Steve said, climbing out the back door. Debbie quickly climbed out of the passenger door.

“Maybe we should just drive off and let those two get into trouble all by themselves,” Joe suggested.

“Bad idea,” Frank said, opening his door and climbing out of the van. “If they get in trouble, we get in trouble, too. Remember, Whalen thinks they're working with us.”

“Let's just hope Whalen and his pals don't see us,” Joe said. He climbed to the front of the van and jumped out the passenger door. “Let's go.”

Steve and Debbie were already halfway across the lawn and running toward the mansion as Frank and Joe started after them. For a moment the Hardys could hear the two would-be detectives squabbling over which side of the house to look at first. Then they saw the twosome disappear into a small grove of trees next to the house. By the time
Frank and Joe reached the grove, Steve was halfway up a tree, trying to get a look through one of the first-floor windows.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked, looking up at Steve as the red-haired teen climbed out on a limb.

“Checking out the house,” Steve said. “Maybe I'll see something that'll give us a clue.”

“Maybe you'll get us all arrested as prowlers,” Joe said.

“I think we should sneak into the basement,” Debbie said. “There's a door just down there.” She pointed at the wall of the house.

“If you get caught, you could be charged with breaking and entering,” Frank said.

“We're just trying to save poor Clarence Kellerman,” Debbie insisted. “That's no crime.”

“Hey,” Steve whispered, clinging tightly to the far end of the limb. “I can see somebody inside. It looks like Ted Whalen—”

“It is Ted Whalen,” said a new voice. The Hardys and Debbie turned to see the short muscular man who'd been in Whalen's car standing next to the corner of the house. He had thick black hair slicked straight back from his forehead and wore a dark suit and tie. He glared at the four teenagers.

“And you kids are trespassing on Mr. Whalen's property,” he continued. “I'm afraid this is the end of the line for you.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a gun, and pointed it directly at Joe.

Joe stared at the gun-wielding man in surprise. “We can explain what we're doing here.” He glanced desperately at his brother. “Isn't that right, Frank?”

“Right,” Frank said. “We were, um, looking for Mr. Whalen. We wanted to talk to him for a minute.”

“Well, Mr. Whalen doesn't want to talk to you,” the man said in a menacing tone. “And he doesn't much like people hanging around his house and looking in his windows, either. You'd better come up with a better explanation of what you're doing here or you're going to be in big, big trouble.”

“We're trying to find out what happened to
Clarence Kellerman,” Steve said, still sitting on the limb of the tree.

“Yeah,” Debbie said. “And we think Mr. Whalen had something to do with it. He'd better have some good answers himself or
he's
going to be the one who's in trouble.”

There was a noise from the corner of the house. The Hardys turned to see Ted Whalen walking around the corner. The tall, broad-shouldered man was with him. Whalen's jaw fell when he saw the four teenagers clustered around the tree.

“Not you kids again!” he said angrily. “Don't you ever give up? I told you that I never wanted to see the four of you again—and I meant it.”

Steve leaped out of the tree and, with a thump, landed on the ground. “What are you covering up, Whalen?” he said. “Where do you have Clarence Kellerman stashed away?”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Whalen snapped.

Frank took a deep breath. “What Steve is trying to say is that we'd like to question you about Clarence Kellerman's disappearance.”

“One thing we'd like to know, Mr. Whalen—” Joe began.

“I'll handle the questions, Hardy,” Steve interrupted. “What did you do to Clarence, Whalen? Did you want him out of the way because he didn't fit your plans for the station?”

“You're way out of line,” Whalen said hotly, pointing a finger at Steve. “I had nothing whatsoever
to do with Clarence Kellerman's disappearance. And if I wanted him out of the way, I'd simply give him a pink slip. I run the station—or have you forgotten that?”

“Then why do you keep guys with guns around you?” Debbie asked. “Do you need mobsters to help you run the station?”

“These men happen to be my personal bodyguards,” Whalen replied. “I've kept them by my side whenever I've left the station for the past three weeks.”

“And why does a station manager need bodyguards?” Steve asked. “To do his dirty work for him?”

“WBPT news has been running a hard-hitting series of stories on organized crime in the Bayport area,” Whalen said. “My life has been threatened several times. I won't be intimidated by those who'd like to stand in the way of the truth, but I'd be foolish to risk my life. So I keep a guard around me. Not that it's any of your business.”

Joe looked at his brother. “Actually, that's a pretty reasonable answer,” he said. “We heard you talking about that crime series back at the station.”

Frank nodded. “Maybe we've been mistaken. Sorry we bothered you, Mr. Whalen.”

“Hey, I've got lots more questions,” Debbie protested.

“Yeah, so do I,” Steve said.

“Write them down and send them to Mr. Whalen in a letter,” Frank said, grabbing Steve by the arm
and pulling him toward the van. “We've got better things to do than hang around here.”

“I don't want you kids coming near my house anymore, do you hear me?” Whalen called after them. “And I don't want you around WBPT either. I'll call the police if I see you again. Don't forget that.”

“We won't,” Joe said.

Half walking, half running, the four teenagers rushed back to the van and climbed inside.

“I don't believe this,” Frank said once they were safely in the van. “You two clowns almost got us shot back there just because you have some sort of crazy idea that Ted Whalen is guilty.”

“Well, I still think he's guilty,” Debbie said. “And I really did have lots more questions to ask.”

“I thought you Hardys were supposed to be really brave,” Steve said. “I figured facing a gun would be nothing to guys like you.”