Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Boardwalk Bust
Time to Hit the Beach â¦
“Um, Mom,” I said as I toyed with my scrambled eggs, “Joe and I would like to go down to the Jersey Shore for a week. Could we go?”
“By yourselves?” Aunt Trudy broke in.
She was sitting between us, looking from one of us to the other like we were out of our minds.
“I don't know, Frank,” Mom said. “You boys just got back from a trip, and now you want to go away again so soon? Fenton, what do you think? Shouldn't they be spending more time at home?”
Dad lowered his newspaperâthe one he likes to hide behind whenever there's a family disputeâand looked straight into my eyes.
I tried to signal him that this was important.
He seemed to get it. Turning to Mom, he said, “Well, dear, it is the summertime, after all. I think the boys are old enough to go to the beach on their own.”
“Probably get themselves into more mischief,” Aunt Trudy grumbled.
“It's true,” Mom said, balling her napkin up into a knot. “Fenton, they only just got backâwhy do they have to leave again? Can't it wait till next week?”
I gave Dad another look. This couldn't wait.
THE
HARDY BOYS
UNDERCOVER BROTHERS
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Extreme Danger
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Running on Fumes
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Boardwalk Bust
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FRANKLIN W. DIXON
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Manufactured in the United States of America
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition June 2005
10Â Â 9Â Â 8Â Â 7Â Â 6Â Â 5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2004116378
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-0004-7
ISBN-10: 1-4169-0004-7
eISBN-13: 978-1-439-11357-8
4.
Lies, and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them
12.
The Richest Man in Ocean Point
Boardwalk Bust
1.In Too Deep
Being buried alive is no fun. No fun at all.
Let me set the scene:
A waterfall of corn was raining down on me. The grains felt like millions of BBs as they bounced off my head.
A mountain of grain was rising like sand dunes all around me. It was at least ten feet deep. It had the consistency of quicksand. I was sunk into it almost up to my knees, and it was trying really hard to suck me down.
Meanwhile, the falling grain was sending up a billowing cloud of dust. I was totally choking on it.
Nice, huh?
It was mostly dark inside this grain bin, except for a distant square of light high above that threw
faint shadows here and there. Corn was pouring through the holeâcoming through the conveyor belt that a certain bad guy named Bill Pressman had started.
His intention? To kill me and Frank.
Why? That's a long story. But right now we were in trouble.
I could just make out my brother Frank. He was about twenty feet away from me, but it might as well have been twenty miles. He was well out of reach, and buried even deeper than I was.
“Joe!” I heard him yell over the roar. “Where are you?”
“Over h-here!” I shouted back, choking on the dust. “We've got to do something!”
“No, duh. Ya think?”
“Okay, genius,” I said. “What's your brilliant plan?”
And, as usual, Frank had one. Over the years, I've come to count on his uncanny ability to pull impossible schemes right out of his ear.
“Joe, you've got to get out of here and shut off the conveyor!”
Uh, hel-lo. Anyone see me stuck in a pile of corn?
“I'm up to my knees in corn, bro,” I said. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Hey, I'm up to my chest! Just figure out a wayâyou've got to get over to that ladder ⦠up there on the wall.”
“Are you kidding me? I can hardly moveâ”
“J-Joe,” he gasped, “I feel like I'm gonna be ccrushed if it gets much higherâ¦. It's ⦠gonna have to be you.”
I could tell he wasn't joking now.
Desperately, I tried to wiggle free. I swung my body back and forth. When I had a little play, I shifted my weight to my right leg, which was on the low side of the corn pile, and twisted myself loose.
Then I rolled over, so I was lying with my back against the ever-shifting mountain. That way I could do things like breathe and see.
All right, so it wasn't so hard.
Meanwhile, the corn kept raining down, adding to the pile. The dust made it hard to see anything.
“Okay,” I shouted. “Now what?”
“Shine your flashlight on me.”
I pulled out my light wandâsort of a combination laser cutter and flashlightâand pointed it at him.
I could make out Frank now. He was holding up a pretty sweet gadget of his own.
“Use this grapple line,” he said. “Catch!”
He tossed it to me. Luckily, I didn't miss it. It would have been buried under the corn for sure.
By this time I'd gotten Frank's intention. I aimed his gizmo at the ladder and fired.
The strong nylon line shot out and wound itself around one of the rungs of the wooden ladder. The hook at the end of the grapple dug into the wood.
I pressed another button on the handy-dandy contraption, and it reeled itself back in, drawing me forward. I was pulled up the slippery slope, gliding with ease. Before I knew it, I was on the ladder, climbing free of the death trap that still held my brother.
I kept climbing until I got to the door in the wall. The door was locked, of courseâfrom the outside.
These guys thought of everything.
“I'll just use my laser cutter,” I said, pocketing the grapple line and pulling out my other gadget.
“No!” Frank screamed. “Joe, grain dust is highly flammableâexplosive, even! You'll blow us both to smithereens!”
“Hmmm,” I said, stuffing it back in my pocket. “All righty, then. No lasers.”
I tried brute strength instead.
Luckily, the lock was old and rusty, and it popped after five or six solid hits from my well-developed shoulder.